“Based on your theory that Les Weaver shot David on purpose.”
“He did. And I’m going to prove it.”
“Shit.” He ran three fingers over the distress lines in his forehead. “I was there. I was with him. It seemed legit. Weaver was so upset.” A little of his former belligerence returned. “And there was no motive. Weaver was a total stranger, an upstanding citizen from out of state. You wouldn’t have suspected anything, either!”
“That ‘upstanding citizen’ has ties to the Lucchese family.”
“Who the hell is that?”
“One of the most powerful organized crime syndicates in New York City.”
“How do you know?”
“I asked Myles to check. It was that simple.” Heck, even Leland Faust had an uncomfortable feeling about how smoothly that day’s events had been explained and accepted. If Rusty hadn’t taken the easy road, the one Les Weaver had paved for him with his good looks, charity work and attorney trappings, the truth might’ve come out a year ago. And if that had happened, maybe Isaac’s house wouldn’t be in ashes. “I’ve got to be honest with you, Rusty. You should’ve asked a few more questions.”
Crimson suffused the deputy’s face as his lips pulled back to show his teeth. “You’re so full of bullshit, standing there like you know everything. Big Isaac, who swoops in at the last minute to steal my girl.”
So it wasn’t all about Les or David. “Your girl? Claire’s never been yours.” In one way or another, she’d always been his—she’d known it and he’d known it—even when she was with David.
“Without your interference, she might’ve been. She asked me out last week. That was a start. Then you got involved.”
“She wasn’t really interested in you, Rusty. She just wanted to get out.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know shit. And you have no proof Les killed David on purpose. You’re just trying to make me look bad so you look better.” With that he left the kitchen and started going from room to room, calling for Don and Jeremy.
“Jeremy’s with Claire in Libby. So don’t waste your breath yelling for him,” Isaac said. And if Don was home Isaac would already know it, but…Rusty didn’t respond.
Isaac listened as the deputy marched upstairs; when he came back and headed down to the basement, Isaac followed.
“Are you satisfied yet?” he asked when Rusty stood staring at Jeremy’s empty room.
Again, he didn’t answer. He was gaping at a wall covered in pictures of Claire and embellished with poems and dried flowers and drawings of hearts. “What the hell is this?”
Isaac had seen it earlier. He’d found it a bit unsettling but not surprising. “What does it look like?”
“That little creep has it bad.”
So did Rusty. He’d been trying to get together with Claire ever since David was killed. “Creep? You probably have a shrine in your house, too.”
“Screw you.”
Isaac had provoked him so he let it go. They needed to put aside their differences and get to the bottom of what was going on here. “Look, something’s not right. Don’t you think you should call the sheriff and have him send over some forensic techs?”
The stubborn set to his jaw hadn’t lessened. “Hell, no. I’ve seen no sign of a struggle. No forced entry. No blood and no body. Nothing but a little cleaning solution that could’ve been spilled and a bullet that could’ve come from Jeremy messing around with his daddy’s gun.”
“Then where’s Don?”
“Who knows? He’s an adult. Maybe he took off for a few days. He’ll turn up.”
“Dead.” Isaac had heard enough. He was done with Rusty. “That’s it. I’m calling the sheriff myself.” Whirling around, he started up the stairs.
Rusty began to trail after him but stopped. “Wait a second!”
It was the tone of his voice and not his words that made Isaac pause. “What is it?”
“Look at this.”
Rusty had snapped on the flashlight he carried on his belt and was aiming its beam into the shadowy area below the stairs, but Isaac couldn’t see what he was referring to. “Look at what?”
“The crawl space. It’s been locked.”
Isaac hadn’t even noticed. The dim glow of the single bulb dangling over the laundry area didn’t extend to the corners of the concrete basement, and he’d been searching the finished parts of the house, looking through drawers and in closets for bank statements, bills and other documentation. “Is that unusual?”
“One padlock wouldn’t be. But six?”
30
This wasn’t how Jeremy had imagined it would be. It was too dark to see beyond the headlights of his car, so he couldn’t find a good spot to set up the tent. And he was hungry. It’d been a long time since he’d had that burger at Hank’s. There was a cooler at home he could’ve used, if he’d had some food to put in it. But he hadn’t, so he’d left it behind. He’d been so rattled when Claire and Isaac showed up at the house that last time he hadn’t even remembered to bring water. He’d known they probably wouldn’t come back—it was too late—so he’d jumped in his car, which was only half-packed, and followed them. He couldn’t bear the thought that Isaac would take Claire out of town again, where he couldn’t find her.
As usual, she was all he’d been able to think about. Now he had her with him, but even that wasn’t what he’d hoped. She’d somehow managed to get the gag off, and kept saying the same thing, over and over. “Jeremy, you have to turn around and go back. This isn’t right and you know it.”
But he couldn’t go back, not after telling Les Weaver where he could kill Isaac. Isaac was probably lying on the floor, blood pouring onto the carpet, maybe right on the spot Jeremy had already cleaned. If that had happened, the police might be there. And that meant it was just a matter of time before they found his father and Alana under the house.
“I c-can’t,” he mumbled. He could only try and do what he’d always told himself he would. His father had laughed whenever he mentioned his great escape, said he’d never survive in the woods, but Jeremy didn’t believe him. Wouldn’t believe him. This was where he’d find peace and happiness—someday.