Claire seemed to understand that Vivian was gathering her thoughts. She studied her for a moment as if she could decipher the problem without words before attempting to move past her curiosity. “I bet Sheriff King’s been busy.”
“Very.” The comment was innocent enough, but Vivian’s mind immediately returned to the cabin where they’d made love. Claire would freak out if she knew. She’d been after Vivian for a long time to give the sheriff a chance. Like everyone else, she seemed to believe he could walk on water. If she wasn’t still struggling to get over David’s death of a few months earlier, Claire might’ve been interested in him herself.
“But you’ve talked to him, right?”
“Now and then.” She’d tell Claire that she was really Laurel Hodges, but she wasn’t going to mention her encounter with Myles King.
“Has he said anything about the murder?”
Now Claire was guessing at the bad news. “Not really.”
As they reached the highway, Vivian noticed a car she didn’t recognize turning down her street. She tensed—but there was an old woman in the driver’s seat. Definitely not a member of The Crew.
“You okay?” Claire asked.
“Fine.” Breathing easier the more distance she put between them and the house, she tried to calm down so she could handle the coming conversation as carefully as she needed to.
“So…the sheriff didn’t tell you anything about the murder?” Claire pressed.
“It has nothing to do with what happened to your mother, Claire.”
“You don’t know that,” she responded. “No one does.”
Apparently, hearing that Alana had been murdered by some deranged killer was better than continuing to live with the mystery of her disappearance.
It broke Vivian’s heart to see how deeply the past still affected the present. But she couldn’t blame Claire for being so determined and steadfast. From what Vivian had heard, Claire’s mother had been as devoted to her children as Ellen had been selfish.
“What does your stepfather have to say about it?” Vivian asked this as if she was merely making conversation, but she was more than a little curious.
“He thinks my mother’s disappearance might be related to Pat’s murder. I mean, he hasn’t ruled it out. Until we know who killed Pat, and if they ever had any connection to our family, no one can say.”
“Including your stepfather?”
“Right.”
If anything, Vivian thought Darryl O’Toole, Tug as he was called, might know more than he’d ever admitted. He’d been the last person to see his wife alive, and he’d certainly benefitted from her death. “Did he get that snow-removal contract he was hoping for?”
“He did.”
“Great.” Not that Tug needed the money. He’d inherited a couple of million dollars, thanks to his wife’s wealthy family. He’d bought a nursery and the bowling alley in Libby with the money, so he owned other businesses besides his snow removal company. But these days he was mostly retired and enjoying the good life, which included a luxurious home in the mountains with the woman he’d moved in with only six months after Alana went missing. “How’s Leanne?”
“Her business is growing. Have you seen her latest?”
Vivian hadn’t asked about her business. She’d asked about Leanne, but this answer was typical of Claire. Claire didn’t like to discuss her sister. From all outward appearances, they got along fine. But they were so different…?. “What’s she working on?”
Leanne made stained-glass windows and lamps and sold them to stores around Montana or on the internet. She did incredible work, had even been commissioned to do windows for several churches.
Vivian thought Claire should leave Pineview and pursue her dream of becoming a famous hairstylist in New York or L.A., even if that meant leaving her sister behind. She’d married at twenty-six, then lost her husband after only four years, before they chose to have kids. Although her stepfather and her sister were all that kept her in Pineview, Claire wouldn’t consider leaving. Vivian had never heard the details behind the sledding incident that’d broken Leanne’s back—Claire wasn’t willing to talk about it—but she suspected Claire felt guilty for being the one who made it to the bottom of that mountain safely. Otherwise, she would’ve left town long ago.
“She’s doing a piece for the new library in Kalispell,” Claire explained.
“They commissioned her?”
“Are you kidding? They have no money.”
“So she’s donating it?”
“Yeah.”
“How nice of her. That’s a lot of work.”
“She can be surprisingly generous.”
It was the surprisingly that made Vivian wonder if their relationship was as loving as it seemed.
The Chowhound came up on their right, just past Chrissy Gunther’s Nice Twice store and the bank. When Vivian flew past the restaurant, Claire rapped on the window with her knuckles. “Hey, didn’t you want to turn there?”
She did, but first she had to see who was in town. She eyed all the people she could see, searching for anyone who looked out of place, or who could be Ink or another thug. Only when she’d driven all the way past Gina’s Malt Shoppe did she whip around and return to the windowless Chowhound.
Claire took her by the arm as they met up at the door. “You’re acting so strange.”
“You’ll understand in a minute.” Squaring her shoulders, she motioned her friend in ahead of her.
At night the Chowhound became a strip club. On dollar dance nights it gave the Kicking Horse Saloon a run for its money. Some locals hung out here, but most of the nighttime traffic came from the men who poured through the area on their various hunting and fishing trips. During the day it served breakfast and lunch. It was always much less crowded then, even though it served some of the best burgers in town.
Today, because they were wrapping up after the lunch rush, only a handful of patrons sat inside. One was Tony Garvey. He had his work boots on and a pair of jeans that were as dirty as his T-shirt. Tony owned Garvey’s Sand and Gravel, but he wasn’t afraid to dig in and work alongside his employees.
He nodded as they passed and Claire stopped to say hello. She knew everyone in town. Tony had been one of her husband’s best friends.
“Tony and his wife are getting a divorce,” she whispered afterward as they found a booth.