The Lost Women of Lost Lake (29 page)

“You'll be watched. If we connect, they'll find out. I can't let that happen.”

“Things will calm down,” said Jill, crouching down to paw through Tessa's shoes.

“Jill, look at me.”

“Just let me finish this.”

“Stop and look at me.”

Slowly, Jill turned around.

“If I go, we will never see each other again. It's the only way you'd be safe from potential prosecution. If you don't agree to those terms, I'm staying put.”

“Do you
want
to go to prison?”

Tessa was terrified by the very thought. Almost as terrified as she was of leaving Jill. “Do you agree?”

“I need to get you more money. I'll figure something out and meet you later today. Say, Hill City. At the gazebo in Bear Park. Four o'clock. That will give us a few more minutes together.”

Tessa could see by the look of strained resignation in Jill's eyes that she finally comprehended the full meaning of what she was suggesting.

“You really want me to go?”

“I don't want you to go anywhere. I want you to stay with me until I breathe my last breath, but that's not in the cards. You
have
to go.”

“Come here,” said Tessa.

“You need to get out of here. We don't have a minute to waste.”

“I'm willing to bet my life that we can waste a few.”

*   *   *

Jonah crawled out from under his covers and sat up on the edge of his bed. His room was a perfect reflection of his psyche—a disaster. His clothes were strewn all over the room, which made him think of Kenny's basement lair. Jonah didn't much like the comparison. He vowed to clean the room up—although, not right now. He held his head in his hands for a few seconds, praying that the banging would stop and knowing it probably wouldn't. He'd stayed up late feeling sorry for himself while he finished off the bottle of Jager Kenny had given him. The hangover was bad enough, but the emotional battle inside him was even worse. How could Emily have fooled him so royally? How could she fall in love with a loser like Kenny?

Jonah pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped into a navy blue T-shirt. Under other circumstances, he wouldn't have been up before noon, except that someone had been banging around in the garage a while ago, which woke him. Even with a hangover, his stomach started to growl right on schedule. He was a machine, he thought, gazing at himself in the mirror over the dresser, running his hand over his scraggly beard. Not exactly the visage of a superhero. If he put food in his tank, he might feel better.

Staggering upstairs to grab himself a bowl of cereal, he heard sobbing. He'd figured that it was Jill who'd left the house, and yet when he entered the bedroom, he found her making the bed and crying.

“What's wrong?” he asked, stopping in the doorway.

“Nothing,” she said, not looking at him.

“
Nothing
doesn't make you cry. Where's Tessa?”

“She had a doctor's appointment. Won't be home until later.”

Something was wrong with this picture. “Everything okay with you two?”

She scraped the tears off her cheeks. “We're fine.”

He decided to pick door number 2. “Something happen with the murder investigation?”

She shook her head. “Sometimes I just get sad.”

“For no reason?”

“Cosmically sad. You've never felt that way?”

Maybe it was a woman thing. “Nope. I'm usually sad for a reason.” He turned when he heard the front doorbell. “Should I get it?”

“Sure,” said Jill, dabbing at her face with a tissue. “I'll be out in a sec.”

Jonah found a man in a black suit standing on the deck. “Help you?” he asked.

“I'm looking for Tessa Cornell.”

“Not here.”

Jill appeared behind him.

“I'm Agent Eric Haas.” The man held up a photo ID with a badge next to it.

“You're FBI?” asked Jonah.

He repeated, “I'm looking for Tessa Cornell. I understand she's not home. Any idea where I could find her?”

“No,” said Jill. “Sorry. Is there a message?”

“Are you her sister?”

“Wife,” said Jill.

That caused his eyebrows to rise.

“We were married in Thunder Bay four years ago.”

“When do you expect her back?”

“Honestly, I don't know. She has a varied schedule. Can I ask what this is about?”

He handed her his card. “Tell her I'll be back.”

That was ominous, thought Jonah. He closed the door and locked it and then turned around to find Jill standing in the living room, hands on the back of a chair, looking out the windows.

“You know,” said Jonah, “I don't want to tell you and Tessa what to do, but maybe it's time for her to get out of Dodge.”

Jill burst into tears.

Was that it? “Has she left?”

She nodded.

Jonah put his arms around her and let her cry against his shoulder. “You really love her, don't you.”

“So much it hurts.”

Tessa had been involved in a bombing and yet Jill still loved her. It made him feel puny, as if his love for Emily was somehow less worthy. He'd said it was deep and real, and yet when push came to shove, he'd bailed on her. He made a decision right then.

“What can I do?” asked Jonah. “You want some breakfast?”

“I can't eat.”

“No. Bad idea. Some tea, maybe?”

She tried to smile as she caressed his hair. “I'll be okay, especially now that I know she's safe. You go on. I'm sure you've got things you want to do today.”

“It'll work out.”

“Sure it will.”

“You need anything, you've got my cell number.”

“Just so you know, she wanted to say good-bye to you.”

“It's okay. I'll see her soon enough, right?”

*   *   *

Jonah ignored his stomach—something he never did—and rushed into the woods behind the cottage. Hopping on Kenny's bike, which he'd hidden under some brambles and brush, he hauled ass over to Emily's house, all the way rehearsing in his mind what he would say. It didn't matter about the stuff she'd been involved in over at Harris Lake. As far as the pregnancy, they'd figure it out. He was sure that if he told her that none of it mattered to him, that he loved her and always would, that she'd come back to him.

Sailing into the driveway beside the house, Jonah saw Emily's mom in the backyard hanging out the wash. “Hey, Mrs. Jensen,” he called. Leaping off the bike, he pushed through the gate. “Is Emily here?”

Mrs. Jensen glanced around, a confused look on her face. “Am I missing something? She's on the bus. You know that, right?”

There were no buses in Lost Lake.

“On the Greyhound—on her way to the Cities.”

“Oh, well, ah—” he stammered, feeling a burst of panic overwhelm him. “Yeah, right.”

“She said you were meeting her down at the Conoco station to say a final good-bye. That's why she wouldn't let me come.”

“I … I guess I got the times screwed up. Damn. What time did the bus leave?”

“Ten-fifty. Oh, honey, if you didn't make it, she's surely going to be upset.”

“Upset, yeah,” he said, knowing he sounded like an idiot. “Just out of curiosity, did she say anything about Kenny?”

“Kenny Moon? No. Why would she?”

“No reason.” He turned and dashed back to the bike, calling, “Don't worry. I'll make everything right.”

32

While Jane and Cordelia finished up a late breakfast at the Jacaranda Café, Jane felt her cell phone vibrate inside her jacket pocket.

“It's Kelli,” came the now familiar voice. “I thought you'd like to know we caught a break in the case.”

Jane flashed her eyes at Cordelia and mouthed Kelli's name. “Can you tell me more?”

“I got a call from a friend down at the BCA in St. Paul. They matched the DNA they found on the sock-wick that was used to torch Wendell's business with DNA found under Feigenbaumer's fingernails. The same person is responsible for both.”

“Wendell.”

“We'll need to get a sample of his DNA to put the dot at the end of the sentence, but yeah, I think we've got our man.”

“What was the motive?”

“For the fire? That's obvious. Money. As for Feigenbaumer and Lyndie LaVasser, I'm not sure. We've got some evidence we intend to present him with. There's a connection.”

“Still, you have to admit it's kind of strange that he'd hide the murder weapon in his own locker.”

“It was a clever ploy. To plant the murder weapon in your own locker to make it look as if someone was framing you for a homicide seems way too clever and convoluted for him.”

“It's possible he never thought anyone would find it.”

“That seems more like Wendell.”

“So if he did it, that lets Tessa off the hook.”

“For the murders in Lost Lake, yeah. I thought you'd want to know.”

“I appreciate the call. Have you phoned Tessa or Jill yet?”

“I can't really talk to them until I've got all my ducks in a row. You understand. There was another break in the case last night. I'll tell you more when I can.”

“Of course.”

“Gotta run.”

Jane would have explained about the field of marijuana they'd found, but Kelli seemed to be in a hurry. She could tell her later. It wasn't going anywhere.

While Cordelia finished off her last Bloody Mary, Jane relayed the details of the phone call.

“If Tessa can just keep a lid on her past, she might make it through,” said Cordelia, removing the white paper napkin from her cleavage and tossing it over the dregs of her breakfast.

Which begged the question of whether she should or not. Jane still felt queasy when she thought about what Tessa had done, even now, when she understood the reason. Still, she didn't want to see her go to jail.

As they made their way through the humid summer morning to the cottage, Jonah came rushing out of the woods, yelling and waving.

“Jane, stop. Cordelia? Will you help me? Please!” By the time he reached them, he was out of breath.

“What's up?” asked Jane, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“Emily. She left on the bus. I
have
to talk to her. It's life or death. I've called her cell twenty times in the last few minutes, but she won't answer.”

“How are we supposed to help with that?” asked Cordelia, chewing on a toothpick, clearly not impressed by the “life or death” aspect of his plea.

“You've got a car. If we leave now, we can catch the bus. They have a little less than an hour's head start. I went over to the Conoco station, where the bus pulls in. A guy there told me it stops in Balsam and Empire, then heads down to Congress and Mobridge, and comes into Grand Rapids on Highway Two. All those stops will slow it down. I have to tell her that I love her. If I do, maybe she won't go. Will you do it? I can drive if you want.”

“Wait just a minute there, buddy,” said Cordelia. “It's my car. Nobody drives it but me.”

His body quivering with nervous energy, Jonah tugged on her arm. “We don't have a minute to waste.”

“I've had three Bloody Marys. I am in no shape to get behind the wheel.”

“Why did Emily leave?” asked Jane. She figured she already had the facts on that one, but wanted know what Jonah knew.

“She had her reasons.”

“Like?”

“Well, for one, she said that Lost Lake was smothering her, that she had to get out. I
have
to talk to her.”

Lucky for him, Jane wanted to talk to Emily, too. “Cordelia, you can't stand in the way of true love.”

“Oh, hell,” she said, stifling a burp. “I'm sober enough to ride shotgun.”

*   *   *

Unlike Jill, Tessa had never been much of a weeper. Not even at Jeff's funeral. When family and friends stood in a tear-soaked trance by the grave, she'd watched it all dry-eyed. Once upon a time it had made her feel strong. Over the years she'd come to understand that her inability to cry wasn't a strength, but a curse.

The waitress stopped at her table again to refill her coffee mug. “How were the hotcakes?”

“Okay.” They were, in fact, underdone and tasteless.

“And the eggs and sausage?”

“It was all fine.”

Tessa had done a lot of traveling in her life. In her opinion, breakfast was the hardest meal to completely ruin. Sure, ordering hotcakes had been a bit on the chancy side. It was the promise of maple syrup that finally seduced her, although when it came, it wasn't warm, as it said it would be on the menu, and it wasn't pure maple syrup, it was maple-flavored syrup. In her mind, the difference was a chasm. She never ordered scrambled eggs in a dump like this because they usually came homogenized and were poured directly on the griddle from a plastic bag. If you ordered two eggs over medium, at least you got the real thing. Sausage was sausage. What else could you say.

“Honey, you're sure you don't want something else?”

Tessa had been driving for less than an hour when she'd stopped at the Village Bookstore in Grand Rapids to find herself something to read. Being without a good book was like cutting off one of her five senses. She'd ended up buying an entire stack. She'd tossed in a couple of maps and a magazine and before she knew what was happening, the man behind the counter had asked her for one hundred seventy-two dollars and sixty-eight cents. She paid for it out of the cash Jill had given her. At this rate, it would be gone in a matter of days.

“Honey? Did you hear me? Want something else?”

“No,” said Tessa. “And don't call me honey.”

The woman glared down at her. “Aren't you a charmer.”

“That's me.” Once insulted, a waitress rarely returned. That's what Tessa wanted. She had no interest in pursing useless chitchat. She'd leave the woman a good tip when she left. All would be forgiven.