Better Left Buried Page 16
“Meet me in front of the rec field in five.”
Brea tossed her comforter over the side of her bed, not even bothering with a decoy, and put on a hooded sweatshirt to match the pants she was already wearing. Most of her shoes were either by the front door or in the garage, so she put on a pair of flip-flops she found in her closet.
There were two ways out of the house: the front door there was no way she’d risk sneaking out of at that hour and her bedroom window. She popped out the screen and leaned it against the wall.
It had been a longstanding joke between her mother and uncle that the enormous oak in front of their house was growing an escape route. It had, over the years, stretched a branch thick and long enough that with some practice, Brea had become adept at climbing down. She’d told them sneaking out that way was impossible every spring when they mentioned it.
But they should have known better.
She was somewhat athletic.
Brea lifted her window and shuddered when the breeze hit her blanket-warmed skin. Fall felt more like winter and there was frost on the grass that, if it wasn’t thawed by the time her mother went out front, would most likely show her footprints.
“Great.”
She looked both ways down the street for early risers and swing shift workers, expecting only Sheila, the nurse two doors down, to be awake at that hour. Visions of being caught by the neighbor had Brea in a panic.
She couldn’t move fast enough.
There was a six-inch drop to the tree. It wasn’t far, but it was a leap of faith. She hooked her other leg over the window ledge and stepped out onto the overhang of the window directly beneath her. The shingles were slick, covered with a fine layer of frost, and she partially closed her window, which was almost out of reach. Getting out was one thing, getting back in was another so she left an inch opening to make things easier on the return trip. The bare branches were one of the few advantages of this time of year. Cold as it was, at least there weren’t leaves to contend with. She skidded to the edge of the roof and jumped out to the branch, doubling over it and landing with a jolt to her ribs. Her feet found one of the lower branches and she slowly climbed down. One of her flip-flops fell off, making her wish she’d worn sneakers. She collected her errant shoe and ran with gazelle-wide strides across the lawn, leaving as few footprints as possible. She’d blame them on someone else if asked.
Brea looked for headlights, expecting Adam had lent Harmony his truck again. There was no sign of it, or her, in their usual meeting place, only a grimy sedan that might have once been red in a previous life.
Oh, God.
The realization jolted her: it was Lance’s Grand Prix.
Brea contemplated turning around, her gut instinct sounding a shrill inner alarm. This could only end badly for both of them. She stood on the side of the street, holding absolutely still as if maybe Harmony wouldn’t see her. She could slip away, unnoticed, and call Harmony, tell her she’d changed her mind, that she couldn’t get out, or that her mother woke up.
It wasn’t too late to back out.
The headlights came on, letting her know otherwise.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
A lot went unsaid, not unusual between Brea and Harmony, but for the first time in their friendship, they weren’t on the same page. There were secrets on both sides. A heavy presence surrounded them as they made their way through Oakwood Cemetery, not to do gravestone rubbings, but to talk.
Harmony had a backpack on her shoulder that put Brea ill at ease.
Headstone-shaped shadows covered the ground and an eternal flame flickered in the distance.
Brea tucked her hair behind her ears, unsure of what to say to break the tension when all she wanted to do was go home. “So, what’s with the tattoo?” Harmony’s sleeve had ridden up and the shine of ointment on fresh ink caught Brea’s attention. “Your mother’s going to have your head.”
“No, that’d be your mother, and she’d march you right to confession. My mother, if she ever turns back up, won’t even notice.”
Brea’s feet had nearly gone numb in her flip-flops. “Then what about Adam? Does he know you’ve been seeing Lance again? I mean, that is his handiwork, right? And his car we drove here in?” She didn’t mean to instigate, but everything she said sounded like she was looking for a fight.
“Since when are you on Adam’s side? He’s not the savior you think he is, Brea. And no, I didn’t tell him I was seeing Lance, though I’m sure he suspects. The two of them don’t run in the same circles. Without me admitting it outright, how would he find out?”
“The tattoo, maybe?”
“Or maybe you’d tell him. Is that what you’re getting at?”
“No, that’s not—” Brea was stunned. “Why would you even say something like that?” Harmony walked faster toward the mausoleum where they often sat. She sniffled and even with her back turned, Brea could tell she was crying. She caught up with Harmony and put her hand on her shoulder. “What’s going on? Will you please talk to me?”
Harmony stopped, squeezed her eyes shut, and drew a deep breath. It wasn’t like her to cry and Brea could see she was doing everything she could to stop it. “She sold me down the river.”
“Who did? What do you mean?”
“My mother. She called Sylvie and told her to send me to Midtown.”
“On purpose? Was she drunk? Maybe it’s some sort of misunderstanding. Why would she do that?”
Harmony hoisted the strap of the bag slipping off her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter why. She just did. That’s why I’ve been with Lance. Adam’s is the first place they’d look and the last place I want to be right now.”
This wasn’t typical Harmony. Adam had been a fixture for years. Something had happened between them.
“What did he do?” Brea hurried, careful not to jam her bare toes on one of the many potential hazards. Harmony shrugged and set her bag down in front of the mausoleum door. A long, stone slab sat beneath a pitched roof that provided perfect cover when it rained. “Did he hurt you?” Brea narrowed her eyes when she said it, unable to believe what she was even accusing him of. Adam was the guy who, for the most part, kept Harmony from hurting herself.
“No, all right? Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It’s not all right, Harmony. What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s nothing. We had a fight the night my mother took off, that’s all. I thought she was out getting high somewhere and that if I could just convince Bennett that I was dealing with things, this would all be over. I didn’t expect her to be the one to turn me in.”
“There’s got to be some way to fix this.”
Harmony sat with her head in her hands. “There’s no way. And I can’t go to Midtown with all of what’s happening.”
“What is happening?” Brea knew she didn’t just mean the fight with her mother or Adam. This had to do with Harmony’s father’s disappearance. Brea debated telling Harmony about the house and the photos of their families together, but Harmony would never believe her without seeing them.
“I don’t know, but I have to get to the bottom of it. Whatever this is, it won’t leave me alone and if I go to Midtown with this on my back, they’ll put me away. I’ll get buried so deep in the psychiatric system I’ll never get out. I’ll die before I let that happen.”
Brea knew Harmony meant it and cringed when she reached for the bag. She didn’t have to see it to know the spirit board was inside. “I don’t want to use that thing again, Harmony. I’m drawing the line.”
“I don’t have the luxury of chasing a bunch of half-ass leads, Brea. I need him to tell me what he wants and I need this over with.” Harmony lit three black candles and a sudden gust of wind extinguished them.
The sinking feeling Brea had had since opening her bedroom window magnified exponentially.
Harmony re-lit the candles and Brea reached into the bag for the replacement glass wrapped in a length of black fabric.
A tree branch snapped in the distance and a voice called out, “Freeze, right there.”
Brea lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the white light blinding her.
A thick pine tree line blocked them from view, but it also blocked their view of the gate. They hadn’t heard or seen anyone coming. She turned to tell Harmony to run, but she’d already gone.
The flashlight lowered and Brea immediately recognized Pat, one of the two police officers on-site, who also happened to work at her uncle’s precinct. She’d known the man her whole life.
“Brea? Is that you?” Officer Pat Mullins was the best case scenario, a man too kind to ever fit the cop stereotypes. His blue eyes held sympathy and his silver-haired head shook with disappointment. “What are you doing here?”
She shrugged, unable to tear her eyes away from the chase.
Harmony ran, faster than whoever was chasing her. She hurtled over headstones and hit the low chain link fence with a force that made the metal ring out.
“Stop!” the second officer called out.
Harmony scaled the fence and threw herself over the top with an ease the officer couldn’t mimic.
“Is that Bruce?” Brea said.
Bruce Sims was Pat’s polar opposite, a man so drunk with power he might as well have invented the cop stereotype. He never met a rule he didn’t like and enforced them with impunity.
“Afraid so.” Pat nodded.
“There’s no way I’m getting out of this, is there?” She knew the answer before she said it, but had to ask anyway.
“Afraid not.”
Bruce ran toward them, out of breath and red-faced. He wasn’t out of shape, especially not for a man in his mid-forties, but there was no shot at him outrunning Harmony, not when she was running for her life. He held his hands on his hips and took several recuperating breaths. “Where did she go, Brea?” He had the same severe stare as her mother and uncle.
“Who?”
“Don’t start with me, young lady. I saw it was Harmony. Where did she go?”
Admitting he was right, that it was, in fact, Harmony would put her in the worst possible situation. She decided to press her luck and play stupid. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you don’t, huh?”
Pat gave her a look that warned her to cooperate, but she wasn’t about to leave Harmony hanging out to dry.
“No. I have no idea who that was. I was here by myself.”
Bruce grew angrier and more impatient by the second. “This stuff here,” he picked up Harmony’s bag in one hand and the spirit board in the other, nearly knocking the glass over next to it, “this is yours?”
She nodded.
“And what about that car out front? The one reported stolen. You drive that, too?”
She shrugged. Everyone knew she didn’t have a license. Her mother had been using it as a bargaining chip to get her to stop hanging out with Harmony for the past year. “Please, let me go,” she said to Pat.
“Not a chance.” Bruce handed over Harmony’s things. “Take her back to the station, Pat. I’m going looking for the other one.” Pat and Bruce had apparently arrived in separate cars. Bruce called something in on his radio, a BOLO for everyone to “be on the lookout” for a girl matching Harmony’s description, and then he called Brea’s Uncle Jim.
“I’m sorry.” Pat ran his hands through his thinning gray hair. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”
Brea agreed, not that she had a choice. She didn’t want to walk home and even if she did, her uncle would have called her mother before she even hit the front door. It was better to face her mother in a public place and under police protection.
“Am I under arrest?”
Pat shook his head. “I know you didn’t steal that car.”
“Harmony didn’t either.” Brea tucked the spirit board inside the bag and wrapped the glass. “If you just let me explain—” She didn’t have an explanation, really, but she had to try. Pat was her only shot at getting Harmony out of this.
“Not here. We have to go.” Pat headed through the trees toward his car.
Brea wondered if he wasn’t giving her a chance to run, too, but there was nowhere to go. She was too highly visible and fleeing punishment wasn’t her MO. She flip-flopped through the frosty grass, hot despite the freezing cold and high on adrenaline.
A tow truck backed up to Lance’s car, presumably to take it to impound.
“I don’t have to ride in the back, do I?”
“No.” Pat opened the passenger’s side door as a courtesy.
“This whole thing is a big misunderstanding. Really, if you called Lance and let him know it was Harmony, I’m sure this could all be cleared up. She’s like his girlfriend or something. I don’t know. She’s been staying with him since the recent trouble with her mom—”
“Probably better we don’t talk about that.” Pat picked up the radio and called the station.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Pat kept his eyes on the road and two hands on the wheel. He seemed nervous and muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “When will this ever end?”
“When will what ever end?”
“Huh?” Pat looked as though he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
“You said ‘When will this ever end?’.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
He turned up the radio broadcasting details of a call in progress.
Brea listened to see if it had anything to do with Harmony.
“Has anyone called Charity?” She knew she shouldn’t ask, but couldn’t help wanting to get Harmony out of the jam she was in. She was a lot of things, but Brea had a really hard time believing she was a car thief.
“I’m sure your uncle has,” Pat said.
“Did you talk to him?”
Pat nodded. “I called him on the way to the car. I didn’t know what to do with you. He’s not too happy right now, I can tell you that.” Brea rolled her eyes at the understatement. “And your mom’s on her way to the station.”
Suddenly the comment Harmony had made about bars on the windows didn’t seem so unrealistic.
“What happens now?”
“That depends on you, kid. Your uncle and mother are going to do as much as they can to help you, but I don’t think it’s in your best interest to repeat that stunt you pulled with Bruce. If you know where Harmony is, or even where she might be, you’d better speak up.” He cleared his throat and stopped at a red light, making eye contact for the first time since they’d gotten in the car. “Hasn’t she gotten you in enough trouble?” Clearly her uncle had said more than “Let her ride in the front seat”. “You should consider a better class of friends.”
“You know how many times I’ve heard that? My mother, my uncle, my father when he bothers to call … ‘Get better friends’, ‘Stay away from Harmony’, it’s all I hear from them and now you, too. Whatever happened between Harmony and Lance, she didn’t steal his car. At most, she borrowed it.”
“Is there a difference?”
“In this case, yes.”
“And what if I told you Lance found powder in a drinking cup, that Harmony drugged him to borrow his car? Would you still think it was a misunderstanding?”
Brea sighed, remembering the night Harmony showed up in Adam’s truck. He wasn’t the lending kind.
“She’s out of control,” Pat said. “That whole family is out of control.”
“What is it with you people and persecuting her because of her family? She made some mistakes, but they weren’t always so bad. Don’t you think it’s possible that they’re trying to do the best they can with the hand they’ve been dealt?”
“It’s a nice thought, but they made their beds.”
“Did they?” That particular idiom was one of her mot
her’s favorites: “You made your bed, now lie in it”. Why anyone would lie in a made bed was beyond her, but she got his meaning. He seemed to know something about the Wolcott’s past, and attributed their bad fortune to it. She decided to see just how much he knew. “It all started with Tom.”
“You remember Harmony’s father?”
“No, but she does. She’s determined to track him down. I mean, given the state of things, you can’t blame her for wanting something better, can you? I don’t have the heart to tell her.”
“Tell her what?”
“That her father is worse than her mother, and that she’s not likely to find him. Uncle Jim told me about the stabbing. Charity could’ve died. Harmony, too, for that matter. Our families were best friends for cripes sake, until that accident. An event like that destroys everything.” She played him, using every bit of factual evidence in her arsenal to make him believe she knew the whole story.
Pat shook his head. “You were never supposed to be collateral damage. Your father never should have gone back there.”
Brea paused, not immediately sure she was hearing right. She’d done some research and the timeline of Tom’s disappearance and her father leaving were off by months. “You’re right. He shouldn’t have, but he did.” She baited him by agreeing. “What was he supposed to do?”
“He could’ve let it drop. He could’ve stayed gone and Tom would’ve never started that fight. Your father would’ve never been a suspect. I mean, it was ridiculous. Everyone knew your parents were the perfect couple. Tom was jealous. He was drunk.”
Brea couldn’t believe what Pat was alluding to.
Tom was jealous of what?
Were there rumors about her father and Charity?
“So you know Tom didn’t just up and leave, too?”
“Of course I did. Everyone knew, but there was no evidence. Tom was gone, plain and simple. A man like him, who beat women and stabbed their wife in front of their child, who was going to miss him?”
She was starting to understand why his ghost was so angry.