Broken Grace Page 15

  “And this was Wednesday?”

  “Had to be Wednesday. We were pretty dead. It’s always busy on Fridays and Saturdays.”

  “And around what time was this?”

  “Oh, I’d say sometime after six o’clock. That’s when a big load of ’em come in.”

  “Was he with anyone?”

  “For a bit, yeah. His buddy Wesley came and joined him a little while later.”

  Hackett immediately flipped back through his notes.

  Bishop beat him to the punch. “Wesley Flynn?”

  “I don’t know last names. Just ‘Wesley’—one of his buddies from work. They been coming in for a couple a years, so I know a good many of ’em by name—first names, at least.”

  “So they’re sitting there, having a drink. Nothing out of the ordinary?” Bishop asked.

  “Well, they fought. Wesley slammed down his drink and took off.”

  “Could you tell what they fought about?” Hackett asked.

  “Hey, I ain’t no eavesdropper. I just know it was a fight because there were a few choice words thrown around and then, like I said, the guy stormed out. That’s all. I’m not saying he’s a murderer or anything though. These guys get a little hot now and then. Don’t mean nothin’.”

  The sun was setting when they came out of the bar. Hackett was ready to burst. “Flynn lied. He said he hadn’t seen him since Sunday.”

  Bishop smiled. “Yep, maybe we’re finally getting somewhere.”

  Bridgman, and that auto shop Jacks had fingered as the location of the illegal poker game, was only another ten-minute drive from Berrien Springs. When they arrived, they asked for Tom and were shown to a back room, where the owner sat behind a cluttered desk with a stack of receipts and a laptop in front of him. His gray shirt was covered in oil stains, his red-and-white name patch barely legible, his face marked with grease. He stood, offering his hand to Bishop first, his fingernails embedded with oil.

  “Hey, fellas, what can I do you for?” He sat back down, wiping his hands with a rag.

  “We heard you got a weekly high-stakes card game going on here,” Bishop said.

  The man stopped momentarily before continuing to work on his nails, his eyes never meeting theirs. “I don’t know where you’d hear that. Must have me confused with someone else.”

  “Cut the shit,” Bishop said. “We’re not interested in your backroom gambling. We’re interested in a couple players who were here week before last.”

  Tom stopped wiping his hands. “What do you mean?”

  “Tuesday, December third. You hosted a game. Michael Cahill came here with another man. We’re investigating his death. Apparently he lost an engagement ring in the game.”

  “So?”

  “What’d you do with it?”

  “I sold it.”

  “Where did you sell it?”

  “Here. His buddy came in to see me the next day. Apologized for his friend. He wanted to get the ring back for him.”

  “So you gave it to him?”

  “I sold it to him. That ring was worth about four grand. I have a buddy who knows these things.”

  “So the friend bought it back from you for four grand?”

  The man smiled. “I’m a generous guy. I cut a deal and gave it to him for three.”

  “How nice of you. And what was the name of the friend you sold it to?”

  “Wesley Flynn.”

  SIXTEEN

  GRACE TURNED TO THE VOICE BEHIND HER.

  “I knew that was you!” A young woman, probably the same age as her, clomped through the snow, trying to catch her breath. Her cheeks were flushed, her nose red. “I saw you pass the house in that truck a minute ago. Oh my God, Wesley said you were in an accident.” She pulled Grace into a tight embrace. “I ran over as soon as you passed.”

  The braided yarn on the woman’s brightly colored knit cap flew into Grace’s face. But Grace remained still, trying to place the woman and quiet the nerves that spiked through her chest with the sudden embrace. She pulled back to study her: same height, wavy dirty-blonde hair pulled back into two messy pigtails, a big white down coat that fell to her knees, red sweatpants, snow boots.

  “Grace, are you okay?”

  Grace took a step back.

  The woman took a step forward. “I was so worried. Mike was killed and you disappeared. We didn’t know what to think. And then Wesley told me that you’d been at the hospital all this time!”

  “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

  “What? Grace—what’s going on?” She removed her cap. “It’s Vicki! What happened to you?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Oh my God, Grace . . .” Then Vicki noticed the view inside the bedroom window. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I wanted to see if I could remember . . .”

  “Oh, Grace, you shouldn’t go in there.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “The police told me what happened. You know me well?”

  Tears pooled in Vicki’s eyes, and her voice softened. “We’ve been friends for, like, ten years.” She was pleading for recognition.

  Grace held her gaze, something she’d been unable to do with Dave Jacks or that hostess or even Lisa. The woman seemed heartbroken. Finally, someone who might be able to fill in more gaps. “Can you help me?” she asked.

  Vicki pulled her in for another embrace. “Of course. Come on, let’s go. It’s freezing out here.”

  Grace pulled back slowly, not wanting to let on that the hug had hurt her cracked ribs. “Where do you want to go?” she asked.

  “My house. I left Sammy. I’ve gotta get back. Come on. I’ll get us some coffee. We can talk.”

  She drove Vicki back to her house, a block down the road. It was a similarly small house, barely bigger than a matchbox, but at least there were signs of life, maybe of laughter and fun silenced by the harsh winter: a swing set in the side yard; plastic Adirondack chairs, covered in snow and positioned in a circle around what must have been a fire pit. Hanging above the front door, covered with a dusting of snow, was a hand-painted placard: HOME SWEET HOME. And sitting on the nearby windowsill, a small ashtray filled with butts.

  She sat at the kitchen table, finding nothing about the space—the toddler toys strewn about, the dried wildflower bunches hanging from hooks by the door, or the family pictures—familiar. But this woman, with her big green eyes, her worn-out Stray Dog sweatshirt, her skinny legs, felt familiar. Maybe it was her smile. One tooth wasn’t quite in line with the rest. It felt right, like she knew that smile. She could trust it.

  Vicki grabbed some mugs and turned on the coffee before joining her at the table. “I wish I had known sooner. I tried to find Lisa last week and see if she’d heard anything, but no one answered at the house, and when I called the bakery, she was never working.”

  “Yeah, she was by my side at the hospital all week.”

  “God, there’s so much to talk about. We were so worried. I showed the police your text from Friday, but of course once we’d been interviewed, I never saw them again. I called your cell a few times, but you never answered. I planned to come over and see you at Lisa’s, but Sammy’s been sick. I tried to call again, but no one ever answers.”

  Grace looked at her phone. “I didn’t have any messages.”

  “I didn’t leave any. Grace, you can’t believe all the crazy stuff I worried about. Mike was murdered and you were gone. I thought”—the tears returned and she quickly swiped them away—“I thought, what if you were kidnapped?” She shook her head. “I thought of a lot of terrible possibilities. I figured if you were alive you’d call me. His funeral was last Saturday.”

  “Funeral—for Michael?”

  “Yeah. His mother had it up in Grand Haven. Guess she saw no reason to have it here, but still, it seemed wrong. He never lived
there. All his friends were here. But maybe she wanted to be able to visit his grave or something. Anyway, we did the two-hour drive. Everyone said a prayer that you’d be found safe. Grace, we were all so worried.”

  “People didn’t think I killed him?”

  “No! Why would we think that?”

  “I don’t have an alibi. I can’t remember . . .”

  “Oh, Grace.” Vicki took her hand. “I’ve known you for ten years. Michael’s mother has known you forever. We knew this had nothing to do with you. The police will figure it out soon.” She stood and fetched the coffee. “So, is everything okay? You’re staying with Lisa?”

  “Yeah, she seems nice. But we’re strangers.”

  “Well, she did move out when we were thirteen, and you never really talked about her. But then again, maybe in a crisis . . . well, you are family.”

  Vicki poured the coffee, and Grace put both hands around the hot mug, heat spreading up through her fingers. “When’s the last time you and I spoke?”

  “About a month ago. I’m busy these days with Sammy, and you’re busy with school and work. But you texted me the night before it happened. You were gonna stop by after your morning run. You said you had some news.”

  “Did you know I was engaged?”

  Vicki smiled and shook her head. “But I knew he was going to ask.” She took Grace’s hand and smiled at the ring. “I’m so sorry . . .”

  “It’s okay. I mean, I don’t remember him. It’s hard to process what to feel. I guess you knew Michael pretty well, then?”

  Vicki took a sip and nodded. “God, this is so weird. Yes, I knew him well. I called him Mike, actually. You called him Michael only when you were mad. Mostly, you called him ‘babe,’” she said with a smile. “Anyway, Mike and Wesley were best friends.”

  “Wesley?”

  “My husband. Grace, this is fucked up. You can’t remember anything?”

  Grace looked around the space, suddenly self-conscious about freaking this woman out. “I’m getting flashes but I don’t know much. Can you tell me what you know about my relationship with Michael? Were we happy together?”

  “Well, that’s a loaded question, isn’t it? Are any of us happy?”

  Grace waited for a real answer.

  Vicki took a sip and looked out at the yard. “I just mean I know there were ups and downs. They’re men.” She shrugged.

  Grace took another sip. “So, we’re close friends, right?”

  Vicki nodded and smiled.

  “Did you know if I ever cheated on him?”

  “You mean with Dave?” Vicki asked.

  It was still a horrifying, baffling reality. “You knew about that?”

  “Yeah. But it doesn’t mean you didn’t love Mike. I know you did.”

  “But was I thinking about leaving him? Did I ever say anything?”

  “No.”

  So obviously she didn’t confide in Vicki about everything. “If the police find out I had an affair, it’s not going to look good.”

  “Affair? Hardly. It was a one-time thing. Did Dave tell you that you were having an affair?”

  “It wasn’t what he said. It was the way he looked at me. It seemed like we were . . .”

  “Dave is obsessed with you. I told you to quit that job. He’s a freak.”

  “Why did I do it?”

  “You went out with a bunch of coworkers, got shit-faced, and it happened. You didn’t know why. You didn’t want Mike to find out. You loved him.”

  “Do you think he found out?”

  “Not that I know of. I mean, I think he’d have told Wesley. And you are engaged,” she said, gesturing toward Grace’s hand.

  “Did he have enemies?”

  “Not that I knew of.” Vicki got some milk from the fridge and added a little to both cups. “Sorry, it was a little strong, right?”

  Grace thanked her before sipping again. “Better.” She put down the mug and continued. “What did you think of him—of Michael? The cops say he smoked a lot of pot and may have been a gambler.”

  Vicki chuckled and pulled the rubber bands from her hair, redoing the mess of waves into a bun. “That doesn’t mean much. You could be describing Wesley like that too. But it’s not like people were out to get them.”

  Grace watched her play with her long blonde hair and reached forward. “I remember that.”

  “What?” Vicki froze.

  Grace smiled. “You, playing with your hair.”

  “You always said I should be a makeup artist or hair stylist. Do you remember anything about your life?” Vicki asked carefully. “Your childhood?”

  “I’ve had a few flashes. But mostly I’m learning from everyone else. I learned that my parents were murdered.” Grace studied her mug, the crayon declaration WORLD’S BEST MOM, wondering what it all meant.

  Vicki nodded. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that morning the cops knocked on my door.”

  “Why did they come to you?”

  “You were with me. We were having a sleepover.”

  “That was you?”

  Vicki nodded. “I remember that night like it was yesterday.” A noise came from the baby monitor on the counter. She smiled. “That’s why I remember every detail of that night.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was the night I got pregnant.”

  “But I thought we were together?”

  “We were together, but not the whole time, of course. We snuck out. We always used to sneak out. You were dating Mike; I was dating Wesley.”

  “And no one knew?”

  “Well, your parents knew about Mike. They were against it, of course.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you were seventeen and he was twenty-seven. But we were smitten kittens.”

  Grace sat back, drinking the coffee, not even sure what to ask.

  “We snuck out a lot back then. You and Mike were so in love. We were all so stupid in love. You were even talking about running away together. But then your parents died. You didn’t need to run after that.”

  “You said you got pregnant that night—where did we go?”

  “Cherry Beach. It was late September. We made a bonfire in the sand, smoked some weed, went our own ways for a bit.” She raised her eyebrows. “And about an hour later, we got back together and went home. Ten months later, I had a new baby.”

  “Do I smoke pot? The cops found a lot of pot at the house.”

  Vicki shook her head. “No. If it’s one thing I know for sure, you and I have come a long way, baby. We may have been idiots when we were teenagers, but there wasn’t much to do. We grew up. At least you and I grew up. We may be only twenty, but I think it’s safe to say that you and I are the more mature ones in our relationships.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, men are stupid,” she said with a smirk. She stopped and looked at Grace. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to disrespect the dead.”

  Grace smiled. “It’s okay.”

  “At least you can get a fresh start,” Vicki said.

  “What?”

  “I mean, oh, nothing, I’m sorry. I just had a fight with Wesley, so he’s kind of on my shit list right now. I shouldn’t act like death is a better alternative. It’s just not always a good thing when your life decisions are made by seventeen, you know?”

  She didn’t know how to respond, so she sipped the coffee. It was much better than Lisa’s.

  Vicki perked up. “But hey, I got Sammy out of it, so I’m not complaining.”

  “Did anyone ever know that we snuck out with Michael and Wesley that night?”

  “Hell no. I would have gotten in so much trouble. It’s not like it mattered. Not after what happened.”

  “I’ve been trying to piece it all together—walking around m
y house, searching through basement boxes, but I—” She didn’t know how to describe it—would she sound crazy if she told her about hearing the crying girl?

  “You’ve been to the basement? The whole time I’ve known you, that basement was off-limits.”

  “Why?”

  “You refused to go down there. You said it was creepy.”

  “What did you know about my parents? Did I talk to you about them?”

  “Not really. I mean, they were parents; we were kids. Our goal was always to get away. And from the time I met you, even back when we were twelve, you didn’t like being at home much.”

  She listened while her thumb traced the lettering on her mug, wondering if her aversion to that house was based on fear.

  Vicki continued. “They seemed okay. I mean, we were teenagers. We all thought our parents were idiots. And it didn’t help that you started dating Mike. They forbade you from seeing him—they even threatened to report him to the police. So, of course, you fell in love and snuck out constantly.”

  “Did I ever talk to you about my parents being abusive?”

  Vicki looked a little stunned, like the idea was entirely new. “No,” she said. Neither said a word, the allegation hanging in the air. “You always wanted to sleep over though. We almost never went to your house. You once said your mom popped a lot of pills, but that’s it.”

  “Did you ever know me to have a temper?”

  Her blue eyes widened. “Not with me. No. No, Grace.”

  “Did I ever tell you that I’d slashed Michael’s tires?”

  Vicki laughed. She stood and put her mug in the sink. “That was you? You told me it happened, but you never said you did it.”

  “Do you think I could kill someone?”

  “Absolutely not. Well—I take that back. We could all kill someone, couldn’t we? I mean, if someone hurt Sammy, I think I’d kill him.”

  Grace wondered if her old self would have agreed, if everyone was capable of crossing that line if pushed to a certain limit. “Did Michael have a temper?”

  Vicki was looking back outside, messing with her bun, letting the hair fall again before braiding it. “I never saw it. Though when he drank too much, he could get a little . . .”