The plows and the sun were out the next day. So were the police.
The coyotes, who had been cooped up too long, were nowhere in sight. They had probably fled for the hills to play in the snow, and Riley took the opportunity to strip the couch, throw their blankets into the washer, and air out the place. Sometimes, the best way to still your mind was to busy your hands, and she’d kept at it all morning, unstuffing the pelts, bagging the Poly-fil, and hiding all of it in the furnace room behind the staircase.
Chief Foster must have seen the windows and basement door open a few inches, because instead of driving up to the front of the house, he pulled up to the garage door.
Heart pounding, Riley quickly sprayed the room with pumpkin-spice air freshener to cover any lingering doggy smell and calmly waited to greet him.
“Ah, Paul. It’s you. I was expecting Santa Claus,” she said, humoring the Christmas-like scene and gesturing to the winter wonderland with a sweep of her hand.
A smile broke his serious countenance. “Crazy weather, huh? Tomorrow it’s expected to reach forty.”
“Good. Maybe this will all melt, and we can enjoy Thanksgiving before it starts feeling like Christmas again.”
He stood there in his bomber jacket, flexing his gloved hands as he looked up at the sky, then at her. “You have a minute?”
“Sure. Come on in. Have coffee.”
“I can’t stay.” He tapped the toes of his boots against the door saddle, knocking the snow off before stepping inside. Riley closed the door behind him.
“Nice pool table,” he said.
“Thanks.”
He glanced around the room, twisting his nose and sniffling the way he did when he had something on his mind.
“What’s up?”
“Well, Jim Barrett got himself in some trouble last night.”
“Trouble?” Riley’s heart sank. If Jim was still alive, she was in even bigger trouble. “What’d he do?”
“Set some illegal traps. Looks like he was trying to catch coyotes…maybe a bear.”
“On my property?” Riley shook a finger at him for dramatic effect. “I want that bastard arrested for trespassing.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. He’s dead.”
With quiet relief, Riley exchanged her angry theatrics for a display of worry. “Where are Fiona and Edy? Please don’t tell me he hurt—”
Paul held up a hand. “Calm down. They’re fine. It wasn’t a domestic dispute. We got a call from Mrs. Barrett last night. She’d taken her daughter to a Halloween party at the school. When she got home Jim’s car and truck were there, but he wasn’t in the house. She said he’d been spending time up on state land, monitoring his trail camera, so she didn’t think anything of it. She and the kid fell asleep watching television. It was after midnight when she woke up, and he still wasn’t back. That’s when she knew something was wrong.”
Riley doubted she’d fallen asleep. Fiona must have known something was awry the moment she got home and found Jim gone. But she’d purposely waited hours before reporting him missing.
“We found him up on state land between your property and his.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry, Paul. One less wifebeater in the world, you know? What’d he do, anyway? Fall and hit his head?”
“Nope. Got caught in his own traps. Coroner says he froze to death.”
“How could he get himself caught in a cage trap?”
“No cage. Legholds.”
“They’re prohibited here.”
“I don’t think a man who beats his wife cares much about the law. He had a whole bunch of ‘em set close together like he had a bone to pick with some animal. Strange…like someone setting fifty traps in a kitchen to catch one mouse who keeps outsmarting them.”
Riley stood there, her back to the open doorway of the deeper basement. The lights were on over the workbench in there, and Paul’s eyes kept shifting, as though he was looking at something over her shoulder.
“Did he catch any coyotes?”
“Just himself. Found an empty bottle of booze in the snow. Looks like he might have been sitting up there for a while, drinking himself silly. Might have lost his bearings and stumbled into his own traps. Mrs. Barrett said he’d set them before he left town.” Paul shook his head. “Decent men don’t leave animals to suffer. Did I ever tell you about the time I got my finger caught in one?”
“You did.”
“Yow!” He shook a gloved hand.
“That’s exactly what you said.”
“I guess the word humane wasn’t in Mr. Barrett’s vocabulary. Look how he treated his family. And he tried to boil a pet turtle. Isn’t that what you said? Unless he was bluffing…”
“The turtle was in the pot, Paul.”
“Whew! They say being boiled alive is the most excruciating way to die. People were executed that way centuries ago. Not a quick way to go. Takes a long time. Heck, I couldn’t even boil a lobster without killing it first, let alone my own turtle.” He blew out a breath, as if he couldn’t bear the thought. Neither could Riley. “Anyway, his wife says he’d stopped drinking years ago, but that lately he’d been off kilter, paranoid about the open case they had on him, and about her discussing the family’s business in therapy. She showed me bruises on her arms and legs…even on her stomach.” Normally, hearing this would have sent Riley over the edge, but it didn’t. Fiona would have no more bruises.
Paul bit down hard on his lip, as if seeing the marks on Fiona had enraged him. “Mrs. Barrett said he’d threatened to kill the three of them—her, their daughter, and himself—if she reported him. At least we only needed one body bag. Better this happened before a worse tragedy did. We’re guessing the traps were covered with snow, and he misjudged his steps, got a boot caught in a bear trap, and—”
“A bear trap?”
“Yep. Old steel jaws. Grisly looking things. Probably belonged to his Uncle Dennis. We’re guessing he must have fallen forward when it grabbed him and got his hand caught in a coyote trap. Nothing much he could do at that point except pull out a gun.”
“He had a gun?”
“Fired it, too. Looks like some hungry coyotes came around, deciding to turn the tables and make a meal of him. Hard to tell if he hit one, with the snow and all. “That’s why I stopped by. To ask if you heard a gun fired.” His eyes shifted to the back room again.
What the heck was he looking at? “No, Paul. Nothing.”
“You were probably out. Miriam mentioned you all getting ready for a costume party.”
“I ended up not going because of the storm.”
“Ah, so you were home?”
“Actually, I spent the early evening having coffee with Reverend Cortez.”
“The reverend? You?” His beady blue eyes focused on her again, and he gave something of a smirk. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in church, Riley.”
“You haven’t, but David and I have gotten friendly because of the kittens. He’s been over to see Luna, and I got to visit her two sisters last night. I didn’t leave until after Tony plowed the parking lot,” she added, thinking that would satisfy him.
His eyes moved to the back room again. All evidence was hidden away, but still, she didn’t want him back there. It wasn’t exactly the scene of a crime, but the workshop was where she’d masterminded and prepped for it, and the thought of the chief of police nosing around that private space made her nervous.
Paul finally gestured with his chin to whatever had his attention. “I think you got a leak coming from somewhere.”
“Huh?”
He pointed, and Riley turned around to see a little puddle of water shining on the floor.
“Hmm…I didn’t notice that. I’ll check it out, call Scott if I have to,” she said, attempting to dismiss the leak and hoping to escort him out the door.
“Well, now, just hang on a second. Don’t go calling Scott yet. Those plumbers charge an arm and a leg. Might just be a valve that needs tightening.” Paul sidestepped her and headed toward the back. “Scott took Miriam on a date, you know.”
“I know,” Riley said, walking close behind him.
“He picked her up, looking all spiffy. Took her to a nice place, too. The Cork and Hearth, that restaurant on the lake up in Lee—even brought Doris flowers. We like the guy.”
“Let’s hope Miriam likes him,” Riley said, and suddenly jolted at the sight of Van Gogh’s pelt dangling above her workbench. Paul didn’t notice, though. He was busy squinting at the floor, following the trickle of water toward the pump way in back and talking as he walked.
“Eh, Miriam doesn’t like his ears. Says they’re too big. But I got a feeling she might be falling for the rest of him.” He chuckled to himself. “I mean, if the only thing you can find wrong with a guy are his ears…” He stopped and looked up. “You got another light in here?”
“Sure.” Riley rushed ahead of him, pulling the string on a bright bulb that lit up the back area.
Joining the water pipes above the pump and along the ceiling was a small condensation tank, no bigger than a football. “Here’s your problem,” he said, pulling off one glove and reaching up. Six feet tall, he didn’t even have to stretch to touch the nut on the bottom of the tank. “This is your problem. “I could tighten this, but…see, it’s not the nut. The metal around it is rusted out. Looks like you’ll need Scott after all. You got a pail or something to catch the drip?”
“I do.” Riley went and got a pail by the slop sink, glancing up at the fox pelt as she passed. And then she saw it—a trap attached to a rusted chain in the corner of the workbench. She hadn’t bothered to clean it. It was too tiny for anything larger than a fox, and she’d pushed it out of the way between some bottles and a couple of small cans of paint. Riley thought to grab and hide it, but Paul was looking in her direction now.
She brought the pail to him and he set it on the floor, positioning it under the pipe and waiting a minute until he heard the drip hit the bottom. “Always something, owning a house.”
“I know, right? Always something.” Riley pulled the string on the light overhead and tried to keep the conversation going long enough to distract and get him out of there. “But just think, if Scott becomes your son-in-law, you’ll never have to pay for a plumber. Maybe we’ll all get a discount.”
“True that.” He laughed, looking around as cops do as they walk, convinced that something of interest might be hiding in plain sight. “But the wedding will cost me,” he said. “It’ll take years to make back my money in free plumb—” He stopped short, and Riley almost bumped into him.
Paul knew she didn’t hunt or trap. His brow furrowed. “What’da ya got here, a fox?”
Riley kept quiet while he went over and took the tail in his gloveless hand. It was stiff as cardboard, the fur brittle and not properly preserved. He rubbed it between his fingers, concentrating the way psychics do when trying to get a message from an object belonging to a missing person. And apparently a message came through, because he suddenly scanned the surface of the workbench, quickly zeroing in on the rusted trap and chain between the cans.
Riley started to bolt, but her feet felt cemented to the floor. The silence felt unbearably heavy, broken only by drips from the condensation tank hitting the bottom of the plastic pail. They sounded magnified, like drops of water in an underground cave. Everything seemed to move in slow motion—Paul letting go of the tail, his head swiveling, his sharp and beady blue eyes locking on hers.
The blood left Riley’s head, guilt and fear must have filled her eyes, and she began to ramble. “Oh, that’s Van Gogh hanging there. A little fox I used to feed. I know because he has a torn ear. See it? I loved that little thing. Would you believe his pelt was in a pile of junk behind the Barretts’ house…you know, that day I called 911? It was tangled in the chain of that trap there. I grabbed the whole thing…couldn’t bear to see his remains thrown out with the garbage.”
Paul wasn’t saying a word. He just listened and stared with that I know that you know that I know look. Five minutes ago, it had bothered Riley that he kept looking past her. Now she wished he would look away.
It was hard to tell exactly what he was thinking, but he was thinking, his cop mind sorting through pieces of a puzzle in record time. Wasn’t that why he was chief of police? It’s what he got paid for—solving crimes, picking up on clues, knowing when someone was lying. He studied her, his pupils constricting to little dots of black, as though he didn’t want to grasp what he saw.
Riley’s mouth felt dry. He’d probably make a call any minute, take her down to the station, get a search warrant. She had no other traps in the house, but they’d find the bagged coyote pelts and Poly-fil, still wet from the snow, and the bear urine in one of her coat pockets.
This was it, her moment of reckoning. It was time to get to her rifle. Fuck. Double fuck. She’d almost pulled it off. What a crappy conclusion to an otherwise perfect crime, cleverly carried out. Too bad her brother had shown up. It would have been easier to have Jim shoot her in the back than have to pull the trigger herself.
David…it would have been nice getting to know him, spending more time—introducing him to her pack and running in fur when his wound was healed. She’d waited half her life to find him, to discover who she was, where she came from. Now it was time to go.
Fiona would be devastated. Barbara would be, too, but she’d come to terms with her grief, knowing that Riley had made a conscious choice to sacrifice her life. Peggy would take the news of her death the hardest. Hopefully Barbara would still have drugs in that basket of hers, because Peggy would need to be heavily sedated.
Riley only wished she could see Fiona one last time—hug her, hold her tight, advise her to move on and be happy. She wanted to tell her that she loved her, with all her heart. Edy, too. She was a great kid with a wonderful spirit, certain to grow up and help make the world a kinder place…like Riley hoped she’d done by setting them free. Now, if only Paul would let her go upstairs to set herself free before he took her into custody. She eyed the cuffs hanging on his belt, not sure how it all worked and what would come next.
“Paul? I’m sorry, but could you please give me just one minute? I really need to use the bathroom. Badly.” Riley grimaced and squeezed her thighs together for emphasis.
“Um…sure,” he said, finally breaking his stare, then wandered ahead of her, back into the rec room, and started that sniffling of his.
“Thanks,” Riley said. “I’ll be right back.” She started up the stairs. The story of her life had come to an end. Considering it hadn’t had a happy beginning, she’d never expected it to have a better ending. It would for Fiona, though. Maybe not now, but in the long run.
Riley had made it up only five steps when Paul said, “You know what, Riley? Don’t bother coming back down. I’ll see myself out.”
Stunned, she turned around on the stairs. “You’re leaving?”
Paul didn’t answer. He seemed engaged in some kind of internal dialogue, wrestling with his own thoughts. His hand was in his pocket now, jingling the coins in his pants, his nose twisting this way and that way as he walked around, glancing at the pool table. “Yep,” he finally said, as if he’d come to an agreement with himself. He took his hand out of his pocket, wiggling it back into his tight leather glove. “I guess the bastard got what was coming to him, huh? What the heck was he thinking out there anyway, drunk as a skunk, illegally trapping in the middle of a snowstorm? Seems like an open-and-shut case, if you ask me.” Paul nodded and went to the door. Speechless, Riley came down the stairs and followed him out.
The sky was cloudless, bluer than blue, snow-covered evergreens sparkling in the sun. “All Saint’s Day,” he said. “Looks more like Christmas morning, doesn’t it?” He stood there, gazing at nature’s splendor, his eyes never meeting hers again.
“It does.”
“Funny, but I see pretty sights like this and think, it’s good to be alive. I didn’t always think that way, you know.” He walked halfway to the silver patrol car, then stopped with his back to her and stared up at the sky. “Once, not too long ago, I was a dead man walking. You brought me back to life, Riley…brought my family back…saved my little girl. We’ll never get our son back, but what’s done is done, what’s gone is gone, right?”
“Right…” Riley watched him continue on.
He opened the car door, reached his fingers underneath his bomber jacket and hoisted up the waist of his pants. “Yep,” he said again, scanning the trees one more time. “Maybe we’ll all be going to a wedding one day soon.”
“Miriam and Scott?”
“If she plays her cards right.” He smiled to himself and got in. “I’m glad I have a daughter to walk down the aisle. If not for you, Doris and I would have buried her, too. That would have killed us for sure.” He puffed his cheeks and shook his head. “You’re a good person, Riley. A good therapist. I guess you know what you’re doing.”
“Thank you, Paul.”
“He started the car, and before he shut the door said, “If I don’t see you, have a good Thanksgiving.”
A good Thanksgiving? It would be the best ever. She had more thanks to give than she knew what to do with. “You, too, Paul.”
Riley watched him back out, then went inside and closed the basement door. She leaned against the wall, her knees buckling, and slid to the floor. She felt like she’d been holding her breath since he arrived, and with a loud exhalation she let it out and began sobbing until she emptied all the air from her lungs.
* * *
Riley’s car was in the driveway, but she wasn’t there when Fiona pulled up to the house. Four o’clock and it was getting dark. She rang the bell a few times, knocked, and waited. No response. Maybe she was in the bathroom or basement, maybe out in the woods, checking the property for storm damage. Not much snow was left in the driveway. Just puddles of slush that would freeze when night fell. She wandered over to the tree line and peered in at the white blanket of snow in the otherwise shadowed woods. No boot prints. Plenty of coyote tracks, though. She smiled at the thought of spending time here with them…making friends…if coyotes did that sort of thing.
Fiona went back to the door, knocking harder this time, and when she began shivering got back in the car and turned on the heat. She’d wait, but not too long. And hopefully she wouldn’t fall asleep. She hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours. Olivia’s parents, Michael and Charles, had done her a favor and kept Edy overnight so Fiona could take care of matters. She’d need to pick Edy up within the hour, though, and keep her therapy appointment. Not that Edy was acting like she needed it. She’d taken the news of her father’s death pretty well. Too well. Edy hadn’t even cried when Fiona broke the news of her father’s accident the night before last. Fiona had informed Dr. Spencer, of course, and they had chatted a while by phone, Peggy impressing upon her that the grief process was often delayed in children—sometimes for months, even years. After today’s session, she and Edy would head up to her parents’ house to finalize arrangements with the funeral home, and with her father, who would be officiating at the service.
It was hard to believe Jim was gone—hypothermia, according to the coroner’s preliminary report. Part of her wanted to collapse with relief when they found him dead; the other part wanted to jump up and down, dance in celebration. It sounded awful, but she didn’t feel one bit guilty.
Fiona stared through the windshield. The afternoon light was fading fast. In the gloaming she could no longer see into the interior of the trees. She hated leaving for the week without seeing Riley. Of course, she could always phone her later tonight. Even that, the simple act of making a call, was a newfound freedom.
She turned on her headlights, about ready to turn the car around, when a coyote came running out from the shadows. A coyote larger than any she’d ever seen. It froze when it saw her, and she stared at it through the windshield, absolutely transfixed. Then, just as fast, it bolted, disappearing around the side of the house. Fiona put the car in park. It was larger than the other coyotes. Something was strangely familiar about the way it looked at her, and she sat for a minute trying to grasp the feeling it stirred in her. The sensation was like waking up and getting a flash of a dream you’d had, but losing it before you could remember the rest.
The windows of the house lit up, then the porch lights came on, and the front door opened. “Hey,” Riley said, smiling awkwardly. She stood there barefoot, fiddling with the zipper of her jeans. “When did you get here?”
Fiona left the motor running and got out. “A while ago.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. I was in the shower.”
That was highly doubtful. She had bits of ice in her hair, like she’d been rolling around in the snow. And what was that? A pine needle stuck in her hair?
“Come on in and warm up,” Riley said, shifty-eyed, her smile pasted on. “You want coffee? Tea? I can make us hot chocolate if you want.”
Those eyes, golden, whiskey-colored…She’d swear she had looked into them moments ago. The image Edy had drawn of a coyote with human eyes, the one presumed to be her imaginary friend, flashed through Fiona’s mind, causing a sudden wave of dizziness as she stepped into the mudroom. What Riley had jokingly confessed the night they’d made love, about her family leaving the lake house because she’d turned into a…
Nonsense. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. Fiona forced the ridiculous notion from her mind. “I can’t stay,” she said. “I was hoping to spend a little time with you, but now I’m running late.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and when Riley opened her arms, Fiona let herself go and almost collapsed into them.
They held each other tight, saying nothing. There was really nothing to say. Fiona didn’t need to inform Riley of Jim’s death. The story of the season’s first blizzard claiming the life of a man who’d gotten caught in his traps and frozen to death had hit the news yesterday morning. “I don’t know what happened,” she said, struggling not to break down in Riley’s embrace. “But thank you.”
“How’s Edy?”
“She’s okay.”
“And you?”
“Would it be wrong to say I’ve never felt better, safe for the first time in years?”
“Everyone has a right to feel safe in their home.”
Fiona tried to contain herself, but she began to tremble. “My life…Edy’s life…it was horrible. But I didn’t know how horrible until I got into bed last night and he wasn’t there.” Fiona pulled away and took Riley’s hands in hers. “I have so much to do. We’re heading up to Lenox tonight.”
“When’s the funeral?”
“Later this week. The medical examiner won’t release the body until tomorrow.”
Riley nodded. “I’d come to pay my respects, but I don’t think your mother would appreciate my presence.”
“It’s best you stay here. She doesn’t need to know Jim died and you just happen to be back in my life. After the holidays, when everything settles, I’ll sit them down. In their frantic attempt to save their gay daughter from going to hell, they turned my life into a living hell. If they can’t acknowledge that fact, if they want to disown me a second time, so be it. I’ve been living against my own nature…I can’t live a lie anymore.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. “We’ll be up there for the week,” Fiona said. “And then Edy needs to get back to school. I’ll be leaving her with Michael and Charles off and on, spending as much time as I can clearing Jim’s things out of my parents’ basement. There’s so much stuff down there. I want to get rid of every last piece of him.”
“Edy could stay with me.”
“She’d love that, but you’d have to get her to the bus stop and pick her up in the afternoons. It would interfere with your work schedule. It’s easier having her stay with Olivia.”
“What about Gomez and Morticia?”
“We’re taking the turtles with us tonight.”
“When you get back next week, you could show me what to do. I can run over and take care of them while you go back and forth.”
“Would you? They’re indoors for the winter. I could put their lamps on timers. You’d just have to feed them and change their water.”
“Sure. Or you could even set up the turtles here. They can have the empty room upstairs.”
“That’s an idea. I was going to ask if…”
“What?”
“Well…after Thanksgiving, would it be okay if Edy and I just slept here…maybe until after Christmas?” She was about to cry again. “You talk about people having a right to feel safe in their own home…and I know I am now, but…at night, when it gets dark, I keep imagining that he’s not really dead…that he’s going to kick the door down and kill me. Last night I was feeling such relief, but then I had a panic attack like…I don’t know, Riley…” She rubbed her forehead and felt her lip trembling, “I feel like I have PTSD or something.”
“Ya think?” Riley’s smile was gentle, understanding. “That’s why it’s important to stay in therapy a while longer.”
“Peggy’s wonderful. I know she’s bending the rules, seeing me and Edy. I feel bad about that, but I hope she isn’t thinking of transferring me to another therapist.”
“Well, I can’t see you for obvious reasons, and although our new intern Madison is great, neither of us would entrust your and Edy’s care to an intern. Peggy can handle it. So far she’s done a good job of compartmentalizing. And as far as you and Edy sleeping here goes, stay as long as you like.”
“Thanks. I figured that way I could spend the days clearing out and starting repairs on the farmhouse and outbuildings. It’s just the thought of being there at night that creeps me out.”
“Understood. And don’t worry about money,” Riley said. “My parents paid me well to disappear. What’s mine is yours.”
“I appreciate that, but I’ll be okay. I have a five-hundred-thousand-dollar term policy on Jim.”
Riley raised her brow. “Nice!” It would be Jim’s way of paying for his sins, like it or not. “I’m willing to match that amount. If you need a benefactor—someone to help get a woodworking shop, gallery, and that sanctuary up and running—I’m your girl.”
“You’ve always been my girl, Red.” She smoothed her hand over Riley’s chest. Her flannel shirt was warm but slightly damp, as though she’d put it on while her skin was wet. She smiled, studying Riley’s face through glassy eyes, fighting to maintain a grip on herself so she could see to drive. “I love you,” she said, delivering a sweet and tender kiss to Riley’s lips before she left.
“I love you, too,” Riley said in a way that sounded genuine but somehow platonic.
“Are we okay, Red?”
“Sure,” Riley said, but Fiona sensed they weren’t. Something was making Riley hold back.
She left her standing in the doorway, still barefoot, and managed to pick Edy up and get to therapy on time. After their sessions ended, they grabbed dinner at a drive-thru and headed back to the farm for their bags and the turtles.
“I miss her,” Edy said as they passed Riley’s house.
“She misses you, too.”
“How do you know? You saw her?”
“I did. This afternoon. Just for a few minutes.”
“You went there without me?”
“You were in school, baby. I had so much to do today.”
Edy clucked her tongue, her tone indignant. “You could have waited for me. Did you see Luna?”
“No. I didn’t have time to go in. Riley and I just talked at the door.”
“What about?”
“About your father’s…accident. Riley extends her sympathy.” Edy was quiet. “And speaking of talking, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“What?”
“That coyote of yours. Have you seen it?”
“Why?”
“I was just wondering…I saw one in Riley’s driveway today.”
“Hm. Was Riley with you when you saw her?”
“Uh…no, actually, she wasn’t.”
“Did the coyote see you?”
“It did, yeah.”
“What’d she do?”
“When it saw me? I think I spooked it and—”
“She, Mom. You keep saying it. It’s a she.”
“Right. Sorry. She froze when she saw me. She was so beautiful. We stared at each other, and then…just that fast, she bolted and ran behind the house.”
“And then what happened? Riley came to the door after that?”
“A few minutes later, yes. Why?” Fiona turned in the driveway, put the car in park but left the engine running to keep the heat going. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Maybe.”
“Then maybe you should.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”
“Try me.”
“I’ll think about it.” Edy started to unbuckle her seatbelt, but Fiona put a hand out to stop her.
“Right now, Edy. Tell me. I promise to believe you.”
Edy blew out an exaggerated huff. “Okay, if you really want me to, but…I don’t think you want to know, Mom.”