She’d come to the lodge expecting to be alone, but now that she finally was, Sarah wasn’t sure what to think or feel. Nic was still in town, Janine out cleaning cabins. Holly had gone for a run, saying it was time she shook off her self-pity and got moving.
As intrigued as she was by the finds in Caro’s trunk, she had work to do. She couldn’t inventory dirt. And if her mother did decide to sell, they had to know what work the place needed. She took her notebook and phone to the top of the house. Room by room, she snapped pictures, took measurements, and made notes. In between rooms, she made trips to the cellar to move laundry—sheets, towels, and curtains Janine brought in from the cabins.
She set a basket of towels on a kitchen chair. Mundane tasks like folding laundry could be meditative. Other times, they opened the cracks that let sadness creep in, the spidery, many-fingered tendrils of sorrow in a life. All the things that were supposed to be perfect, but never were.
When had she become such a mope?
She reached for the next towel. It didn’t come and she gave it a tug.
“Meeow.”
“Oh. Bastet.” She scooped up the cat, one claw catching on a thin white dish towel that fluttered up with her. Fluttered like the nightgown on the woman in the dream.
Sarah loosened the cat’s claw from the fabric. “Who are you?” she asked. “What do you want from me?”
But she wasn’t talking to the cat.
“Sarah?”
“Nic. You’re back.” Sarah set the cat on the floor and picked up the towel. Saturday, the stitching read, beneath the outline of a girl hanging laundry. Apt. She tossed it aside to rewash, then turned on the heat under the teakettle. “Perfect timing. The cat and I were just about to take a break. What did you find out in town?”
“I hardly know where to start. I met Dan Fleming for lunch at the Spruce. Nice guy.”
“So why was he in business with Lucas?”
“You cynic, you.” Nic cracked a wry smile and sat. “They kept separate clienteles. He had no idea Lucas had done any work for McCaskill Land and Lumber.”
Curious. Sarah plunked bags in two heavy white mugs.
“He’s been interviewed at length, of course,” Nic continued. “He was meeting with clients when Lucas was killed.”
“What about Misty?” The kettle whistled. Sarah filled the mugs and set them on the table. She checked her chair for the cat before she sat, but the creature had disappeared. “They live in Whitefish, right?”
“Right. She keeps an office above the shop there, where she was holed up all afternoon. Dan says the sheriff’s office confirmed both alibis. Thanks.” Nic spooned sugar into her tea. “He’s adamant that there was nothing going on between him and Misty until after she left Lucas, but Lucas didn’t believe that.”
“Was Lucas serious about a congressional run?”
“Dan doesn’t think so. Lucas was really good at shaking hands and making promises, but the job is a lot more work than that.”
Sarah frowned, wondering why her brother had done business with the man.
Nic took a quick sip, then set her mug down, holding it with both hands. “I was in the prosecutor’s office when she got a call from the state crime lab.”
“About the letters? That’s the only physical evidence they have now, unless they’ve found the gun and matched the fingerprints.”
“No. No gun yet. And it’s harder to get prints from a gun than you think. Plus, it’s a common model. How did your cousin put it? ‘Guns are like pine cones in Montana. Shake any tree and at least one will fall out.’ There’s probably a .38 in half the houses in the valley.”
Her mother hadn’t wanted guns around the kids, so her father kept his deer rifles and the shotgun he used to hunt ducks in a safe in his office. And the handgun he always carried in the woods. You never knew what trouble you’d run into, he’d said. You might hit a deer on the highway and need to put it down. If Connor did the same, he’d left it in his truck when he came inside.
“They can’t seriously believe,” Sarah said, “that Janine would ever own a gun, let alone use it. Not after what happened with her mother.”
“We know that, and I reminded Leo and the prosecutor. But our beliefs don’t prove anything.”
“And you called me a cynic.”
“They have to be skeptical. Because people aren’t consistent. Our observations aren’t as accurate as we think they are, and they’re influenced by what we want to believe,” Nic said. “Every single one of us has done something even our closest friends never imagined we would do.”
Not a reminder she actually needed.
“Here’s where things get ugly. Two things. I probably shouldn’t tell you either one.”
“Nic. Tell me.” Sarah put her palms on the table and leaned forward.
“They got a search warrant for Janine’s apartment in Missoula. That’s routine. They found a file in her desk drawer. Filled with clippings about Lucas over the years.”
Sarah sat back. “What the—”
“Every time his name made the paper—for some lawsuit, when his father died, when he ran for County Attorney—she kept the article. It’s a thin file, but …”
“But it’s a file. Holy cow. What’s the second thing?”
“The secretary, what was her name?”
“Renee Harper.”
“Right. She told you they’d taken the computers and printers to check for evidence that Lucas wrote the letters to you, Holly, and Janine. They also took a laptop from his house, and according to Dan Fleming, quizzed both him and Misty on whether Lucas had access to any other computers, in their home or offices. This is preliminary”—she held up a hand—“but they don’t think Lucas wrote that letter.”
“Well, of course they didn’t find a copy. He didn’t save it. Any idiot would delete it, and Lucas Erickson was not an idiot.”
“As I said, this is preliminary—they’re still searching hard drives and automatic backups for evidence of the letter itself. But they can match documents to keyboards and printers. Not like in the typewriter days, but pretty close. And no match.”
“What about fingerprints on the paper, or DNA on the envelopes. From licking.”
“No such luck. These were gummed. You pull the strip and press to seal. Same with the stamps. But they don’t match any envelopes found in Erickson’s home or office.” Nic scratched her cheek, in front of the ear. “But here’s where they got lucky, sort of. They found a partial print on one of the envelopes that matches a print on the stamp from the other envelope. Meaning the same person sent both.”
“But it wasn’t Lucas …”
Nic spread her hands, the gesture and the somber expression in her eyes asking one question.
If Lucas Erickson hadn’t sent those letters, then who did?
From deep in the cellar came the buzz of the dryer. Sarah picked up her basket and fetched the last load of towels. Could Janine really have sent the letters, sending one to herself to send the rest of them down the wrong track?
She’d never imagined her old friend could be so devious.
But then, she’d been wrong about so much lately.
When she reached the kitchen, Nic stood at the window, the two ironstone mugs in hand. Without a word, Nic put them in the sink, wiped her hands, and began folding towels. This wasn’t the time to ask about the clippings, and if Nic thought there was a snowball’s chance that Janine was behind the letters. Later.
The basket half empty, Sarah glanced up. She had forgotten Nic’s habit of biting her lower lip when she was worried. She was practically chewing a hole in herself right now.
“It was kind of shocking-not shocking to hear about what happened at your house,” Sarah said. “I guess I don’t really know what kind of backlash you get from your work, and just from being who you are. I’d like to hear more, if you want to talk about it sometime.” You couldn’t be irked at people for not telling you things if you never let them know you were interested.
“Thanks.” Nic glanced up, her eyes soft. “That means a lot.”
“You get hold of Kim?”
“Yeah.” Nic exhaled heavily. “Turns out not to have been the best time to leave town.”
Sarah stopped folding. “Not more vandalism?”
“No. There was an—incident at school. It’s our fault. My fault.” Nic snapped the wrinkles out of a hand towel, but didn’t fold it. “I get so fired up. I want gay and lesbian couples to have the same rights to jobs and housing and health care as straight couples. I want queer kids to know they’re worthy of love and respect and not be afraid when they walk down the halls at school.”
“You sound like you’re running for office,” Sarah said lightly.
“I’ve been approached. I said no—I think I can make a bigger difference as a lawyer and an activist. And my wife doesn’t want that public a life.”
Sarah reached for the towel in Nic’s hand, folded it quickly, and added it to the stack. Sat, and so did Nic. “What happened at school?”
“Tempe might not be my apple, but she didn’t fall far from the tree.” Nic flashed a crooked smile. “She’s straight, but there’s a trans girl in her class who’s been getting grief from other kids and Tempe stood up for her. Someone shoved a note into Tempe’s backpack calling her a lesbo loser with lesbo loser friends and parents. It happened Monday afternoon, after I’d left to come up here. She didn’t tell either of us, but the school called Kim yesterday.”
“Two days later? Why did they wait? Abby and Noah’s school had a zero-tolerance policy against bullying, whatever the reason was. Not like when we were kids.” When kids like Lucas could torment weaker classmates and get away with it. She’d bet good money.
“Because my kid—and I can’t decide whether I’m proud of her or mad at her—didn’t report it. Instead, she and her friends took matters into their own hands.”
“What? What did they do?”
“They knew who left the note—a boy who makes a habit of going after kids who are different. Kim got the story from the principal but confirmed it with Tempe. One of the girls lured the boy into a corner of the parking lot, where the kids formed a circle and Tempe confronted him.” Nic ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. “Same high school I went to. I never would have had the guts. Anyway, she told him he couldn’t talk like that. He said he could say whatever he wanted—free speech. She gave him a lecture about every right carrying a responsibility and how he had no right to say mean things.”
“Sounds like something Abby would say. How did the school find out? Any chance he’s the one who smashed the mailbox?”
“He says no about the mailbox, but Kim did make sure the cops knew. Anyway, big bully peed his pants. A teacher saw him borrowing a friend’s running clothes and pried the story out of him.”
Sarah covered her mouth with her hands. “I haven’t even met your kid, and I love her.”
“She is pretty great. And it is pretty funny.”
Sarah stopped trying to hold back the laughter, and Nic joined her. A few minutes later, they wiped their eyes, exchanging glances as the giggles subsided.
“Sounds like she handled it perfectly,” Sarah said. “You’re doing a good job.”
“Like you’re doing with Abby.”
But Abby was eighteen, not fifteen. Flying the coop, leaving the nest. Though to Sarah, she was still that little girl in the blue princess dress. “Text her. Tell her you’re proud of her. Tell her she did the right thing.”
“The principal wants to talk with all the parents—the boy’s, the trans girl’s, and us. Tomorrow afternoon. I could make it if I leave tonight, or the crack of dawn. But I don’t want to leave Deer Park while Janine is still under suspicion.”
“Can you reschedule?”
“Kim’s gonna try.” Nic leaned forward, almost pleading. Brave, smart, confident Nic. “Just don’t tell Janine.”
Then another voice interjected. “Don’t tell me what?”