Clare walked the few blocks to the Nelsons’ house for the dinner party, hoping the brisk air would break the deep funk she’d fallen into. The streets were nearly soundless, and she could see families gathered together behind brightly lit living room windows. It made her think of family and friends, love and support, things she was in short supply of. Freya’s Jeep was in front of the house. Despite her state of mind, she was thrilled at seeing her again. Henry’s Volvo drove down the street toward the house and she hurried to the front door. She didn’t want a private conversation with him. Her nerves couldn’t stand it.
Hank greeted her at the door and led her into the living room. Elizabeth, Ben, and Freya were sitting in front of the crackling fireplace. They all rose to greet her. Elizabeth leaned in for a hug and the others followed suit. Elizabeth’s hug was warm, Freya’s circumspect, and Ben’s more enveloping. Were these her friends? The start of community? It was all false, based on a version of herself that didn’t exist, like the Wizard of Oz pulling levers to create an illusion of control, when she was really desperate and alone.
Henry walked in just as Hank was offering her a drink. He threw his coat over a chair. “I’ll have a beer, Dad.” He joined the standing circle, a confident smile on his face, his body relaxed, hands in his pockets. He seemed entitled, as if the heir had arrived for a good fawning over. He greeted everyone with equal charm. When he turned to Clare though, he did not meet her eyes. They greeted each other politely and Elizabeth smiled as they talked, as if she especially wanted them to be friends. Hank got the drinks sorted and they sat in a semicircle and chatted about the weather and the ISU basketball team, an area passion that mystified her.
“I hate to bring up something unpleasant,” Elizabeth said, “but has everyone heard about the triple homicide last night? Hank ran into the sheriff today and he told him about it.”
“That’s right,” Hank said. “He said it was some sort of ambush involving drug dealers. It’s like something out of the movies.”
“Except it’s here in our backyard. I find it very disturbing.” She turned to Freya. “Do you know anything about it?”
Clare took a peek at Henry, who was peeling the label off his beer bottle. He looked bemused, of all things. Her stomach was lurching like a drunk at two in the morning.
Freya looked at Ben, who shrugged. “Ben and I were at the scene last night.”
“That must have been intense,” Henry said. She marveled at his ability to speak at all.
“It was. Sorry I can’t tell you more, but we don’t know much at this point.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said. She turned to Clare. “Had you heard about this?”
She suddenly found it hard to swallow and she could feel Henry’s eyes on her. “No, I hadn’t heard a thing. I wouldn’t have imagined there was such a large drug operation in the area.” If only she could swallow. She felt like she was going to fly apart. She took a drink of her wine and forced it down. Everyone was looking at her.
“Drugs are a real problem around here,” Hank said. “Meth is all over the place. The rural population seems particularly vulnerable to it.”
Elizabeth had a serious look on her face. “It worries me. It’s terrible for Money Creek’s reputation. Let alone dangerous. I don’t like the idea of desperate addicts coming into town to rob people.”
“That hasn’t happened, so far,” Freya said.
Hank took a sip of his whiskey. “Here’s the other thing. The sheriff told me an anonymous source called in the homicide, probably a witness who doesn’t want to be identified.”
“A lot of questions could be answered if we got hold of that person,” Freya said.
“But we have no leads on that. We’re waiting for forensics to process the bottles and glasses to see how many people were there,” Ben said.
Clare felt the color drain from her face. She’d forgotten the beer bottles. What an idiot she was. There were a few with her DNA all over them and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. Luckily, and somewhat miraculously, she’d never been arrested, so her DNA wouldn’t be in any database. She was standing on a cliff with her toes over the edge. She looked at Henry, who was in the same boat. His jaw was clenched.
“I hate this,” Elizabeth said. She looked anguished. “I hate drugs and drug people. It’s a scourge.”
“I think we got that, Mom.” Henry drained his beer.
“There’s no need to be sarcastic, Henry.” It was the first time she’d seen Hank with a dead serious expression. An awkward silence followed, with Freya, Ben, and Clare all staring into their drinks.
Elizabeth stood. “Let’s move into the dining room. I’ll put supper on and we can find something else to talk about.”
The dinner conversation flowed easily. Clare tried to contribute, but it was as if she had lockjaw. Freya looked at her a couple of times with a question on her face, and she forced herself to smile back. She was paralyzed by the number of landmines in front of her.
* * *
Henry unlocked the apartment door and slammed it behind him. Evan popped up from the living room couch.
“What’s the matter?” He looked anxious as he faced Henry. An episode of Ice Road Truckers was on the television.
“Nothing’s the matter.” Henry took off his long coat and hung it in the closet. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you slammed the door, man. Scared the shit out of me.” He followed Henry into the kitchen and took two beers out of the fridge.
“Sorry. I just came from my parents’ house. You know how it is with family.”
Evan’s face fell. “You know I don’t.”
Henry winced. He knew Evan had grown up in group homes and a variety of foster homes. He’d done remarkably well in school for someone with his background and had gotten a full scholarship to Money Creek College. But there was no one to be proud of him. He sat across the table from Evan.
“Mine drive me crazy. I usually feel worse leaving there than I did going in.”
“Your parents are cool. Why can’t you see that?”
“You’re not their son. They look totally cool from the outside, but behind doors it’s another matter.”
“How bad can it be? At least you have parents,” Evan said. He started rolling a joint.
Henry let it drop and got up from the table. “I’m beat. I’m turning in.”
“It’s like eight o’clock.”
Henry looked at him with a steady gaze. “I’m going to relax in my room. Is there a problem with that?”
Evan raised his hands. “No problem. I’m going to smoke a joint if you want to join me.”
“Good night, Evan.” He grabbed another beer and walked down the hallway to his bedroom. When he closed the door, he let out a breath of relief, as if he’d just beached a small ship during a Category 4 hurricane. He was safe, for the moment. He took off his cashmere sweater and corduroys, his hundred-dollar T-shirt and brogues. He flopped on the bed in his underwear and tried not to cry. Everything he’d built was crashing down around him. His business was in a state of limbo following the death of his two partners. He didn’t have all the contacts they did with meth suppliers, or with the dealers who supplied them with other drugs for resale. His job had been to operate the town/gown side of things, selling directly to townspeople and Money Creek College students. Stingy operated the rural business and reported to Ray and Bobby. Henry also contributed capital for expenditures, including the purchase of legitimate businesses. He handled the accounting. Stingy would bring him bags of money, which he and Evan would count and distribute back to the partners. He concentrated on the areas assigned to him and ignored the day to day operation of the entire enterprise. How was he going to step into the breech?
There was the very real question of whether he’d even be around to start putting things in order. It was only a matter of time before it was discovered that Henry was the owner of the house where the murders occurred. Did that give them enough to arrest him? If he said that persons unknown must have broken into his house, would they have anything else on him? What about the DNA on the glasses left in the house? He’d had several beers. But his DNA wasn’t in any database. Would they make an arrest simply to get a swab from him and see if it was a match with the beer bottles? If so, he was sunk.
He thought of Clare at the dinner party that evening. She was trying to maintain composure, but he could see the tautness in her face, the rapid movement of her eyes. Freya kept looking at her in what he thought was a proprietary way, as if they had a special connection. That was worrisome. If Clare decided to confess to Freya, his life would be ruined.
He needed a plan and he needed it fast. The only one he could come up with involved running. Taking what cash he had and getting out of town. It was a pretty awful plan. The sheriff and state police would immediately know he had something to do with the murders and the manhunt would begin. Maybe he could wait. The DNA might come to nothing, and they might buy that he was ignorant of anyone using his house. He might be able to let things cool down for a while and then get the operation up and running. If he did run, however, he intended to take Clare with him. There was a good chance she’d be ready to go. She clearly was suffering under the strain of what she witnessed and withheld from the police. A life on the run would probably seem better than that.