12

The call came in just after dark.

Jeremy stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening to his father talk. He eavesdropped a lot; sometimes it was his only way of knowing what was going to happen before it did.

He didn’t care much about this conversation, though. It was just about someone showing up unexpectedly, some private investigator. But no private investigator had shown up here, and that was what mattered.

Yawning, he nearly walked back into his room to listen to his music. When the iPod he’d saved up for was playing in his ears, his father ceased to exist. But before he could turn away, he heard anger in his father’s voice—and the name Les. Then he froze. He knew who Les was. His father had found Les through a cousin who lived in Wyoming. Cousin Blake got himself in trouble a lot. He’d even been in prison—twice. He’d said Les was a person who could “take care of anything.” Jeremy had heard his father use those exact words when he arranged for Les to “take care” of David. And then David died and everyone started calling it an accident. That was how good Les was. His father even said he was good, said it out loud as if he’d included Jeremy in his plans from the beginning. His father was like that sometimes.

Claire’s name came up next. He’d been right to be so worried these past few days. She was getting herself in trouble, just like he’d feared when he followed her to the cabin. If Les was coming back to Pineview, that was bad. His father had once said to Les, “How many people have you…helped the way you’re helping me?” And the answer must’ve been big because his father had whistled.

Jeremy wanted to warn her, but he couldn’t. She’d ask how he knew, and that was something he couldn’t ever reveal.

His father slammed down the phone. The floor creaked, keys jingled, the garage door opened and the Jeep engine roared to life.

Where was his father going? Not to hurt Claire…

Wringing his hands, Jeremy paced in the laundry area for several minutes while images—terrible images—crowded his head. His father wouldn’t act right away, would he? Someone might see or tell. He’d wait for Les, and Les lived someplace called Idaho that sounded far away.

Again, Jeremy wanted to go to Claire. Instead, he grabbed his flashlight and hurried to the crawl space under the stairs. He hadn’t been in there for years, not since he’d attached six padlocks to be sure nothing could get in or out. The dank smell and spiderwebs alone were enough to keep him from wanting to return. But maybe it was time to check on the situation under there. He’d known he would probably need to make changes at some point. That was what kept him up so often at night.

He never forgot a number, so he had no problem with the combinations for the locks. But the five-foot space was far too short for him, and it grew more cramped as he neared the outer edges. Where the dirt had been thrown up against the foundation, he had to crawl.

The scent of the moist earth filled his nostrils. He imagined another smell, one that made him gag, but he kept going and before long, he sat on his haunches, aiming his flashlight at the dusty suitcase he’d hidden there fifteen years earlier. It was worn on one side, completely scraped from when he’d had to drag it up the driveway. It’d been a cheap case to begin with, one without wheels, which had made his job harder. He could really have used some wheels…?.

His heart slammed against his rib cage—ba-bump…ba-bump—which happened whenever he thought of the crawl space because then he remembered the night it all happened. How weak he’d felt when he brought that suitcase here. How badly he’d been shaking and sweating. He’d vomited after he got to his room. The contents of the suitcase—he couldn’t bear to think of what was inside in any other way—had been so much heavier than he’d expected. Then there was the disgusting liquid that’d begun to leak out. He’d thought the trail it left behind would lead anyone who chose to look right to him.

But the storm had washed it away. Big fat raindrops had started to fall just when he was certain he’d be caught. The wind had even concealed his grunts and labored breathing. It was almost as if he’d been invisible—not that anyone would be able to overhear him, anyway. He and his father lived in the woods.

Absently, Jeremy rubbed his stomach, which was cramping as if this night was that night, and studied what was left of the case. If he had to move it, he supposed it wouldn’t be heavy anymore. Things changed with time. He’d seen proof on TV.

It’d been a decade and a half—he heard that often, whenever anyone spoke of Alana. What would he find if he unzipped the lid?

Don’t think about that! You’ll be sick again.

Maybe he should get a shovel. He hadn’t before because he’d wanted that suitcase to be easy to reach if he ever had to retrieve it. Besides, any sign of freshly disturbed dirt could give away its location if the police ever came to call. They looked for that type of thing. One program he’d watched showed them using a ground sensor to locate a dead body that’d been buried for several years.

The idea of the police coming into the crawl space, with or without such a device, made it difficult to breathe. He didn’t want to go to prison. His father had told him what would happen if he ended up there.

There are hundreds of men ready to rape you in the ass, little buddy. And that’s after they knock your stupid block off.

Jeremy covered his ears, but the words were still there, humming in his brain. He couldn’t avoid them. Probably because, with Claire causing trouble the way David had caused trouble, he had to do something. If the sheriff came to their door, he had to be ready…?.

The taste of blood made him realize he was biting his lip. Too hard. Ease up. He’d think of something. His father wouldn’t be happy to learn the suitcase was on the property. But Jeremy hadn’t been able to abandon it in the woods as he’d been told. A bear might get to it.

If he buried it, he’d bury it here, where no one would stumble on it. Then it would be safe but gone.

Unless the police brought in a ground sensor…

Jeremy began to rock back and forth. What to do? What to do? It was always so hard to decide…?.

Dropping his head, he rubbed his eyes. His cheeks were wet. When had he started crying? Grown men didn’t cry. Nothing made his father angrier.

What a pussy! What’d I ever do to deserve a son like you?

“Shut up, Dad!” His voice was vehement, but only because his father wasn’t around. He’d never dare say that to his face. The hitting would start if he did.

Maybe the suitcase should continue to wait right where it was. Knowing his father, there might soon be another thing to hide.

Jeremy grimaced. If only he could stop that…

But he couldn’t. Not unless he wanted those men in prison to knock his block off.

The phone rang and rang, but Claire wouldn’t answer. She couldn’t trust herself to speak to anybody tonight. There was no predicting what she might say. She’d already argued with her sister, her stepmother and her stepfather. She didn’t want to alienate anyone else.

But it wasn’t her family who kept calling. They were so angry she wasn’t convinced they’d ever bother with her again. It was Isaac. She could see his name lit up by caller ID, and couldn’t bring herself to answer. Why was she letting their paths cross again? He was the one she couldn’t trust, wasn’t he?