Chapter 29
Bess
I hum along with a Stevie Nicks tune on the radio as I drizzle some lemon icing on my coconut squares.
It was a real treat to come in early this morning and find the kitchen—which I never got around to cleaning up last night—in immaculate condition.
I’m sure that was courtesy of Lola, who I insisted take the day off today.
She’s been working her butt off, and I’m excited for her to discover the raise I’m giving her on her next paycheck.
Emmet gets a bump too, but Lola has really stepped up during construction, but also in getting the shop ready to open when I was still mostly focused on looking after Hugo.
Hers will come with the brand-new job title of manager as well, and Emmet will be offered the option of going full time.
I’m happy to be doing the bulk of the baking, if that means I can be home at a reasonable hour. But Lola has already proven herself capable in the kitchen, able to follow a recipe and do the baking herself, so if I wanted to take a day, or a few days off, business would keep running as normal.
It’s funny, I wouldn’t have even considered taking a vacation before, but Hugo mentioned something about always having wanted to visit the East Coast, and now it’s all I can think about. Maybe in September, after the height of the summer season, but when it’s still nice out.
Grabbing the tray of pastries, I walk into the coffee shop, sliding the tray into the display case.
This morning, we have jalapeno cheese scones, morning glory muffins, blueberry crumble muffins, apple Danish, and the lemon coconut squares I just finished.
Next, I will tackle the sourdough bread, which has been rising in the proofing drawer.
I glance at the new painting Phil put up after the party last night to replace the triptych, which is now wrapped in brown paper, leaning against the wall in the back hallway, waiting to be picked up.
I haven’t turned on all the lights, but there’s enough to see the new piece.
It’s a single, large painting featuring Angus, Brant Colter’s goat, stealing colorful underwear off a clothesline, with a familiar view of the creek and mountains in the background.
I smile remembering the funny story that signaled the start of Brant and Phil’s unlikely pairing, which inspired this painting.
I turn to head back to the kitchen when I’m stopped with a knock on the front door. I see an older man wearing glasses and one of those Peaky Blinders caps. I have no doubt this is the buyer, Peter Abel. Lola mentioned the cap.
Dismissing a brief feeling of apprehension, I unlock the door, poking my head outside.
“Mr. Abel?”
I notice the man is alone. At the curb, a gray sedan is parked with its trunk already open.
“I’m sorry, I know I’m early,” the man apologizes right off the bat.
“No, no, that’s quite all right,” I hurry to assure him, opening the door wide. “Please come in, your painting is packed and ready to go.”
He enters, taking his cap off as he passes me. I quickly close the door and follow him inside.
“It’s in the back hallway. Let me get it for you.”
Slipping past him, I duck into the back hallway and grab the wrapped paintings off the floor, but when I turn I almost bump into him. He’s followed me back here.
Unlike the coffee shop, the hallway is well-lit and it’s the first time I get a good look at Peter Abel. He’s balding, something I hadn’t noticed earlier, and there is something familiar about him.
“You know, you look just like your mother.”
Immediately the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
What the hell? Who is this man?
“My mother is dead.”
He nods, a sober expression on his face.
“I know, and I’m so sorry.”
I’m confused, and more than a little uneasy, but I’m also intrigued.
“How did you know my mother?”
“I knew her a long time ago, you wouldn’t remember,” he informs me with a kind smile.
“But she spoke of Silence frequently. Described it in great detail.” He coughs a little and blinks his eyes, as if fighting off emotion.
“I never visited before, but it’s every bit as beautiful as she mentioned.
That’s why I bought the painting, I’ll take it with me as a reminder of this visit. ”
I’m still in the dark, hungry for more answers.
“If you’d never been here before, what brought you to Silence now?”
He looks down at the toes of his perfectly shined shoes, before lifting his eyes to me.
“You.” Then he looks back down, shaking his head. “I’ve never been here before, but I’ve kept tabs. First on your mother, and then on you. I never intended to set foot in Silence, had sworn I would never intervene in any way, but then I received word you might be in danger.”
I shake my head and start backing up into the kitchen, but he follows me at a generous distance.
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. All you need to know is that you can breathe easy. That’s the only reason I’m here now, to tell you you have nothing to fear. I was too late for the first one, but I made sure there is no one left to worry about.”
I suck in a breath when he reaches into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket, but what he produces isn’t some kind of weapon, but a simple blank white envelope.
“This is not for you to open. I ask that you pass it on to Chief Deputy Alexander. He will know what to do with it.”
Then he places it on the counter.
The next instant he’s gone, and for a moment I stand frozen, wondering what the hell just happened, but when I hear the front door of the coffee shop slam shut, I dart back out into the hallway.
The three packages holding the triptych that were stacked against the wall are gone.
When I poke my head into the coffee shop and glance out the front window, I’m just in time to see the vehicle that was parked outside take off down the road.
“I heard you talking.”
I jump a foot in the air when I hear Lola’s voice behind me.
“Who was that?” She wants to know.
I turn around, feeling like I’ve just escaped the twilight zone.
“I think that may have been my father.”
Hugo
“This is great, man. I’m happy for you.”
I clap Clem Tanek on the shoulder.
He’s just given me a tour of the work he is doing on the old fire hall. Already the place is filling with mostly new equipment and tools, since nearly all of his inventory was lost in the fire.
“Yeah. It’s coming together nicely, and I have you to thank for it.”
I snicker. “I just reminded you this place was vacant. That’s all.”
“Yeah, well, let me be grateful for once. It doesn’t happen often,” he adds jokingly.
I’d seen Nate’s work truck and a few other contractor vehicles back here since I came back to work, and was curious to see what was going on. Clem explained he’d needed to upgrade the electrical, make some minor modifications to the floor plan, and slap on some fresh paint.
“Anybody here?”
A woman’s voice drifts up the stairs where Clem was just showing me his new office.
“Up here!” Clem hollers, and to me he explains, “Real estate agent. I had some final paperwork to sign.”
“Hey, Rowan,” I greet the woman who pokes her head around the door post.
“Hugo, are you following me? Didn’t we just talk this morning?” she teases with a grin. “You’re gonna have to be patient; your listing won’t be up for another couple of days.”
“I know.”
I gesture for her to take the vacant visitor chair.
“What, are you selling?” Clem wants to know.
“Bess and I are buying Phil’s place.”
“For real? You’re gonna live in old man Colter’s backyard? Voluntarily?”
He’s kidding. I happen to know he plays poker with Brant Colter just about every Thursday night at The Kerrigan.
I was invited to play a time or two years ago but, at the time, I didn’t want to be in a situation where I’d be taking my boss’s money.
Of course, a lot has changed since then, but I’ve never really been big on gambling with my money.
I had a kid to pay for and then, of course, came the hospital bills for Emily’s care and treatments.
“It’s far enough away, and we like the peace and quiet,” I respond, as I get to my feet. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I’ll catch both of you later.”
I just come walking out of one of the big bay doors when I catch sight of Bess, her hair flying behind her as she comes running across the station’s parking lot.
“Whoa, what’s the matter?”
She doesn’t stop and runs straight into my arms.
“Jesus, Twinkie, what’s going on?”
“I was looking for you at the station but Brenda said you were over here.”
“Why were you looking for me?”
She leans back and looks up at me.
“I couldn’t get away from the coffee shop until now, but I had the strangest visitor this morning.”
Flags go up immediately.
“What do you mean, visitor?”
“His name is Peter Abel—at least that’s what he calls himself, I googled and can’t find anything about that name—and he’s the guy who bought Phil’s painting yesterday.”
“Right, he was supposed to pick it up today.”
“Yes, but he showed up early, and he said he knew my mom and the painting reminded him of her. I have to admit, I was a little freaked out, especially when he said he’d been keeping tabs on me, and he knew about my brother and the Lotus Squad, but then—”
“He what?” I cut off her ramble. “He kept tabs on you?”
“Yes, but I think he was making sure I was safe.”
She grabs my forearms and leans in, deep blushes on her cheekbones and her eyes shining with excitement.
“And guess what? I think he may be my father.”
Her father?
I press the heels of my hands against my eyebrows to stop the headache I feel building.
“I think you need to slow down and tell me from the beginning,” I calmly suggest. “Let’s sit down in my office.”
I grab her hand and we walk to the station, where I rush Bess through the lobby and into my office, closing the door behind us.
Then she gives me the whole story from the beginning, handing me a white envelope at the end.
“He told me to give this to you and not open it, but I’ve been dying to know what’s inside.”
I’m pretty curious myself, and use my finger to rip open the envelope. Inside I find what looks like a Polaroid picture and a plain sheet of paper.
I pull out the paper first and read the single line written on it in black ink.
To kill a two-headed snake both heads have to roll.
Then I start removing the Polaroid from the envelope, but as soon as I get a glimpse of the gruesome picture, I quickly shove it back inside.
“What is it?”
“A picture you don’t want to see. Stay here, I have to get this to Rick Althof.”
I snag the sheet of paper off my desk and press a kiss to the crown of Bess’s head.
“I’ll be right back.”
Althof is at his desk in the bullpen, and when I catch his eye, he immediately gets to his feet. I lead him into the conference room and close the door behind him. In a few sentences I get him up to speed before handing him the envelope.
First, he pulls a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket, before taking the envelope. Then he spreads open the piece of paper and extracts the Polaroid, laying them both down on the table in front of him as he hisses between his teeth.
The image shows a man, lying on his back with several bullet wounds in his body. He’s obviously dead, because his head was removed and placed on a blackened tire jack by the man’s elbow.
“I’m willing to bet that’s Mike Lee,” Rick observes.
“I think so too,” I agree, before adding. “And I’m pretty sure I know where that is.”
“Yes, so do I.”
“But,” I continue, “I have Bess in my office, wondering what the hell was in that envelope, and I don’t want her exposed to any of this. Not until we know for sure. She’s been through enough.”
He nods, grabs what will be filed as evidence off the table, and walks out of the room ahead of me. When he walks into the bullpen, I hear him call out orders.
“Androtti, Brenner, and Torres. You’re with me.”
Tessa Androtti is the first on her feet.
“Where are we going?”
“Downtown. To Main Street Mechanics, and put the coroner on standby.”