Chapter Forty-Two
FORTY-TWO
Nicole
The stretches of silence between them felt dense and packed with unspoken danger.
Sitting on the back deck where, just last week, Nicole had told Maureen she’d gotten a weird vibe from Mikko’s house, she clutched her water with two hands.
Nicole couldn’t stop the glass from vibrating, couldn’t calm her unsteady fingers.
How could so much have changed so quickly?
How could they have gone from that family dinner to an all-hands-on-deck emergency meeting to keep Woody out of prison?
Somehow, Nicole’s husband was a suspect in the murder of a woman buried in Mikko’s basement.
It didn’t feel possible, couldn’t be real, and yet here he was, face slack and blue eyes vacant.
Woody looked catatonic. Stupefied into inertia. This was happening.
“They’re going to want to talk to you,” Maureen explained solemnly, “first thing tomorrow. There’s nothing I can do to protect you from that.
They’ve been asking around, so they already know you were at the party.
You’ll need to answer their questions honestly.
What they’ve got so far is circumstantial, but you have to tell them everything about that night, Woody. Everything.”
“So far,” Nicole repeated. “You said the evidence is circumstantial so far.”
Her sister met her gaze. Nicole hadn’t bothered to turn on the outdoor lights, preferring to melt into the shadows. To Maureen the half-darkness was cruel. It deepened her cheekbones and hollowed out her eyes, so that Nicole had the eerie impression that her sister’s head was a fleshless skull.
“That’s right,” Maureen said. “At this point, they’re still collecting information.
Looking for something concrete. They’ll be looking at other possibilities, too—trying to get prints off that ring, for example, and uncover DNA from the house, which so far is proving difficult, but …
” She paused to shake her head, and Nicole took the comment to mean the proof could come at any time.
“Tim and Shana and the team will search for eyewitnesses who were at the party on the night in question,” Maureen went on.
“People who could testify to seeing Angelica, whether with Woody or with someone else. They won’t arrest anyone until they’re sure they can make a murder charge stick. ”
“Then it’s all fine,” said Woody, his face impossibly pale. “They won’t find anything if I didn’t do it, right? Jesus Christ, you have to know I didn’t do it.” He looked from Maureen to Nicole and back again. While his words conveyed outrage, his voice was that of a frightened child.
“Keep it down,” Nicole said harshly, scanning the fence line. She’d given the girls a couple of twenties and sent them out for pizza, but houses in the neighborhood were packed in close.
“If you’re innocent—” Maureen began.
“If!” Woody hissed. “If?”
“Listen to me. They can’t find evidence that isn’t there. But you knew Angelica,” she said. “You were intimate with her the night of her death—right? And her body was found in Mikko’s house, a man you claim is your business partner.”
“I don’t claim it,” said Woody. “He is. But I didn’t murder anyone, not there and not anywhere else.”
“Mikko obviously did it,” said Nicole. It baffled her that Maureen hadn’t yet brought Mikko up in connection with the crime.
This was no intricate puzzle or convoluted mystery.
Mikko was the killer the police were looking for.
“You said it yourself, Maureen: it’s his house.
Why aren’t Tim and Shana talking to him? ”
“They are,” she replied. “They have. But as far as I know, there’s no proof that he’s guilty either.
Apparently, Angelica was one of many guests at that party.
What motive would Mikko have to kill her?
If we get to the point where you’re named in the press”—Nicole gasped when she said it, the prospect a gut-punch—“then Mikko Helle’s reputation could sway public opinion.
He’s a celebrity, a wealthy man who came to Cape Vincent to revive a beloved amusement center that’s been an eyesore for years.
It’s only a matter of time before he starts giving interviews about his grand plans and all the jobs he’ll be creating for locals.
And I know,” Maureen added as Woody opened his mouth; he’d been getting redder by the second, “you’re a local business owner too.
People love you, Woody, always have. But something else has come to light that could complicate things. ”
Nicole let out a snort. She couldn’t help herself. “How much more fucking complicated could this get?”
Maureen issued a sigh that seemed to knock the breath right out of her. “An anonymous call came into the barracks. Someone contacted the police to report suspicious activity in your garage.”
Knockoffs. Counterfeit goods. The words hit Nicole like darts. She’d tried to push her conversation with Janelle from her mind, refusing to believe that the woman could be right, but here was the accusation again, a virus that couldn’t be vanquished.
“A report has been filed, which means the police have to look into what’s going on. So Woody,” Maureen said, holding his gaze, “for the love of God, please tell me your online resale business is on the up-and-up.”
After nearly two decades together, Nicole knew her husband. She could tell when he was hiding something. He wasn’t a natural liar.
“It is,” Woody said flatly. “It’s totally legal. I don’t know what that caller is talking about.”
“Woody.” The edge in Maureen’s voice was sharp as a shard of glass. “If you lie about this, they’ll think you’re lying about everything.”
“I’m not lying,” said Woody. “I sell stuff online. Cheap stuff, for people who can’t afford the real thing. Imitations. Replicas.”
“And you’re transparent about it? People know what they’re getting?”
All at once, Woody’s face went crimson.
“Christ, Woody,” Maureen said, rolling back her head. “What you’re doing is a felony.”
“Someone reported me?” he stammered. “Who the hell would do that?”
“Whoever it was initially thought you’d robbed a retail truck. The whole thing would probably have been dismissed as a prank. Unfortunately for you,” Maureen said, “I have some well-connected enemies who got wind and looked into it.”
“I heard about it too,” said Nicole, ice water hurtling through her veins. “I got a call from a mom who said Woody sold her daughter, Blair’s friend, a fake purse.” She turned on him then. “How could you do this?”
“I didn’t sell to Blair’s friends! Do you think I’m an idiot? If this girl found my account and made a purchase, that’s on her.”
“You were running an illegal business here,” said Nicole.
“In our house.” It wasn’t much of a house, never had been, but Nicole had worked hard to make it a home for her family, and Woody had turned their safe space into a den of crime.
Fury, hot and bright, bloomed in her chest. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“What I was thinking,” her husband said tightly, “is that we have bills, and they never stop coming. Last year? The new boiler? That thing cost ten fucking grand. We spend hundreds of dollars a week on groceries alone, and the kids always need things. I didn’t plan this,” he went on, showing both women his empty hands.
“It started out totally legit. But there was so much competition online …”
Numb with shock, Nicole listened as he itemized the challenges he’d faced, bleating about inventory, margins, app fees, and how, when all was said and done, it was only chump change.
“But I’ve doubled my income since I started working for myself,” Nicole said. “What about that money?”
“It’s not enough,” Woody replied. “It’s never enough.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her palms felt wet.
When she looked down, she saw she’d sloshed water all over them.
Setting down the glass, Nicole wiped them on her jeans again and again, scouring her skin.
Woody had always handled the finances. She knew they were never flush. She had no idea it was as bad as this.
“OK,” said Maureen, swooping in to de-escalate the situation. “So you’ll admit all of that in your interview—right away, before they even ask. You’ll explain that you made a mistake. This resale thing has nothing to do with Angelica Patten, right?”
“Right,” said Woody, not meeting her eye. “But all that stuff’s still right in the garage, and—”
Woody went white. The sliding door was halfway open, Blair’s silhouette a shadow hovering in the gloom.
“Hey,” she said. “Why are you guys sitting out here in the dark?” She was holding three pizzas, salty steam wafting from the boxes.
“It’s good for our eyes.” Maureen’s laugh was too high. “You’ll understand when you get older.”
“I thought it was the opposite.”
“Little miss know-it-all over here.” Woody tried for a chuckle that caught in his throat, sending him into a coughing fit. Blair’s eyes stayed on him for a long time.
“Anyway,” she said, drawing out the word, “Alana and I are gonna watch TV. Want me to grab some plates for you?”
“We’re good, honey,” said Nicole. “You go ahead. Thanks for picking these up.”
“OK. Enjoy.” She set two boxes on the outdoor table, casting a dubious glance over her shoulder as she went back inside.
Nicole’s hands were shaking again. This thing, this horrible, inconceivable crime, had latched on and was sucking all hope from her body.
The murder was a parasite, and all of them—Nicole, Mac, the girls—would be drained dry.
It wasn’t the woman’s fault. Nicole didn’t know Angelica Patten, and never would, but she believed that at her core.
Whatever this was, however it had happened, the tourist wasn’t to blame.
She looked at her husband. Blair had flicked on the wall switch by the sink, casting the deck in harsh yellow light.
At the base of Woody’s throat, Nicole thought she could see his skin pulsing.
His large hands were clasped on the arms of the cheap outdoor chair, and for some inscrutable reason, the skin under his fingernails was pale green. Nicole hadn’t noticed that before.
In that moment, she realized that she hadn’t really seen her husband in a long, long time.