Chapter Forty-Four
FORTY-FOUR
Blair
There were lurkers on the sidewalk outside the hotel in Clayton, and Blair suspected that they’d come for Mikko.
With his tattoos and bleached hair, the man wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, so anyone could have followed him or learned where he was staying through word of mouth.
For her part, Blair had discovered his plans by eavesdropping.
She’d learned a lot at the golf course last night, but she couldn’t begin to process what she and Nash had overheard.
Her attempts to sleep only wound her sheets into knots, and sometime around four she’d logged onto Twitter and found several different threads about the secret bones.
Some people were saying that Mikko had found them.
Others insisted it was his cleaning lady, who Blair now knew was her own mother.
The tweets felt dreamlike and isolating and uncanny, and Blair knocked each one back like a shot of bitter medicine she had to take.
There was no mention of her dad, not yet, but the fact that people were talking at all made her nervous.
What if some of the gawkers at the hotel were reporters?
What if they asked Mikko who he thought killed that woman, and he pointed the finger at Woody?
Over the last twelve hours, two things had become crystal clear.
The first was that, somehow, Mikko thought Blair’s dad had something to do with the dead body in his basement.
The second, which was even more alarming, was that her family was in panic mode.
After Nash had dropped her off, and she and Alana had gotten the pizzas, Blair had caught a snatch of conversation between her parents and Aunt Maureen on the deck.
As it turned out, Dad was in trouble on multiple levels.
There was something going on with his resale business, too.
This was it: the source of the tension she’d been sensing at home. No wonder her mom had been so upset. What was happening now had nothing to do with Blair getting ready to leave for college. Her dad was suspected of doing something terrible, and the adults were closing ranks.
Years ago, when Blair was still a sophomore, Nicole had made three hot chocolates using real milk and sat the girls down at the kitchen table.
They’d known it was serious because of the forced cheer; when things were bad, Nicole became Sitcom Mom, ratcheting up her devotion in order to cushion whatever setback she was about to send their way.
That day, she had wanted to talk about fathers. Nicole’s, and Aunt Maureen’s.
Blair had always wondered about Nicole’s dad.
All she knew was that he’d moved out when Nicole was seven and Aunt Maureen was fifteen, and that he’d died when she was done high school and left Nicole some money.
Nobody ever talked about Aunt Maureen’s father at all.
It was like he’d been scrubbed from their lives.
Blair figured they’d both been deadbeats, but there was more to it than that.
You’re old enough to know the truth now, Mom had said.
Some men can’t be trusted. They’ll hide their weakness from you, wear a mask to disguise it, but it’s always there.
The only way to make sure you don’t get fooled, she told Blair and Alana, meeting their wide eyes in turn, is to pick a man who’s honest. If they lie about the little things, they’ll lie about it all.
What Blair had witnessed last night was a strategy session. One hand over the other, her mother and aunt were trying to heave Woody out of whatever hole he’d stumbled into. There was no way they were going to tell Blair what was going on. But maybe she could find a way to help.
“This is messed up,” Nash said, not for the first time, as they lingered by their parked cars.
He’d jammed both hands in the pockets of his khakis and stood with his right hip kissing the driver’s side door.
Nash rarely wore anything other than T-shirts and track pants, but they both looked like guest stars on The Office today on account of their internships.
It was a requirement for high school seniors, a week trying out a job of their choosing, and everyone loved it.
The internships Blair and Nash had arranged didn’t start until nine, which gave them plenty of time to ambush Mikko.
“What are you even going to say to him?” asked Nash, his fear plain on his face.
“Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you,” Blair said.
“But he thinks my dad’s involved in a crime, Nash.
I can’t just let that go.” She needed to talk to Mikko, to make him understand, and she had to do it fast. If he gave a statement to the press right now, outside the hotel, would Blair have the courage to speak up?
Would shouting he’s lying! make any difference?
Would it make things worse? She didn’t have the time to wonder, because at that moment a murmur rose up from the crowd. When it parted, there was Mikko.
“It’s him,” she said, breathless. “What should we do?”
“We?” Nash fired back. “You’re the one who wanted to come!”
In the shade of the vast four-story hotel, Mikko was talking and laughing. Blair had never seen a guy look that relaxed. Maybe it was an act performed for the fans. He had seemed a lot more stressed the previous night.
A few minutes passed, and then Mikko was heading their way. He was wearing another expensive-looking T-shirt, and his muscles rolled under the fabric. When he was a few steps from his Tesla, the same one she’d seen at Island Adventure, she braced herself.
“Come save me if it looks like trouble,” she told Nash.
Before he could answer, she was lurching away from her car.
“Mr. Helle?” Blair hated how timid she sounded, how weak. He’d turned, though, and was watching her approach him, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Sorry to bother you,” she managed, “but I’m a big fan. Do you think I could get your autograph?”
The smile broadened. “Of course,” Mikko said, glancing behind her in a way that made Blair feel like he was checking to see if she was alone. “Do you have a pen?”
“Shit. No, I’m sorry.”
“That’s OK. I have something better.” He reached into the messenger bag that was slung across his shoulder, and for a split second, she wanted nothing more than to run.
What Mikko pulled out was a hockey card. Blair didn’t know much about those, but she got the sense that he was doing something special by signing one for her. He kept glancing up as he scribbled his name, and not just at her face. Blair was starting to regret wearing a V-neck top with her skirt.
“Oh wow,” she said when he handed it over. “This is amazing. Thank you.”
“What’s your name?”
“Blair.”
“Local, or just visiting?” He angled his head.
“Local.”
“Ah! Well,” he said, “I hope to see you around, Blair. I live in Cape Vincent, near Tibbetts Point. It’s the big white house with the black trim. I’m going to be having some parties this summer. Maybe you can stop by.”
“Wait.” He’d turned to go, ready to get on with his day, but Blair had stepped in front of him. The thin skin of her throat was aflame. “I wanted to say …” Why did you accuse my father of murder? “I think you know my dad?”
That seemed to interest Helle. “Oh yes?”
“Yeah. He mentioned you the other day, actually. He was talking about how much he respects you. Professionally, I mean.”
Mikko squared his shoulders and dialed up his smile. “That’s very kind of him. What did you say his name was?”
“Woody,” said Blair. “Woody Durham.”
Some people are good at hiding in plain sight. They shutter their eyes. Shut down. You can’t get so much as a glimpse at what’s inside. That was Mikko Helle the moment Blair spoke Woody’s name, and it came across as practiced. He’d done this before.
If they lie about the little things, they’ll lie about it all.
“I’m sorry,” said Mikko. “I don’t know who you mean.”
Blair wrapped her arms around her waist as he got in the Tesla and hummed away.
She found Nash crouching down behind his car, determined not to let her humiliate him. She felt slimy all over, like she needed to take another shower.
“How did it go?” he asked.
Blair shook her head. “Let’s just get out of here,” she said. “I don’t want to be late for work.”