Page 34 of Silent Bones
“In Jesse’s tent,” she said. “He always did. They were close friends. Jesse wanted him close.”
Noah nodded slowly.
“That must have been uncomfortable for Jesse’s girlfriend, Rachel.”
“She just accepted Stephen as some kind of third wheel.”
“So were you dating anyone?”
“No.”
Bill opened the door, making it clear the conversation was over.
“Okay, thank you, Avery.”
“Bill,” Noah added. “Much appreciated.”
“My door is always open. Send your father my regards.”
As they stepped into the hallway, and walked away, Callie turned to Noah and said quietly, “You get the sense some of that was rehearsed?”
“That, or not fully explained.”
They walked in silence for a beat.
Then Callie added, “For someone worried about influence over her… he sure has a lot of it.”
9
Noah had kept it simple, just like he always did when he wasn’t sure if he was showing up as a man on a date, or a cop chasing a lead.
The food was packed in a vintage wicker picnic basket he’d found in his sister’s attic the year before, cleaned up, and decided never to return. Inside were two chilled bottles of beer, a couple of sandwiches he’d overthought the layering of, and a container of couscous salad he’d pretended not to care about when the recipe called for fresh mint. He tossed in a couple of lemon bars too, because she once mentioned she liked them.
No suit. No jacket. Just jeans and a dark button-up with the sleeves rolled once. He glanced at himself in the hallway mirror before leaving. He saw the gray in his temples, the tiredness in his eyes. Still, not bad for someone who once made front-page news for getting himself suspended. How could he forget that? That night had begun with Natalie Ashford and ended with someone snapping a photo of him passed out drunk, shirt half-open, a bottle of Buffalo Trace cradled in his arm like a baby. The image had made its way to the wrong inbox. Noah had always believed she didn’t have anything to do with it, that it wasa coincidence, a wrong moment at the wrong time. But it had gotten him pulled from the Catcher case all the same, and for months afterward, he’d questioned if any of what she’d said had ever been true.
Still, something about her made him come back. Maybe it was her mystery. Maybe it was the contrast between her and her father. Or maybe it was just the way she looked at him sometimes, as if she saw all the broken pieces and liked them better that way. He liked to think it was the sex. A mutually beneficial agreement.
He grabbed the wicker basket, then made his way across the gravel path toward Ed Baxter’s place next door.
Their little lakefront strip—two lots at the far end of the road—was quiet, tucked behind a row of tall pines and thick underbrush that muffled most sound from the main road. Noah’s modular home sat elevated on a sloped grade above the water. Ed’s place, a log-sided A-frame, sat a little closer to the shoreline. The properties had a shared dock. Both had become sanctuaries for two men trying, in their own way, to escape something.
It had become a routine, checking in with one another. A quick knock. A wave. Nothing formal, just enough to make sure the other was still breathing. And more importantly, that if something ever went wrong out here, someone would know where the other had gone.
Noah slowed when he reached Ed’s porch.
A second truck sat parked outside, engine still ticking from recent use. It was new, an F-150. White with an extended cab.
Noah frowned and mounted the steps. He knocked once, then twice, before letting himself in.
“Ed? Hey, buddy.”
No answer.
He heard it then, laughter. Not Ed’s wheezy chuckle, but a deeper, more manic cackle echoing from the back of the cabin.
Noah strolled inside and followed the sound toward slightly cracked French doors that led to Ed’s converted den. The room beyond glowed with a strange blue light and what looked like a cheap studio setup. He pulled the door wide to be greeted by quite the sight. Microphones. Tripods. Acoustic foam stuck to the walls. And front and center, two chairs with a printed vinyl banner behind them that read:Gone Squatchin’. In the middle of it all, a giant cartoonish silhouette of a Bigfoot, mid-stride.
Noah’s eyes went to the man in one of the chairs.
