Page 63 of In the Bones
Tim had always felt the Thousand Islands held a kind of mystique, some inscrutable magic that lured you in. There were those who intended to come for a weekend, just long enough to dip their toes in the river, but it got its hooks into most visitors, reeling them back. Eva had come for Mikko, and he had a feeling she hadn’t stuck around for the scenery. Just like Molly Kranz, she had her own reasons for staying when she could have gone home.
“I didn’t plan to stick around,” said Eva. “I didn’t know that woman. But I can’t stop imagining what it was like for her in that basement. I know it doesn’t make sense. She was dead, she didn’t feel anything. But the idea of her all alone down there … it haunts me. I want to know,” she said in a rickety voice, “who put her there.
“Whoever did this to that girl, I need to know that they’re going to pay.”
FIFTY-THREE
Nicole
Woody wasn’t in bed when Nicole woke up early Wednesday morning, but this time, there was a note.
Didn’t want to wake you. Meeting Maureen at her place for breakfast. Back soon.
It was, Nicole realized, the first time Woody and Maureen would share a meal together without her. She hoped to God it would bear fruit. The previous day, Nicole’s sister had stayed with her in the hospital until she was discharged. After stopping at Kinney Drugs for painkillers, Maureen had driven her home. “What you’re going through,” she’d said in the car, “I get it in a way most people don’t. This is my world, Nic. I can help you understand what’s happening to Woody. Let me be your guide.”
What I really need, Nicole had thought,is a fucking time machine.
The girls had been waiting at home when they arrived, which had left Nicole and Mac no choice but to explain the assault. Then came Woody, his eyes puffed and red, and that was that. Secrets weren’t an option anymore. Nicole, Maureen, and Woody told them everything, and the look on their faces had been gutting.
There had been questions, mostly from Alana. Blair, for her part, was dry-eyed and disturbingly quiet. Nicole didn’t know what to say. She still couldn’t believe the situation was real, but there was no denying one penetrating truth. Nicole had become a target, and she feared that had everything to do with Woody. As she watched her girls, she swore she’d find a way to stop the carnage. Destroy the threat and repair the mistakes that had sent them down this nightmarish path.
Maureen’s quiet strength had helped to quell the girls’ anxiety. She’d explained about the investigation, and coached them on how to get through it. “Whatever happens,” Maureen had said, “this won’t last forever. It’s going to be awful, but I promise you we’ll survive.” All the while, the pressure of Nicole’s uncertainty over what was coming next squeezed her chest like a fist.
Pizza, for the second time in as many days, had provided some distraction, after which the girls had gone to their rooms under the guise of doing homework. Nicole couldn’t bring herself to think about what was really happening behind those closed doors. Who they might be talking to about the situation. Whether they were afraid. When Nicole hugged her sister at the door, the exhaustion and trauma of the day nearly blinding, she’d felt pierced through with guilt. Maureen had been right: they needed help, and had for a long time. Should Nicole find Woody a lawyer? Write a statement for the press? There was so much they didn’t understand about the situation they’d been thrust into.
“Of course I’ll help,” Maureen had said. “I’m always here for you, you know that. We’ll start first thing tomorrow. For now, just get a good night’s rest.”
Part of Nicole wished she’d gone to Watertown with Woody so she could hear what Maureen had to say post-interview, but her face burned and throbbed where an anonymous man had bounced it off a wall, and she wasn’t sure she possessed the courage to learn where things stood with the case.
There was no one around when she dragged herself downstairs to make coffee, though the door that led to the garage was cracked, a cool draft chilling her bare feet. Those fucking boxes. She wanted to burn them all to ash and leave the useless crap inside scorched and twisted beyond repair. At the same time, in the wake of the beating and Woody’s interrogation, the issue of the counterfeit goods felt small, akin to a mosquito buzzing near her ear while she bled out from a bullet wound.
Nicole pulled the door closed with a click and filled the machine’s tank. As she waited for the pot to brew, she shook three painkillers from the bottle on the counter and chasedthem with tap water from the same bottle-green Coke glass she’d used on Saturday night. When Woody had swiped it for her, he’d tucked the big, sticky thing in his pocket, later whipping it out like a magician’s rabbit in the diner parking lot. She’d chided him for stealing, but he’d done it out of love. That was Woody’s north star, the light that guided him in every decision he made for his family. Over twenty-three years of marriage, he’d gotten almost all of them right.
Through the kitchen window, Nicole saw Stacy’s car pull into her driveway. The doorbell had stopped working ages ago, which hardly mattered. If anyone wanted to visit, they’d either knock or walk right in. Stacy did neither. On the stoop, she stood motionless, a stoic figure separated from Nicole by a thin pane of glass.
When she opened the door, Stacy’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh my God.” Her eyes roved over Nicole’s swollen face. “Jesus, Nic, are you OK?”
“I’ve been better.”
Stacy pulled her into a careful hug. “Blair texted me this morning. I told her not to worry about coming in today.”
Nicole had almost forgotten about the internship. She’d heard Blair leave earlier than usual, but hadn’t given her destination a second thought. “Maybe Nash skipped today too,” she said now, thinkinggood. Blair needed to get her mind off of her parents’ mess.
Studying her face once more, Stacy said, “This is insane. Who did this to you?”
“I don’t know. I was attacked from behind. I’m pretty sure it was a man, but beyond that …” She shrugged.
“Fucking men.” Stacy steered Nicole to the couch. “Can I get you some water? A coffee?”
“I was just making some. Should be almost ready.”
“I’ve got you. Stay right there.” Stacy set her purse and phone on the coffee table, and made her way to the kitchen.
From the couch, Nicole watched Stacy pull out mugs from the cupboard. Seeing her there in her stylish work clothes, juxtaposed with the shabby wooden cabinets and stained countertop, flooded Nicole with shame.
From the fridge where she was searching for creamer, Stacy called, “Do the police have any leads?”
