“I still don’t understand why you came up here,” Peggy said to Janine. “And why would anyone think you killed Lucas Erickson? Ohhh. But—but that was twenty-five years ago.”
The crash had made headlines. A small town now, despite its discovery by tourists and wealthy snowbirds, Deer Park had been almost claustrophobic back then. The McCaskills were well known, and the death of a guest at their lake house was big news. Michael Brown had been a star on the basketball court and people up here were Griz fans. And Lucas had grown up in Whitefish, the next town over.
The assault, though, had been kept quiet. After Janine decided not to press charges, what would have been the point? They’d all expected that Lucas would be charged with negligent homicide, along with other charges for the injuries to Jeremy, and pay his debt to society. They’d all been shocked when nothing happened. Sarah had told her parents about the assault—she’d never asked what Janine told her mother—and if Peggy and JP thought it a mistake not to pursue Lucas in court, they’d never said so.
But she hadn’t told them the part that kept up her up at night.
“I’ve never understood,” Sarah said, “why Lucas settled in Deer Park. Wouldn’t it have bothered him? To remember what he did here, to be stared at, whispered about?”
“I never heard anyone say a thing,” Peggy replied. “Maybe when he and Misty first moved here—five years? More? It was all so long ago. And people understand. Accidents happen.”
Sarah felt Janine’s eyes boring into her.
“Misty,” she said. “Should I know Misty?”
“Misty Calhoun. Calhoun Sporting Goods. She was a year behind your sister, I think.”
“Ohmygosh, we stopped there this morning.”
“She took over when her father died—expanded the Deer Park store and opened one in Whitefish. That’s where she moved when she and Lucas got divorced last year.”
“The wife’s always a suspect,” Sarah said, “at least on TV. Double that for ex-wives.”
Peggy put a hand on Janine’s arm. “No matter what he did, finding him must have been terrible. You poor thing. I’m glad you and Sarah ran into each other. Stay here as long as you want. Treat the lodge like your home.”
Janine didn’t say anything about running from the scene, or forcing her way into the cabin. She didn’t mention the letter Lucas had sent her, or Leo’s suspicions. So Sarah bit her tongue.
The cat rubbed against her leg. “You like that food? Or were you so hungry you’d eat anything?” She ran a hand down the cat’s back, the spine and ribs too close to the surface, and the cat twitched. “We’ll fatten you up.”
“I can’t imagine where he came from,” Peggy said. “Ask around. Or call the vet, or the animal shelter. He might be lost.”
“She. Janine found her sitting on the front porch last night. And ask who? There are no neighbors out here.”
Peggy waved a hand vaguely but Janine interrupted before she could answer.
“When I called the bakery this morning, I promised to check in later and let my boss know when I’d be back. Mind if I borrow your phone?”
Sarah took her phone out of her pocket and handed it over. Janine left through the mudroom.
“I’m trying to understand,” Peggy said. “I really am.”
“When you figure it out, let me know.” Sarah pushed back her chair and stood. At the stove, she picked up the kettle, then put it down without refilling her mug. She stared at the burners and the red kettle, not seeing anything, then spoke, her back to her mother. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”
“You’re allowed to be off-center, honey. It happens to all of us.”
“This might sound odd, but is there a group of volunteers that decorates the roadside crosses?”
“The American Legion puts them up. Every few years, you see a crew out sanding and repainting, straightening posts the snowplows bent. But decorating, no. That’s up to the family. Why?”
“The cross on the highway, by th
e marsh,” Sarah said. “Michael Brown’s cross. Someone’s tied fresh ribbon to it, hung a little UM grizzly. And now Lucas …”
Peggy pressed her hands together in prayer position, held them to her lips. “I didn’t even notice. I was so worried about you. Do you think there’s a connection?”
“I don’t know what to think. About Lucas. About Janine being here. She called Nic—Nicole, who’s on her way from Billings, for God’s sake. That’s more than four hundred miles. Why does she need a lawyer? Why is this all coming up now? Just when Jeremy …” She couldn’t say it. Sometimes she could say her husband died; at other times, the words wouldn’t form, as if her brain were refusing to admit reality. And she had no patience for the euphemisms—passed, lost. But right now, she had lost all words.
“Do you think I did it?” Janine asked from the doorway. “Tell me now. If you think I shot Lucas, tell me now and I’ll go. I’ll be out of your life for good.”