Owning Beauty (Taking Beauty Trilogy 3)

“Of course, Mr. Dalton.”

“And Sarah?”

“Yes?”

“Call Alex. Tell him to get the helicopter ready. I’ll be ready to leave in half an hour.”

“Of course, Mr. Dalton. Anything else?”

“No, Sarah, thank you.” I hung up the phone and sat back in my seat, looking around my office.

“This can wait one more day,” I said to the empty room, Bruce’s face haunting me.

“Thanks, Alex,” I said. “I’ll drive back on my own.”

“My pleasure, Bear,” he said, patting my back. “I’m real sorry about Bruce, man.”

“Thanks, brother,” I said, as I clipped the safety cord to my harness. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Take care, Bear,” he said. I dropped down onto the ladder swinging below. I descended all the way, jumping the last few feet to the ground below. I unhooked myself and waved up to Alex as he pulled the ladder up and closed the door. Seconds later, the helicopter ducked to the side and turned around, disappearing around the bend of the valley.

I turned back to the cabin, my heart beating wildly.

It wasn’t from jumping out of the hovering helicopter, it was being back here. I’d not been back since the morning I’d discovered Bruce’s body.

And before that, I’d not been here alone in two years. Bruce had been here every time.

The silence inside the cabin was deafening.

I walked around, my footsteps echoing through the empty house. I took a deep breath and walked out the front door and down the trail that led to Bruce’s cabin, remembering the last time I’d done this.

He’d still been alive in my head then.

I’d been coming to tell him that I was going to be a father. I’d arrived with joy in my heart, everything had been so fucking perfect and right in that moment.

I stopped when I reached the cabin, looking around, hoping that my fresh eyes would notice something—anything—to make sense of all of this.

But everything was normal. Bruce’s truck was still parked out front. His little kayak was still sitting next to the house, his muddy hiking boots on the porch by the front door, waiting for him to slide his huge feet into and tromp through the woods like Bigfoot.

I stepped up onto the porch and sat in the swing that was hanging on the side.

My eyes swept over the view, the creek flowing in the distance, the swaying trees still covered in snow. It wouldn’t melt up here until at least March, maybe April. The snow had been Bruce’s favorite thing about living up here. He’d sit out on this porch for hours, wrapped in a blanket, a beer in his hands, just thinking.

I sighed, feeling as if he was right here next to me.

I stood up and walked inside, closing the door behind me, the silence of the cabin washing over me like a wave, taking my breath away. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in here without him…except for that morning.

But even then, he was here.

I stood still, listening, feeling.

Maybe he was here now, too.

I’d sent in a cleaning crew after they’d removed his body. I couldn’t do it myself. But I’d told them only to clean, not to remove any of his things. They’d replaced the bed and linens, cleaned the kitchen and bathroom, but that was it.

I looked around now spotting signs of Bruce everywhere.

His ski goggles were discarded on the kitchen counter next to his car keys. His coat hung by the front door, next to his skis that were propped against the wall. A pair of slippers were next to the wood stove and I stared at it, contemplating whether I should light a fire. It was freezing in here.

I couldn’t stay long, though.

I needed to get back in time for dinner and the drive back would take a while. I eyed the bedroom warily, walking towards it slowly, my heart heavy, the memories flashing back.

I’d never be able to erase the images from my mind of that day, I knew that. Even now, as I gazed upon the freshly made bed, the rest of the room tidy and neat, I knew I’d never walk into this room again and not see him lying there.

I crossed the room, walking into the closet and stopping in my tracks. It smelled like him, the sudden scent startling me. I shook my head and gingerly looked through his clothes that were hanging there, smiling when I remembered how joyous he was when he was able to get rid of all of his suits.

I sighed, walking out of the closet.

I had no idea what I was looking for. I’d come here thinking that if I just showed up, I’d find some answers, but there was nothing here.

Maybe the cops were right. I still didn’t think so, but what was I missing?

“Give me a sign, man,” I whispered to the empty room, as I looked down at the bed, the ghost of his body lying there in my head. Tears stung my eyes and I shut them tight, willing it away.

I walked over to his dresser and rifled through the drawers.

Underwear, t-shirts, socks…the man was no mystery.

I walked into the second bedroom that was set up as an office, a desk in one corner and a chaise with a knitted blanket slung over it in the other.

I walked behind the desk, picking up a picture he’d placed there.

It was the two of us, lost a few years ago on a trail somewhere with a waterfall behind us.

“That was a good day,” I said to the empty room, as I put it down and picked up another picture. It was an old black and white of his parents.

They’d died a long time ago in a car accident, when Bruce was just a kid. He was raised by his aunt, who died not long after he went to college. He’d been on his own for so long. No family, not many friends, except me. The few he’d made during his career seemed to have vanished from his life after he quit, at least as far as I knew.

He’d told me he wanted to disappear back then. From all of the people he had to deal with everyday. Corrupt prosecutors, unfair judges, and everyone else walking all over anyone necessary to get noticed. It was a cut-throat environment and nobody ever won, he used to say. I never questioned him wanting to be alone, it all made sense to me.

But now, I wondered if it was wrong to allow him to be up here all alone for so long. Had things really gotten so bad that he felt the need to end it?

It didn’t make sense, even now, standing here in his death house.

I looked around and all I saw was life.

I put down the picture and sat down behind the desk. I went to open the desk drawer but it was locked. I retrieved his keys from the kitchen counter and tried a few of them. The tiniest one worked.

The drawer was empty besides a few pens and pencils and paperclips.

“That’s weird,” I whispered. Why was it locked if nothing was there?

I shook my head, pushing the drawer closed. It caught on something, not fully closing. Bending down, I looked inside and saw that it was getting caught on something taped to the underside of the desk. I reached in, pulling it out and inspecting it.

It was a plastic ziplock bag with a label on it.

NYPD

Evidence

Case #62702892

Exhibit G3

“What the hell?” I said, opening it up and pulling out the unmarked disc inside. I looked in the bag, but there was nothing else there.

I sat there for a few minutes, staring down at it, wondering what this meant.

“Is this my sign?” I said to the room.

“Fuck,” I muttered, shoving the disc back in the bag. I put his keys in my pocket and stood up, staring at the disc on the desk. Quickly, I looked through the rest of the desk, but there was nothing else of interest.

Everything was in its place and there wasn’t anything to suggest that anyone else had been here. There were no answers.

But maybe this was a clue.

I grabbed the disc and locked up. I walked out to his truck and jumped in, starting it up and backing out of the driveway. It would be dark soon and I wanted to get back home to Chloe. As I pulled out of the d

riveway, I stopped and looked back at the cabin.

“I love you, man,” I whispered, putting the truck in drive and roaring away.

“Shit,” I muttered an hour later as I looked down at the gas gauge on Bruce’s Ford. It was almost empty.

I pulled into the nearest gas station and jumped out of the truck.

While the gas filled the tank, I stood by the door, my hands running over the side of the truck. Bruce loved this thing. It was an older seventies model with so many dings and dents that you couldn’t count them, but Bruce loved every inch of it.

I spotted a strap of leather sticking out from behind the seat and pushed the seat up. I pulled out a black, leather backpack and unzipped it.

A change of clothes, a pair of boots with a pair of heavy wool socks stuffed inside and a bottle of water. I pulled out the boots and laid them on the seat of the truck and looked in the bottom of pack. Lying covered by a blue t-shirt was a set of books. Bible-sized leather bound books, four of them.

I opened them up and recognized Bruce’s handwriting right away. They were dated back over ten years, right around the time I’d met him. I flipped to a random page and read aloud.