Bring Her Home Page 35

  He looked around the house. He felt hungry, and he assumed Summer would be as well. She’d eaten well at the hospital, and already some fullness was returning to her cheeks. He’d feed her whatever she wanted to make up for being dehydrated and starved in the storage unit.

  He walked back to her bedroom, treading lightly. Her door was open, and when he peeked inside, she was sitting on the bed, running her hand over the smooth comforter and taking in the familiar surroundings, Winnie the Pooh in her lap.

  “I asked Detective Hawkins about something,” Bill said. “He said you could get the bracelet back soon. The one Mom gave you. The police need it for evidence, but they’ll give it back eventually.”

  She offered a weak smile. “Good. It must have fallen off in Adam’s house that day. The day he . . . you know. Took me or whatever.”

  “Are you hungry?” Bill asked.

  “Getting there.”

  “What do you want? We can get whatever you want.”

  “Yeah, sure. Are you okay, Dad? Really okay with everything we found out?”

  “I’m getting there,” he said. “We’re both getting there. It’s not going away easily.”

  “I saw the news on TV,” she said. “In the room before we left. I guess they think Clinton and Todd are going to plead guilty. Todd’s saying he tried to stop Clinton, that he was afraid of him, so he wants to catch a break of some kind. And Brandon . . .”

  “He’s trying to get a better deal. His lawyer is saying he should get consideration for wrapping Haley in the extra clothes. And for making the anonymous call to the police. They all agree he wasn’t there for the attack, but he helped them cover it up. I don’t think he deserves much of a break.”

  “He wasn’t as bad as the other two, but that’s not saying much.” Summer looked down, her lips pressed tight. “I can’t believe Haley and I ever stayed friends with those guys. I kind of dated Todd, and he was involved with something so monstrous.”

  “Did he ever hurt you? Todd? Or Clinton?”

  “No. We all knew Clinton was kind of crazy, but he’d always been that way. I should never have been close to someone like that.”

  Bill reached out and rubbed her knee. “It’s okay, kiddo. Remember what the therapist said? Don’t beat yourself up about the past. We’ve all made mistakes.”

  “Sure,” she said, her voice low. She squeezed his hand. “Thanks. Is Teena in trouble too?”

  “I think the police understand that she and her mom were vulnerable and fell for what Adam was peddling. And it helps her that you said she tried to get you out, that she tried to comfort you when she found you.”

  A bird called outside. The day was warmer, a hint of spring. Almost March, almost a time for abundant new life. Bill was ready.

  “Pizza?” he asked. “I could go for that.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Mushrooms. Lots of mushrooms.”

  “I know how you like it.”

  “Dad? I know you know something.”

  Summer’s blue eyes took him in, pinning him in place and refusing to let him slip away and off the hook. Just like her mother.

  “I thought I’d let you get settled in first,” he said.

  “What did Detective Hawkins tell you?” she asked. “You promised to tell me as soon as you knew.”

  Bill couldn’t argue. He couldn’t dodge the question. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to dodge anything in his life, no matter how difficult.

  “Okay. Well, they got the results of the autopsy. It was pretty easy to figure out, really.” He tried to make his voice gentle, to cushion the words he knew he had to speak. “They x-rayed Mom’s head. The fracture was there. Not from a fall, but more like someone had hit her with something. Something like a wine bottle, maybe. That’s pretty much it. They’re going to change the cause of death to homicide. Officially. I’m sorry, but you were right. He must have lost his cool when Mom rejected him.”

  Summer stared straight ahead, her face stoic, her eyes clear.

  “Are you okay?” Bill asked.

  “I am.”

  “We can talk more,” Bill said. “Anna Halstrom knows the name of a good therapist we can both talk to. I think we should.”

  “When will they rebury her or whatever?”

  “Tomorrow. Maybe the next day. I’m not sure.”

  “I want to be there, okay? Both of us.”

  “Sure. Of course we’ll be there.” Bill studied his daughter. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Do you want to talk?”

  “Are you okay with it?” she asked. “I knew about it sooner than you did.”

  “I’m getting used to the idea. I think.” Bill looked around the room, trying to focus on the positive. “It’s going to take a while.” His voice sounded ragged. He felt ragged, like a tattered and torn garment. “A long, long while.”

  “We’ll keep working on it.”

  “Okay.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “You should be proud for asking Adam what you did, for trying to find out what happened to Mom. And for surviving out there.” When she didn’t look up, he added, “I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Bill stood up. “You look tired. Do you want to take a little nap before we eat? It will take half an hour for the food to get here.”

  “Sure.”

  She kicked off her shoes and hugged the bear tightly as she slid farther up the bed.

  Bill tucked her in, pulling the covers up. He started to close the door, but Summer stopped him.

  “Just leave it cracked,” she said. “A little. I like to see the hall light.”

  Bill did as she asked. Then he made an immediate stop in the office, the room right next to Summer’s. He opened the ancient laptop and found the folder that held the two files he’d listened to more times than he could count over the previous year and a half.

  He thought about listening to them one more time but decided against it.

  Moving on. Really moving on.

  He took the mouse, started to drag the two files to the trash. And then stopped.

  What if Summer wants to hear them someday? Shouldn’t she have that choice?

  What if I want to hear Julia’s voice?

  He let go of the mouse, leaving the files in their place, closed the laptop’s lid, and went to order food for his daughter.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks again to the bloggers, booksellers, librarians, and readers who borrow, buy, review, and talk about my books.

  Thanks to Linda King for giving the book a thoughtful early read.

  Thanks to Barry Pruitt for his insights on police procedures.

  Thanks again to my amazing agent, Laney Katz Becker, for her never-ending work and support.

  Thanks again to my wonderful publicist, Loren Jaggers, for getting the word out.

  Thanks again to my dynamic editor, Danielle Perez, for her patience, care, and dedication.

  Thanks again to everyone at Berkley for all of their hard work.

  Thanks again to my family and friends.

  And thanks again to Molly McCaffrey for everything else.

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  1. Bill alludes to difficulties he had with Summer before she disappeared. Do you think this was typical teenage rebellion, or was it exacerbated by her mother’s death?

  2. The reader learns that Bill once grabbed Summer, leading her to call the police. Do you think the police made the right decision when they chose not to press charges? Did finding this out about Bill make you feel differently about him?

  3. Bill thinks of Adam as one of his closest friends. Why do you think Bill was so drawn to Adam?

  4. Bill turns to his sister, Paige, in times of crisis, even though their relationship is sometimes contentious. Do you think their sibling relationship is typical?
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  5. Taylor has a difficult time turning over her daughter’s dental X-rays to the police. Do you understand why she hesitated to learn the truth?

  6. Candy seems to imply that Summer was a bad influence on her daughter, Haley. Do you think this is true? Is it normal in a teenage friendship for one kid to be more of a leader than the other?

  7. Bill and Julia were having difficulties in their marriage. Do you think their marriage would have survived had Julia lived?

  8. Do you believe Doug when he says that he would never have hurt Emily and only wanted to help solve the crimes?

  9. Were you surprised to learn that Adam had been in the house on the day Julia died? Do you understand why Summer kept that a secret from her dad?

  10. Do you think Bill and Summer made the right choice, to have Julia’s body exhumed for an autopsy? If it was your mother or spouse or sister, would you have wanted to know the truth?

  11. Teena and Brandon, while not as deeply involved in the crimes as the other teenagers, still kept secrets and showed poor judgment. Would you want to see them prosecuted for their roles in the crimes?

  12. At the end of the novel, Bill briefly contemplates destroying the recordings of Julia’s voice from the day she died. Why do you think he thought about that? Do you think he made the right choice in keeping them?

  Don’t miss another exciting novel of suspense from David Bell.

  SINCE SHE WENT AWAY

  Available now

  CHAPTER ONE

  Five police cars. Three news vans. And one coroner’s wagon.

  Jenna Barton saw them as she made the turn onto the last county lane. The vehicles were fanned out around the old weathered barn with one wall collapsing and the others hanging on for dear life.

  The fields around her on either side, stretching away for miles to the edges of the county, were empty and barren, still marked by patches of snow from an uncharacteristically heavy storm for that part of Kentucky. The soil was dark and lumpy, the remnants of cornstalks sticking out like spikes.

  As she came closer, the dirt and gravel on the narrow road pinging against the underside of her car, she saw the people as well. County sheriffs in their pale green uniforms and Smokey Bear hats. News reporters in their nice clothes, their hair perfect, were being followed by cameramen in flannel shirts and heavy boots. And a scattering of onlookers, the curious good old boys who heard the call on their scanners or read about it on Twitter, were standing around in their feed caps, hands thrust deep into pockets against the cold, hoping for a glimpse of something horrific. Something gory or gross, some story they could tell later that night in the Downtowner while they sipped beers or threw darts.

  Yeah, they’d say, their bravado mostly covering their unease, I saw them bring the body out. Wasn’t hardly anything left. . . .

  Jenna parked next to a sheriff’s cruiser, but she didn’t get out. She sat in the car, hands clenching the wheel, and took a few deep breaths. She told herself this was probably nothing, another false alarm, one of many she had experienced over the past three months. Every time an unidentified woman’s body was found in central Kentucky, along an interstate or in a culvert, an abandoned house or the woods, someone called her. Usually the media but sometimes the police, and Jenna would have to wait it out, wondering whether this would be the time they’d tell her they’d found Celia. As she sat in the car, her eyes closed, the heater making the cabin of her Civic feel even closer and more cramped than it already was, she wondered whether she wanted to know the truth or if she could keep her eyes shut and hide forever. Would she finally feel relief when they found her best friend’s body?

  The thoughts swirled through her brain like some twisted Zen koan:

  I want to know.

  I don’t want to know.

  A light tapping against the window brought her eyes open. Jenna blinked a few times, turned her head. She saw a smiling face, one wearing a pound of makeup. Becky McGee from Local 40 News. Becky gave a short wave, her shoulders rising in anticipation of Jenna’s response.

  Jenna turned the car off and stepped out. She’d been at work when Becky called and still wore her light blue scrubs. She’d rushed out of the office so fast she barely had time to grab her keys and purse. A damp winter chill hit Jenna as she straightened up, so she pulled her coat tighter, felt the light sting of the wind against her cheeks.

  Becky placed her hand gently on Jenna’s upper arm. “How are you?” she asked, her voice cooing as if she were talking to an invalid or a frightened child. “Tough day, huh?”

  “Is it her?” Jenna asked.

  “They don’t know anything,” Becky said. “Or they won’t tell us anything. They’ve been poking around in there for the last thirty minutes. It’s a potential crime scene, so they have to take their time. . . .”

  Becky’s voice trailed off as Jenna’s eyes wandered to the old barn. Some cops stood at the opening where a door once hung, staring inside. One of them said something and then smiled, looking to the man next to him for a laugh as well. They were close to fifty feet away from Jenna, so she couldn’t hear them, and she envied their ease at the scene, their lack of emotional involvement in the outcome of the search. She looked around. She was the only one truly invested, the only one who would buckle with pain if Celia’s body was discovered in the shitty, run-down barn.

  Jenna turned back to Becky. The camera guy, Stan, loomed behind her, the equipment in his hand but not shooting. Jenna had learned over the past few months what the red light meant. “What did they find?” she asked. “You said on the phone it was a body.”

  “Well, it’s—” The cheer and lilt quickly went out of Becky’s voice. She was a little older than Jenna, probably in her early forties, but her voice still sounded like the high school cheerleader she had once been. “Bones. I guess a bone to be more specific.” Becky nodded, confirming the fact. “Yes, they found a bone. A surveying crew was out here, and they went inside the barn to get out of the cold or to take a smoke break, and they found a leg bone. Now they’re digging around in there, looking for more.” Becky made an exaggerated frown to show how awful she found the whole situation.

  “Did someone call Ian?” Jenna asked.

  “I did. He said he wasn’t going to come. You know he never makes it out to anything like this.” Becky lowered her voice. “I think he mistrusts any potential display of emotion. Plus, you know, a lot of people still think he’s guilty.”

  “The police cleared him,” Jenna said.

  “Mostly,” Becky said, her voice low.

  Jenna wished she could be as strong as Ian, could so easily and readily draw lines and never cross them. It was easier for men. People accepted it if a man was cold and distant. “He’s smarter than me, I guess. It’s so cold out here.”

  Jenna saw the other reporters and their cameramen moving her way. They recognized her, of course, after all the stories and interviews, after all the features and updates on Celia’s case. They knew she was good for a quote or two, knew the viewers loved to hear from her, even the ones who took to online forums and social media to criticize her. It was Jenna whom Celia was leaving the house to see that night back in November. It was Jenna who first called Ian when Celia didn’t arrive at their designated meeting place. It was Jenna, Celia’s best friend since high school, who could tell the viewers anything they wanted to know about Celia.

  Jenna knew the reporters were using her, but she couldn’t help herself. She felt obligated to speak to them out of loyalty to Celia, even though she always received crank calls—at work and at home—and hateful comments on Twitter and Facebook. People offered support too, plenty of people, she reminded herself. But the nasty ones stuck with her.

  Becky nodded to Stan, easing toward Jenna, reaching out with one hand to brush something off her coat. “You know what would be great? We’d love to be able to get your reaction now, you know, and have it as part of the
story tonight. And I’ve already heard from New York. Reena wants to do a live remote tonight, put it all over CNN. Of course she’d love to have you again. She thinks you’re great.” Becky tilted her head to one side, studying Jenna. “This is so cool that you wore your work uniform. It’s so real. If you could slip your coat off and—”

  “Please, Becky.” She didn’t want to be rude, didn’t want to snap at the reporter, who Jenna knew was only doing her job and who had always been decent to her. Jenna tried to soften her words with a smile, but it felt forced, like squeezing toothpaste back into a tube. “It’s cold out here.”

  “You want the coat on?” Becky asked. “That’s fine. It’s a little brisk, even for February.”

  “No, I don’t want to talk right now,” Jenna said, her voice friendly but firm. “Not before.”

  Becky was a professional, but that didn’t mean she could hide all her emotions. One side of her mouth crinkled when Jenna told her no, and a glossy coldness passed over her eyes. “You don’t want to talk now?” Becky’s eyes darted around. She scooted closer, lowering her voice and adding a steely edge. “You’re not going to talk to someone else, are you?”

  “I’m not going to talk to another reporter, no. Of course not.” Jenna sighed. “Whatever happens, I’ll talk to you first.”

  “Good. Because you and I—” Becky’s glance darted to the other reporters, who stood just out of earshot. She eyed them like a school of circling sharks, which in a way they were. “We’ve always had a rapport, ever since this happened. And with Reena in New York helping me—”

  “After,” Jenna said. “Okay? Let’s just talk after.”

  “After what?” Becky asked.

  “After we find out what’s—who’s—really in that barn.”

  “Are you sure?” Becky asked. She lowered her voice again. “You know it could take a while for them to identify anything. I mean, they have to use the dental records at this point. And you always have something interesting to say. And this whole town has been on edge for the past few months. Things like this don’t happen here.”