The Bone House

Her heart was still full of Mark Bradley. She hadn't been so close to him in almost a year, and she wanted to remember his face, the feel of his body, and the sound of his voice while it was all vivid to her. The time away at school in River Falls had done nothing to change how she felt. She loved him.

She wanted to save him.

Tresa held her phone in her cold hand. As the sun sank lower, shadows lengthened on the water. She hesitated about dialing, because she hadn't called in almost two years. That was how life worked. People drifted apart. For all she knew, the number had changed like everything else about her friend.

She dialed it anyway. She listened to the ringing and felt oddly anxious, as if she would be calling a stranger. She thought about hanging up, but then she heard the voice on the other end. It hadn't changed. She felt sad and ashamed. All the old guilt flooded over her. She didn't even know if she could speak.

'Hi,' she said finally.

There was a long silence as she waited for Jen Bone to sift through her memory and unearth a face and a name from her long-ago past. 'Tresa?'

'Yeah, it's me.'

'Oh, my God. How are you?' 'OK.'

it's been forever.'

'I know. I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you. You know, new life and all. I wasn't sure you even wanted to remember me. I mean, because of everything.'

'Yeah.'

'I ask Mr Hoffman about you all the time,' Tresa said. 'He keeps me posted on what you're doing, sends me the school newspaper sometimes, that kind of thing.'

'I ask him about you, too.'

'Oh, yeah? OK.'

'Listen, I heard about Glory on the news,' Jen said. 'The girls at school were talking about it. I'm really sorry.'

'Thanks.'

'Your mom must be a wreck.'

'Yeah, she is.'

'Are you back at River Falls?'

'No, I'm taking the term off. Mom needs me here.'

'That's good.'

Tresa wondered how to say it. How do you say to a girl who was once your best friend: If anyone knows where your father is, you do. She struggled in silence, until it was awkward between them.

'The papers said the police have a suspect,' Jen continued, when Tresa said nothing, it sounded like you had some kind of relationship with him. Is that true?'

'He didn't do it.'

Tresa heard the hesitation on the line. 'Sure, OK. Whatever you say.' 'It's true.'

'I believe you.' She added, 'What do you want, Tresa? Why are you calling me?'

Tresa began, but she stumbled over her words. 'It's about Glory.'

'What about her?'

'Actually, I guess it's not really about her. Listen, I have to know.'

'What?'

Tresa swallowed hard. 'Have you heard from your father?'

'My father? Are you kidding? Why?'

'I just wondered.'

'No, of course not. He wouldn't contact me. Oh, Jeez, you think he did this, don't you? That's what this is about.'

'Well, I mean, him being missing and all. The police are still looking for him. I thought if Glory saw him in Florida—'

'That's crazy, Tresa.'

'Is it? I don't know.'

'He wouldn't do this.'

'How do you know?'

She could hear her friend breathing and feel her indecision. Even after all these years, they still had a connection. They'd been as close as sisters. 'Look, Tresa, can you keep a secret?'

'You know I can. How can you say that to me?'

'Swear it.'

'I do, I do.'

'Then listen. My father didn't do this. So don't go spreading rumors like he did, OK? Stop it. I mean, maybe you're trying to help your boyfriend, but I don't need this all thrown in my face again. I've spent too much time getting past it. I'm a different girl now.'

'Yeah, but you don't know, do you? I mean, it's possible.'

'It's not. Really. The thing is, I know where my father is. He called me last year. He's living in Mexico. He's safe, and I'm safe. I don't want this thing splashed all over the news again and have someone turn him in. You know? So for me, Tresa, please, let it go. My father didn't kill Glory.'

Chapter Twenty-Six

The bar owned by Troy Geier's father sat at a deserted intersection on County Road T, miles from any of the coastal towns. The low white building needed a fresh coat of paint, as did the two-story farmhouse behind it. Cab parked in the dirt of the highway shoulder and headed for the front of the bar. As he did, he spotted a teenage boy hauling two bulging trash bags through the side door. Troy Geier hiked to the rear of the building, breathing loudly, and Cab followed. He heard the clang of metal as the boy threw the bags into a dumpster, and as Troy barreled back around the corner, he nearly collided with Cab and stopped in surprise.

'Hello, Troy.'

Troy adopted a who-cares attitude, but Cab knew it was fake. 'I heard you were in town,' the boy said.

'Got a minute?'

'Yeah, I guess, but my dad will get pissed if I'm too long.'

'It won't be long.'

Cab wandered into the middle of the empty road with his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. His tie blew over his shoulder. Troy trailed behind him, his feet shuffling. Cracks ran through the asphalt in the county road. There were no cars in any direction.

Troy smelled of frying grease and stale beer. He wore a Woody the Woodpecker T-shirt and blue jeans, and his hands were dirty. His bulging cheeks looked like a squirrel eating nuts.

'What do you do at the bar?' Cab asked.

'Whatever my dad tells me to do.'

Cab nodded. Troy's wavy hair was flat where he'd been wearing a hat, but Cab figured it could have been the giant thumbprint of Troy's dad squashing his boy. Whether it was his father, or Glory, Troy did as he was told.

'I heard you got a witness who can help you nail Mark Bradley,' Troy told him.

'Who told you that?'

'Mrs Fischer talked to the sheriff.'

'Well, we've still got a lot of work to do,' Cab said. 'In the meantime, I need to clear up a few things with you, Troy.'