If I Should Die

“To cover up a murder?”

“Exactly. Yesterday I wasn’t sure if her death was natural or inflicted, but I wasn’t thinking straight. There is no logical way for her to naturally die in that position. Maybe she was killed in or near the mine, and it was the only place the killer could think of leaving her. Maybe it was an accident-and someone panicked and didn’t want to go to the authorities.”

“Tim said no one in town is missing.”

“No one from Spruce Lake is missing. What about the surrounding areas? Potsdam or Canton? A camper from last summer? Spruce Lake is small, but the highway winds through the state park and could bring people from all over passing through.”

“What do you want to do?” Sean asked, though he knew the answer.

“Go back down in the mine, first thing in the morning.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“I’ll understand if you’re not ready-”

“I’m not letting you go alone.”

“How’s your leg?”

“Fine.” It hurt like hell. “What do you expect to find?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Or maybe a clue to her identity. How she died. How she was moved. Who she was. A confession etched on the wall of the tunnel, I don’t know. I just feel like I need to go down there and do something.”

And that was the crux of the problem, Sean realized. Lucy felt helpless and her need to find justice for the dead woman-to give her family peace-overrode the details of the plan. If she didn’t search for answers, she wouldn’t be able to put it to rest. The woman would be on her mind, a tragic puzzle with no solution. Even if Lucy went down in the mine and found nothing, at least she would feel that she had done everything she could.

“All right,” he said. “We go down first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you. And-would you mind if I asked Patrick to pull all missing persons in the area? Not just St. Lawrence County, but all of upstate New York? Maybe the adjoining states?”

“Already done.” He grinned at the surprise on her face and leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lucy stared at him with such a quizzical expression that Sean laughed.

“You never have to hold back with me, Luce. Your mind is a computer. You go through all the arguments you can think of to get your point across, and then bring them up one by one until you get your way.”

She looked both confused and sheepish, not sure if what he’d just said was a compliment. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Brainstorm with me. Give me all your ideas, the good and the bad, and we’ll go through them together. You don’t have to justify your reasons for anything, not to me.”

“That’s not what I was doing.”

“Yes you were. Maybe you don’t see it.”

She shook her head and turned away.

What had he said wrong? He wanted Lucy to know that he knew her, how she thought, how she felt, so she never felt that she had to put on an act for him. She didn’t have to sell him on her ideas. With her family and her colleagues, she was always hesitant to stand by her theories, though she was rarely wrong. Sean wanted her to have the confidence she deserved without tacit approval from Patrick or the rest of her family, or even him.

He stood and limped over to her, his leg stiff from sitting too long.

“You can say anything to me, Lucy.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

“Good.” He kissed her, a long, soft kiss that generally was a prelude to taking her to bed. He wished they had more time alone-she was still preoccupied, and it felt important to find out what she was thinking. “Luce, I mean it.”

“Sometimes I think you enjoy this game of yours a little too much. Trying to read me, so proud when you get into my head. And you’re good at it. Really.” But she wasn’t smiling, and Sean felt a chill run down his spine. “I like that you understand me, and I love that you’re so supportive. But sometimes I feel manipulated, like a puppet, when I explain something you already figured out.”

“I don’t mean to-”

“I know you don’t.” She squeezed his hand. “If I thought you were doing it to make me feel foolish, I wouldn’t be here. You know me, Sean, better than anyone. Which is kind of scary considering we haven’t known each other for long. So think about that-knowing me, how I would feel if someone was manipulating me.”

Sean realized he had made a critical mistake with Lucy. “Sweetheart, I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that, right?”

She smiled and nodded, but Sean saw that she’d put her shields back up, the invisible barrier that he hated. She should never feel defensive around him.

He wanted to push. Instead, he said, “I think it’s time to go into town and see what crawls out of the woodwork.”

TEN

An audible hush descended on the half-filled Lock amp; Barrel when Lucy and Sean made their entrance with Adam Hendrickson. All eyes turned to the group as they crossed the room to an empty booth. They sat, Adam on one side, Sean and Lucy on the other.

The crowd resumed talking. Quietly, making no pretense that they weren’t looking at the threesome.

“You sure know how to kill a party,” Sean said, bemused. “I swear, this place is right out of Deadwood.”

“Until these past few months, I’d have said Spruce Lake wasn’t as violent or colorful,” Adam said. “Now, I don’t know.”

Lucy looked around. Small, round lopsided tables littered the dark, scuffed wood floor and a row of booths lined the far wall. Behind the worn bar was a beveled mirror to watch the crowd. The mirror itself was an antique. Much of the bar and its decor was old but durable, adding a certain raw charm. A sign on a small stage in the back declared that Bo Crouse and the Miners were playing from eight-thirty until closing on Friday and Saturday, and the specials were written in Day-Glo chalk near the kitchen: Unlimited barbeque ribs for $6.99 and draft beers for a dollar.

Black-and-white photographs of the Kelley Mining Company lined the walls. Kelley had been the only major employer in Spruce Lake for decades. Mining equipment hung from the ceiling and an old mining cart was showcased in the corner, reminding Lucy of the cart she’d seen yesterday in the mine.

A bald, middle-aged man worked behind the bar, and the lone waitress-a skinny blonde in her midthirties who wore too-bright makeup and too-tight jeans-approached the table with a warm smile that didn’t quite reach her tired eyes.

“Adam Hendrickson! You haven’t been by in forever. And you brought friends.” She appraised Sean as if he were a Playgirl centerfold and she the lucky photographer.

Adam introduced Sean and Lucy. “They’re friends visiting before the resort opens.” He looked over at them. “Trina was always nice to me when I visited in the summers.”

“Your arrival was always exciting! City boy visiting us hicks for two whole months. A cutie, too. Anything to liven up this town.” She then did a double take on Sean. “You’re the one Doc Woody was talking about!” Trina looked at Sean’s lap. “Twelve stitches, huh? Did it hurt?”

Sean gave Trina a self-deprecating nod and dimpled half-smile. Lucy had seen him turn on the charm like a faucet, and it never failed-whether the women were young or old, attached or single.

“Not much,” he said modestly.

While they talked about the “excitement,” as Trina called it, a sprinkling of pinpricks crawled up Lucy’s spine.