Kill Me If You Can

33

I did whatever was necessary to entertain the two little ones the rest of the morning, short of balancing on my head. By eleven, Hannah was whining for food and Andrew was demanding it. I hauled them into the kitchen. Andrew decimated some saltines while Hannah made designs with a pile of Cheerios. I boiled hot dogs and noodles, glancing out the window a million times, wondering what the crowd on the lawn could be discussing. At some point, Brad, Officer Segerstrom, and my grandfather had shown up to chat with Joel and Gerard. Samantha rolled in with her trusty VW and joined the group.

About 11:30 the clan broke up. Sam was the first in the house.

“Tish.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of earshot of the young Belmonts. “Can you believe Drake’s dead? And that cop was asking me questions like he thought I might have done it.”

I made a wry face. “Well, at least you have an alibi. I was out alone all morning.”

Her eyes shifted and she looked at the floor. “Then we’re in the same boat. I thought I spotted Gill’s Suburban following me on the way to work, and I took off toward Manistique. I parked the van behind some trees at a roadside park all morning. I just now got the nerve to come back.” She leaned against the wall and buried her head in her palms. “I hope I still have a job.”

I patted her shoulder. “Apparently, Melissa’s time is unaccounted for as well. It appears we women were on a killing spree this morning. Here. Have some coffee.” I crossed the room and poured her a cup. I knew from experience that it did no good to panic. The system would just have to run its course. They’d do their investigation, pick a suspect to pin it on, and the poor sap would do the time, unless evidence showed up to the contrary.

“Look at my tower, Aunt Samantha,” Hannah said. The girl had layered her Cheerios one by one in a two-inch-high stack. As we oohed and aahed our approval, the whole thing toppled. “Watch me do it again,” she said, undeterred. She glanced toward the doorway. “Watch this, Mom.”

Melissa stood at the arch to the great room. “That’s great, honey.” She turned to me and Sam. “Sorry to abandon you guys. I had no energy after my walk this morning. I feel better after that nap.”

Samantha and I looked at each other. Sam gave me big eyes and a nudge of her head as if to say, Go tell her about Drake.

I gave a swift shake of my head and a scrunch of my lips that said, No way. You do it.

With arms of surrender, Sam guided Melissa into the great room. Whispers. A snuffle. One good sob.

“How many Cheerios do you have, Hannah?” I said as a quick distraction from the conversation in the other room. The youngster astounded me by dividing the cereal into piles of ten and then giving me a total.

“Wow. You’re so smart.” I tried to devise a more complex game to occupy her attention.

Melissa and Sam came back into the room. Melissa’s eyes were puffed and red. She was either sincere in her grief or a talented actress. She leaned toward her four-year-old. “Hannah, honey, Mommy has something to tell you.”

The two walked out the back door. I took Andrew into the great room to play. Out the front windows, I saw mother and daughter heading toward the beach. Following slowly behind was Officer Segerstrom and Gerard. It seemed it was Melissa’s turn to face the firing squad.

My heart gave a nervous plunge. What if Melissa had been the one to kill Drake? She certainly had every excuse to do the deed. But what would it ultimately benefit her if she were behind bars and strangers raised her children?

Or what about Samantha? Was she such a Good Samaritan that she would murder a man so Melissa could live safe and free?

As for me, I had neither the motive nor the gumption for the act. Besides getting the lodge to myself once more, there was no urgency to pick off Drake Belmont. I didn’t even own a gun or have access to one.

But someone did.

Still, this was one case I hoped the cops left alone. Whoever murdered Drake had done a public service. Now Melissa and her kids could get back to their lives, and there was one less drug dealer and wife beater to contaminate the community.

But somewhere deep in the back of my conscience, a thought nagged at me. Someone was playing God. And people who played God had narrow minds. There was no benevolent motive for killing Drake Belmont. Only a selfish motive. Only a dark motive.

I looked out at the beach. Gerard had taken Hannah off to build a sandcastle. Officer Segerstrom spoke with Melissa. I watched her gestures, innocent and despairing, and wondered how much fact there was in her façade and how much fiction. Perhaps Candice LeJeune had pegged Melissa correctly. Perhaps the young woman was a conniving liar. And perhaps she had us all right where she wanted us: smack dab in the middle of her murder drama, with herself as the tragic victim of abuse and Drake the deserving dead man.

I heard footsteps behind me. I turned.

“Brad. Hi.” For a moment I could hardly breathe.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, bending down to pat the baby.

“Okay, I guess.” I inhaled. “Did you find out anything?”

He nodded. “Yep. You, me, Melissa, Joel, and Samantha are the prime suspects. We all had motive and opportunity. But without a murder weapon or other evidence, there won’t be any arrests.”

“What was your supposed motive?” I asked. I had a hard time believing Brad could even be considered a suspect. He’d only just arrived in the U.P. and had no connections to the victim.

“Protecting you, apparently. Drake had threatened to burn you out for turning him in, remember? And now that you are sheltering the man’s runaway wife, he had even more reason to harm you. And that’s why I had no choice but to kill him before he got to you, the woman of my dreams.” He gave a wink.

I smiled despite the morbid topic. “That’s so romantic. But who do you think really did it?”

He threw his arms up. “Who knows? Drake lived his life like a fool. He died on your property, which makes it seem like it was one of us. But it could have had as much to do with the marijuana he was growing as anything.”

I nodded. “Either way, someone did a good deed.”

Brad shook his head in disagreement. “No. Murderers are capable of anything. You don’t want one on the loose. Not even if it turns out to be Melissa.” He stared me in the face. “Or you.”

Indignation rose in my chest, even though tagging me a murderer was technically true. “Or perhaps your sister?” I shot back.

“Not even Sam.”

Melissa came in. “There’s my baby,” she said in a chipper voice and picked up Andrew. She gave the child a kiss on the forehead. “We get to go home soon, little mister.”

The two disappeared upstairs. I gave Brad a questioning look. Was it really best for everyone if the murderer was snugly behind bars?