“What about the congresswoman?”
“What about her?”
“Breezy also said that Ellen had a problem with pills. That sounds like something a politician would want to keep secret.”
Violet sat in silence for a while without answering me. “Breezy said that? Breezy wasn’t anywhere near Ellen in the past ten years. So let me guess where this came from. Dennis, right?”
“Are you saying he lied? It wasn’t true?”
“I’m saying Dennis is still upset and angry about the divorce. He’s not a credible source.”
“That’s not exactly a denial, Violet.”
“So what? It’s none of your business.”
“If Ellen was abusing pills when Jeremiah disappeared, then yes, it is my business.”
“She wasn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.” She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and stared through the windshield with a frown. “Look, all I’m going to tell you is this: Ellen struggled with the disappearance of her son. I’m sure that’s no surprise. She was in therapy after it happened, and she was treated with medication. Hypothetically, if that resulted in any kind of problem, she dealt with it, and she’s clean now.”
“Okay.”
“Does that answer your concerns?”
“For the moment, yes.”
Violet shook her head in disgust, showing emotion for the first time. “This is low, even for Dennis. Gossiping about his wife’s depression over her missing son. But I guess it shouldn’t surprise me.”
“You don’t like him.”
“No. I don’t. I never have. Ellen has been my friend since I moved to Mittel County. I put up with Dennis for her sake. But she deserved better. She didn’t need him. He was holding her back. She finally realized that, too.”
“I guess she did.”
“You know when I lost all respect for Dennis?”
“When?”
“The day after Jeremiah disappeared. I went over to their house that Saturday night to be with Ellen, and Dennis wasn’t there. Can you believe that? He walked out on his wife while their son was missing. He bailed on her. I never forgave him for that.”
“Why did he leave?”
“Because he was a coward. He couldn’t deal with it.”
“And you’re sure it was that Saturday night?”
“That’s right. I was there with Ellen all night, and she was alone. Dennis didn’t get back until early morning.”
“Where did he go?”
Violet shot a glance at Breezy’s trailer. Mixed emotions spilled across her face. “I don’t know for sure, but I can guess. When he came in, he reeked of booze. And he reeked of sex, too.”
Chapter Forty-One
I got out of the truck, and Violet drove away.
I surveyed the police activity that was still going on outside Breezy’s trailer, and then I walked down the dirt road through the snow until the crime scene was blocked from view by the trees. It was the middle of a winter night, and I was cold, wet, and mostly blind.
The road vanished into the forest ahead of me. In the sticky heat of summer ten years ago, Paul Nadler would have driven this same road in the white F-150, with Jeremiah on the seat next to him. A sweet old man, a sweet young boy. They were in no real danger at that moment, as far as I knew. There was no reason we shouldn’t have found both of them eventually. There was no reason why this story hadn’t ended with Jeremiah safely back home.
All I could think was: Someone intervened. Something happened.
I was about to go back to the trailer when I heard a noise not far away. The closer I listened to it, the louder it became. I had no idea where it was coming from. It seemed to be disembodied, floating over the trees, landing on me like the sheets of snow.
Music.
Someone was playing music deep in the forest. I could even recognize what it was. “Stairway to Heaven.”
Breezy had heard music ten years ago, too. She’d stood at the diner counter and talked about music playing half the night and keeping her awake. We’d both assumed it was coming from the Gruders, but listening to the music now, I realized how sound can play tricks on your ears. What Breezy heard could easily have come from somewhere else, like a pickup truck with its radio on, in the overgrown field of an abandoned resort.
I listened to the mysterious music and felt a crushing sense of guilt. Breezy had told me about the music she’d heard back then, and I’d completely missed the clue. I’d never given a thought to the idea that the music might have been connected to Jeremiah. I could have gotten in my cruiser and gone out there and saved him. The boy would still be alive. Instead, here we were.
The song in the forest called to me like a Pied Piper. I had to know where it was coming from and who was playing it. I headed back to the trailer and got in my cruiser. I took off down the dirt road, plowing and swerving through the drifts of fallen snow. When I reached the T-intersection, I stopped and got out of the car and listened. Where Will Gruder lived, down the driveway to the left, the forest was silent. The music was coming from the other direction.
From Mittel Pines.
I kept driving. My headlights lit up the old road sign that was a like a headstone for the resort. My windshield wipers dragged aside snow and ice. I could see ruts chewed through the powder, already being filled in by fresh snow.
Someone had driven here before me.
I went slowly, but I got stuck twice and had to use a shovel from the trunk to dig a path for my tires. It took me almost half an hour to drive two miles.
When I got there, I found a car parked at the dead-end turnaround for the resort. I didn’t recognize it, but it was an Escalade about the size of Canada, with a bumper sticker that said Repent in red letters. I got out of my cruiser and shined a flashlight on the Escalade’s interior, but it was empty. I could still hear the music, loud and close now, coming from the field where we’d searched the old cabins. There was supposed to be a deputy here guarding the scene, but I wondered if Adam had pulled him because of the blizzard.
I ducked under the police tape. One set of footprints showed me the way. I followed them through the trees until the trail opened up at the resort meadow. Snow poured from the night sky. In the field, the footprints had already been erased, but I could see the glow of a light inside one of the cabins that was still standing. Music boomed around me like a rock concert, covering my approach. I hiked toward the cabin through deep drifts.
A whiff of cigarette smoke soured the air as I got closer. The cabin windows were shattered and empty. There was no door. I inched toward the rotting wall and peered inside and saw a girl in a Lotus position on a moldy, moss-covered mattress. She had a lantern next to her. Her eyes were closed. Her boots were on the wet floor. A cigarette hung from her mouth, and as I watched, she pinched it between her fingers and exhaled smoke without opening her eyes. She wore jeans, heavy wool socks, and a blue bubble coat that had once belonged to me.
It was Anna.
When I went inside the cabin, the crunch of my shoes on broken glass alerted her. Her eyes shot open, first with fear, then with irritation as she recognized me. I shouted at her to turn off the music, but she didn’t, so I grabbed her phone myself and switched off the sound that fed her speakers.
The resort went silent. My heart beat more slowly. I heard the hiss of wind and snow.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I told her quietly. “This is a crime scene. We’re still searching for evidence.”
“I didn’t touch anything.”
“No? What about that cigarette? The FBI will find it, bag it, and waste time running DNA on it.”
“Fine. I’ll pick up my butts. Okay? Will that make you happy?”