“You have a falling out?”
She seemed to consider that before replying, “I wanted to see other places.”
“What did you do between leaving home and settling here?” he pressed, having been told by others that she’d left home shortly after Herb’s supposed funeral and her other brother’s disappearing altogether.
“I drifted around,” she said vaguely.
“You got arrested a couple of times,” Willy reminded her. “Disturbing the peace, drunk and disorderly. What was going on?”
“I was unhappy. I was young.” She sat forward for emphasis. “I thought you wanted to talk about Herb.”
“Where is Nate now?” Willy asked, ignoring her.
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s dead.” Her voice had picked up an edge.
“Like Herb?” Willy suggested leadingly.
She became silent. Willy rose and circled the cluttered coffee table to sit beside her on a matching chair, a foot away. She shifted defensively but stayed put, at the same time staring at his inert left arm.
“I was shot in the line of duty,” he explained, his voice softer and confiding. “Years ago. I know what it’s like to be in a tough place. I kept my job because people stuck up for me.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“I’m going to take a wild guess, Eileen, but I think you’re in a tough place. Something happened twenty-seven years ago that tore up your family, probably playing a part in why your mom died of a broken heart.”
At the allusion to Dreama Rozanski, her daughter’s eyes welled with tears, which she didn’t bother wiping away.
“How long did your dad live?” Willy asked softly. “After whatever happened with Herb?”
“A few years,” she said dully.
Finally, he got to his reason for being here. “Tell me about that, Eileen-what happened to Herb?”
She sighed and said, almost inaudibly, “He got caught up in the sawmill.”
“Did you see it happen?”
She shook her head.
“Were you there, at home?”
“Mom was. I was at a friend’s house.”
“How did you find out?” he asked.
“They told me when I got home.”
“Did you see your brother?”
“Which one?” she asked, which he thought interesting.
“Let’s start with Herb.”
“No. They said it was too bloody.”
“So where was he? Where’d they put him?”
“In a closed box. It was the coffin later.”
“How ’bout the sawmill? Did you go in there?”
“Later, I did,” she admitted, and shivered. “It was horrible. Blood all over.”
“Okay,” Willy said. “What about Nate? Where was he in all this?”
“He was there.”
“At home? At the mill, working with them?”
“The mill.” Her words had become so soft that he placed his head inches from her mouth.
“What did they say happened?”
“An accident. Herb got pulled into the saw.”
“Is that likely? Some mills are more dangerous than others.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Describe the mill to me.”
She tilted her head back, as if interpreting an image off where the wall met the ceiling. “Open sides. Lots of those pulley things. My dad had to put his truck near one wall to drive everything.”
“There was more than just the saw, then?”
“There was a big saw. That’s where it happened. But there were other machines, too. It was super noisy.”
“What happened to it afterwards?” Willy asked. “When I was there, it had been burned down as a fire department exercise.”
“Nothing,” she said. “Nobody ever went in it again.”
“Tell me about Nate, Eileen. How did he take this?”
“He left. The next day.”
“Was there a fight?”
“No,” she said with more strength, but her eyes wandered to the floor. “The next morning, he was just gone.”
“What did your parents say or do about that?”
“Nothing,” she repeated. “They just kind of retreated into themselves.”
Willy pressed her. “I think you’re leaving something out about Nate. Tell me.”
“He looked awful.”
“How?”
“He was cut and bruised and maybe some of his fingers were broken.”
“From what?” Willy asked. “A fight?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think maybe he fought with Herb?”
“Maybe.”
“In the mill?”
“I don’t know.”
Willy reached out and touched her hand. “Eileen, this is important. Do you think they had a fight, and that’s what sent Herb into the saw blade?”
She nodded without comment.
Willy nodded and mentally reviewed everything she’d told him. “On the day of the accident,” he began, “how did your father handle the authorities? He couldn’t just bury Herb and have done with it.”
“The sheriff came over after I got home. They talked. I watched them through the kitchen window. It was open.”
“The sheriff saw the body?”
“He saw the box,” she countered. “He wanted to open it, but my dad got mad-said he knew his own son, and could tell a dead man from a live one.”
Willy let out a small, contemptuous puff of air. “And the sheriff bought it,” he stated.
“The box wasn’t opened up,” she replied as an answer.
Willy waited before asking, “What really happened to Herb?”
She gave a half shrug. “I guess he didn’t die.”
“Where did the blood come from?”
“It was his. He was really hurt. I mean, he must’ve been. He just didn’t die. Whose blood could it’ve been?”
“People have told me they think this whole thing killed your parents,” Willy told her, moving on.
Her voice shrank down once more. “I guess.”
“Eileen,” he said, matching her tone. “I think you knew about all this when I walked up to your door. I know the price this has taken on you, on your family. But I’ve also got to know the details. I’m sorry.”
“Why?” she challenged him, staring at him, her cheeks coursed with tears. “What does it matter now?”
“You know what keeping it a secret has cost you,” he explained. “How could my uncovering the truth be any worse?”
To her silence, he continued, “How many years have you had this bottled up? How many times have you wished you could be honest with your sons? What stories have you made up about your childhood, knowing they were the sort of lies you tell your kids never to tell? You know in your heart this has got to stop.”
Speechless, she barely nodded in agreement.
“Tell me what you know,” he almost whispered.
“I have Nate’s phone number,” she admitted at last. “Or the store he lives near. He’s pretty much a hermit.”
Willy kept any satisfaction out of his voice. “When did you two last talk?”
“Maybe a year ago.”
“So he knows nothing about the grave being exposed?”
“Not from me.”
“Where’s that store located?” he asked.
“Below West Glover, sort of between Hardwick and Barton.”
That put it in the state’s Northeast Kingdom-a place, like Stamford, not heavily populated. But unlike here, famous for the way it defended its isolation. It was custom-made for someone wanting to fade from view.
He touched her wrist. “Thank you, Eileen. I’ll let you know how it goes. But you know the favor I need to ask now, don’t you?”
“Don’t warn him?” she asked.
“Exactly. Or all of this-and the trust you’ve just put in me-will be for nothing. With any luck, I’ll be the one who might get you all talking again.”
She barely nodded her acknowledgment.
“One last thing,” he mentioned as he rose to leave. “Have you kept in touch with Herb? Do you know where he is now?”
“No,” she said, looking up at him. “I thought he was dead until they told me about the empty grave.”
Willy had to take her at face value there, but he didn’t like it.
* * *
Joe cocked his head to one side and gave Lester an admiring look.
“Spare me,” his colleague moaned. “I asked them not to do it.”
“Shave half your head to apply a little bandage?” Joe asked him, crossing the room and giving Spinney’s wife a hug. “Why wouldn’t they?” he finished, speaking over her shoulder. “They knew you were a cop, didn’t they?”