A Short Time to Die Read online

  Once the wash moved to the dryer, she gathered all her bandages and items to be thrown away or hidden. The next load of wash started, and Marly headed out in her mother’s Honda Accord. The car’s original blue color had almost disappeared under the assault from salt and sand over too many winters, but this dented and pockmarked vehicle provided Marly a tiny window of freedom. Marly gave an affectionate pat to the car’s dashboard and wiped off the mist on the inside of the windshield with a rag.

  Her first stop was the Charon Springs Public Library, located in one of the town’s original houses and across the road from the Rock. Marly loved the elegant old building, originally built for a prosperous farmer and his family. The library had Internet access and even had a primitive website, created and maintained by Marly. Thanks to the library, Marly had a part-time job paying several dollars an hour over the minimum wage and a part-time job writing code for a small startup run by a couple of Syracuse University grad students.

  The library didn’t open until noon on Saturdays. Marly let herself in the back door and hid the special keys she’d pulled off Zeke’s body in a secret hole behind the tampon dispenser in the women’s bathroom. She had plans for those keys. Mission accomplished, she headed to Avalon, zigzagging up and out of their valley.

  The hills in these parts weren’t high, but their slopes were often steep. Hairpin turns had been added to this route long before cars and tarmac had come along. Each turn opened up a different view of the valley below and the surrounding hills.

  She had to admit that Charon Springs was pretty—when seen from a safe distance. The village looked quaint, tucked into the nooks and crannies, softened by the persistent valley fog. A classic white church steeple poked through the trees. The hillsides still held spotty remnants of vivid fall foliage, with the red maples at the bottom, transitioning to yellow birches higher up, punctuated by clumps of intense purple-red sumac. The opposite hillside was so steep that the farms appeared to dangle, as if a painter had taken a flat landscape and tilted it on edge.

  At the top of the rise, she drove out of the mist onto the flatter stretch, along the broad ridge. Marly’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled. She looked forward to sliding into Avalon in another five miles.

  On her left, her eye caught a mailbox at the base of Hubbard Road, “Fardig” neatly stenciled on the side. She had to pull over, her brief moment of calm evaporated, replaced by a deadly chill.

  Elaine Fardig was a student in her class and so was Laurie Harris—or, more accurately—she had been. Laurie was also Marly’s cousin and Del’s niece.

  Elaine had always rubbed Marly the wrong way. The two had competed for smartest in class during elementary school, and Elaine did not seem to like the threats to her status. She was always bossing the other kids around and giving advice when none was required. Denise had called the Fardigs “stuck-up.” “They think they’re too good for the likes of Charon Springs,” she said with a sniff every time she saw Elaine’s mother.

  The rivalry had continued into high school, where Marly and Elaine had often been the only girls in computing club and science club, jockeying for the number-one slot in almost every subject.

  Whenever Elaine had received an A+ on a paper or a perfect score on a test, she would lean over and ask, “Hey, Marly. What did you get?”

  Marly had learned to cover up her paper so that the grade was hidden. True or not, she would grind her teeth, but smile sweetly at Elaine and say, “Can’t complain, Elaine. Not one little bit.” That often drew a scowl. Very satisfying.

  On a mild early-September afternoon, Elaine Fardig had been jumped and beaten at the school bus stop by her mailbox. The police were tight-lipped about the status of that investigation, but everyone in Charon Springs seemed to know that Zeke’s wife, Rosie, had organized the beatdown in retaliation for a spat between Elaine and Laurie, Rosie’s granddaughter.

  Not long after that incident, Laurie was dead, the victim of another brutal beating. Marly knew Rosie had been responsible for that as well. She had overheard Del yelling at his mother on the phone. He seemed more upset by the unwanted attention this would bring than his niece’s “accidental” death.

  Marly rested her head on the steering wheel. What had prompted Del and Zeke to attack her? Knowing them as she did, it was plausible that they had been drunk and in a bad mood that had crested when they found a vulnerable scapegoat. Perhaps she had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Or they might have planned the attack, gotten drunk for courage, but screwed up because they were drunk. There was precedent for that, too.

  All these years living with Del, Marly been stalked by the threat of running afoul of his family. Every day she needed to pay careful attention to each action and develop a practice of invisibility, both for herself and for her sister’s children.

  She had dreaded that sooner or later her luck would run out.

  In September, it had.

  On Labor Day, she had returned to their kitchen to put away food and clean up after the family barbecue. The windows over the sink stood wide open, and she realized that she could hear Del and his brother, Larry, talking as they smoked dope on the side porch.

  Max. They needed to take care of Max. Marly’s heart pounded. Larry and Del had a very narrow definition of taking care of people they didn’t like. She didn’t know Max, but she couldn’t help but feel anxiety on his behalf—and her own as well. She needed to get out of earshot right away.

  She set down the pan, careful to avoid making any noise. There would be time to clean that later. She edged toward the back door, only to come face-to-face with Del’s father, Zeke.

  The two blinked at each other.

  “Oh. Hi, Mr. Harris. I’m just bringing in things from outside.” Her voice sounded high and shrill.

  Zeke ignored her and cocked his head toward the windows. He listened before he spoke. “Hey, assholes! Shut the fuck up.”

  Del and Larry materialized in the kitchen. The three large men dwarfed Marly, who weighed less than a sixth of their combined weight. Before they could do or say anything, she sidestepped around Zeke.

  “Well, lots more to bring in,” she said, and rushed outside.

  For a week, Marly had been on pins and needles, but Del didn’t mention the conversation. She relaxed, but soon came the series of violent events that shook their community and Marly’s peace of mind.

  In late September, Marly noticed a news report that a federal Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives agent, Max Redman, had been found shot dead in his car in Liverpool on the other side of Syracuse. Marly’s mother said that they were all torn up because Max had grown up in the Springs. She and Del and Marly’s dad had all gone to school together.

  Marly hadn’t slept well all fall. Starting with the murder of Max, followed by Elaine’s beating and Laurie’s death in quick succession—the violence crept closer and closer, picking up pace and tightening like a noose. When Del and Zeke had tried to run her down the previous night, her nightmares had sprung to life.

  Even if Del and Zeke were gone, that didn’t mean that the rest of the Harris clan would be toothless or incapacitated. Quite the contrary.

  What does Rosie know?

  The Harris clan valued loyalty, but they didn’t always share their plans. Even if he had a plan, Del might not have said anything to his family.

  Marly knew she should keep driving straight to the police station in Avalon. Or to the state police in Chittenango.

  She rubbed her forehead along the torn plastic on the steering wheel. She could not rely on the local police, the county sheriff’s department, or even the state police. Over the years, all had repeatedly chosen to ignore Harris activities in Charon Springs. Marly was a Harris by blood on her mother’s side and by association, thanks to Del, who was some sort of second or third or fourth cousin. Even if Marly were able to escape, she was certain the authorities would do nothing to assure the safety of her mother, her sister, Charlene, or Charlene’s
children. This was a risk she couldn’t bear to take.

  Marly straightened up and put the car in gear to continue her trip to Avalon. She would take her chances and manage without the police.

  The ridge road was lined with old prosperous farms intermingled with neglected ones. Many of the mailboxes displayed the names of the families who had settled this area after the American Revolution: Lincklaen, VanLooven, Schwarzer, Lipe, Holmes, Jaquith, Kuntz, Schillinger . . .

  “Everyone in our family was in this country before the Revolution,” Marly’s mother had said, repeating a familiar boast over dinner. The kitchen table was so small that their knees rubbed as they all squeezed in to eat. Marly squirmed and tried to turn to one side to avoid Del.

  “It’s true, Marly, and don’t look at me like that. All us Harris people are descended from brothers Homer, Horace, and Wendell Harris. They got to New Hampshire in 1643.”

  “Weren’t they kicked out of England for stealing sheep?” Marly asked.

  “Those times were different. People got hanged for little things like stealing sheep. They were just mischievous boys. All our other ancestors were here before the Revolution too. We were the first people in these parts.”

  “Mom, the first people around here were the Onondaga and the Oneida. Besides, I’m a Shaw, and the Shaws came from Ireland in the 1830s.”

  Marly’s mother had paused. “Well, that was still a long time ago and they were Scotch Irish, not Catholic.”

  “Mom, there’s nothing wrong with being Catholic. You do know that Del’s mother was raised Catholic, right?”

  Del jerked to attention, looking up from his spaghetti. “What? Marly, you talk with respect to your mother.”

  “Yeah, okay. I’m just really glad we got a head start here. That’s made a big difference.”

  That remark had been worth the dope slap delivered by Del. Totally.

  Closer to Avalon, old homes made of fieldstone, brick, and white clapboard became more frequent. At last she passed the familiar marker at the edge of town.

  WELCOME TO HISTORIC AVALON

  ESTABLISHED 1793

  ELEVATION 1,200 FEET

  POPULATION 7,039

  Stopped at the first traffic light, she could see the glimmer of water through the trees. Grand houses, built when Avalon was a lake resort town over a hundred years ago, dotted the shores. Marly turned right onto Albany Street. The first stretch was lined with houses trimmed in gingerbread, followed by three-and four-story nineteenth-century brick structures that formed the center of town.

  Even with her limited experience, Marly knew Avalon was considered charming. Today her admiration was muted by anxiety. She had important business.

  Her bandages, muddy clothes, and shoes went into various public trash bins. Next she bought new running shoes at the cheap shoe store, followed by a replacement skirt and some odds and ends from the consignment store and new tights at the five-and-dime. So nice that Avalon was a wealthy town with many conveniences.

  Last stop, she bought groceries at Wegmans, using their New York food stamp program cards and a bit of cash.

  On the reverse trip home, the sun dropped below the cloud cover to bathe the world in golden light before it headed for the horizon.

  False promises, Marly thought.

  * * *

  “Still no word from Del,” her mother said. She fixed Marly with a stare, her eyes narrow and watery from gin. “Didn’t he pick you up last night?”

  “No, Denise. And please don’t smoke inside with the kids here. Claire dropped me at the Rock, but Del wasn’t there. Harry said he’d left with Zeke about an hour before. I hung around outside for a bit and then I walked home, thank you very much.”

  “Don’t sass me. You should call me ‘Mom.’ And just remember that we depend on Del.”

  Sure, sure, thought Marly. She dished out macaroni and cheese with hot dogs to Mark and Pammy. Del provided Denise with a pitiful stipend. Still, the thought of additional money problems made Marly’s stomach ache.

  Alison got a small, cooled lump on her tray, which she promptly smeared over her face. Calculating the amount ingested, Marly added incremental lumps until all three children were fed. Marly ate in between servings and keeping the peace. Charlene was dieting and confined her meal to the salad. Denise drank her calories at night these days.

  Bath time for the kids. Charlene and Marly ushered Mark, Pammy, and Alison upstairs while Denise sat drinking in the living room, on the phone about Del and Zeke.

  The Harris clan was coagulating into a mass of concern. By the time all three kids were bathed and in bed, Denise was in a knot of drunken worry.

  Charlene showed no sign of concern. “Greg will be out on parole by Christmas,” she said as the two sisters cleaned up in the kitchen. “We’ll be able to move back to Syracuse and out of this mess.”

  “Mark and Pammy too?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Mark’s in first grade now, Char. I’m sure it’s good to get out of the Springs, but you can’t keep yanking them back and forth.”

  “Do you think I’d even be living here if Greg hadn’t been picked up for cooking a little meth? We need to get back to living on our own as a family. He’ll be out soon. I can’t leave Mark down here.”

  “I’m just saying that—”

  “Yeah? Saying what?”

  “Are you sure Greg wants Mark and Pammy? They aren’t his kids.”

  “So you think they’d be better off here with Mom?”

  “While I’m still here, maybe. At least let Mark finish first grade.”

  Charlene glared and went to join their mother. Denise was drinking and sobbing in front of the TV, the telephone held to her ear.

  Their mother hung up. “We’ve got to go to Rosie’s tomorrow afternoon. Right after church.”

  “Has she heard anything? Did Zeke say anything before he left last night?” Charlene asked.

  Denise sipped her gin and orange juice. “Just that he and Del had some business to clean up.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Denise wiped her eyes. “Del’s probably gone and got himself in trouble or dead, chasing someone his daddy didn’t like. Or maybe he’s just off and left me.”

  Marly leaned against the doorframe, trying to control her knees. There was no one she could go to. Confessing to her mother would do no good. Denise would betray Marly the same way Denise took up with Del right after Marly’s dad, Beanie, had disappeared. Denise had also turned a blind eye and let Del crawl into Charlene’s bed for years.

  Somehow Marly had to avoid the trip to Rosie’s. For the millionth time that day, she prayed that Rosie didn’t know that the target of Del’s mission last night was Marly herself.

  Zeke wielded an efficient, if brutal, hand in managing their extended family business in a distant, dispassionate manner. On the other hand, Rosie was hot-tempered and impetuous. If her scope was narrower, it allowed her to focus her malice and controlling anger on the women and children in their extended familial team.

  No wonder Del was so screwy. His brother, Larry, was worse and Larry’s twin, Louise, was even scarier than Rosie.

  Sunday will be a tricky day.

  3

  Vanessa: Bones

  January 22, 2013

  “Nessa! Come in to my office, please.”

  Vanessa sighed. “Espérate, espérate. Ya voy.” Hold on, hold on. I’m coming, she said in Spanish. She loved her job, but she preferred to get settled in quietly first. Dumping her coat and bag at her desk, she carried her large Peet’s coffee into Nick’s office.

  “Hey, Sergeant,” she said. “Been doing some housecleaning?”

  Nick Bayhouth had the broad-shouldered build of a former athlete, now softened around the edges by encroaching middle age and too much office work. He always managed to look slightly rumpled, and this day was no exception, even in a clean button-down shirt and tie. Appearances aside, Nick ran a tight organization, which earned him high marks
in Vanessa’s book.

  The state of Nick’s office was a running joke in the Santa Clara County Sheriff’s Department. He had a wonderful window office with California mountain views, but he kept the blinds pulled at all times, allowing books and papers to pile up against the walls and windows. On this day Nick had rearranged the mess and cleared off an extra chair to accommodate a visitor.

  “Detective Vanessa Alba, meet Detective Jackson Wong. Detective Wong’s from the Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s Department. We’re asking you to work with him on our mystery bodies.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Vanessa nodded to the tall Asian man sitting in Nick’s cleaned chair. “Nice to meet you, Detective Wong.” She forced a smile and caught Nick’s eye. She knew what he was telepathically trying to tell her: Play nice, share your toys.

  Detective Wong gathered his long legs underneath him and rose to shake her hand. “Call me Jack,” he said, offering a smile of his own. He turned to the oversized topographical map of the Santa Cruz Mountains on Nick’s wall, sandwiched between stacks of old papers.

  “The bones were found in Santa Clara County, but it looks like they washed down from the base of this cliff a mile or so west.” His fingers traced the route on the map.

  “It took us a while to figure it out, but the top of that cliff is in Santa Cruz County,” Nick said. “Resources are too tight these days to get territorial, and the situation is not unique, is it, Vanessa?”

  Vanessa flushed. She knew when Nick called her by her full name he was telling her that he wouldn’t listen to any arguments.

  “Absolutely not, sir,” she answered. “It will be great to have some help.” There. That should make Nick happy.

  Nick slapped his palm down on a plain manila file folder sitting on his desk.

  “Great news. We have a match on the DNA from the bones,” he said.

  Nick leaned back to read from the folder, which caused his chair to protest with a loud creak. “Two sets of DNA, of course. We already knew that these two were likely to be mother and son based on our own DNA testing. Now we’ve been able to do a match against the FBI CODIS DNA database. They belong to Louise Rasmussen, who would now be fifty-two, and Troy Rasmussen, who would now be thirty-four. They were a bit younger when they died, of course.”