“Do I need to be concerned about a search party in Zuck’s Woods?”
“What’s to be concerned about?”
“I’m a shareholder in a corporation that owns Zuck’s Woods.”
“Oh!” Scott seemed to think about this. He looked at Tom. “I don’t know…you might.”
“Okay.” That settled it. He had to call Harry and Victor.
“So what are we going to do?”
“When Steve and Dave get here, take some blankets from the linen closet and wrap the corpses in them. Bring them to the house. We’ll burn them in the basement fireplace.”
“Won’t Mom notice the missing linens?”
“No. I’ll get them replaced. Do you think you guys can handle that?”
Scott nodded. “Yeah. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to make some phone calls and get some friends out here. Then we’re going to take care of the guesthouse.”
Tom only hoped they had enough time to cover Scott’s tracks.
And keep his own covered as well.
Tom reached Harry Eckman on his way to the golf course and told him to come to the house. “We playing at your place?” Harry joked.
Tom told Harry what was going on and Harry instantly eased up on the joking. “I’m heading over right now.”
He got a similar reaction from Victor Beck, who was watching the game on his widescreen TV in the living room of the new home he’d bought in River Court. “Should I call our lawyer?” Victor asked.
“Not yet,” Tom said. “Just get over here. And stop by a Home Depot and buy paint. Make it a dozen cans of white paint. I don’t care what brand. Just enough to paint the interior of a living room and the floor.”
“You want to paint your floor?”
“I’ll explain when you get here.”
By the time Victor and Harry arrived at the house a little after ten-thirty, Scott’s friends had already arrived and the boys had removed the corpses from the guesthouse. Tom had given the boys a brief recap. Steve and Dave looked grave and scared. They kept glancing at Scott, who refused to meet their gaze. The three boys hovered in front of the guesthouse for a moment as Tom trekked back to the house. He tried to ignore the sounds the boys made as they entered the guesthouse, the muffled grunts and curses accompanied by what sounded like beatings — Christ, the homeless people in there weren’t dead? Tom could have sworn they were deader than shit! — along with mangled squeals of surprise and pain that were suddenly cut off. More pounding followed. Scott and the boys pounding their heads in to make sure? Whatever they had to do to cover their tracks. As long as they scooped up the blood and brains that would stain the floor and walls.
David was throwing up outside as Harry Eckman arrived and Tom called out to him to wash the vomit up with the gardening hose. Dave waved a hand weakly, then proceded to do just that as Harry trotted up the deck steps. By the time Victor arrived and the men were sitting at the large glass table, Scott and his friends had gotten a handle on the task at hand and were carrying the wrapped-up remains into the house.
And as the boys worked, Tom told Victor and Harry what his son had been up to and how it was imperative they do whatever it took to keep the bodies of that long dead couple from being discovered.
“How are we going to do that, Tom?” Harry asked, his voice a strangled whisper. “We don’t know what’s going on or — ”
“You guys are going to monitor what’s happening in that neighborhood and if it appears that a civilian search party is going to be formed, you’re going to volunteer.”
Harry and Victor glanced at each other, understanding dawning on their features. Tom nodded at them. “You still remember the spot?”
“I’ll never forget it,” Victor said.
“All it’s going to take is to keep detectives and dogs out of the area.”
“What if something happens though?” Harry asked. “What if…something happens beyond our control…like a dog digs up a body or they find it through some kind of infra red equipment or something?”
“Then you’ll be on the ground to hear everything that goes on and you can report that back to me,” Tom said.
Scott’s voice called up to them, interrupting their meeting. “Guesthouse is clear!”
“Thanks, son,” Tom called down. He gestured toward the guesthouse. “I’ve got changes of clothes for you guys. Let’s get to work on painting that guesthouse before Carol gets home.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chelsea Brewer couldn’t help but be worried about Tim.
She was sitting in the middle of her bed in her room, not watching TV, not reading a book or magazine, not doing much of anything. What should have been a perfect summer day seemed tainted somehow. Chelsea couldn’t quite explain it. It just felt wrong.
The visit she had from the police shortly after her parents left for work was the main reason for the way things seemed out of whack. Another reason was the vibe she was getting.
Something was happening.
Her father had come home from work to be with her after getting a phone call from Spring Valley Police Officer Frank Clapton that a credible threat had been made against her. Dad had freaked out and came right home. He’d called at least twice on the drive, once to tell her he couldn’t reach her mother, the second to tell her he was going to get in touch with her grandmother so Chelsea could stay with her for the rest of the summer. That was something Chelsea didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want to be away from Tim. The thought of spending even a day apart from him was unbearable. Plus, her grandmother was a very religious woman who lived in rural Virginia. She was a nice enough lady, but she and Chelsea just didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. If she had to spend the rest of the summer with Granny Beth, Chelsea was going to freak. She liked to think she wouldn’t get as bad as she did that summer two years ago when she’d resorted to cutting herself, because the therapy she’d engaged in after all that helped. Still, it was Granny Beth’s influence that had helped contribute to the cutting. All the old woman did was pick at Chelsea, belittle her, make her feel guilty about being a young woman. It didn’t help that the social elite at Spring Valley High had done a good job of whittling away at her self-esteem prior to the last time Chelsea spent at her grandmother’s. Her father hadn’t been much help, either. Despite his outwardly macho he-man nature, he was a softie at heart and he truly did love her. Chelsea just wished he had more common sense. Dad was the type of person that would do anything to fit in with the status quo just to be accepted. Chelsea never gave a good goddamn about impressing people she didn’t care for. No wonder she’d taken out her frustrations on her own flesh. Dad was more hip to things now, was more accepting of her as a person, and surely he’d made the suggestion that she stay at Granny Beth’s out of desperation due to their current situation.
When Dad got home, he’d talked to the officer, who’d met him at the house. Chelsea had sat on the living room sofa. She still couldn’t believe what was going on.
According to the officer, the police had received a very credible threat against Chelsea by Gordon Smith. The officer didn’t admit this, but when he asked Chelsea if she knew Gordon and his friends, she’d put two and two together. She’d told the officer everything she knew about Gordon, which wasn’t much. And no, she had no idea why anybody would threaten her.
Dad had been worse, though. He’d grilled the officer relentlessly. He demanded complete protection from the police until he could make arrangements for Chelsea to be sent out of the state. The officer agreed that sending Chelsea away would be a good thing, at least until they had the person responsible for making the threats in custody. Until then, the officer suggested keeping Chelsea inside. “We’re stretched very thin right now,” the Officer said. “Otherwise, I’d have a car parked outside standing watch.” The Officer left with the understanding they call 911 if Gordon or any of his friends came by the house.