Hazardous Homecoming. Dana Mentink
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recognized her as the reporter outside the police station after Josephine had her stroke. “You’re just here to burgle the place?”
A small, clean-shaven man with a thatch of dark hair stepped out of the kitchen. He was trim, in good shape, with the muscled body of a long-distance runner. “She didn’t break in. The door was open.”
“I forgot how relaxed the visiting policies are here in Oregon. If the door’s open, just invite yourself in and set a spell.” Cooper tossed the log he was holding into the fireplace. “Mind telling me who you are?”
“Hank Bradford, Heather’s father. I try to accompany her on these investigative missions. Can’t be too careful.” His eyes swept over Cooper. “Never know about folks.”
“Says the man standing in my cabin uninvited.”
“Sorry about that,” Heather said. “It was my idea to come. I knew you were staying with Peter for a while. You refused to talk to me via the phone. Thought I might persuade you in person.”
“How exactly did you know I was staying with Peter?”
“You two don’t talk much, I guess,” Heather said, with a sideways grin. “Peter and I connected a few months back. We’re friends, close friends. He works for my Dad.”
“I own a small café in Pine Cliffs,” Hank offered. Breakfast and lunch. Everything made from scratch and a new menu every day. Heather convinced me to hire Peter.”
“And why would you do that, exactly?” Cooper demanded. “Hire my brother, I mean?”
“I was a manager at the Spruce Lodge here in town years ago when you two were kids. Peter washed dishes there in the summers, so we knew each other.”
Cooper finally remembered.
Hank looked away for a moment before finishing. “Frankly, I always felt kind of sorry for Peter, being accused of that terrible crime. He was just a kid himself. Wrong place at the wrong time.”
“You were here when Alice was abducted?”
“Close. Had a small place couple towns over in the woods. Real quite and no neighbors. I ran the breakfast service for the Lodge. I was part of the search party that looked for Alice.”
“So you believe my brother is innocent?”
“Of course we do,” Heather answered.
Cooper thought he caught a quick flash of emotion in Hank’s eyes. He believed in Peter enough to give him a job, but Hank didn’t want his daughter making any kind of deep connection with Peter. Charity was one thing, watching your daughter seek out an alcoholic formerly accused of kidnapping was another. Frankly, Cooper would probably feel the same way if he were Hank.
“Heather, you’re not here as a friend. You’re looking to dig up a story, but that story brings my brother nothing but pain.”
She put her hands in her pockets. “Maybe things have changed. Maybe now the new developments will bring him vindication.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s your reason for digging into this, is it?”
She perched on the arm of the worn sofa. “Well yes, I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t be a great story to tell and help my career along. It’s been on my back burner for a while but now that it’s almost the twenty-year anniversary...”
Cooper felt sickened. As if it was some sort of event that should be trotted out to sell papers.
Hank put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s my fault. After I moved away, it upset Heather’s mother to hear about it so I didn’t say much. Every so often the police would have a stab at solving it again and one time they came to interview me. She overheard. I told them I’d always thought Peter got the short end of the stick.”
“So who do you believe did it?”
He and Heather exchanged a look.
Heather nodded at her father.
“Hudsons are covering up the truth,” Hank said. “I’ve always thought so.”
Heather nodded. “And I’m going to prove it, now that the locket’s been found.”
Cooper’s mind raced. Peter was innocent, he knew it in his bones. But the Hudsons guilty of hiding the truth? He didn’t believe it, yet there was the inexplicable tension between Pickford and the senior Hudson. And Mick had been questioned by the police about Alice’s disappearance, too. Was it possible?
“You don’t think it might have been Lester Walker?” Peter said.
Hank shrugged. “Dunno, but they checked him out thoroughly. He was buying some parts for his truck in Forestville when it happened, I think I remember. He loved his kid, from what I hear.”
“Where is Peter now?”
“At the café,” Heather said. “He’s worked some really long shifts and volunteered for extra hours. We have a small room in the back with a cot and he crashes there sometimes. He said he would head home after he got some shut-eye.”
Relief washed through him. It was a lot better than the scenarios he’d been cooking up in his mind. He wanted them to depart, to leave him in peace so he could crank up the jazz music, pace the cabin floor all night. He caught Heather’s eye and held it. “Look, I’ll think about it and give you a call, but I’m going to ask you flat out to leave Peter alone about this situation. You know he’s an alcoholic; I don’t want his sobriety threatened.”
Heather stood and raised her chin. “If I’m right, the truth will finally exonerate him. He will be able to look everyone in this town right in the eye and say, ‘You were wrong about me.’ That’s the one thing he’s craved all these years, isn’t it?”
Cooper didn’t answer.
She locked eyes on his. “He’s yearned for the truth to come out, that he’s not a child abductor or worse, and he’s tried to drown that yearning in booze.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Yeah? Well I think the truth will set Peter free. Are you prepared to stand in the way of that?”
He stared into the flat blue of her eyes. Was he? Was protecting his brother also keeping the truth about Alice shrouded in darkness?
“I’d like you to leave now,” he said. “Both of you.”
She nodded. “All right, but I’ll be back.”
He waited until they were gone before he set a match to the dry wood and blew on the tiny flame until the wood caught. The warmth seemed infinitesimal to dispel the cold that gripped him.
Jazz. He needed some jazz. Thinking music. He thumbed through his iPod to find some Charlie Parker tunes that would sooth him into a place where he could make some decisions.
* * *
It was a good two hours later when the door swung open to admit his brother.
“Coop,” Peter said, arms full of paper bags. “I’m home.”
Cooper performed the first action automatically, scanning his brother’s face, checking for the slack look, the bleary eyes, the aroma of alcohol as his brother put down the bags and grabbed him in a bear hug. When there were no indications that Peter had been drinking, Cooper felt the wash of guilt for his lack of trust. Would it always be like that? Distrust, guilt, disappointment? False hope? A real chance of healing? He let it go and returned his brother’s embrace.
“I was expecting you yesterday.”
Peter nodded, the dark blond hair grown long enough to touch his shoulders, deep creases on his tanned face. “Been working extra shifts at the café. Got dishpan hands, but earned some extra cash to get my car some new tires.”
“I got a visit