The Truth We Bury: A Novel

“The Little Grove RV Park,” Shea answered. “On 1620, past Decker’s Auto Salvage.”

“I know where it is,” Dru said, “and I know the folks who live there aren’t the sort you want to mess with.”

“I don’t think Harlan will try anything if I’m there,” Lily said. “When he threatened Dad, Clint—Captain Mackie—paid him a visit. Harlan will know if anything happens to me, the police will come looking for him.”

“If that’s true”—Dru eyed Lily in the rearview—“why isn’t the captain showing an interest in questioning Harlan now concerning the whereabouts of Jeb’s grandson?”

“Mom, please, if you don’t want to go, then I’ll go with Mrs.—with Lily.”

Dru glanced at Shea. She’d done it, called Lily by her first name. Dru had grappled with it, the idea that once Shea married AJ, Lily would be a mother to her of sorts, the dreaded mother-in-law. Their relationship to date had been cool. Shea had remarked on it, how awkward she felt around Lily. I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t think she likes me. Dru had advised Shea to give Lily time even as she’d fumed over Lily’s treatment of Shea. But that aloofness was nowhere in sight now.

It was the side effect of calamity, Dru thought. It forged bonds among the unlikeliest of people. “I don’t know what either of you expects,” she said, but she was already shifting the car into reverse. “It’s not as if Harlan Cate is going to invite us in for tea and confess.”



The turnoff into the RV park was so choked with underbrush that Dru would have missed it if she hadn’t known its location. The road itself, narrow and crudely surfaced, cut through a towering forest of oaks. Gradually, as Dru drove more deeply into the neighborhood, the light dimmed, the air cooled. Other roads leading off the main access road disappeared around curves, dipped into shadowy hollows. Wheeled homes were strung along the various routes in a haphazard pattern. Some rested flat on the ground like they’d gone their last mile. They all looked rough, beat-up and done. Dru wouldn’t have lived in one of them. She caught Shea’s eyes and then Lily’s, seeing her own apprehension mirrored in their expressions. She waited for one of them to say it, that they had no business here, that they should go and let the cops handle Harlan Cate, but no one spoke.

They found Harlan’s place by accident at the end of a cul-de-sac. Shea spotted his motorcycle, black with silver trim that sparkled in the light, and at her instruction, when Dru pulled over, it was against her better judgment. The man who lived here, in this busted tin can of a home, with his shiny new motorcycle parked beside it like a guard dog, would be some kind of renegade, a society dropout, a tough guy. No one she cared to tangle with. “We should leave this to the police,” she said, and she raised her hand, cutting off Shea’s protest. “We can go to the sheriff in Greeley. Questioning this man ourselves is just plain foolish.”

Lily leaned forward. “Harlan knows me. Let me talk to him. You and Shea can wait here.”

Dru looked at her, considering. “I’ll go with you,” she said after a moment. “I’ve got my .38 in my purse. We’ll leave Shea here.”

“Mom, for God’s sake, I’m not a child.” Shea opened the SUV’s door, jaw clamped in a stubborn line.

Heaving a sigh, Dru and Lily followed her out of the car.

The wind had picked up. It caught at the car doors, and at Dru’s hair. It plucked at her shirt, buffeted the legs of her cropped jeans. She grabbed her purse and wedged it beneath her arm. Her mouth was dry, her breath shallow. She had never pointed a gun at anything but a target before. Her instructor had talked about it, the cool detachment required should you encounter the need to defend yourself, if the target were to become human. Dru had questioned whether she’d have that kind of nerve. But she knew now that if anyone were to endanger Shea, she would do what had to be done. She would shoot them down without hesitation.

Lily led the way, but before she reached the step to the front door, it opened. The man who appeared was big, as Shea had described him, well over six feet, long-haired, tattooed, and barefoot. Older than Dru had thought. Thirtysomething, at least. And astonished to see them on the rock-strewn patch of earth that aproned his front door.

“What the hell?” he said. “You ladies come to sell me something, I don’t want any.”

“Harlan? I’m Lily Isley. Do you remember me? Jeb Axel’s daughter.”

“You come to offer me my job back?”

“Um, no—”

“Then I got nothing to say except you can tell your old man to shove it.” He backed up, started to close the door.

“Wait,” Lily called out.

Dru was surprised when he did.

“We—I was wondering—have you seen AJ? Maybe in the Cedar Ridge Canyon Park or Monarch Lake area?”

“You’re asking because you, what, think your son and I are buddies? What in the hell are you up to, lady?”

“You know he’s missing, the circumstances.” Lily took a step.

Dru shifted her purse from her side to her front. A pulse tapped in her ears.

Shea said, “What about Kate Kincaid or Becca Westin? When was the last time you saw them?”

Dru wanted to clap her hand over Shea’s mouth; she wanted to grab Shea and run. Instead, she inched her hand into her purse, closed her fingers around the butt of the revolver. It startled her when, looking up, her eyes collided with Harlan’s. She knew he’d seen her, knew she was out of her depth. What fools they’d been, coming here.

“I think someone took AJ, that they’re holding him.” Lily’s voice was stretched thin like a wire on the point of breaking.

“You think I’ve got him here? Are you shitting me?”

Lily didn’t answer. There was only the sound of the wind. Dru’s pulse hammered in her ears. What had Kate or Becca ever seen in this guy? The question hung in her mind.

“Jesus Christ.” Harlan laughed a little, looking bemused. “You’re serious. You think I took the kid for revenge against your old man for firing me? Or, hell, maybe I’m holding him hostage, for ransom.” He paused as if to consider. “Not a bad idea. Wish I’d thought of it.”

“What about Kate?” Shea asked again. “When did you last see her?”

“Shea.” Dru breathed her name softly. “Let’s go.”

“No, Mom. He needs to answer. You were in a relationship with both of my friends, Harlan.” Shea wasn’t backing down. Dru tightened her grip on the gun.

“So?” he said. “That bitch Kate ditched me for fucking Pedro fucking greaser. I heard she’s engaged—”

“She’s dead. They’re both dead, asshole.” Shea said it flatly, baldly.

Harlan’s eyes widened; he looked freaked out, but the moment was gone so fast, Dru thought she might have imagined it.

“You need to git on out of here,” he said.

“I told the cops in town about you,” Shea said. “I told Captain Mackie you hurt Kate. That’s why she broke it off with you. I told him you stalked her.”

“Git! Now! Or am I gonna have to run you off?”

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