Page 8 of In the Bones
Nearly twenty-four hours after Nicole had washed the lemon all-purpose cleaner from her hands, Mikko Helle’s house still flapped in her peripheral vision like a rabid bat, close enough for her to feel its hairy wings against her skin.
“I have to tell you something,” she said to Stacy, who was standing at the bathroom mirror applying eyeliner like a pro. Nicole had left Stacy’s son Caleb in the kitchen, with a toasted Eggo waffle soaked in butter and syrup, to follow the clatter of Stacy’s makeup routine down the hall. Three days a week, Stacy was in charge of opening the real estate office twenty minutes north in Alexandria Bay, so Nicole came to get Caleb ready for school and drop him off at kindergarten. The bathroom window was open, the morning air fresh after yesterday’s rain and the leaves on the sugar maple murmuring in the breeze, but the song did nothing to allay Nicole’s nerves.
She shouldn’t have mentioned the noises to her sister. Maureen had reacted just as Nicole knew she would, squawking about intruders and insisting she fess up about what she’d heard. She’d expect nothing less from a woman who’d worked as a state trooper, BCI investigator, and sheriff. Maureen had seen all kinds of bizarre things over the course of her career, crimes any sensible person would have thought impossible, and that had trained her to be rational. What Maureen didn’t understand was that Nicole needed to keep her relationship with Mikko professional. Uncomplicated. Clean. Her sister was good at assessing situations and recommending logical solutions, but Stacy Peel had lived the kinds of problems Maureen had only witnessed. She’d help Nicole figure this out.
“I’m watching,” Stacy repeated when Nicole explained what she’d seen. “Huh. Do you have a picture of it?”
Nicole shook her head. Wiping the words away with her forearm had been a reflex, the gut reaction tripped by her distress. She had wanted them gone, the message forgotten.
“But you’re sure that’s what it said?” In the mirror, Stacy glided black mascara onto the lashes of her narrowed eyes. She was a few years younger than Nicole, raising a child alone while working a job that ran her ragged, and she still looked like a Hollywood starlet on awards night. She deserved it, though, because Stacy’s life hadn’t been easy. Six years ago, she’d briefly dated a guy who was now serving time in a Watertown prison. Stacy had visited her ex exactly twice since he was convicted, and never with Caleb. He was aware he had a son, and had expressed interest in building a relationship once he got out. Nicole knew that, to Stacy, that possibility felt like waiting for a noose to be cinched around her neck. Stacy had been saving every penny she could, just in case she needed a lawyer down the line.
“That’s what it said,” Nicole told her. “Weird, right?”
She was careful with her words. Stacy had helped her out so much, letting Nicole tag along on all those showings. Recommending her to Mikko even though she hadn’t wanted to. Worst of all, Nicole worried she’d already made Stacy look bad. After seeing the writing in the dust, she’d panicked, no other way to describe it. Nicole had poured her products down the sink, tie-dye patterns of yellow and electric blue circling the drain, and called Mikko. When he drove over from the hotel, where he and Eva had taken shelter from the rain, and was puzzled as to why the work wasn’t done, she told him she’d run out of supplies and asked if she could come back another day. Mikko had not been happy. The whole point was to clean the house when it was empty. Instead, Nicole would have to go back on Saturday, and finish the job once the furniture was in.
“I’m done!” Caleb yelled from the kitchen.
“We’re coming, baby!” Stacy called back. “It’s definitely good that you left,” she said. “I would have done the same thing.”
“Is it, though? I’m starting to wonder if I have this all wrong. What if this was just a joke? Mikko probably snuck in and left that message to poke fun. He’s from Finland, right? Don’t Nordic people have a dark sense of humor? All those hours without sunlight. I’m sure I read that somewhere.” It was Nicole’s preferred explanation, the only thing that brought her any comfort at all.
“You know who else has a dark sense of humor?” Stacy asked. “Sociopaths.”
Nicole’s laugh came out strangled.
Stacy set down the mascara and ruffled her blonde hair. She’d gone short last year, a pixie cut with long bangs, and the style suited her. “I didn’t want you working for him,” she said, her words like a rap to the knuckles. “Remember? Celebrities are weirdos. Beware. Steer clear.”
“Oh really? How many celebrities do you know?”
“I know Mikko,” said Stacy, unfazed. “I spent hours with him touring houses up here. The guy’s a narcissist. Who knows what he’s capable of?”
“There’s also the girlfriend,” Nicole said, skirting the question. “That’s another possibility. Eva could have left the message for me. Maybe she’s the jealous type. The guy’s hot and famous. Outgoing, too. Girls probably throw themselves at him all the time.”
Stacy had fallen quiet. Nicole enjoyed watching her friend think. Stacy did this thing with her mouth where she tucked in her lower lip and pursed the upper one. It was a little like the fishy face her girls had liked to make when they were small. “What does the sheriff think?” she asked.
Nicole’s response was a drawn-out sigh. “I didn’t tell her about the message. You know Maureen: she’d convince herself the guy’s a threat and forbid me from ever going back.”
“That sounds like your sister. Soareyou going back?”
“I mean, I kind of have to.” Nicole let the statement hang there, allowing Stacy to assume she was referring to her cleaning work. The importance of delivering on the job. But it was Mikko Helle’s face she was seeing, his smile plastic-bright.
Sometimes, Nicole thought she should be honest with Stacy.It was like Stacy said: she’d spent time with him while brokering the sale of the house. She might know things about the man that could prove he was dirty. The problem was that Nicole didn’t want to be talked out of executing her plan. Very quickly, Nicole and Stacy’s friendship had morphed into a classic archetype: introvert and extrovert, easy target and bodyguard. Stacy took risks so Nicole didn’t have to. What she didn’t understand was how dire things were at home. Stacy couldn’t grasp the absurd cost of sending a kid to college, let alone two back-to-back. She didn’t know how badly Nicole needed to unravel Woody’s fatal misstep.
Worrying a hangnail, she stuck her head into the hall. She could hear the TV in the living room. Caleb must have gotten tired of waiting. Leaning back into her friend’s fragrant cloud of hair mist and perfumed body powder, Nicole asked the question.
“What would you do?”
Stacy turned to meet her apprehensive gaze. She took her time searching out an answer, one hand splayed on the vanity. The nail of her index finger tapped against the countertop.
“If it was me,” said Stacy, “I’d call up that woman in Belleville you’re always saying is your biggest competition and tell her you’ve got the client referral of her dreams.
“And then”—coolly, a smirk tweaking her lips—“I’d hope that Mikko Helle finally snaps.”
NINE
Blair
“Hey Dad?”
