Betsy, who’s as much part of the diner as the
building itself, trademark half-smile in place, takes our orders of burgers and drinks and returns with the coffee jug to fill my cup.
“How’s your mom, sweetheart?” she asks me, and I tell her Mom is fine. “I saw your father recently,” she whispers way too loud, leaning over me so much her smell of cheap perfume and sweat makes my eyes water. “Jasper.”
“Oh, that father,” I say in a half-hearted attempt at a joke.
“He’s a bad apple, that one,” she says confidentially, and glances up at the security cameras. She seems to think she’s secretly starring in a thriller. “The way he treats his employees. The way he treats his son. It’s shameful.”
Imagine if she knew half of what I’m suspecting Jasper of.
She leaves us with a shake of her head meant to convey how shameful it all is, and soon after brings us our burgers and Cos’s milkshake. I keep catching her eyes on me, and I bet she’s dying to ask me about my childhood, my life here, about Jasper, and Ross, and Betsy and everything, but is holding back, sensing I’m not in the mood right now.
I appreciate that.
We’re halfway through our meal, when my phone rings, and it’s Ross.
“What was that ax like?” he asks without preamble. “In your memory.”
I’m not surprised. I think I sort of expected his call. “Double edged.”
An exhale of weariness. “Old. Double-edged. Rusty.”
“You found it.” It’s not a question.
A silence. “It’s in the shed, where it’s always been. You know, it always struck me as odd. Dad was never one for cutting wood. In fact I never remember him using it.” A pause. “The surface is rough. A dark residue of something.”
A chill goes through me. “Where are you?”
“None of your goddamn business.”
“Are you at the house? In the shed?”
“I said—”
“Ross, get the hell out of there. Stay away from your dad.”
“Look, I’ve lived with the guy for most of my life. Now I should worry? Fuck off.”
“Now the police are sniffing around that spot by the river, asking questions. Steer clear of him, got it?”
“What the fuck do you care if anything happens to me?” He sounds genuinely curious, and I have no answer to that.
“Just do it,” I say with more calm than I feel.
“It wasn’t Dad. He can’t be the killer.”
“Why the hell not? He used to beat you. Beat everyone around him. He’s a bully. And he’s got the ax.”
“That doesn’t make him a killer.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” I hiss, throwing my paper towel away, pushing to my feet and stalking out of the diner, Cos at my heels. “I bet he has a jacket with an eye on it. Like a masonry sign, or a biker club logo. I’d bet my right nut on it. Since you’re back home, why don’t you take a look, see if you find it?”
“Why don’t you come look for it, smartass?”
“Ross… Just get out,” I mutter, my anger seeping out of me. “I’m telling you—”
The line disconnects with a click, and Cos wraps her arms around me, a red-hot circle keeping me together as I think what to do next.