Dana Mentink - Hazardous Homecoming

That elicited a laugh from Mick. “You would have made a good marine with that attitude.”

It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but at least Mick didn’t look murderous. Then again, why should he care? Mick would be thrilled to pin Alice’s disappearance on Peter. Not gonna happen, Hudsons.

Cooper watched Perry, who was silently sipping a cup of coffee. He had tracked every syllable of the police questioning without comment. Now his eyes shifted in thought. When he felt Cooper’s gaze on him, he offered a small smile.

“Mr. Hudson, do you know something about Lester Walker?”

Perry regarded Cooper calmly. “If I knew anything that would be of help, I would mention it.”

Pickford looked up from his notebook, eyes narrowed. “How about sharing everything, and I’ll decide if it would be helpful.”

Perry’s voice did not increase in volume, but it seemed to Cooper that the tension kicked up a notch. “My daughter was attacked, Sheriff. I’ve got every reason to cooperate.” He smiled. “No hidden secrets here. You know what I know.”

Pickford did not look convinced. Cooper wasn’t either. He wanted to push harder, to get past the sanctimonious surface of this perfect family patriarch. Instead, he excused himself, suddenly desperate for the solace of the forest. Ruby watched from the door as he left, so he gave her a wink and a jaunty wave. Mick put an arm on her shoulder and guided her back into the house. Keep away from Cooper and his brother, the gesture said. They’re bad people.

The injustice of it burned in him afresh. It had been a mistake to return to Silver Peak to check on the brother who he’d come to learn could not be saved by fraternal love. But that stubborn something rumbled inside him, that raw aching need to believe that maybe this time, unlike the hundred times before, would be the moment when Peter really did beat his addiction once and for all and grab hold of the life he had left.

But here in this small town would be the hardest place in the universe for Peter to face down the shadows of his past now that Alice Walker’s case had been reopened. Then again, maybe it was the only place where he would truly know he’d beaten back the darkness.

Cooper let himself into the dusty cabin. He called for his brother and once again received no reply. The night chill had crept in. The place offered only a stone fireplace for warmth and it was late to start a fire, but he trudged out to the woodpile anyway, the feverish energy inside his body telling him there would be no sleep forthcoming. Might as well warm up the place. Besides, the cramped space aggravated his claustrophobia.

There was no kindling that he could find, so he put the axe to use and split more logs than he could possibly need into small pieces. It felt good to swing the heavy blade. The motion soothed him, the way the axe reduced the mammoth mound of wood into manageable units. With an armful of kindling and a couple of gnarled logs, he headed back, picking his way along the moonlit path that he and his father had graveled over one unusually warm Oregon summer. He’d much rather have been out exploring the woods or eating ice cream in town, but as his father said, “Take care of family first.”

He shot a look at the vast dome of sky above him. I’m trying, Dad.

Each crunch of the gravel underfoot echoed with his father’s admonition and he wondered for the millionth time if he had done enough to care for Peter. Or, as he’d learned over the years, had he done too much? Encouragement and enabling were perilously close.

He shifted the wood in his arms to free up a hand to shove the door open. He was startled to find it already was. Had he left it ajar and the wind took it? Or could it be his prodigal brother who’d finally seen fit to return?

Could be either, but there was also Lester Walker to consider. Cooper eased the pile of wood down on the spongy ground and extracted one slender log from the jumble. Club-size, about eighteen inches long. Enough to protect himself against a box cutter if the easygoing-charm thing didn’t work out.

He pushed the door open with a foot. The interior was dark except for the light he’d left on in the kitchen. He eased inside.

“Peter?”

A figure emerged from the kitchen.

“Couldn’t have been more wrong,” he muttered, as the cabin lights snapped on and dazzled his vision.

FIVE

“You can put down the log,” a woman said with a smile. She wore a long jacket, her auburn hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m Heather Bradford.”

He 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...”