Watching Trin by Freya Barker

Chapter 32

Trin

“Like one day is gonna matter.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This argument has been going round and round in circles for almost half an hour. Ever since Bodhi left for his parents’ place to pick up his dad.

“It matters,” I state firmly. “Your education comes first.”

“But, Mom, he’s gonna need help.”

“And he’s getting it,” I repeat. Again. “Like I said, a few guys from the station will be there. It’s not like he’s doing it by himself. Besides, I’m heading over to help as soon as I get your ass off to school.”

“You can’t even reach the top of the doorpost, how are you any help painting?”

Oh goody, Tuck found a new point to try and win his argument; my height, or lack thereof. Of course he’s almost five nine, at least he was the last time we measured. He may have grown more since; I noticed the other day he seems to be creeping closer to Bodhi’s height.

“Either I’ll swing by to pick you up after school or Aunt Vic will drive you over. There’ll be lots left to do, I’m sure.”

Last night Bodhi got the key to his new place and he’s determined to get the house painted, some flooring replaced, and his furniture moved in—all in one day. It’s insanity, but he is determined to have it done before he gets back to his regular shift on Thursday morning.

Tucker is dragging his ass this morning because he wants to be part of this madness. Wants to be one of the guys—which isn’t a bad thing, especially when those guys are good role models for him—but I can’t let him skirt his responsibilities either, so Mom has to be the bad guy.

“What time is lunch break?”

I can see hope in his eyes when he looks up.

“Twelve fifteen, why?”

“And what classes do you have after?”

Now I get a smug little smile.

“Math and then PE.”

I press my fingers to my lips and stare at him, wondering if I’m about to fall down on my job as a responsible parent. He struggles a bit with math so I’m not letting him off the hook on that one, but painting and moving furniture could be considered physical education, right?

“Your aunt or I will pick you up after math. Around two o’clock?”

“Aw, man. Why don’t you just pick me up at lunch?”

Of course, give him a finger and he’s still gonna try for the whole hand.

“Or,” I start sharply, giving him my best stink eye. “I could not pick you up early at all.”

“Fine.”

“Now grab your bag and hustle, you’re gonna miss that damn bus.”

He hustles, sounding like a herd of elephants going up and coming back down the stairs, but at least he’s moving. Except his footsteps are heading back for the kitchen where I’ve turned back to the bags of buns I’m supposed to be turning into sandwiches for the guys.

“Thanks, Mom,” his voice is right behind me.

Then he gives me a peck on the cheek and the herd of elephants heads out the front door.

I’m still smiling ten minutes later when the doorbell rings and I find Detective VanDyken on my doorstep.

“Do you have a minute?”

“Sure. Come in.” I open the door wide so he can step inside. “Would you like a coffee? I’m just brewing a giant pot to take to Bodhi’s new place.”

“Sure, I’ll have a cup. He’s got a new place?” he asks, following me into the kitchen.

“Yup. He bought a house, just up County Road 250, maybe five miles north of his firehouse. He’s up there now with a couple of guys, getting it ready to move in.”

“Nice. I guess that’s why all the food?” He points at the large plastic bin I’m stacking sandwiches in.

“Gotta feed the troops.”

I hand him his coffee, which he indicates he’ll take black, and lean back against the counter while he takes a sip.

“I had a chance to interview Jeannie Anderson yesterday morning,” he says, putting his mug down as he glances up at me.

“How is she?” I force myself to ask.

It’s more inbred politeness than anything else because I honestly could not care any less about that woman’s well-being. I know she’s mentally ill—she has to be—but it’s hard to conjure up empathy for someone who murdered four people including her own parents, threatened to harm my child, and held a gun to my head intent to kill me. I’m afraid I just don’t have it in me.

“She’s…something. Her medical records indicate she was diagnosed with schizophrenia and was in the care of a psychiatrist since 2001. May of 2001 to be more precise.”

“Let me guess, Daddy walks up to his little girl bashing someone’s head in with a rock, helps her get rid of the body, and then gets her to see a psychiatrist?”

I don’t bother hiding the sarcasm in my tone. The father may not have been responsible for Cherry’s death, but he definitely carried responsibility for what followed after.

“Pretty much,” Jay confirms. “Although, it sounds like his conscience was weighing on him. At least after the discovery of Cherry’s body. That’s why Jeannie says she killed him and because she was afraid her mother knew, she killed her too.”

“Tried to make it look like a suicide.”

He nods in agreement.

“She also admitted being behind the notes, the incident in the City Market parking lot, and cutting your brake lines.”

“But I don’t understand, that Jacob kid was driving the pickup truck,” I point out, confused.

After the way he reacted to seeing me at his football game, there isn’t a doubt in my mind about that.

“That’s right. In fact, he was also the one to throw the rock and drop off that envelope. She caught the kid smoking pot behind the restaurant a few months ago. Threatened to out him to the athletic director.”

“JD Hawkins,” I fill in.

“Who has been enforcing a strict no-drug policy for his athletes since his start at Fort Lewis College.”

“She blackmailed him,” I conclude.

“Yup. He confirmed it. Came clean yesterday afternoon when I paid him a visit. He wasn’t the one who messed with your brakes, though. Jeannie did that herself. Jacob admitted, after seeing you at the ballgame, he got cold feet.”

“Jesus.”

It’s scary how easily young minds can be manipulated. Hell, my own son stole a raft and was made to believe it was a good idea to run the rapids in the middle of the night. Almost losing his life in the process. One lapse of judgment.

Jacob’s situation isn’t that much different. From all accounts he’s a good kid who made a wrong choice, one that could easily have had devastating consequences. No matter what he’s facing now, it’s nowhere near as serious as it would’ve been if I had ended up dead.

But there’s one more casualty in this entire sordid mess Jay hasn’t brought up.

“What about Tasha?”

* * *

Bodhi

“Nice color. Let me guess, your girlfriend picked it?”

I look over at Sumo, who is standing on a ladder cutting in the corners over the kitchen cabinets.

The putty color had indeed been Trin’s idea. The kitchen looked more like a sterile operating room before; everything but the floor white, with stainless steel appliances. The ceramic tiles on the floor were made to look like slate and provided the only color in the kitchen. The putty-colored paint will hopefully make the place a little warmer and more inviting.

Or at least that’s what Trin tells me. Turns out she has an eye for it and the past few days I’ve been following her around Home Depot.

“She did.”

Dad is upstairs with Hog, working on the bedrooms, and Cap is painting the brick on the fireplace, as well as the built-in shelving on either side, a dull dark gray. Also Trin’s idea. She claims it will anchor the room, whatever that means. It all sounds good to me.

We left the front door open and I can hear a car pulling into the driveway. I left a spot open for Trin to park the rental we picked up yesterday. She needed some wheels until she can figure out what she wants to buy, because the Jeep is a write-off.

I stick my head out the door and see her round the car and pop the trunk. I rush out to give her a hand.

“Hey, Beautiful.”

She lifts her face for a kiss, which I gladly provide. Then I reach in the trunk to grab the two bins when she puts a hand on my arm.

“Before we go in…”

I don’t know that I like the combination of concern and sympathy expressed on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she hurries to say. “Jay VanDyken stopped by the house earlier with some updates.”

“Oh?”

She proceeds to fill me in on what Jay learned from his interview with Jeannie. Most of it we suspected—except perhaps the involvement of that college kid—but it’s good to have it confirmed.

Trin takes a step closer and slides her arms around my waist, tilting her head back to look up at me.

“She also told Jay a little about what happened to Tasha,” she says gently.

It wasn’t exactly easy to hear how Jeannie had lured Tasha into her car and driven her into the mountains halfway between Durango and Silverton. She fed her pills laced with rat poison, and when Tasha was incapacitated, shoved her body from the side of Highway 550 into a ravine below.

“Jay says hikers found human remains near the mines three years ago.”

“I remember hearing that,” I tell her.

“Well, he says the body was never identified and eventually cremated, but samples were taken and kept. He’s pretty convinced it’s Tasha, but needs to confirm through DNA. He’s getting in touch with an aunt in Minnesota.”

When I met Tasha, she’d already lost both her parents; I didn’t know she had an aunt.

Trin’s arms tighten around me and I realize I’ve been lost in thought.

“I didn’t want to upset you, but I also didn’t want to keep it from you,” she explains.

I kiss the tip of her nose.

“Not upset. I’m sorry she met with such a tragic end, but I’m actually relieved to know what happened to her. It always seemed a little unresolved, but I figured that was because I was the dumpee and not the dumper. If it turns out the body is hers, I want to make sure her name is on a stone or a plaque somewhere.”

Trin’s mouth pulls into a smile.

“You’re a good man, Bodhi Jones. I’m lucky you fell in love with me,” she teases, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.

I growl low in my throat and she lets out a peal of laughter when I bend down to nip at the soft skin of her neck.

“Say it,” I mumble by her ear.

“You’re a good ma—”

I drown out the rest of her words when I cover her mouth with mine in a playful kiss.

Unfortunately that is cut short when we hear the rumble of motorcycles. Two of them are coming up the drive, a pickup truck behind them.

“We hear you’ve got some work that needs to get done,” Wapi says when he gets off his bike and walks up. “Those two can build a house from scratch. Me, I’ll stick to painting. Where do you want us?”

Behind him Paco and Tse—who was driving the truck—are already unloading tools from the back of the pickup.

I’m stunned. It wasn’t me who told them.

I glance at Trin, who suddenly is very busy inspecting the suspiciously large amount of food inside the trunk of her car. When I turn back to Wapi he’s grinning.

“Appreciate the help. Come on in.”

Paco greets me with a chin lift as he passes, and Tse claps me on the shoulder before throwing a wink at Trin.

I turn to face her.

“You did this.”

“I may have said something,” she says with a shrug, the glimmer still in her eyes.

“Say it…”

She grins and dives in the trunk, coming up with two large bags and a massive carafe of coffee.

“Katrina…”

She shoots past me and I quickly grab the two bins before closing the trunk and turning to the house. Trin is waiting for me on the step.

“I love you, Bodhi Jones.”