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He’d known it would be easier on his mom if people in town didn’t know he was at her home. She’d carried the stigma of being a murderer’s mother although she’d never mentioned her own alienation from friends and neighbors.
Bo wasn’t sure how long he sat there. He had no more tears left, having spent them on the day he’d gotten the call from Jimmy that his mother was gone.
He was vaguely surprised that it was almost seven when he finally left his mother’s bedroom. He needed to get his things from the motorcycle and settle in for the night. If Jimmy continued to stay here, then all Bo needed to do was bury his mother, meet with the lawyer and pack up his mom’s clothing and shoes and other items to donate.
It was Wednesday night. He figured if things went smoothly and he used his time wisely, then by Sunday he could be back on the road to return to the life he’d been forced to build, a new life he’d never wanted.
* * *
BO MCBRIDE WAS BACK.
Nothing exciting ever happened in Lost Lagoon, not since Shelly Sinclair’s murder, and that had been tragic.
Claire Silver had heard about Bo’s mother’s death and assumed he’d come back to take care of whatever needed to be done. His presence here was sure to stir people up.
George had certainly been stirred up. He’d seen her toss the bag of food to Bo and had fired her. Claire had gone home and spent the late afternoon cleaning house, her thoughts whirling about Bo.
She’d never believed in his guilt. Nothing she’d heard had ever changed her mind about Bo’s innocence in Shelly’s death. She believed he’d been a victim of an overzealous sheriff with tunnel vision that had zeroed in on Bo as the perpetrator, to the exclusion of anyone else.
She hoped he was back not just to bury his mother, but also to clear his name, because if he was innocent, as Claire believed, then a killer was walking free in the town.
At six thirty she grabbed a can of pepper spray and stuck it in her back pocket. After unlocking her bicycle from the porch, she took off riding. She rode most nights, pedaling at a leisurely pace away from her “swamp home” and to the outer band that would take her around the lagoon.
This was her time to unwind from the day, to wave to neighbors and empty her mind of any stresses, which were few in her life at the moment.
Normally when she reached the edge of the lagoon she turned to head down Main Street, but instead this evening she continued around the outer road and then on impulse turned onto the roads that would take her to Bo McBride’s home.
When she reached his house she stopped and got off her bike, leaning it against the white picket fence along the boundary of the yard.
She had no idea what she was doing here. Had no indication of what her intentions might be. Did she want to officially welcome him to the town that had effectively driven him out two years ago? Did she want to extend her sympathies about his mother? She’d scarcely known his mother. She’d been a shy, retiring woman rarely seen around town.
Claire grabbed her bicycle and was about to get back on it when the front door of the house flew open and Bo walked out. His blue eyes narrowed as he slowed his steps. She leaned the bike against the fence one again.
“What are you? My new resident stalker? Are you one of those women who writes to serial murderers in prison? Buy sick memorabilia on the internet from crime scenes?” His voice was rife with distrust.
“Actually, I’m the woman who fed you this afternoon and lost my job in the process,” she replied evenly. “I suppose a simple thank-you is too much to ask for.”
Bo grimaced and raked a hand through his thick, unruly black hair. “Sorry, I was way out of line.” He motioned her closer and frowned. “You lost your job?”
“Don’t worry about it. George fires me at least once a week and besides, it’s just a job to alleviate some of my boredom during the summers. My real job is teaching second graders. By the way, my name is Claire Silver.”
“I’m sure you know who I am. Bo McBride, who, according to everyone in Lost Lagoon, is the man who got away with murder.”
“Not everyone,” Claire replied. She’d forgotten how utterly sexy Bo was with his broad shoulders and lean hips and long legs. She’d always thought him handsome and she’d always thought of him as belonging to Shelly.
He raised a dark brow at the same time he pulled a duffel from one of his saddlebags. “You think I’m innocent? That’s novel. There aren’t many in town who share your view.”
“I’ve never been much of a blind follower. I prefer to think for myself and come to my own conclusions,” she replied.
Bo pulled another duffel from the opposite saddlebag and dropped it to the concrete driveway. He gazed at her curiously, as if she might be an alien from another planet.
“So, how did you come to the conclusion that I’m innocent?”
A wave of unusual shyness suddenly swept through her. She didn’t want to tell him all the reasons she believed he wasn’t capable of killing Shelly. It would be like sharing a little piece of her soul, a portrait of a romance that would make her look strange.
“Let’s just say it’s a long story. I was sorry to hear about your mother,” she said in an attempt to change the topic of conversation.
The stark grief that swept over his face was there only a moment and then gone, but it was enough for Claire’s heart to respond. She had no memories of her own mother, and she couldn’t imagine the pain over the loss of his while he’d been virtually banished from his home...from his mother.
“Thanks. It came as quite a shock.” He picked up his duffel bags. “I’m sorry about your job and I appreciate your kindness this afternoon.”
“No big deal.” She grabbed her bike and got on it. Darkness came early around the lagoon and on the swamp side of town, and she liked to be inside by nightfall. “I guess I’ll see you around,” she said and with a wave, she pedaled away from his driveway.
She wasn’t sure what had driven her to go to his home and stop other than curiosity. There was no question that he was apparently wary of interacting with anyone, and why wouldn’t he be?
He’d always been handsome, but the past two years had added lines to his lean face that gave it new character that only enhanced his sexiness. Not that it mattered to her. In her mind he would always be Shelly’s man, part of a couple who for Claire had been a shining example of what love should look like.
She pedaled a little faster as she rounded the lagoon where the June twilight appeared darker, gloomier. As always, when her home came into view a sense of pride swelled up inside her.
Two years ago her home had looked a lot like so many of the other broken, faded shanties that lined the street. It had taken most of her first year’s salary as a teacher to almost completely rebuild the one-bedroom hellhole where she’d grown up into a pretty cottage with up-to-date plumbing and newly painted walls and a sense of permanence.
For so many years it had just been a place to survive. Now it was her sanctuary, a place that held no memories of her crummy childhood.
When she reached her porch she lifted her bike up the three stairs and chained it to the railing, at the same time noticing the small vase of flowers that sat just outside her front door.
So, her “secret admirer” had struck again. This was the third time in as many weeks she’d found flowers and a note on her doorstep.
The first time the flowers had appeared with a note that simply read, From your secret admirer. Claire had found it a little bit charming and a little bit silly. She’d assumed that the admirer would make himself known to her as she had no idea who it might be.
The second vase of flowers had appeared with a note that indicated he was thinking about her. She thought the flowers might be from Neil Sampson, a city councilman she’d dated for about two months and had broken up with about six months before. Neil hadn’t taken the breakup well, and she wondered if the little floral treats were an attempt to win her back.
She grabbed the new vase, unlocked her door and then stepped inside. She set the flowers and the folded note on the table and headed directly to the refrigerator for a cold bottle of water.
She unscrewed the lid and leaned against the nearby cabinet as she sipped the cold liquid. Thoughts of Bo instantly filled her mind. She’d heard rumors that he’d moved to Jackson and had opened a bar and grill there. Had he found love with some new woman?
Two years was a long time to mourn, and he was a healthy, vital twenty-eight-year-old male who would certainly not have any trouble gaining women’s interest.
She finished the water, tossed the bottle into the recycle bin in her pantry and then walked back to the table where the vase of flowers and the note awaited her.
The vase was a small clear white glass that could be picked up most places for a dollar or so, and the flowers weren’t from a floral shop but rather handpicked.
It would be difficult to try to track down where it had come from even if she was of the mind to conduct a little investigation, and she wasn’t inclined to do so. Whoever it was would eventually stop with the anonymous gestures and show himself.
She opened the note. You look so pretty in pink, it read. She glanced down at the pink tank top she wore and frowned, a niggle of unexpected anxiety rushing through her.
Flowers on her porch was one thing, but somebody watching her while she went about her daily business was something else. A chill threatened to walk up her spine as she went to her living room window and peered outside.
She flipped the blinds closed and then chided herself for being silly. She’d had on the pink tank top and had been around town all day. There was no reason to believe there was anything ominous about flowers on her porch or the sender’s knowing she’d worn pink.
Still, as she moved away from the window she wondered if there was somebody out there now.
Watching her.
Chapter Two (#u0da6de4e-430f-5309-bbad-ff3f821c793e)
It was an appropriate day for death and funerals. Bo woke just after eight to gloomy dark clouds obscuring any morning sunshine.
Although he’d been in bed and trying to find sleep, he was still awake when Jimmy came in just after three in the morning. Bo remained in bed, his brain whirling and refusing to shut off.
Memories of his mother had plagued him, and he dreaded both the service that day and the final act of packing up her things and giving them away. At least he didn’t have to worry about what to do with the house right away. Jimmy had grown up on the swamp side of town, in one of the shanties that threatened to tumble down beneath a stiff breeze.
He and Bo had become best friends in third grade and Jimmy had spent much of his time at the McBride house, eating meals, staying as long as he could before he had to return to the shanty where his brutal alcoholic father lived with his verbally and mentally abusive wife.
As soon as Bo had opened Bo’s Place, he’d hired Jimmy to be his manager and Jimmy had finally escaped the swamp, moving into a small apartment in the back of a liquor store in the center of town.
When Bo realized his only chance to survive financially and emotionally was to get out of town, it was only natural that he turned to his best friend to move into the house Jimmy had always thought of as his real home. The benefit to Bo was that he knew Jimmy would take care of his mother so she wouldn’t be all alone.
It had been a win-win situation for both of them and Bo was in no hurry to toss out the man who had played the role of son when he couldn’t be here.
He now rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans, and then padded into the kitchen where he made coffee. As he waited for it to brew he remembered that just before he’d finally fallen asleep his thoughts had been filled with Claire Silver.
She’d been the first woman in two years who had caught his attention in any way, who had filled him with a touch of curiosity and an unexpected attraction.
She had eyes the color he’d always imagined the waters of the Caribbean might look like, an azure blue that appeared too beautiful to be real. They also had held a spirit that he wasn’t quite sure was confidence or craziness.
He dismissed thoughts of her as he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. In the distance, through the gloom he could see the top of the ridge where new construction was taking place.
Large equipment had been brought in, indicating that whatever was going to be built up there was going to be big. Bo couldn’t imagine what would stand on that property, but it didn’t matter to him. He definitely wouldn’t be here to see whatever it was completed.
He drank two cups of coffee, disappointed that apparently the sun didn’t have the energy to burn off the dark clouds overhead. He only hoped that if it rained, it would wait until after the service that afternoon.
He returned to his bedroom where he made his bed and pulled his black suit from the closet. The last time he’d worn it had been to his father’s funeral, and it was still encased in dry-cleaner plastic.
He removed the plastic and wondered how many people would show up at the cemetery. Brenda McBride had been well liked among her peers in the small town. But that had been before Shelly’s murder. He’d hoped that by him leaving town she’d been able to keep her friends and hadn’t been stigmatized by his presumed guilt.
By the time he’d laid the suit on the bed, he smelled the scent of bacon frying coming from the kitchen. He returned to the kitchen to find Jimmy standing in front of the stove, clad in a pair of khaki shorts, a white T-shirt and a pair of worn sandals.
“I didn’t expect you to be awake yet,” Bo said as he sat at the table.
Jimmy flashed him a quick smile. “I’m usually up just before eleven. I guess I don’t require as much sleep as most people.” He flipped the bacon strips. “Scrambled eggs okay?”
“Since you’re cooking, whatever works for you,” Bo replied. “I’m really not that hungry anyway.”
“It’s going to be a stressful day. You need to eat something,” Jimmy said.
Bo didn’t reply. Within ten minutes Jimmy set a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs and toast in front of him and then sat across from him with a plate of his own.
“What’s going on up there?” Bo asked and gestured out the window to the top of the ridge.
Jimmy took a bite of toast and chased it with a swallow of coffee before replying. “Mayor Frank Kean was unseated in the last election and our new mayor is on a mission for Lost Lagoon to be found. The town sold the land on the ridge to some corporation that is putting in an amusement park.”
Bo stared at him in surprise. First he was stunned to learn that Frank Kean had been voted out after serving as mayor for the past ten years or so. “An amusement park?” he finally said incredulously.
Jimmy nodded. “Jim Burns was voted in as mayor and you know what a hotshot he’s always been. Once he was in office he surrounded himself with like-minded councilmen and then rallied the business owners to push through the sale of the land. There was one heated town meeting before the final vote. As you can imagine most of the old-timers didn’t want to see the town overrun with tourists and the like, but there were enough who believed Lost Lagoon is a dying town and the amusement park was the opportunity to get it prosperous and thriving.”
Bo stared at his friend for a long moment, trying to digest what he’d just learned. “Why would anyone choose this place to put in an amusement park?”
Jimmy shrugged. “Rumor is it will be pirate themed to play off the legends of pirates once roaming the area.”
Many of the businesses in town had already embraced the pirate theme years ago. There was the Pirate’s Inn, rumored to be haunted by pirates who couldn’t find their ship; the Treasure Trove sold pirate T-shirts and fake swords along with elaborate costume jewelry and gold-wrapped chocolate coins. On Main Street you couldn’t walk ten feet and not see something pirate-related.
“Frank Kean must have been devastated to lose the election,” he said.
“Actually, I think he was ready to step down. Besides, he’s on a small committee that’s working closely both with the city council and the people building the park. There are still some people disgruntled about the whole thing, but it’s a done deal and life will definitely change around here when the park is done.”
As they finished their breakfast Jimmy continued to fill him in on the happenings in town, who had gotten married and who had gotten divorced and all the rest of the local gossip.
Bo encouraged the conversation, knowing it was much easier to talk about things and people he didn’t care about anymore than think about the service for his mother that afternoon.
After cleaning up the kitchen, it seemed all too soon that it was time to shower and get dressed for his final goodbye to his mother.
As he dressed in a white short-sleeved dress shirt and his suit pants, he thought about the fact that he hadn’t mentioned to Jimmy his unexpected interaction with Claire Silver the night before.
Maybe he was afraid that Jimmy would tell him that Claire was nice, but was also the town’s nutcase, and Bo liked her. He didn’t want to hear anything negative about her. Right now she and Jimmy were the only two people in this godforsaken town he liked.
He doubted he’d see her again. Tonight he’d have Jimmy bring home some sturdy boxes from the bar, and tomorrow Bo would pack his mother’s things, catch up with the lawyer, and by Saturday or Sunday be back on the road with Lost Lagoon just a distant memory.
Oh, he would forever be bound to this place because of his nearly lifelong friendship with Jimmy and his secret ownership of Jimmy’s Place, but there would be no reason to ever come here again.
He carried his suit jacket into the kitchen and placed it across the back of a chair, and then walked to the window and stared outside as he waited for Jimmy.
It was two o’clock and outside the window the dreariness of the day remained unchanged, as if a reflection of Bo’s somber mood. He already knew his mother had requested a closed casket and a short grave site service performed by Pastor Ralph Kimmel from the Methodist church she had attended for years.
The cemetery was only a ten-minute drive and Bo didn’t see any reason to arrive too early. There was nobody he wanted to visit with and he suspected that few people would attend.
Jimmy walked into the kitchen, clad in a dark gray suit that Bo vaguely remembered once had belonged to him. Thankfully the two were about the same size, and many times over the years Jimmy had been given clothes from Bo.
“Maybe we should go ahead and head out. If we get there early you could at least have a few minutes alone before anyone else arrives,” Jimmy suggested.
Bo nodded and grabbed his suit jacket and pulled it on, dread, grief and anxiety all boiling inside his stomach. His mother had grieved long and hard following the death of his father, and there was some consolation that the two of them were now together once again.
Minutes later they were in Jimmy’s car and headed toward the Lost Lagoon Cemetery. With each mile Bo’s heart grew heavier as emotion pressed tighter and tighter against his chest.
Once they arrived it was easy to see where the ceremony would take place. A small white canopy fluttered in the sultry air over the plain white casket, which was already in place to be lowered into the ground.
Nobody else was there yet, and as Bo got out of the car and walked toward the site the emotion in his chest rose up to blur his vision with tears.
He quickly brushed them away, not wanting anyone to see any weakness, but they appeared once again and he was grateful that Jimmy had hung back, giving him a moment alone.
