Useless Bay by M. J. Beaufrand

Author:M. J. Beaufrand
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Abrams
Published: 2016-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

twelve

HENRY

I was right about agent Armstrong. After we found what was left of Pixie’s dog, things started happening.

He began to notice what we hadn’t, the first of which was to wonder why, when we’d searched the house and the garage and even the guard shack, no one had thought to search the Breakers.

“The Breakers is shut tight,” Dad told him. “The only time we open it is if we have guests. And we haven’t had any in months.”

“What if Grant wanted to play hide-and-seek there?” I suggested, mostly to myself, but agent Armstrong seized on the idea.

“Let’s open it up and take a look around,” he said.

“Okay,” Dad said. “But I don’t see why. Grant doesn’t hide unless one of the Grays is abetting him. Usually at their house.”

“That’s not true,” Meredith said. “He likes small places. He likes spots where he can be alone with his book of Russian fairy tales.”

I hadn’t even realized Meredith was with us at the time. We were standing on the patio, facing the bay, getting buffeted by the wind and rain.

I should’ve known things would change for Meredith with Lyudmila gone. They would be different for all of us, but for Mere especially.

Mine wasn’t the only family to have a boys’ team and a girls’ team. While Lyudmila was around, Meredith mostly spent time with her. Mere usually talked to Dad and me only at the dinner table to make sure we were all well versed on the issues of the day. Sometimes talking to Lyudmila and Mere was like talking to a foreign species. We didn’t understand why they needed to spend $98 on yoga pants in slightly different accent colors. Black with a purple waist. Black with a pink waist. Black with a red waist. Now that there was no Lyudmila, Meredith had two choices: spend time with us or spend time with her phone.

Even odds.

And it turned out that she was right about Grant and small spaces and the Breakers, because when agent Armstrong turned the knob on the door to the cottage, it was unlocked. There were many possible reasons for it, but I liked Mere’s the best. Private spaces. Some place to curl up alone and read Russian fairy tales.

“Stay back,” agent Armstrong said, and he took the safety off his gun as he went through the door, Sheriff Lundquist following closely behind.

Dad and Mere and I stood outside, anxious, getting drenched, wondering what they’d find.

The two of them were inside a long time. When agent Armstrong came out, he said to the other cops, “Can we get eyes in here?”

“What’s going on?” Dad demanded, charging to the entrance. “Is it my son? Oh my God, is it Grant? Can I see him?”

“Calm down, Mr. Shepherd,” agent Armstrong reassured him. “He’s not here. But I think we may have found a crime scene . . . Henry, why don’t you take your father back to the house. Make sure he gets a shower. Something to eat. It’s been a long night.

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