Blue Heaven Read online

  Copyright

  First published in the United States of America in 2008 by Minotaur Books, New York.

  This edition first published in Great Britain in 2010 by Corvus, an imprint of Grove Atlantic Ltd.

  Copyright © C.J. Box 2008. All rights reserved.

  The moral right of C.J. Box to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  First eBook Edition: January 2010

  ISBN: 978-1-848-87995-9

  Corvus

  An imprint of Grove Atlantic Ltd

  Ormond House

  26-27 Boswell Street

  London WC1N 3JZ

  www.corvus-books.co.uk

  For Ann Rittenberg

  …and Laurie, always

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The author would like to acknowledge the fine people of Sandpoint, Idaho, who provided background and hospitality, including Marianne Love and Roley and Janice Schoonover. Thanks to Mark Whitworth in L.A., who first mentioned a place called Blue Heaven.

  Sincere appreciation to Ben Sevier and Jennifer Enderlin, who brought this baby home.

  This novel would not exist without the patience and perseverance of Ann Rittenberg.

  Contents

  Cover

  Copyright

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  DAY ONE: Friday

  Friday, 4:28 P.M.

  Friday, 4:40 P.M.

  Friday, 4:45 P.M.

  Friday, 5:30 P.M.

  Friday, 6:15 P.M.

  Friday, 10:30 P.M.

  DAY TWO: saturday

  Saturday, 8:45 A.M.

  Saturday, 9:14 A.M.

  Saturday, 10:14 A.M.

  Saturday, 10:45 A.M.

  Saturday, 12:20 P.M.

  Saturday, 2:50 P.M.

  Saturday, 5:34 P.M.

  Saturday, 6:18 P.M.

  Saturday, 6:20 P.M.

  Saturday, 7:45 P.M.

  Saturday, 10:23 P.M.

  DAY THREE: sunday

  Sunday, 2:18 A.M.

  Sunday, 3:15 A.M.

  Sunday, 7:05 A.M.

  Sunday, 9:55 A.M.

  Sunday, 10:15 A.M.

  Sunday, 10:17 A.M.

  Sunday, 11:40 A.M.

  Sunday, 11:41 A.M.

  Sunday, 12:59 P.M.

  Sunday, 1:04 P.M.

  Sunday, 4:03 P.M.

  Sunday, 5:15 P.M.

  Sunday, 5:30 P.M

  Sunday, 5:49 P.M.

  Sunday, 6:25 P.M.

  Sunday, 6:56 P.M.

  Sunday, 7:16 P.M.

  Sunday, 8:21 P.M.

  Sunday, 8:32 P.M.

  Sunday, 9:36 P.M.

  Sunday, 10:01 P.M.

  Sunday, 10:32 P.M.

  Sunday, 10:55 P.M.

  Sunday, 11:17 P.M.

  Sunday, 11:59 P.M.

  DAY FOUR: monday

  Monday, 1:24 A.M.

  Monday, 2:30 A.M.

  Monday, 2:41 A.M.

  Monday, 4:08 A.M.

  Monday, 4:55 A.M.

  Monday, 5:10 A.M.

  may

  DAY ONE

  Friday

  In countries where associations are free, secret societies are unknown. In America there are factions, but no conspiracies.

  —Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America, 1835

  WELCOME TO THE INLAND NORTHWEST

  —sign greeting arrivals at Spokane Airport

  Friday, 4:28 P.M.

  IF TWELVE-YEAR-OLD Annie Taylor had not chosen to take her little brother William fishing on that particular Friday afternoon in April during the wet North Idaho spring, she never would have seen the execution or looked straight into the eyes of the executioners. But she was angry with her mother.

  Before they witnessed the killing, they were pushing through the still-wet willows near Sand Creek, wearing plastic garbage bags to keep their clothes dry. Upturned alder leaves cupped pools of rainwater from that morning, and beaded spiderwebs sagged between branches. When the gray-black fists of storm clouds pushed across the sun, the light muted in the forest and erased the defining edges of the shadows, and the forest plunged into a dispiriting murk. The ground was black, spongy in the forest and sloppy on the trail. Their shoes made sucking sounds as they slogged upstream.

  Annie and William had left their home on the edge of town, hitched a ride for a few miles with Fiona, the mail lady, and had been hiking for nearly two hours, looking in vain for calm water.

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” ten-year-old William said, raising his voice over the liquid roar of the creek, which was angry and swollen with runoff.

  Annie stopped and turned to William, looking him over. A long fly rod poked out from beneath the plastic he wore. He had snagged the tip several times in the branches, and a sprig of pine needles was wedged into one of the line guides.

  “You said you wanted to go fishing, so I’m taking you fishing.” “

  But you don’t know anything about it,” William said, his eyes widening and his lower lip trembling, which always happened before he began to cry.

  “William …”

  “We should go back.”

  “William, don’t cry.”

  He looked away. She knew he was trying to stanch it, she could tell by the way he set his mouth. He hated that he cried so easily, so often, that his emotions were so close to the surface. Annie didn’t have that problem.

  “How many times did Tom tell you he was going to take you fishing?” Annie asked.

  William wouldn’t meet her eyes. “A bunch,” he said.

  “How many times has he taken you?”

  He said sullenly, “You know.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I sort of like him,” William said.

  Annie said, “I sort of don’t.”

  “You don’t like anybody.”

  Annie started to argue, but didn’t, thinking: He may be right. “I like you enough to take you fishing even though I don’t know how to fish. Besides, how hard can it be if Tom can do it?”

  An impudent smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I guess,” he said.

  “Look,” she said, raising her plastic bag to show him she was wearing Tom’s fishing vest. She had taken it without asking off a peg in their house. “This thing is filled with lures and flies and whatever. We’ll just tie them to the end of your line and throw ’em out there. The fish can’t be much smarter than Tom, so how hard can it be?”

  “… if Tom can do it,” he said, his smile more pronounced.

  That was when they heard a motor rev and die, the sound muffled by the roar of the foamy water.

  THE BETRAYAL occurred that morning when Tom came downstairs, asked, “What’s for breakfast?” Annie and William were at the table dressed for school eating cereal—Sugar Pops for William, Frosted Mini-Wheats for her. Tom asked his question as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but it wasn’t. Tom had never been in their home for breakfast before, had never stayed the night. He was wearing the same wrinkled clothes from the night before when he’d shown up after dinner to see their mom, what he called his fishing clothes—baggy trousers that zipped off at the thigh, a loose-fitting shirt with lots of pockets. This was new territory for Annie, and she didn’t want to explore it.

 
; Instead, she found herself staring at his large, white bare feet. They looked waxy and pale, like the feet of a corpse, but his toes had little tufts of black hair on their tops, which both fascinated and disgusted her. He slapped them wetly across the linoleum floor.

  “Where’s your mom keep the coffee?” he asked.

  William was frozen to his chair, his eyes wide and unblinking, his spoon poised an inch from his mouth, Sugar Pops bobbing in the milk. William said, “On the counter, in that canister thing.”

  Tom repeated “canister thing” to himself with good humor and set about making a pot of coffee. Annie bored holes into the back of his fishing shirt with her eyes. Tom was big, buff, always fake-friendly, she thought. He rarely showed up at their house without a gift for them, usually something lame and last-minute like a Slim-Jim meat stick or a yo-yo he bought at the convenience store at the end of the street. But she’d never seen him like this—disheveled, sleepy, sloppy, talking to the two of them for the very first time like they were real people who knew where the coffee was.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  He turned his head. His eyes were unfocused, bleary. “Making coffee.”

  “No. I mean in my house.”

  William finally let the spoon continue its path. His eyes never left Tom’s back. A drip of milk snaked down from the corner of his mouth and sat on his chin like a bead of white glue.

  Tom said, “Your house? I thought it was your mother’s house.” All jolly he is, she thought angrily.

  “Is this it for breakfast?” Tom asked, holding up the cereal boxes and raising his eyebrows.

  “There’s toast,” William said, his mouth full. “Mom makes eggs sometimes. And pancakes.”

  Annie glared at her brother with snake eyes.

  “Maybe I’ll ask Monica to make me some eggs,” Tom mumbled, as much to himself as to them. He poured a cup of coffee before it filled the carafe. Errant drips sizzled on the hot plate.

  So it was Monica, not your mother, Annie thought.

  He came to the table, his feet making kissing sounds on the floor, pulled out a chair, and sat down. She could smell her mother on him, which made her feel sick inside.

  “That’s Mom’s chair,” she said.

  “She won’t mind,” he said, flashing his false, condescending smile. To him they were children again, although she got the feeling Tom was just a little scared of her. Maybe he realized now what he’d done. Maybe not. He pointedly ignored Annie, who glared at him, and turned to William.

  “School, eh?” Tom said, reaching out and tousling the boy’s hair. William nodded, his eyes wide.

  “Too bad you can’t take the day off and go fishing with me. I really got into some nice ones last night before I came over. Fifteen-, sixteen-inch trout. I brought a few to your mom for you guys to have for dinner.”

  “I want to go,” William said, swelling out his chest. “I’ve never gone fishing, but I think I could do it.”

  “You bet you could, little man,” Tom said, sipping the hot coffee. He gestured toward the cluttered mudroom off the kitchen where he’d hung his fishing vest and stored his fly rod in the corner. “I’ve got another rod in my truck you could use.”

  Suddenly, William was squirming in his chair, excited. “Hey, we get out of school early today! Maybe we could go then?”

  Tom looked to Annie for clarification.

  “Early release,” Annie said deadpan. “We’re out at noon.”

  Tom pursed his lips and nodded, his eyes dancing, now totally in control of William. “Maybe I’ll pick you up and take you after school, then. I’ll ask your mom about it. I can pick you up out front. D’you want to go along, too, Annie?”

  She shook her head quickly. “No.”

  “You need to ease up a little,” Tom told her, smiling with his mouth only.

  “You need to go home,” she replied.

  Tom was about to say something when her mother came down the stairs, her head turned away from the kitchen and toward the front door. Annie watched her mother walk quickly through the living room and part the curtains, expecting, Annie thought, to confirm that Tom’s vehicle was gone. When it wasn’t, her mother turned in horror and took it all in: Tom, Annie, and William at the kitchen table. Annie saw the blood drain out of her mother’s face, and for a second she felt sorry for her. But only for a second.

  “Tommmmm,” her mother said, dragging his name out and raising the tone so it was a sentence in itself meaning many things, but mostly, “Why are you still here?”

  “Don’t you need to get to work?” her mother finally said.

  Tom was a UPS driver. Annie was used to seeing him in his brown uniform after work. His shirt and shorts were extra tight.

  “Yup,” Tom said, standing so quickly he sloshed coffee on the table. “I better get going, kids. I’ll be late.”

  Annie watched Tom and her mother exchange glances as Tom hurried past her toward the front door, grabbing his shoes on the way. She thanked God there was no good-bye kiss between them, or she might throw up right there.

  “Mom,” William said, “Tom’s going to take me fishing after school!”

  “That’s nice, honey,” his mom said vacantly.

  “Go brush your teeth,” Annie said to William, assuming the vacated role of adult. “We’ve got to go.”

  William bounded upstairs.

  Annie glared at her mother, who said, “Annie …”

  “Are you going to marry him?”

  Her mother sighed, seemed to search for words. She raised her hands slowly, then dropped them to her sides as if the strings had been snipped. That answered Annie’s question.

  “You told me …”

  “I know,” her mother said impatiently, tears in her eyes. “It’s hard for you to understand. Someday you’ll see, maybe.”

  Annie got up from the table and took her and William’s bowls to the sink, rinsed them out. When she was through, her mother was still standing there, hadn’t moved.

  “Oh, I understand,” Annie said, then gestured toward the stairs. “But William doesn’t. He thinks he’s got a new dad.”

  Her mother took a sharp breath as if Annie had slapped her. Annie didn’t care.

  “We’ll talk later,” her mother said, as Annie avoided her and went straight outside through the mudroom to wait for William in the yard. She knew her mom would be heartbroken because she hadn’t kissed her good-bye. Too bad, Annie thought. Mom had been kissed enough lately.

  AT NOON, Annie waited with William at the front of the school for Tom. They looked for his pickup and never saw it. When a UPS truck came down the block, William pumped his fist and growled, “YES!”

  But Tom wasn’t driving the truck, and it never slowed down.

  After taking Tom’s fishing rod and vest, Annie and William walked along the damp shoulder of the state highway out of town. Annie led. She knew there was a creek up there somewhere. A woman driving a little yellow pickup pulled over in front of them.

  “Where are you two headed with such dogged determination?” the woman asked in a high-pitched little-girl voice. Annie disliked her immediately. She was one of those older women who thought they were young and pert instead of squat and wide.

  “Fishing,” Annie said. “Up ahead, on the creek.”

  The woman said her name was Fiona, and she delivered rural mail, and she would be going that direction if they needed a ride. Even though William shook his head no, Annie said, “Thank you.”

  While they drove deep into the forest and began to see glimpses of a stream through the trees, Fiona never stopped talking. She acted as if she was interested in them, but she wasn’t, Annie thought. Fiona was determined to convince them that delivering mail was a very important job and not just anybody could do it. As if she expected Annie to say, “Wow—you deliver the mail?” Fiona’s perfumed scent was overpowering inside the small cab. Annie’s eyes began to water, and she threw an elbow at William, who was pinching his nose shut. />
  “Can you let us off here?” Annie asked at no particular landmark except that she could see the creek.

  “Are you sure this is okay with your folks?” Fiona asked, well after the time she should have.

  “Sure,” Annie lied.

  They thanked her and got out. William was concerned that the fish would be able to smell him because his clothes were now reeking of perfume, but Annie convinced him fish couldn’t smell. Not that she knew anything about fish.

  MAYBE, ANNIE THOUGHT, the men didn’t notice William and her because the dark green plastic they wore over their clothes blended in so well with the color of the heavy brush. Maybe, the men had looked around for another vehicle, and not having seen one, assumed no one else was there, certainly not on foot. But Annie could certainly see them; the profiles of four men parked in a white SUV in a campground space.

  Everything was wet and dark under the dripping canopy of trees, and it smelled of pine, loam, and the spray of the creek. Other than the white car, the campground looked empty. There was a picnic table next to the SUV, and a low black fire pit.

  Annie watched as the driver got out and shut his door, looked around the campsite, then turned back to the vehicle. He was middle-aged or older, lean, fit, and athletic in his movements. He had short white hair and a tanned, thin face. Three more doors opened, and three more men climbed out. They wore casual rain jackets, one wore a ball cap. The man in the ball cap put a six-pack of beer on the picnic table and pulled out four bottles and twisted the tops off, putting the tops into his jacket pocket.

  The men seemed to be comfortable with one another, she thought, the way they nodded and smiled and talked. She couldn’t hear what they said because of the sound of the rushing creek behind her. The Ball Cap Man offered bottles of beer to everyone, and took a long drink of his own. They didn’t sit down at the table—too wet, she thought—but stood next to each other.

  Annie felt William tugging on her arm through the plastic. When she looked over, he gestured back toward the path they had come by, indicating he wanted to go. She gave him a just-a-minute nod and turned back to the campsite. It thrilled her to spy on the men. Men fascinated and repulsed her, maybe because her mother attracted so many of them.

  What happened next was terrifying.

 
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