On Her Father's Grave (Rogue River #1)(10)

“He should have his journals somewhere there too. Not police notebooks, but his personal journals.”

“Really?” Stevie wrinkled up her nose. “Are you sure? I would think they’d have given them to Mom by now.” Her dad had always kept a daily record. There were boxes full of journals in the attic of the house. Some entries were about his kids and some were about his work. He always wrote in them while at work and brought them home at the end of each year. He would spend part of New Year’s Day reflecting on his professional and personal life. Evaluating and looking ahead.

“No, because I asked Mom about them a few days ago. She was going to ask you to bring them home once you started at the department.”

“I’ll ask Zane if he knows where they might be. Maybe Roy simply shoved them aside while he was in charge.”

Carly nodded as she pulled out a contraption consisting of a metal chute attached to a wide, flat board. She set it gently down next to her father’s grave. “I never understood how he justified fireworks with him being a cop and all.” She set a half dozen Roman candles several feet away from the launcher.

“He couldn’t. That’s why he always took us way out of town to deserted areas to shoot them off. They might be illegal in our state, but he loved them as much as a little kid.” Excitement shot up Stevie’s spine, and she felt like she was ten. “I’m so glad we’re doing this. Thank you for agreeing to it.”

Carly smiled. “I know what you mean.” She handed the long-handled lighter to Stevie. “But you light them. I’m not getting arrested for this.”



Zane waved at the car as it cruised past him on Main Street. He couldn’t tell who the driver was, but he’d seen the hand waving at him, so he waved back. That’s how it operated around here. Everyone waved whether you knew who it was or not.

As he walked back to the station he crunched on the fried chicken meal he’d picked up at the small grocery store. It was hot and tasty and Nell’s best recipe. Everyone told her she should open a restaurant instead of running the grocery.

“But where would you buy your milk and bread?” she’d ask. “I’m doing a public service. And I’ll keep making chicken as long as people will buy it.”

She still had the old political sign above the deli.

“I Like My Spotted Owl Deep-Fried.”

Zane was pretty certain she’d never fry an owl. He eyed the leg in his hand. It was way too big to belong to an owl. His cell phone buzzed and he dropped the leg back in the white bag. He wiped his fingers on his jeans before slipping his phone out of his back pocket. “Duncan.”

“Zane. It’s Hank.”

Zane mentally scrolled through the three Hanks he knew and figured it must be the deputy medical examiner with an update on Hunter Brandt. “Hank. What have you got for me?”

“I’m e-mailing a full report later this afternoon, but I’d thought you’d like to know some highlights.”

“I’m listening.”

“Hunter didn’t have a scratch on him. Some old bruises. Exactly what I’d expect for an active teenager. X-rays showed one old break on his fibula that coincides with a football injury his parents notified me about. All his organs looked healthy. No abnormalities anywhere.”

Zane stopped walking and stared straight ahead, listening intently. “Not a congenital heart issue?”

“Nope.”

“So what happened?”

“I’m looking into that,” Hank said with a sigh. “I’m sending some tissue and blood samples to the state lab. Something showed up when I ran the blood screen, but I don’t recognize it. He had a low blood alcohol. Only point zero three percent. But there’s some chemical compound in his blood that I don’t have the equipment to identify. Not pot, not coke, not heroin.”

“How long will it take them to analyze it?” Zane knew the Oregon State Police Lab was backed up.

“Dunno. I requested a rush on it, but that’s about as effective as asking the airlines to be careful with your luggage.”

“What’s your gut feeling on this?” Zane asked.

Hank was quiet for a second. “Well, young guys typically don’t die without something obvious. And there were no blows to the head. No enlarged heart. No alcohol poisoning. My best guess is that they’ll find a substance in his blood that slowed down his breathing until his brain and heart didn’t get the oxygen they needed. Or find a chemical that stopped his heart. Until I have that analysis back, I simply don’t know.”

“I’m going to move forward on the assumption he took something he shouldn’t have. There are prescription drugs that would do that, right? If he took too many?”

“Yes, some would.”

“Now the question is where did he get it and how? I’ll have to ask the parents what’s in their medicine cabinets and find out what friends’ homes he’s been in. He may have taken something from a friend’s parent.” Zane’s mind spun with a dozen different avenues to investigate. “Lord, I hope someone didn’t slip him something.”

“Damn it. You and me both. I don’t want to hear about one of our teens with a murder charge,” Hank replied.

Zane silently agreed. He ended the call with Hank, hoping that Hunter’s death wouldn’t mean the ruin of the life of another teen who’d thought he was simply sharing a high with the football star. And praying someone hadn’t maliciously given bad drugs to Hunter.