My Sister's Grave (Tracy Crosswhite, #1)(66)

“Nope.”

“Did you see the sheriff go into the furniture shed?”

“Yeah, I saw him do that.”

“And did you see him go inside the cab of the red Chevy?”

“Yep, he done that too.”

“Were you restoring that truck, Parker?”

“I was.”

“But you let Edmund drive it.”

Parker nodded. “Yeah. He didn’t have no car and he took a liking to it.”

“Was there carpet in that truck at that time?”

“No. I’d stripped it down to the metal.”

“Leather or cloth seats?”

“Leather.”

“One more question, Parker. Did you keep any black plastic in that truck, you know, for garbage bags, or maybe to lay over a garden in the winter?”

“Didn’t have no garden, so no need for that.”

“So you didn’t keep any in the truck?”

“Not that I was aware of.”

“Did you keep any at the house?”

“You still mean the garbage bags?”

“Yes.”

“No. I composted most of the garbage. The rest I just piled up and when the pile got big enough I drove it myself to the dump in Cascadia. We don’t have no garbage service on the mountain.”

Clark declined to ask Parker any questions, and Dan finished the day by calling Margaret Giesa. She was the CSI detective who had executed the search warrants on Parker House’s property and truck and discovered the Colt-pistol earrings in the coffee can. Giesa had retired and moved to a small town in Oregon with her husband, Erik, but otherwise she hadn’t changed much from the woman Tracy remembered from the first trial, still stylishly dressed and wearing the four-inch pumps.

Dan put Giesa through her search of the property to reestablish what her team had found that day, and spent most of his time discussing the earrings she had found in the coffee can in the furniture shed and the strands of blonde hair recovered from the cab of the Chevy. He methodically walked her through the chain of custody. It was tedious and time-consuming but necessary to prevent any argument that someone had tampered with the evidence or switched it in the twenty years since Giesa and her team had found it and relinquished custody to the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab, where it had been stored.

After Giesa had stepped down from the witness chair, Judge Meyers wrapped up the day’s proceedings. Concerned about the weather reports, Meyers provided his clerk’s desk number and said that, in the event that he had to postpone the proceedings, the court would establish a recorded message for the press and the public. When he banged his gavel, Maria Vanpelt and the other reporters made a beeline for Tracy, who moved just as quickly for the courtroom doors. There, she unexpectedly met Finlay Armstrong, who guided her into the hall past the blinding lights atop the cameras and escorted her down the interior staircase as the reporters hurled questions after her.

“Will you comment on the proceedings, Detective?” Vanpelt asked.

Tracy ignored the questions. Finlay guided her across the parking lot to her car, through snow that was nearly a foot deep in some places.

“I’ll meet you here in the morning,” Finlay said.

“Did the Sheriff ask you to do this?” Tracy asked.

Finlay nodded and handed her a business card. “If you need anything just give a call.”

No sooner had Tracy pulled from the parking lot when her cell phone rang. Though Dan had cautioned that trials were like marathons, and this had been only the first mile, she could hear from the tone in his voice that he was pleased with the way the day had gone.

“I’m heading over to Pine Flat to visit Rex. Meet me there. We can discuss tomorrow.”



Dan was with the veterinarian when Tracy arrived in the hospital, so she put up the hood of her jacket and stepped back outside, pacing the porch while checking e-mails and returning phone messages. The light had faded to dusk, the sky hidden beneath a low-lying fog that continued to spew snow and did not appear ready to let up anytime soon. The thermometer next to the frozen wind chimes indicated the temperature had fallen to twenty-four degrees.

Tracy checked in with Kins. As she filled him in on the day, she noticed a car parked at the edge of a pristine, snow-covered field. The hood and roof of the car were covered in two inches of snow, but the wiper blades had recently cleared the windshield. It was too far for Tracy to see clearly, especially with the fading light and persistent snowfall, but she had a sense that someone was sitting behind the steering wheel, maybe a reporter. She was contemplating driving over to find out when Dan opened the door and stuck his head out. He was smiling, a good sign.

“Are you trying to catch pneumonia?” Dan asked.

“How’s he doing?”

“Come in and see for yourself.”

Inside, Tracy was surprised to see Rex up and about in the reception area, though moving gingerly. He looked like something out of the circus, with a plastic cone about his head to keep him from licking his bandages. She put out her hand and Rex didn’t hesitate to come to her, his nose cold and wet in her palm.

Dan stood beside the vet and his wife, explaining to Tracy, “We’re trying to decide what to do. I hate to leave him here, but I think it’s for the best, especially if I’m gone during the day.”