The Dead and the Dark(6)
Ashley took her mother’s hand. In front of her, Mr. and Mrs. Granger nodded solemnly. They had their problems with the investigation, but Sheriff Paris was right. He couldn’t arrest someone on suspicion alone, and even if he could, arresting Brandon Woodley wouldn’t solve Tristan’s disappearance. No one wanted to find a killer—no one wanted Tristan dead. Ashley just wanted Tristan home.
Paris gave a tight-lipped frown and a terse nod, then motioned to Ashley.
“All yours.”
Ashley took a deep breath. The crowd of people in the cemetery turned to face her. Ashley shakily held up her notecards and studied them. She’d practiced her speech all night in front of her bedroom mirror, but with dozens of eyes trained on her, the words suddenly felt far away.
This wasn’t for the crowd. This was for Tristan.
“I hope you guys don’t mind if I, uh … if I say something to him.” Ashley looked up and caught her mother nodding at her. She cleared her throat. “Tristan, when we were in second grade, you asked me to marry you. You took me out to the field behind the track and made a ring out of dead grass. I turned you down because we were too young and because I said if I was gonna marry you, it had to be for real.”
The crowd laughed softly at that. Cool lake wind brushed Ashley’s ponytail across her back. She stared at the words on her notecard until they swam and she had to stitch the memory together.
“You didn’t give up. That’s how you are—you see the way things should be and you make them happen. You asked me to marry you again in third grade, fourth grade, fifth grade. In eighth grade, you compromised. You said we could just go to the spring social together. I would’ve said yes to you then, but my mom said I was too young to date.”
Tammy Barton sheepishly raised her hand and took a long sip of lemon water.
“It didn’t matter to us. We didn’t have to be on a real date. I went to the dance with my best friend and had the night of my life. Freshman year, you asked me out to dinner. No marriage, no dances, just cheeseburgers and milkshakes. I sat in that booth across from you and we laughed for hours. You and me were just two people who already shared everything. It was the easiest thing we ever did.”
Tears stung the corners of her eyes. It wasn’t a memory, it was an ache. The memories were Tristan, but more than that, the memories were everything she was. Mrs. Granger pressed her face into her husband’s shoulder. Sheriff Paris held his cap against his chest and looked at her, face steely with grief. Fran and Bug eyed her, wiping their faces.
Ashley closed her eyes.
“Some people might think you’re never coming back, but the Tristan Granger I know would never give up. Snakebite is our home. This is where you and me started and it’s where we’ll end. So Tristan, wherever you are, please come home.”
3
The Murder Hotel
In a sad but unsurprising turn of events, Alejo parked the minivan outside a rundown motel. The sun glared through the front windshield as the van’s humming engine finally puttered to sleep.
“Wow,” Logan groaned. “The motel looks great. I feel like a kid again.”
“You are a kid.” Alejo gave her a look. “Your dad’s waiting outside. Please smile when you see him.”
Logan turned in her seat. Brandon Woodley, her second and all-around less effective father, waited for them in the center of the motel parking lot, hands shoved in his pockets as he paced the sun-bleached pavement.
A towering, rusted sign in the parking lot read BATES MOTEL. The name was promising, though the motel wasn’t nearly creepy enough on the outside. The marquee on the dilapidated office building flickered the word VACANCY; the NO looked like it’d never been lit. An abandoned pizza stand was squat in the center of the parking lot with its window permanently boarded up. The letter board simply read WELCOME TO THE BATES. COME HAVE A SLICE.
“My family,” Brandon called, strolling toward the minivan like he’d spent the last six months at sea. “Together at last.”
Alejo hopped out of the front seat and met Brandon halfway across the parking lot, pulling him into a hug so tight Logan was surprised it didn’t break him in half. She thumped her head against the passenger seat and closed her eyes. Maybe she was being overdramatic. If she was, it was because she’d learned from the best. Brandon and Alejo looked into each other’s faces like they hadn’t seen each other in years, never mind the fact that they’d FaceTimed every night they were apart.
It was like they were back on TV; their reunion was one violin solo short of an Academy Award.
Logan paused her podcast and climbed out of the van. The sun felt hotter in Snakebite than in LA. It felt closer, as if it were only feet overhead. Logan patted the back of her neck with her sleeve to soak up the sweat. It was the kind of weather that would usually call for a dip in the pool, but Logan doubted she’d find one here. The Bates hardly seemed like the kind of motel that had amenities.
“I hope there’s blood in the shower,” Logan said. “They can’t just waste a name like that.”
Brandon looked over Alejo’s shoulder and smiled uneasily at Logan. Surprisingly, he looked better than he had on FaceTime the day before. More awake. His dark brown stubble had lost its usual peppering of gray hair and his cheeks were fuller. He scrunched up his nose and cupped a hand over his brow to block out the sun.