The Naturalist (The Naturalist #1)(15)

“You talk to her mom yet?” he asks again.

There’s something about the way he says yet. As if this is a duty I’m supposed to perform.

Shit. Of course I should call. I’m such an asshole. The normal human thing is to call them and tell them you’re sorry.

I hesitate. “No. I was trying to get her number.”

“The police didn’t give it to you?”

I didn’t even think to ask. “I . . . I was getting around to it.”

“I’ll text it to you. I’m going to call later. It’d be good if you did it sooner than later. Being her favorite professor and all.”

Favorite?

“Yeah. I’ll do that now.”

“All right. I’ll send a courier over for the sample. I’ve got a rapid turnaround lab I’ll tell you about later.”

Thorough as hell, Julian.

We say goodbye, and I stare at the number for Juniper’s mom.

How do you even put into words how you feel about this? How do you begin to explain why it’s your fault?

I know sitting here in the dark won’t get me any closer to an answer. I just dial the number and hope for once in my life I’ll know the right thing to say at the right time.





CHAPTER TWELVE


BUTTERFLIES

“Hello?” Juniper’s mother’s voice sounds a bit stressed, yet still strong. For her, the nightmare began when Juniper went missing a few days prior. She’s had some time to adjust, I guess.

“Hi, this is Theo Cray. I had your daughter in my class a few years ago? I wanted to call to give you my condolences.” Condolences—what a meaningless way to say I have no idea what to say.

“Professor Theo?” Her voice lifts. “Thank you for calling. It means a lot to me.”

“I don’t know if they told you, but I’m in the same area.” We’ll leave out the part where they thought for a moment I’d brutally murdered your daughter.

“Yes. I know. Juniper had mentioned it.”

“She had?”

“Oh, yes. She kept track of your research. I don’t have to tell you how much you inspired her.”

Me? “She was a delightful student.”

“Did she ever tell you that you’re the one that stopped her from dropping out of college?”

“Um . . . no.” She never really told me anything, because I never bothered to treat her as anything other than a name on a roll-call sheet.

“She was having a rough time. Boy problems, and her father had died a year before. It was a stressful period. She says you gave her hope. She wanted to be like you.”

Be like me? A socially ignorant bystander to the world?

“Thank you for that. I don’t hear that very often.” Never would be more accurate.

“I’m sure you’re being modest. It means a lot that you called.”

She should be yelling at me. “I just wish . . . I’m sorry.” My voice breaks. “I wish I could have been a better teacher. I wish I could have told her to be more careful. I’m sorry, Mrs. Parsons, I shouldn’t be saying this to you.”

“It’s okay. I’m still trying to deal with it.” I can hear the sound of her holding back tears. “She was my little girl. Now she’s gone.”

“I’m so sorry.” I take a breath and wipe my nose.

“Dr. Theo, why was she alone out there?” Her voice goes from cordial and in control to distant.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what she was doing out here. I wish I could have spent some more time telling her how to be careful.” I feel guilty for blaming her and immediately try to backtrack. “I mean . . . I just . . .”

“She was always careful. She spent summers in Yellowstone working with the forestry service. She’d encountered lots of bears and always knew to stay clear. But . . . I guess the one time you’re not looking.”

This is the first I’ve heard she’d done forestry-service work. She had more training than I thought.

Now I feel even more guilty for attributing her death to her carelessness. It’s comforting to blame the misfortune of others on their own actions. It’s also wrong.

She probably had more outdoors skills than I do. Which makes the way she died all the more senseless.

It’s the wrong time to ask, but I have to know. “What was Juniper doing up here?”

“Something to do with fish genes, I think.”

The map where they found her body wasn’t anywhere near a pond or stream. But she could have just been hiking for fun.

Still, as a fellow scientist, not to mention a former teacher of hers, I should at least find out a little more about what she was researching. It’s shameful that it took her death for me to even be aware that one of my students had gone off to do her own interesting things.

“Did you see it?” she asks.

I have to take a moment to figure out what she means. The bear. The monster that killed her baby.

“Yes, I saw it last night. We caught it yesterday.”

What an utter lie for me to say we.

“Thank you for helping catch it. It makes me feel better that it’s not going to hurt anyone else. Of course Juniper wouldn’t have wanted the thing to suffer. She was that way.”