Not One of Us(30)

“Just making an observation.”

“If you’re reviewing the case, then you know Deacon and I were dating. Those notebooks I told you that the intruder went through and tore up? Those were my old high school journals. They were filled with, you know, silly stuff a teenage girl would write.”

“Angsty poems about true love and endless details about your dates?” she guessed.

“Exactly. Why would the intruder be interested in them? Unless . . . unless it was a message to stop bringing up the subject of Deacon and his parents.”

“Your theory tying the Cormiers to Strickland’s murder is still a stretch.”

“I know, but just in case there is one, I feel bound to tell you everything.”

“And have you?”

“Yes.” I faced her dead on, my voice steady. Certain things from the past would stay buried there, too private and painful to be shared.

“I’m going to ask again. What was written in your old diary pages that are missing?”

“It’s been so long since I wrote them, I can’t give specifics. But it was in the time frame I was seeing Deacon.” My face twisted in embarrassed chagrin. “So I feel confident in saying those pages were all about him. After all, he was the subject matter of at least ninety percent of my scribbles.”

“No secret from the past you aren’t telling me about?”

“Absolutely no secrets.”

“There could be a more current, more logical explanation. Are you currently seeing someone?”

“No.”

“Have you had a past romantic relationship that ended badly?”

The notion was laughable. All my relationships since Deacon had ended amicably, dying a slow, neglectful death for which I was entirely to blame. There’d been no explosive breakups, no jealous stalking or recriminations from either party. Only my failure to completely commit.

“There’s nothing of the sort,” I assured Blackwell. “I don’t have some psycho ex-boyfriend out to intimidate me. And if I did, I’d report him.”

“Some women don’t,” she countered. “I have to ask these questions.”

“I understand. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“Only your assurance that you’ll contact me if anything else unusual occurs.”

“Of course. If anything happened to Mimi or Zach, I’d never forgive myself.”

Blackwell rose from her chair, and I took my cue the interview was over.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I said, scraping back my chair and also rising. The metal legs ground in a high-pitched squeal against the hard floor. “And thanks for reviewing the Cormier case,” I added. “Didn’t think anyone cared about them after all these years.”

She merely nodded, and I followed her out of the room and back down the hallway toward the lobby. As I approached the exit door, Blackwell turned to me and took out papers from the manila envelope. “Fill out this official report and leave it with the receptionist. If we have any leads or any more questions, I’ll give you a call.”

I scanned the two-page document she’d given me. Should be easy enough to complete. I nodded and had started to turn away when Blackwell spoke again.

“By the way, if no one was willing to discuss Jackson Ensley’s adoption with you, and you don’t have any papers, how did you discover his birth mother’s name?”

“I visited my aunt Tressie, Jackson’s mother, at her assisted living home and saw his birth certificate.”

“She’s one of the family members you discussed the Cormier case with?”

“Not exactly.” Heat traveled down my neck. “She asked me to put some papers and pictures back inside a trunk she keeps in her room. The certificate was in there.”

“Leave the investigative work to us,” she admonished. “Just in case there is any present danger.”

I shot her a wry smile before exiting. “Seems you are the second person today to issue me a warning.”

The lobby seemed even more crowded than before. I took a seat and quickly filled out the incident report before dutifully handing it over to the woman behind the glass wall. Had my meeting with Deputy Blackwell accomplished anything? The only thing I’d learned was that she had listened to me and was looking into the past.

Once outside, I breathed easier. I’d done everything in my power. Surely this would all blow over now. There was nothing else for me to pursue. If someone was watching me, they’d be bored to tears at my mundane life and eventually leave us alone. From here on out, it was back to working at my freelance job and keeping an eye on Mimi and Zach. Tonight, after they’d gone to sleep, I’d take what was left of my journals and burn them—like I should have done long ago. Destroy the written ramblings and stop dwelling on the past.

You were the last to see Raymond Strickland and Deacon Cormier alive. Blackwell’s words crawled like a nest of spiders let loose in my brain. It had to be a coincidence, nothing more.

Yet when the wind whipped up the sides of my unzipped black coat, I fancied that I must appear like a giant crow flapping its wings, an unwilling harbinger of death.





Chapter 9


TEGAN


“What are you looking at?”

Oliver’s voice thundered by my ear. I’d been so engrossed in reading the old Cormier investigative transcripts that I’d been oblivious to his presence. He leaned over my right shoulder, peering at the computer screen.