Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(17)

Thankful that he didn’t pull out the little book sticking out of his pocket, she said, “I had no idea. Thanks.”

“I guess you’re back for Sally’s funeral?”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I know the old gal meant a lot to you.”

“She did.” Sawyer’s gaze fell back to the badge he wore. “How is River Rock? Still toxic?”

“In what way?”

“You know what I mean—two girls murdered and the killer never found. It all sort of left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“The homicide rate is much higher in large cities like Sacramento. We did have some Halloween decorations stolen last year, and we have the occasional bike taken off a front porch.” He smiled. “You have no idea how damn good it is to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Aspen.” It was true. Although Aspen was older, he’d had a difficult childhood and had dropped out of school at a young age. She and Aspen used to go out into the woods and find a shade tree by the river where they would fish or play checkers. And yet after leaving River Rock, she’d never once reached out to him. She could taste the guilt as it trickled down her throat. “How long have you been working for the sheriff?” she asked.

“A few years now. I can hand out tickets for traffic violations and such, but I can’t arrest anyone. What about you? Last I heard, you were writing for some paper?”

“I was promoted,” she said. “I’m a crime reporter now. In fact, while I’m here I figured I might as well look into the unsolved murders.”

“Ahh. So that’s why you were asking about River Rock?”

“Since you’re a reserve deputy, any chance you can find out if the Peggy Myers and Avery James murders are still on the chief’s radar?”

“I’ll ask, but before you go around knocking on doors, you should know that people are sensitive about that stuff. Most of them want to put all that behind them.”

“I understand.”

A few seconds of awkward silence followed before Sawyer asked, “Will I see you at the funeral?”

“Of course.” He tipped his hat. “I better go now. I’ll keep you in the loop if I find out anything from the chief about the murders.”

“That would be great. See you tomorrow,” Sawyer said. She watched him climb in behind the wheel of his truck and drive off.

After getting gas and talking to Aspen, she breathed easier as she drove along Frontage Road through town, past Dominick’s Doughnuts, the old Fish and Hook store, and the Roasted Bean.

The only thing that had changed was her.

It was weird. Being back in River Rock made her feel as if she had tumbled down Alice’s rabbit hole. Only it wasn’t a colorful, fantastical world she’d landed in. It was dark and immoral, secrets hidden in every corner.

She made a left onto Cold Creek Road. When Gramma still had her wits about her, she had warned Sawyer to leave River Rock at the first opportunity. “Get out of here and never look back. Do you hear me?”

But Sawyer hadn’t listened.

Moments later, Sawyer sat quietly inside her car, engine rattling, idling at the bottom of the driveway leading to the house where she’d grown up. Since her job offered health benefits, she’d been able to seek therapy, hoping to find a way to put the past behind her. Every therapist she’d talked to told her she had some form of anxiety. One therapist said she suffered from high anxiety, the same diagnosis Sean Palmer had given her. Sawyer’s research on the subject convinced her that no matter what they labeled her abuse and trauma, it wasn’t going away. It had become a part of her, and now it was all about managing her emotions.

People with anxiety often worried about things they couldn’t control. That might be true for Sawyer too. She didn’t fear heights or flying. She wasn’t self-conscious. She didn’t worry about her job or her future. She worried that the resentment and anger buried inside her might eventually harden to the point of no return. She didn’t like touching or being touched. She never cried. She trusted no one. There were times she felt like an emotionless shell. Only yesterday, she had observed a young woman lying in pools of blood, and yet Sawyer had hardly given the woman a second thought. How could she be a good crime reporter, let alone a decent human being, if she didn’t feel or care?

Don’t count on anything, and you won’t be disappointed.

No one is really happy, so don’t worry about it.

Those were just a few of the things people had told her over the years to make her feel better, but their words only made her feel as if she should keep silent—as if they were letting her know that everyone has problems, so stop complaining.

If she continued down this path of feeling anger and bitterness, wouldn’t she eventually become coldhearted like her mother?

Her parents had always been gone a lot. When they hadn’t been off searching for treasures for their antique shop, they were ghosts in their own house. Dad had spent most of his time at home locked in his office, while Mom had either been on the phone with one of her Rotary Club members or at a meeting.

Not everyone could be the perfect parent. Mom and Dad never argued like a lot of parents do. But Sawyer knew that unless her parents confronted their own issues, the likelihood that they would ever accept responsibility for their role in any of their children’s lives was doubtful.