Snow Creek(18)

Satisfied, she snapped the trunk shut.

Regina started the car and turned on the radio. Seattle news filled her ears, and its droning newscaster made her resolve to leave the world behind even stronger. She pressed the pedal with the ball of her foot and watched Port Townsend’s pretty Victorian homes—painted ladies of every conceivable hue—and the fa?ades of its quaint brick and stone downtown buildings fade from the rearview mirror.

Regina caught her own image just then. She cocked her head. She looked good. Tan, fit. Her eyebrows could use some shaping, though Amy didn’t complain about them, so why should she worry? Even her dead eye didn’t eat away at her sliding vanity. It was devoid of any expression, but so what? Her other eye was full of life. Full of hope. Wonderment, even.

You only need one eye to see the world clearly. To see what matters most.

Regina Torrance never felt better in her entire life.

She rolled down the window and allowed the soft sea-scented breeze flow over her face.

Life was so good.

No more drama.



Regina crawled under the covers. Amy was asleep. It passed through her mind that something was physically wrong with Amy, but she didn’t let the thought take root. It was too much for her. She’d done everything she could to help her recover from whatever it was that had been ailing her. For a time, she thought things were getting better. She prayed on it. She whispered in Amy’s ear that there was nothing that could keep them apart, not sickness. Not anything worse.

We belong together.

Amy murmured and stirred.

Regina whispered some more.

“I want to make love with you. My tongue misses you. Wants to taste you. Make you writhe like it’s the first time we’ve ever loved each other.”

There was no response for the longest time. Finally, Amy shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I love you. I don’t feel like that right now. Kiss me. Hold me. Touch me. I’m not ready for anything more.”

Regina leaned over and kissed Amy’s cheek. Every night had been like that for a very long time. Regina told herself that it didn’t matter, that loving Amy any way she preferred was good and if there was a barrier at the moment, in time they’d cross it. Real love prevails. The world survived only because of that singular truth.



The morning after staying in the barn, Regina went about her regimented routine. The only deviation were the thoughts in her head. She wondered if she’d done the right thing. If she’d have to pay for her deeds or if Amy would be made to pay. She patted her favorite goat.

“We’re safe, right?”

The goat looked at her with her devil-like eyes.

“That’s enough out of you,” she said.

She finished in the barn, collected the eggs from the coop and walked over to the firepit to examine the ashes for the umpteenth time.

It was clean.

We’re safe. We’re all safe.





Eleven





It was no real surprise when Jerry called me from the coroner’s office. He’d received the preliminary reports from the pathologist.

“We’ve got a homicide.”

What else could it be?

“Cause?”

“Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Dr. Andrade suspects the claw end of a hammer. Skull had tool marks from the blow. Besides the fracture, of course.”

“That’s brutal,” I say. “Anything on tox?”

“Too early.”

“How about prints?”

“They pulled palms, but the fingertips were burned pretty bad. Nothing there.”

“Just the fingers?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Some burns on the face too. Andrade thinks a blowtorch was used.”

“Torture?”

“Likely post mortem.”

That’s a relief, I think. Getting beaten with a hammer is beyond belief, using an acetylene flame on a woman is the stuff of slasher films.

“Still processing the truck,” he says. “More on that in a day or two. Pretty backed up down there. We’re lucky they processed her as fast as they did. We have two rape kits that have been on ice there for almost six months. Prosecutor pushes, but they’ve got so much backlog and not enough staff.”

“That’s an excuse,” I say. “They spend their money where they want to. Guess rapes don’t mean as much as new highway projects.”

“And murders,” he adds. “Those still move the needle down there.”

I can feel where this is going and it’s all my fault. I opened the door. Jerry is on the edge of a rant about government waste. I shift the conversation back to the murder victim.

“Send me all you’ve got.”

“I already did. One step ahead of you, Detective.”

I go on to the county server, enter my credentials and password. In my folder I find a pdf of the reports from Olympia. I get the printer humming and head down the hall to the coffee room. Sheriff is pressing the button on the candy machine when I arrive.

“Damn thing never works,” he says.

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

He ignores my remark.

“How’s Snow Creek doing?” he asks.

“Printing out the coroner’s report now. Give me a bit to absorb it. I’ll swing by later.”