Snow Creek(41)

Dr. A: Weird? How so?

Me: It was something no one other than my parents had ever done. She hugged me. I didn’t know her. But I just started crying. I mean, tears just streaming down my face. Hayden too. In fact, all three of us just sobbed. I melt into her arms and I cry harder than I ever have since the ordeal began. I can cry loudly because I feel that someone cares and that even though I’m in a stranger’s place, I’m with family. It wasn’t a reunion of joy, but something completely different. We are a sobbing mass of pain, loss and fear.





I tell Dr. Albright how strange it was to hear this newfound aunt call our mother Courtney. Her real name. Not the one engraved on the dog tags that I wore around my neck. My mother’s name wasn’t Ginger. Ginger was my aunt. What’s more, I was stunned by her reaction to us appearing on her doorstep. She wasn’t shocked.

Me: But I was. Hayden and I had been kept away from her for our entire lives and she went along with it. I wanted to be kind. I wanted to think that all of that had been for our own good, but I wasn’t sure. The betrayal was so deep, and apparently, shared. And then she dropped the bomb. She said, “The last time I saw your mother—last Labor Day—she told me that she thought you’d have to move again soon. She thought he was closing in on her. I told her that she was paranoid, you know, more paranoid than cautious. I told her to stay put. I told her that his threats would never evolve into reality. I…” Aunt Ginger was shaking as she spoke. I didn’t want to confront her right then, but I thought, really? Really? Did she see our mother last Labor Day? Did this aunt who we never knew existed up until twenty-four hours ago stay in touch with our mother, and she never bothered to tell us?

I asked her if she knew where my mom was, where he could have taken her. But she shook her head. Didn’t know where he lived. And when I asked if she’d help us to find her, she said, “Let’s figure it out later.”

“There is no later,” I say in the most direct way that I can.

She bites down on her lower lip before speaking. “I mean, after you eat and rest.”

I don’t understand her peculiar reluctance. Her sister has been abducted by a serial killer. Why is she being so weird?

Hayden’s eyes landed on a cheese sandwich and a stack of Pringles potato chips that our aunt has set on two cornflower-blue plates that she’s placed on an enormous table in the kitchen. On the wall adjacent to the table are some photographs. Lots of them. My heart skips a beat and I feel a surge of bewilderment. My school photo is among a bunch of images of complete strangers. There’s an old picture of Hayden, too. We were part of a family. We just didn’t know it.

Aunt Ginger turns to me and mouths some words. She says, “After he’s in bed, we’ll talk then.”

I sit down across from my brother while our aunt pours milk from a glass bottle. I don’t even like milk, but I say nothing. I sit there thinking of how the forces have collided to make my life worse than it has ever been.

And how my mother has less than six days to stay alive if I don’t do something about it.





The air from the open window passes over me. I check my phone before I turn out the light.

Again, nothing.

Is that all I am to him?

I go to Hayden’s Instagram feed. He doesn’t know I’m a follower. My handle was meant to be an inside joke.

Twisted Sister.





Twenty-Six





Just when you need it, the marine layer from the straits sends a blanket of air that drops temperatures by at least ten degrees. Sometimes twenty. I dress in a blue suit. Sheriff Gray and I are attending the memorial. I expect Bernadine to be there too. I’ll be sure to thank her for being such a great advocate—and news source for the Leader.

And though it is a longshot, I wonder if the killer will come. Maybe watching from afar? Enjoying the results of his handiwork. It has happened, many times, though mostly in cases with a larger pool of possible suspects.

Merritt stands alone.

I go over the case in my mind as I drink a cup of coffee, spread blackberry jam on toast.

Evidence from the Wheaton farm is being processed and I expect some preliminary results some time this afternoon. Too bad I won’t be able to get an update in the cell phone iron curtain of Snow Creek. I have time to make a run at the Torrance place before the memorial.

I open my email. Again, nothing other than a bunch of offers for discontinued furniture from Pottery Barn. Half-off a red and white checked sofa is half-off nothing anyone would ever want.

That’s why it’s discontinued.

I check my teeth in the bathroom mirror before leaving. Good thing. Blackberry seeds have found a home on my front tooth. Not a good look for a memorial service.



The offices of the Jefferson County sheriff sound so much better than the night before. The refrigerator hum is definitely in the background where it belongs as deputies, clerks and ringing phones take the forefront. Everyone is talking about the Wheaton case, of course. It’s the biggest thing we’ve had around here in I don’t know how long. Maybe forever. Nan at the front desk looks especially excited.

“A producer from Seattle’s KING TV called. Wants to come out and do some interviews on how the murder of Mrs. Wheaton is affecting the town,” she says.

“We shouldn’t be doing interviews,” I say.