Snow Creek(46)

I go inside and find a seat. It’s next to a massive saltwater tank with a school of clown fish and others I can’t name. It soothes me as I watch the fish twirl and turn in the bubbling water. One of the fish, shaped like a disc, is iridescent blue in color. Instead of thinking bachelor’s buttons, my mind goes straight to Luminol.

I wonder how the lab tests are going. Maybe they’ll surprise us with a sudden heroic burst of energy, but I have my doubts.

A waitress asks if I want a drink.

I order a G & T.

“Still serving dinner?” I ask.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ma’am again.

She drops off the dinner menu and, a few minutes later, my drink. First things first, I take a big sip of the cocktail that I have long thought synonymous with summer. It’s lime. It’s crisp. It’s the drink I suspect one day will be my downfall. I know tonight I’ll have two and still want another.

When the waitress returns, I tell her the New York, medium rare.

“Corn or grass fed?” she asks.

“Grass.”

“Baked or fried?”

I can’t do this all night, so I tell her everything she needs to know. “Baked, the works. Salad, bleu cheese, another drink.”

I end by looking at my phone. Rude, I know. I’m not sorry. A text message from Sheriff is brief, but it’s the first thing that has made me smile today.

Called Bernie’s boss.





I give him the thumbs up emoji. I almost send the heart emoji, though I don’t want things to get weird with him. Not that he’s ever been inappropriate. Not by a longshot.

I have a few texts from people in town telling me I did a good job on TV.

I wonder what they think would constitute a poor job. All I did was look hostile as I told the reporter to get off the property. And yes, I showed my badge, but honestly why does that have to go viral? It wasn’t like it was my gun.

Thank God for that.

I sit there in my kitchen, while revisiting the saddest memorial I’ve ever attended. It wasn’t only the flowers from the shroud floating downward into the darkness of an earthen hole, or even the small number of people who came to remember Ida Wheaton. It stirred more memories. Like the tapes. I thought of how Hayden and I never got to pay our respects or grieve for our stepdad at his memorial. In fact, it only crossed my mind just now that he’d probably been buried in Potter’s Field. No service. No friends. No family. Just a kind of nothingness, an extension of the life we’d lived since I was little.





Thirty





Ruth Turner is waiting at my office when I arrive the next morning. She’s dressed in a long-sleeved blouse with a high collar; her skirt is cut below the knee. I take her to my office where she marvels at all the “papers” I have.

“Your work looks so busy,” she remarks before amending, “That came out wrong. You look busy.”

I offer coffee. As expected, she declines.

No caffeine is allowed by order of her husband, no doubt.

“Where’s Eve?”

“In the car. Too shy to come in.”

She wasn’t that shy yesterday, I think. She was upset, but she was articulate and direct when she talked about her feelings of being hurt by her cousin’s indifference.

“That’s too bad,” I finally say. “Tell her I enjoyed our talk yesterday. She’s a very smart young woman.”

Ruth’s wintergreen scent is so muted I can barely detect it. She sits staring at me, silent, and shifts her eyes to the window behind me. Then back.

“Ruth, what’s going on?” I ask.

“I wish I knew.”

She hesitates, and I prod her gently.

“Can I have some water?”

I pour her some from the Brita pitcher on my desk.

“I don’t know how to say this, but something is wrong. I think those kids are a mess. They need someone to look after them. They won’t come to Idaho with me. My husband said it would be okay.”

“The county will provide services,” I remind her. “They’ll have someone to look after them. I promise.”

She nods. “I think they might need more help than a weekly visit by a case worker.”

I push a little. “What are you getting at, Ruth?”

She finishes her water like she’s just run a marathon. She crosses her arms and pulls in.

“Tell me what you observed, Ruth. We can help.”

She finally speaks. “I don’t want those two separated; I just want you to pay extra attention to them.”

I don’t know what she means so I let silence fill my office. I’ve pushed her enough. I’ll let Ruth tell me what she wants to tell me when she’s ready.

Finally, she does.

Her hands are folded now on the table in front of her.

“At first I thought that Sarah was a little off, when she didn’t seem to recall anything that she and Eve had done as children. They were close. She’d just found a way to block out memories, good or bad.”

“Eve and I talked about that,” I say.

“She told me. I felt it too, Detective Carpenter.”

I drink my coffee and remind myself not to interject again or we’ll never get to where we need to go.