Page 43 of Snow Creek

“Hey, Detective Carpenter,”lab tech supervisor, Marley Yang, says,“we got a match. It’s mother and son. This is no guess. Real thing. No doubts. Your victim is Ida Wheaton. Good luck with the case. Find the son of a bitch who killed her. There, I said it. Bye now.”

“Let’s go get a warrant,” Sheriff says.

My phone pings again. It’s from a number I don’t know. This time I put the phone to my ear and listen.

It’s Dan Miller.

“A… Detective, I saw you admiring some of my work. Would like to give you a carving. No charge. OK? Unless that’s against some county government policy. If it is, it’s a dumb one. Let me know. Okay? Bye. It’s Dan. Dan Anderson.”

“Everything okay?” Sheriff says. “You’re suddenly very quiet. That’s a trait I’d never ascribe to you, Megan.”

I look at him, then out the window. “Nothing. Landlord’s going to fix the broken window in the basement.”

It’s a lie. I suspect he knows it. He doesn’t pry. I like Dan Anderson. Though I don’t like relationships; I know most people would chide me for even thinking that’s his intention. Egotistical. Narcissistic. Whatever. If anything, I know people and the way they think. My mother taught me that. She might not have known it at the time, but she did.

This time Sheriff has his ear pressed to the phone. I watch him as he drives. I know he cares about me. He’s the closest thing I have to family. Or a friend. A relationship. A lifeline. Hayden is off in the desert and I wonder if he ever thinks about me.

“Warrant tomorrow,” he says looking over at me.

“We need to notify Joshua and Sarah and Ruth that Ida was murdered. I’ve tried Ruth’s husband’s phone multiple times and no one picks up. I want to be the one to notify.”

“Not my favorite thing to do,” he says. “But it does come with the job every now and then.”

I’m thankful that murder in Jefferson County is a rare occurrence. There has only been one since Sheriff Gray gave me the job I was meant to do. It was the wife of a tourist from Indiana. Her body had been found at low tide off the ferry dock. She’d been strangled. He’d been found in his hotel room, dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

We pull into the parking lot and I tell him that tomorrow will be the first step in getting justice for Ida Wheaton.

“It won’t be easy telling those kids their mom is dead,” he says.

Understatement, I think.

“It’ll be even harder to tell them that we think the killer is their father,” I say.

Twenty-One

After trying every Jared in Jefferson County and reaching six of the seven, I call it a day and head for home without knowing who he is. The seventh is on a cruise, so I think he’s likely another no. Who would leave a note for someone who was gone for four weeks? It has to be a Jared from outside the county.

Persistence sometimes feels like disappointment.

Tonight, Chinese takeout from Happy Dragon. I normally order Moo Shu Pork, but I don’t this time. The girl running the drive-thru tells me the pork is “not so good today.” Good to know, I think. If I weren’t in the drive-thru queue, I’d probably bolt, yet I don’t. Instead, I ask for the Walnut Shrimp.

The girl on the speaker tells me Walnut Chicken is a better choice. Not really that word, she actually saidfresher. I reluctantly order and vow that, no matter how lazy I am about cooking, I’ll never go back.

Happy Dragon, not so happy, I think.

I take the food home and study it carefully before I eat. I’m not super handy with chopsticks, yet somehow I think I can avoid food poisoning if I use chopsticks instead of a fork. Like a fork would tell the Walnut Chicken that I deserved to get sick.

That might not make sense to anyone, yet it does to me.

The tapes beckon as I pour the chardonnay that I hadn’t bothered to chill in the refrigerator. It’s bad, but I drink it anyway. As I sip, I lie to myself as I eat that I don’t need the drama of my own, younger life. Since I started listening to the tapes, images of my brother, mom, father have been coming back to me.

Especially my dad. Myrealdad. He’s the reason that I’m somewhat screwed up when it comes to love and the trust that’s needed to make it flourish. I don’t save Dan Anderson’s number in my phone. I delete his voice message after listening to it one more time.

I push PLAY on the next tape, and I’m instantly back with my little brother, trying to keep us safe.

Dr. Albright’s soothing voice recounts the date and the time. She asks me to continue, but I don’t answer. The tape hisses for what seems like a very long time.

Dr. A: Go on Rylee, you can do this.

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