Page 51 of Snow Creek

“No,” Joshua says, “no funeral home. Home. Here. She wanted a green burial. We all do.”

I’d never heard of anyone doing green burial and I ask him for details. Joshua tells me that the body—not embalmed—is wrapped in a mushroom-spore-infused shroud and is deposited just below the surface of the ground. It’s watered daily during dry months—which is where we are now—and as the body decomposes, it nourishes the soil. I can see the appeal, but I don’t think it would be for me. I don’t like the idea of being food for mushrooms.

Actually, I don’t like mushrooms at all.

It’s a texture thing.

“Would you like me to notify your Aunt Ruth?” I ask. “Or do you want to call? I know she would want to be here for her sister’s memorial service.”

“She can come, of course,” Joshua says, “but there’s no big service.”

The space above the sofa catches my eye.

“You got the photo reframed.”

“Just new glass,” Sarah says, shifting her gaze to the portrait behind her. Her eyes land there only a second before looking away like she’s seen something terrible. “And a lot of good that we fixed it. I’m going to burn it in the trash barrel after you leave. Can’t stand looking at our dad.”

I tell them what will happen next, how a crime technician team will be out and go over the scene with a chemical that illuminates blood.

The two exchange looks.

“I know it’s hard,” I say. “I know all of this is a shock and there will be more to come. It will get easier. That might take a long, long time.”

“We know,” Joshua says. “It just the idea—”

Sarah jumps in as her brother buries his face in his hands. “It’s the idea that our father killed our mother. Right here. All the time we were waiting for them to come home, we collected eggs, milked Noelle… all the time we were in the place where it all happened.”

“I’m so sorry. The forensic exam will give us more answers. Some of those will be painful. But we need to know what happened,” I go on. “I need you both to stay clear, all right?”

Joshua, now looking up, nods.

“Ms. Chesterfield is going to stay with you while all this is going on, then she’ll make a recommendation to the judge regarding you, Sarah.”

Bernie gives the girl a warm, reassuring smile.

I already know what her recommendation will be.

Twenty-Four

I hear the crushing noise of gravel under car tires, rumbling, nearly like thunder somewhere in the foothills above Snow Creek. Sheriff Gray and Mindy Newsom have arrived. She’s following his vehicle in her white van—the same one she uses for flower arrangement deliveries. I’ve known Mindy for years. We used to go out drinking when I first moved to Port Townsend. She was Mindy Scott back then. She’d just graduated from the University of Washington with a degree in forensic science. Our connection was immediate. I was new and so was she. At the time she had the office next door to me, and Sheriff Gray converted one of the old conference rooms to a lab. He had big dreams then. So did she. Mindy was certified by the state and put everything she had into being a skillful criminalist. She didn’t know it would be a part-time job.

Yet that’s how it turned out.

Seems that Jefferson County crimes with the need of her tools of the trade are few and far between. Mindy got married, had a baby, went on family leave, and opened up a flower shop downtown.

She brightens when she sees me.

“It’s been eons, Megan.”

I give her a hug. I’ve missed our friendship. I’m not really close to any other women. Not many men either.

“Far too long,” I say.

We talk about her daughter, and she asks if I’ve met anyone. My mind flashes to Dan Anderson, but that thought is fleeting and completely idiotic. I give her the bag with the hammer, and she puts it in a red and white camping cooler in the back of her van.

“You got me on a good day,” she says. “No weddings this coming weekend.”

I tell the two of them what I know so far. I watch as Mindy eyes the house and shakes her head at the tragedy that has befallen the occupants of the pretty house in the middle of nowhere. It was worse than a tornado. A fire. A devastating earthquake. It was a decisive kind of evil from within the walls of the house itself.

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