Page 64 of Snow Creek

Amy trembles.

“I am sorry,” she whimpers.

“I know.”

“I love you, Regina. Always have.”

“Always will.”

Twenty-Nine

I can’t face the tapes right now. I can’t face going home. I think of returning Dan Anderson’s call, but that would make me feel like a jerk for not phoning sooner. So, I don’t. Instead I drive to the waterfront, to the bar, The Tides, a place Mindy and I frequented back in the day. I miss seeing her. Hayden too. My list is short.

I’m feeling sorry for myself and I know it.

My focus and my brain and yes, my emotions, should be aimed solely on the case.

I don’t know any of the staff at The Tides. I’ve hit the point in life where I’m nearing that middle part where no one sees you anymore. Service at a bar or restaurant is slower. Talking with the waiter or anyone is nonexistent. Unless I’m willing to dress a little more provocatively, I’ll always be a Soup-for-One girl.

The Tides is authentic, not one of those chains that brings in some buoys and floats with netting that had never seen seawater. It’s a converted warehouse at the end of the dock. It’s painted blue and features a broad white and navy stripe on its awning over the door. The Tides is spelled out in thin pieces of driftwood.

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.

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