Page 66 of Snow Creek

“After everyone left,” she goes on, “we talked awhile outside and made s’mores at the big firepit. We all went to bed. Eve and I stayed in the master bedroom. Eve fell asleep almost immediately and I just lay there, staring at the ceiling and wondering how any of this could have happened.”

She sat there across from me, collecting her thoughts.

“I heard crying coming from the hallway. It was soft and plaintive. It was a kind of whimper and I couldn’t put out of my mind that she’d cried so quietly, so privately, during the service. She was letting it out, trying hard not to wake anyone.”

“It is a lot to hold inside,” I say.

“Right,” Ruth goes on. “Well I might as well be straight about it and stop beating round the bush. When I opened the door and looked out in the hall to see if I could help Sarah…”

She pauses, looks at me.

“It was Joshua. He was pretty much naked and lying on the floor crying. It was one of those things where you don’t know if you should get soaked or wait for the storm to pass by. Well, then I heard another door open and a voice whisper. It was Sarah.”

I lean closer and set down my cup. “What did you hear her say?”

“I’m not sure. At least one hundred percent, but I think I heard Sarah whisper through the crack of her door… ‘I’ll smash your hand with a hammer’.”

“Why would she say that?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I shut the door and I heard Joshua’s door open and close. After that, nothing. Like I said, she’s a little off, but he’s not doing much better. He was in the fetal position on the hallway floor, buck naked. He was crying like a baby and she was haranguing him with some nasty threat.”

“They’ve gone through more in the past week than most of us do in a lifetime, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ruth tilts her head. “Yes, but I don’t know if they can really help each other. He was crying, and she was telling him she wanted to smash him with a hammer. You need to check on them, please. That case worker of yours was completely useless. Kids told me she spent all day reading magazines she brought from home. She said she was too busy when Sarah asked her to help her with the egg gathering.”

I tell her that I will be extra vigilant insofar as her sister’s family are concerned.

“I promise to find the best case worker we can get, and I’ll personally check up on them as often as I can.”

She gets up and awkwardly reaches over so we can embrace over my desk. When we can’t quite do it, we both laugh, and I go to the other side of the desk. I smell her wintergreen and we hug like we know each other, like we are bonded forever.

Murders can do that.

“We’ll find him, Ruth,” I say as I let her go.

“Detective, one more favor,” she says, looking embarrassed. “Remember, only call if it is an absolute necessity. If you capture or kill my brother-in-law, just mail me a note. I like getting mail.”

She starts to cry, and I inch her out the door and wave at Eve, who cheerfully returns the gesture.

“Bye-bye now,” I say, turning away from the door. I need to get on the phone with the crime lab. We deserve some help.

“Definitely not today,”the clerk says in a clipped, cold manner.“Maybe tomorrow. Call this afternoon. We are very, very busy.”

I don’t say it, but I think it: Yes, I know. Every time we ask for something you tell us that.

I return back to my desk to get my purse and jacket. Since the sheriff is out doing something, I don’t even need to make up an excuse. I slip out the back door and start my trip back to the Torrance place.

Thirty-One

Record searches—criminal and civil—turned up nothing of value on the Torrances. At least, nothing that would provide any insight. Regina had a DUI fifteen years ago and Amy was cited a couple of times for minor traffic violations. All cases were King County, where they lived prior to Snow Creek. I look at the DMV photos of the women, taken in Seattle more than a decade ago. Both licenses had lapsed. Regina’s eyes were blue. Amy’s brown. Regina was nearly a foot taller, fifty pounds heavier than Amy.

I stand on their front porch looking at a now very familiar note. I highly doubt there’s a Jared. I haven’t found one after a multitude of tries.

I study the handwriting once more: it’s bold and strong.

It passes through my mind that Merritt wrote it as a ruse.

I knock; as before, nothing.

---