Page 43 of Silent Ridge

If you decide to try to find me alive—I know I can’t stop you—you will need to follow his trail. Look into the victims’ pasts to find me.

Two things stand out immediately, now, as I remember her letter. My mom wrote that I had seven days to find her. Seven days between when the victim was kidnapped and killed. The other thing is her words.Look into the victims’ pasts to find me.It’s as if she’s giving me clues to solve this case. Is she telling me there’s a deadline too? And should I look into Monique’s past or my own? I was a victim too. I was another one who got away.

Forty

It’s a two-hour drive from Port Hadlock to Burien by way of the Bainbridge ferry. I originally found Don and Debra Blume’s address in a library. I searched the Internet for Leanne and Megan. I tried to find Alex but he was a ghost. Now Ronnie had the address from police reports of Shannon Blume’s death. The GPS guides us right to the house.

I pull up in front and it looks just as it did when I last visited. According to Ronnie’s search engine, Don and Debra Blume still reside here.

“What reason are we going to give for why we’re here?” Ronnie asks.

“I’ll take care of it. Just follow my lead.”

We go to the door and I ring the doorbell.

I hear someone inside saying, “Be right there.” Probably Mrs. Blume. I am right.

Mrs. Blume answers the door and she looks ten years older than I remember from a few years ago. I’ve changed my hair, gained a little weight, and I know she’ll mostly look at my badge. I’m still nervous that she’ll recognize me.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“Mrs. Blume?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“I’m Detective Carpenter. This is Detective Marsh. We’re with the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department. Can we ask you a couple of questions?”

“Of course. But excuse the house. I haven’t done any cleaning today. Come on in.”

She leads us into the same room where I pretended to be a reporter with theNorth Bend Courierdoing a story on how people cope after a tragedy. She may have aged, but her house is still spotless. I don’t see a sign of her husband, Don.

“Is Mr. Blume here as well?” I ask.

She indicates for us to have a seat, but I continue to stand. Ronnie has her notebook out and ready.

“Mr. Blume isn’t here,” she says, without elaborating.

I don’t know if they’ve split up, he’s died or maybe he’s in rehab. It doesn’t really matter, as long as he wasn’t murdered.

“We hate to bother you, but we’re working on a burglary case.”

She looks around uneasily. “Not around here. We have very nice neighbors and I’ve never seen anyone suspicious.”

“Nothing to be concerned about, Mrs. Blume. We’re just checking out some phone numbers we found in a suspect’s cell phone. One of them is your number.”

Ronnie shows me the number on her notepad, but I have the number memorized. I tell Mrs. Blume the number and she looks shocked. I feel relieved. Probably no one has been here.

“That’s our phone number, but I haven’t been burglarized.”

“We know. We checked with your local authorities before coming out.”

That’s a lie, but it seems to settle her down. “Why don’t we have a seat?”

We all sit and the concerned look returns to her face.

“Mrs. Blume, the phone call only lasted ten seconds. It was probably misdialed. We still had to check with you personally to make sure you haven’t been getting suspicious calls. You know: people calling and hanging up, crank calls, that kind of stuff.”

“No. No. Not that I’m aware of. My husband used to sit on his phone and butt-dial people, but he hasn’t had a phone for quite a while now.”

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