Page 41 of High Frequency

“That’s the beauty of it,” my uncle points out. “The place has a spare bedroom. Aspen’s crib can fit into the primary one while Isobel is here. You wouldn’t have to worry about the little one if you had to work late or got called out in the middle of the night.”

“Only while Mom’s here though.”

“Right. But that gives you at least two more weeks to figure out a more permanent solution. Although, knowing your mother, I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up staying longer.”

Yikes. I’m not sure I’m ready for that.

The last time Mom and I lived together was before I went to college and that was tumultuous, to say the least. Of course, I was barely out of my rebellious teens back then, but I’ve also lived on my own for about thirteen years now, and Mom and I both have strong personalities.

I foresee fireworks, but to be fair, I don’t think those can be avoided anyway. Such is the nature of my relationship with my mother. I know I used to balk at anyone comparing us, but the reality is, we are very much alike.

“Whose idea was this anyway?” I’m curious to know.

“Ama actually suggested it when I picked Aspen up from the ranch earlier this week,” Pippa contributes.

That makes me feel a little better. I was afraid my uncle might’ve brought it up at the ranch, which would’ve been a bit embarrassing. To be able to go into an arrangement like that, I would insist on a proper rental agreement. I’ll get my first paycheck at the end of next week, but I still have savings that will cover me for first and last month’s rent.

“I have to drop by the ranch tomorrow anyway, I’ll chat with her, find out what the terms are,” I concede.

I was hoping to talk logistics with Jonas tomorrow, but that’s related to this case.

This morning I was in the medical examiner’s office, witnessing the examination of the remains we found in the gorge. In his estimation, the bulk of the remains belonged to a young female between the ages of twelve and sixteen. She had some bone fractures, and her skull showed evidence of blunt force trauma, but the ME wasn’t comfortable drawing a conclusion as to whether the injuries indicated accidental or inflicted.

He felt she’d likely been down in the gorge for anywhere from six to nine months, but admitted most of that was based on what she was wearing. He explained the complexity of putting together all the different factors that go into determining an actual timeline is only compounded by the fact animals clearly had been at her body.

Her ethnicity was another thing he brought up, pointing out some of the facial bone structure, as well as some remnants of skin, which he felt might suggest a Native American ancestry.

The leg was a different matter altogether. According to the ME, it looked to be male; something about the femur being thicker, or wider. He also felt it had probably been down there longer. That information threw me for a loop. It doesn’t really fit the pattern I thought we might’ve bumped into.

Not that there is any concrete evidence at this point to even connect the girl’s remains to whatever happened with Chelsea, but I’m still going to proceed as if it does.

The ME wanted to consult with a forensic anthropologist. To have them take a look at all the remains and get their input on his findings before he makes up an official report. In the meantime, the sheriff felt there was enough cause to call in assistance from a dog team to see if there are more remains to be found in that gorge. He’s taking care of that, while I’m using what I learned from the autopsy to narrow down the long list of missing persons.

This girl, in particular, must have family still actively looking for her. So, I plan to dive back into the list of filed cases of the past twelve months I downloaded onto the department’s server after we finish dinner.

Aspen is already asleep, and should be good until about eleven when she usually wakes up for a feeding. That gives me about four hours of uninterrupted work.

“I’ll clean up,” I offer when I’ve finished most of my dinner and get to my feet.

I did my share of cooking in the days before I started my job, but I haven’t contributed a whole lot since. Doing after dinner cleanup is the least I can do.

It doesn’t take me long to rinse and load the dishes into the dishwasher. I’m just making a quick cup of tea to take upstairs when my phone rings.

Before I give myself a chance to consider if it’s wise, I pluck it off the charger on the counter and answer Dan’s call.

“Hey, sorry I ran off yesterday,” I start apologizing, as I slip out the back door for some privacy.

“No need. Did you get the picture I just sent you?”

“Picture? I don’t know, my phone was charging, let me see.”

I put the phone on speaker and open my messages. There’s a new one from Dan.

“Oh wow, look at him. He’s beautiful.”

The image is of an elk standing on the edge of the river, bathed in the orange hues of the sunset.

“That was not even an hour ago in front of my house up the road from you,” he informs me.

---