Page 70 of The Lake of Lost Girls

What did he know?

One thing was for sure, according to Sergeant O’Neil’s notes, my dad was also a suspect. At least when it came to Meghan Lambert.

I flipped over the piece of paper to find more of Sergeant O’Neil’s messy handwriting on the back.

Respectable family man. Doesn’t fit any kind of profile. No further investigation required.

I shuffled through the rest of the items in the file, trying to see if my dad was ever questioned again. But it seemedafter his less-than-forthcoming interview, as with Clement Daniels and Ryan, he was dropped as a suspect for no other reason than he seemed like a good guy incapable of hurting young women.

It was disgusting.

With a frustrated sigh, I started to put the lid back on the box but stopped. A photo of Jess stared back at me, her blue eyes piercing.

I lifted it, touching the glossy surface. I didn’t know this woman, not really. She was my sister, and we shared blood, but she was a mystery.

“I will find out what happened to you, Jess,” I whispered to her. “I will bring you home, one way or another.”

A chill ran up my spine. The sensation of being watched made me shift in my seat. I chanced a look around, but no one seemed to be paying me any attention. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling.

I finished putting everything back in the file and then called my mom. She answered quickly, as she always did.

“Please, don’t worry, but I need you to come and get me.” I hated having to ask her, but what choice did I have? I couldn’t exactly try calling my dad again. Not now that I had seen the file and knew what I knew.

How would I ever be able to face him again?

“Are you safe?” she asked as calmly as she could. I appreciated the effort.

“I’m absolutely fine. I went out with a friend and we got into an argument. I’m at a diner outside of town, but I don’t have my car.” I kept my voice as neutral as possible.

“I’ll be right there.”

I gave her directions and hung up. Knowing my mom and her penchant for worrying over me, I expected her to be there in a matter of minutes. She would no doubt drive through every red light.

I finished my coffee, which was now lukewarm, and pushed aside my uneaten pie, letting my thoughts consume me. Finally, I looked up at the TV mounted on the wall. Alocal news show was playing. The location of the report caught my attention.

“Do you mind turning that up?” I asked the waitress behind the counter. She pointed the remote at the TV. A camera panned around Doll’s Eye Lake. Police vans were parked beneath the trees. Masked divers came up from the water. Something was placed on a black tarp on the ground.

“We’re standing by at Baneberry Lake in Mt. Randall, North Carolina, where a second body was recovered only two days ago. The remains of Tammy Estep were found buried here, several feet from the water, last month. Now a dive team has found more remains in the reservoir previously searched twenty-four years ago,”A reporter stated, looking directly into the camera.

Another body.

“While DNA testing needs to be conducted to officially identify the remains, sources say that preliminary tests, including the use of dental records, show that the body is that of missing Southern State student, Phoebe Baker, of Leonard’s Creek.”

“Hey Lindsey-bug,” Mom said as she sat down across from me. She was out of breath, almost as if she ran the whole way. “Are you going to tell me what on Earth you are doing half way to Grantville?”

I couldn’t answer her. My eyes were glued to the news report.

“Lindsey?” She said my name when I didn’t respond. “What is it?” She turned in her seat to watch the TV.

We watched together in silence as the screen cut away to pictures of items on a white examining table. There was a close-up of a decomposed blanket the reporter stated had been wrapped around Tammy’s body. There were only scraps left, but it was obvious that at one time it had been a colorful plaid pattern of blue and green.

Mom made a strange mewling sound and I tore my gaze away from the television to look at her. Her hand was clasped over her mouth.

“It can’t be,” Mom murmured, her chin trembling. “How in God’s name did it end up there?”

“What is it?” I asked, growing concerned as her face went white.

Mom’s eyes seemed deadened with shock. “I would know that blanket anywhere. My mother made it when I was pregnant with Jessica.”

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