Page 16 of The Whisper Place
It haunted me the whole way home.
Could a person ever really change? Could Jonah? Could I?
That was the question, the central problem I’d revolved around for the past year and a half. I stared it in the face in therapy, at the office, at the dinner table, and in bed at night, wondering if it was even possible. Can you rewire a forty-year-old brain? Can youunlearn instincts and habits you’ve built over a lifetime until they’re second nature? I was used to taking charge, being the provider, the authority, the buffer who stood between the people I loved and the world. I knew how to do that. I knew who I was when I did.
This new Max—business owner, private investigator, collaborative partner—felt like someone I was impersonating. Imposter syndrome, the therapist called it. I was fumbling through a performance of my own life.
Could I change?
I was the guy who asked the questions, not the one who had the answers. But I needed this one to be yes. I needed to know this new life could work. I was doing the nightly check-ins with Shelley. And yeah, I’d taken a possibly shady client without talking to Jonah first, but I came clean quick and we were investigating this together, all the way.
I pulled into the driveway with conviction settling in my gut as solidly as last year’s leaves clogged dirt and debris into the rain gutters overhead.
If Jonah had the balls to change his life, so did I.
Jonah
Fields met the horizon in every direction. The newly planted corn shimmered in the sun, stalks still young enough that the dark tilled earth was visible between the rows. It was a pattern, hypnotizing us as we jogged along the edge—green, brown, green, brown, with the flawless blue sky arching overhead—a world distilled into color, breath, and pungent earth.
It was beautiful. I wanted to die.
“Jesus.” I stumbled, bending in half to brace my hands on my legs. My lungs felt like burning pulp.
Eve ran a few paces ahead, then circled back, grinning. She wasn’t even out of breath. The only concession she’d made to this torture was unzipping her running jacket, baring her stomach beneath a shiny sports bra. If I wasn’t already dying, her clothing choices could’ve done the job.
“Don’t,” I said as she approached. “I don’t want to hear about a single study right now.” The benefits of running could go fuck themselves.
When I called Eve on my way home last night, I’d just wanted to hear her voice and find out how her day went. She didn’t have anymore summer classes to teach, and the Australia trip research was winding down. I still hadn’t figured out what to do for our official first date. I was debating between dinner onJoan—Eve’s high-tech weather plane—or ice skating at Coral Ridge. When I mentioned the new case and how I’d be retracing Kate’s jogging route this morning, Eve invited herself along. It was an excellent opportunity, she reasoned, to try running as a form of therapy. I agreed and she threw my heart into my throat by saying, “Perfect. It’s a date.”
Maybe I hadn’t pictured dying on our first date, but investigating a missing person felt undeniably on-brand for us.
She slipped into step next to me as we walked to the edge of the field, where a county highway bisected the world. The sky stretched huge and unbroken over us, giving Eve the unobstructed views she always craved, the ability to see what was coming. Hands on her hips, she swiveled in each direction.
“Which way did they go from here?”
“East,” I waved, pathetically grateful that it was slightly downhill with the wind at our backs. We were taking the route Charlie had shown us. It started out on the street and cut through two fields to the road we’d come out on now. A mile or so east of here was a creek that wound back to the edge of Charlie’s property. I could see two houses from here, which meant two houses could see us and might’ve seen Kate if she jogged this way on the morning of her disappearance.
We found the first homeowner in his barn, half buried in the motor of a tractor. He didn’t recognize Kate’s picture. Max had cropped a selfie of her and Charlie to show just her. She was slightly out of focus, facing the camera with a reluctant smile.
“Seen a woman jogging out this way a time or two. Didn’t recognize her.” He wiped his face with a handkerchief and asked for an impact wrench. I handed it to him. He was telling the truth. More concerned with the motor than the missing woman, but honest.
“Any chance you saw her two weeks ago? June 7?”
“Don’t know as I did.”
Eve stepped forward. “It was an especially windy morning. Twenty-five-mile-an-hour gusts. You might’ve been worried about crop abrasion.”
It clicked for him and he smiled, bouncing the impact wrench in Eve’s direction. “Sure, I remember. Walked the property to see how the fields were faring.” He paused, thinking. “Seems I did see her out that day. T-shirt looked like a sail in the wind, ponytail getting blown all over. I waved to her, but she didn’t see me.”
He confirmed the route and her direction matched the one we were retracing, causing a hum of satisfaction to emanate from Eve. We were on the right track.
We left the farmer to his engine and headed toward the other property, falling silent. The sun baked the strip of pavement, unseasonably warm for June, and the wind made the young leaves of the planted fields rustle, whispering around us. Eve’s energy shifted into a more solemn, questioning tone.
“Is it hard?”
I glanced at her profile. “Maybe. Be more specific.”
“Walking into a barn with a picture of a missing woman.”
