Page 30 of Lana

Zoe chewed her cheek, stalling again before giving up.

Frustrated, she shook her head.

Instead of focusing on Mitch Shaw, she decided to continue helping with the case in whatever ways she could.

She opened the internet browser and opened Facebook. As far she knew, Lana’s account hadn’t been deactivated.

She entered Lana’s email address and then paused on the password field.

She had never tried to log in to Lana’s Facebook. Zoe had believed her sister was still alive and she’d worried that if she tried to hack her sister’s account, Lana would realize and they’d never be able to repair the relationship. Now she wished she’d done it sooner.

Her fingers tapped mindlessly on the keys, as light as a feather.

What password would she have used?

She tried the name of the dog they’d had when they were children, then Lana’s birth day and month. She tried several other combinations, but none of them were correct.

She frowned, frustrated.

Zoe could request Facebook to memorialize Lana’s account, but she wasn’t sure how long that would take. Her parents hadn’t had Facebook and her husband had left his account open on the computer they’d shared in their home, so she’d simply deactivated his account.

She went to the kitchen to make another cup of coffee when an idea occurred to her. She might not be able to access Lana’s account, but she had boxes of things she’d packed up from the apartment when Lana’s lease expired and Lana still hadn’t returned.

Zoe had put everything in boxes and stored it in her basement. She’d moved all the boxes from the basement in her marital home in St. Louis to her basement in Redwater.

Zoe grabbed her phone from the kitchen table and went down to the basement. She turned on the lights and descended the stairs, surprised by how many boxes were still waiting to be unpacked, most belonging to her parents, her husband, or Lana.

She found a box labeledLanaand opened it. She hadn’t labeled them by room or any other method, just the name of the deceased.

This one appeared to be clothing. She pulled every item out and searched the pockets, but came up empty.

Undeterred and with nothing better to do, she started on the next box. It felt good to take action, even though she knew this could be a completely pointless exercise.

The next box contained books and a few more items of clothing. She flipped through the books but didn’t see any notes or bookmarks. The items of clothing had no pockets.

As she worked through the boxes, she sorted the items into piles: one to donate, one to keep, one to throw away.

A few hours later, she’d lost hope of finding anything useful for the investigation. Still, she continued on, feeling like she was making progress—emotional progress, if nothing else.

Zoe pulled the next box toward her, coughing on the dust she had stirred up.

She looked at the towers of boxes behind her that belonged to her parents and her husband. She began to feel overwhelmed, but she pushed it down.

It was enough to do Lana’s for now. She’d tackle the others another day.

Last box, she realized with relief as she opened it.

She pulled out a bunch of items she didn’t remember seeing before, but she must have since she’d packed the boxes herself.

One was a ticket to a concert. It was Lana’s favorite band, Zoe knew. She smiled, imagining Lana at the concert, full of life, dancing and laughing.

She put it aside and reached into the box, pulling out a shoebox. She noted how light it felt and must have thought it was empty, but in it were a stack of photos.

Zoe shuffled them through her hands, noting she didn’t recognize any of the people in the photos. None of them were Lana’s friends Zoe had known.

She stopped on one photo, finally seeing someone she knew: Brandon Ross.

Zoe put the photo aside and added the shoebox to the pile of items to keep.

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