Page 22 of Seeking Justice

Bridget’s gaze held a hint of concern as she hesitated, the mug halfway to her lips. “I hope I didn’t land Reese in hot water, you know, with all the dark-web digging.”

Jo brushed off the worry with a flick of her wrist. “Not in the slightest. We’ve tapped Reese’s—let’s say, unconventional—talents before. I’m kicking myself for not turning to her expertise earlier, actually.”

Relief flickered across Bridget’s features. “Good to hear. I mean, whatever it takes to figure out what happened to Tammy, right? By the book or not.”

“It really gets under your skin, doesn’t it?” Jo leaned forward, the case pulling them back in. “That constant gnawing of not knowing what happened to her.”

Bridget nodded and took a sip of her tea to distract herself from the hollow feeling she always got when she thought about Tammy.

Suddenly Jo stood and gestured to her sister. “Come on, let’s go take a look at what we have. Maybe something will shake out.”

In the bedroom, Jo flipped up the corner of the rug and grabbed the old skeleton key that unlocked the antique powder-blue armoire. Unlike any typical armoire, this one was a trove of the unofficial cases that refused to leave Jo’s mind. Tammy’s case was front and center.

The interior was an array of tacked-up notes and photographs. Together, Jo and Bridget stood before it, reviewing evidence that spoke of darker days—the beech trees with their odd broken and bark-stripped branches, the yellowed clippings from newspapers that had long since faded from memory, and the names of various suspects, all crossed out as they proved to be dead ends.

They both stood in front of it in silence, studying the clues and information, hoping to see things from a different angle that might shed some new light on the case.

Finally, Jo said, “I think we need to add the Woodsons to our collection here.”

Bridget nodded slowly. “But we’re not sure they are involved.”

“Still, they could be a piece of the puzzle. And who knows, maybe they know something.” Jo reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out an old photo album. With a pang of sad nostalgia, Bridget recognized it as being the one her mom had in the bookshelf in the living room.

“We probably have some pictures of them in here, and we can put that on the door,” Jo said. “Visuals are very powerful.”

They perched on the edge of Jo’s bed, the album creaking open to release echoes of their past, the photos a parade of outdated hairstyles and furniture from a life once whole.

There was Tammy, just a child and forever young on the glossy pages, wearing her favorite shirt—sunshine yellow with white daisies—now a grim reminder of the day she vanished. That was the very shirt she was wearing that day. Bridget’s heart squeezed, the weight of old grief fresh as the image seared itself anew into her memory.

“Here’s one from one of the summer cookouts,” Jo pointed out, flipping through the fragile memories. “Let’s see… Ah, perfect for the armoire’s door.”

The photo they chose was a moment captured in time. Mrs. Woodson, maternal and smiling, with Tammy—a younger version, her tiny hand clutching Mrs. Woodson’s shiny gold initial necklace—sitting on her lap. And there, the patriarchal figure of Mr. Woodson, a silent guardian.

“Remember how Tammy loved jewelry?” Bridget smiled at the memory. Their little sister had loved anything shiny and would grab out and clutch it in her tiny fist.

“Especially that crystal necklace Mom had, the one that reflected like a prism.”

“Yeah, Tammy ripped it off her neck one time and it dropped onto the kitchen floor. Mom was so upset. But it only got a tiny chip.”

“Mom never wore that again after Tammy was taken,” Jo said somberly.

Gently, they slid the photograph from its sleeve and pinned it to the armoire’s door—a new piece in the puzzle that was Tammy’s disappearance. It joined the tapestry of clues, a silent hope that maybe this time, it would lead them to an answer long awaited.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

Kevin straightened his uniform and took a deep breath as he nudged the door to the police station open. A sweet, sugary aroma wafted up from the bag of donuts in his grip. Had Bridget told Jo that she’d noticed Kevin was confused about where to file things?

He knew Bridget had noticed and if Sam and Jo found out how bad his memory really was, he was afraid they would make him go back out on leave. That was the last thing Kevin wanted. He wanted to get back to being out in the field. Sure, his memory was still a little shaky, but it wasn’t that bad. Was it?

As he crossed the threshold, his gaze flicked around the reception area. Reese had almost finished painting, and the place looked good. She wasn’t at the desk, though, so he continued past the old post office boxes into the squad room.

Lucy saw him before anyone else and rushed over, tail wagging and eyes bright. It warmed Kevin’s heart that she was so happy to see him.

“Hey, girl, how ya doing?” He petted her with his free hand.

“Meow!” Major seemed to take offense to Lucy getting all the attention, so Kevin gave him a pat as well. Thankfully, the cat didn’t scratch him—you never knew when Major would lash out.

Jo and Wyatt had been working at their desks. Jo’s eyes lit up at the sight of the donut bag.

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