Page 9 of Shattered Dreams

“Sierra.”

“Holy fuck. For the third time, no, I didn’t. She knew what I was doing when I invited her out, and she went with me as a friend and listened to me bitch and moan. We saw a movie, hung out with some of the guys at Old Jake’s, and then I brought her home. I didn’t go in and I didn’t invite her to my place. Zarah’s the only woman who’s ever been in my bed, and that’s how it’s going to stay.”

The words bring up an image of her lying on my bed, her hair splayed across my pillow, laughing at something I said. Her eyes are bright, her lips are swollen, and her legs are tangled up in the sheets.

I’ve never missed anyone so much in my life.

“If we’re going to follow a divorcée around town, we gotta do better than this or I’ll never get through one night of a stakeout. Helluva thing to be talking about with your dad.”

His face smooths out, and he laughs. “You’re going to be okay.”

“I told you I would.”

“You and Zarah aren’t done.”

“She dumped me.”

“Ah-huh.”

Pop turns onto a frontage road covered in snow. A snowplow carved a narrow path right down the middle. If someone tries to leave at the same time we’re on the road, we’re screwed, but no one does and he parks in the empty lot. Yellow police tape blocks the doors, fluttering in the wind, bright against the dull grey of the building.

Other buildings that are falling apart hug this one, tall snowbanks separating the parking lots. This whole section looks abandoned. West down the riverbank, a factory of some kind pumps black smoke into the air. The wind catches it, and it stinks like one of Baby’s farts.

“Did you find out who owns this place?” Pop asks, checking out the building.

“Some LLC. I’ll have to dig deeper, peel the layers back. It might not matter.”

“Might not.”

It’s cold out here, the breeze blowing off the Renegade. We won’t see warmer temperatures for months. I hate this time of year, but at least the sun’s out. It perks up my spirits. Slightly.

Baby hops out of the back and starts nosing around. She growls, picking up a scent she doesn’t like. She doesn’t growl often, and I wonder who’s been out here.

Pop grabs a flashlight, and I carry our camera, just in case.

Baby jets off, and we follow at a slower pace, scrutinizing the entry points.

Police tape cordons off the front doors and the side doors are locked without a millimeter of give, but with a place like this, there’s always a way in. Somehow. We don’t rush, Pop pointing out a broken window here, a security camera there. It’s a longshot the cameras will be working, and even if they are, most cameras don’t store footage of every second they record.

There’s a wide dock in the back, but there aren’t any boats tied to it. I wonder, since they had access to the river, why theyleft Ingrid’s body where someone could find it. They could have weighted her down and thrown her into the water.

“What do you think?”

“They wanted to send a message?” Pop muses, always on the same page as me.

“Okay, but to who?”

“The Maddoxes? She was Zarah’s nurse. You?”

I scoff. “What good would that do?”

“Don’t shake it off so easily. You’ve been dating her for a few months, and we’ve been snooping into Quiet Meadows. Could be this was their way of telling you to mind your own business.”

“Then they need to take it up with me.”

“Maybe they have, and you didn’t listen.”

I tip my head.

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