Page 31 of Heartbreak Bay

“I think we all have to learn to live with it. Somehow. Sorry to add to your burdens, Kez, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Look, I called you out to a crime scene at God Knows O’clock, so you get to drop whatever you need on me. I’m so sorry. You don’t need this shit.”

“I really don’t,” she says. “But I’m shoveling. Listen ... I should have said before, but I turned up something you need to know about Sheryl Lansdowne.” Then she launches into the story, and I grab pen and notebook and find myself taking quick, furious notes, writing down names in sharply slanted handwriting that tells me my hunter’s blood is up. I’m completely focused on what she’s saying, and deep down I’m not even that surprised. I believed Tommy’s father last night when he told me his son didn’t just run for the hills. There’s something here. Something dark and twisted and very, very dangerous.

“Thanks, Gwen,” I tell her at the end. “Take time, okay? Take care of your fam. I got this.”

“I’ll keep digging when I can.” She seems calm and practical. I don’t know if I would be. “It’s good to have something else to think about.”

“Gwen. You got through it before. Stay strong.”

“Just once, I’d like to not have to,” she says, and I’m a little surprised at how vulnerable she sounds. “I still plan to head to Valerie once the kids are in school today and find out more about Sheryl Lansdowne. I’ll get back to you tonight, most likely.”

“You just watch your back.” I mean that on every level, from the regular worries about poking around in things that aren’t her business to the threats hanging over her.

When we end the call, I stand there staring at the coffeepot for a long few minutes before I dump what I’ve made in a travel cup.

I need to get to work.

Detective Prester is there ahead of me. He looks tired, and he looks worse than yesterday. I worry for him. “Hey,” I say, and put my bag and travel mug down on my desk. “Coffee?”

He nods without speaking, and I go fetch it. I know how he takes his; I made it a point to find out the first day on the job. He sips and turns another page. Still doesn’t speak until he finishes reading, and then looks over at me. “Sorry I dumped this on you,” he says. His voice sounds rougher than usual. “Getting old is no picnic.”

“You been to the doctor like I asked you?”

“No, and I’m not going, so you can just drop that right now. I just got tired. I need some damn vacation. I heard you found another body to add to the tally. Anything come back on that yet?”

“Nothing from TBI. They took the skeleton in for dental forensics and such. DNA if they can get it. My guess is it’ll turn out to be Sheryl Lansdowne’s ex, Tommy. His disappearance sure doesn’t smell right.”

“Neither does hers.” He shakes his head. “Those two little girls. My God. So what you thinking?”

“You saw the file.”

“You don’t put it in the file. I know you, Kezia.”

We spend half an hour talking through it—nothing either one of us wants to put on paper. Gwen’s call this morning has definitely put Sheryl in a new light, and not a good one; Prester had already been leaning toward Sheryl as a perpetrator, not a victim, and now—thoughI hate it with a real viciousness—I think he’s probably right. But we have no actual facts just yet.

He finally sighs and closes his eyes for a few seconds. “So what do you make of the dead husband, if those bones turn out to be his?”

“If Sheryl’s a killer, maybe she did for him, too; she did end up with a house, bank account, and car free and clear.”

“Next steps?”

“I’m going to follow up on Gwen’s leads, see what I can turn up. If the TBI comes back with a positive on Tommy Jarrett, we may have something to really sink our teeth into on this.”

He nods in agreement. “I’ll finish up reports on that domestic abuse case and the car theft at the bakery, then I’m going to take your advice and go home to rest. Kezia. You watch your ass on this one. Like you always say, there are bears in these woods.”

What he means is that there’s no clear direction, and when that happens, attacks can come from anywhere. Killers want to stay hidden. Dragging them into the light is a dangerous business sometimes.

“Bears better watch their furry behinds,” I tell him, and he laughs. “I got this.”

“I know you do.” Prester hands the file back and says, “Send me a copy?”

“I’ll put it in email.”

I get to work as Prester does his two-finger typing on his reports. I consider going back to the morgue, but I know I shouldn’t do that. It’s agonizing, and it won’t be productive in any way. But the thought of those two little girls all alone in the dark ... it still haunts me. I feel chilled to the bone from it. Maybe I’m still coming to terms with having a small, fragile, helpless life depending completely on me, but I want those girls to know somebody loved them. Cared about them.

I guess right now it will fall to Abraham Jarrett to see to their burial when they’re released, if their mother’s still gone—or worse, if she’s the one who caused their deaths.

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