Page 2 of The Lost Bones
“Ready to head back?” Nick fixed his bow tie.
The two of them stood out in the throng of uniformed cops at the Lakemore PD. Nick was dressed in a tuxedo, while Mackenzie wore a floor-length gown that made her feel like an alien inside her own body. She caught her reflection in the window.
It stared back at her. Her blazing red hair was in a high bun with a few stray strands falling to her pointy chin. She had high cheekbones and a sharp nose with a hook. She didn’t have a soft face or even a pretty one. There was a sharpness to it. Like someone had angrily etched it on a canvas. A combination of fierceness and steely guardedness that was a part of her personality.
“Ready,” she answered.
When Mackenzie arrived back at the party, she took another steadying breath. The mayor’s mansion in Lakemore was situated in Forrest Hill, the only plush neighborhood, a beauty spot in the otherwise grim and struggling town. As she observed the trays of champagne, elaborate fountains, and sweeping staircases, she stifled her discomfort.
“Drop that frown, Mack.” Sergeant Sully sauntered over to her, the buttons of his crisp shirt threatening to pop off. “It’s a party.”
“Mad Mack doesn’t know how to relax.” Nick took a leisurely sip next to her.
Mad Mack. It was the nickname she had earned over the last nine years with the Lakemore PD. She had cemented a reputation for being tough, cagey, and brutally honest. Someone who immersed herself in her cases and often pulled all-nighters slogging at her desk until the morning without getting tired. She worked and acted like a machine. Never a hair out of place. Never a crinkle in her clothes. Never an emotion on her face.
“Don’t listen to them.” Pam, Sully’s wife, waved her hand. “You look great, Mack. Blue is your color. I never thought we’d see you at a party like this.”
Mackenzie nodded, taking in the mingling crowd and the floating photographer. Everyone important in Lakemore, and even some VIPs from Seattle. From judges and politicians to businessmen and football players. The ballroom was packed wall to wall with influential people and money. And every person who held the strings to this town had assembled here tonight.
Even Debbie Arnold was here. Lakemore’s most notorious and most watched TV reporter who took sadistic pleasure in riling the audience up against the local law enforcement officials, especially Mackenzie. She kept throwing sour glances in Mackenzie’s way, and Mackenzie made a point to avoid making eye contact.
It was very unlike Lakemore, a small town tucked next to Olympia and always drenched in rain and gloom. Poverty and a slow pace of life were its defining traits. But so was football. The fame the high school team, Lakemore Sharks, had garnered in local tournaments, and the future NFL players it had birthed, was drawing eyes and investments. And so Lakemore had surrendered its economy and future to the sport.
“I still don’t get the purpose of this party,” Mackenzie said. “And why are the Lakemore PD invited?”
“Not the Lakemore PD per se,” Nick said. “Just the top brass and us. That documentary made for some good publicity for the town.”
Six months ago, a documentary had come out featuring women in law enforcement in Washington. Lakemore had chosen Mackenzie to represent its small town. Much to her dismay, she had garnered attention, with many people recognizing her.
“Still doesn’t answer my question,” she replied.
“Maybehewill.” Nick looked past her. She followed his gaze to Mayor Rathbone, a short, skinny man, climbing up the sweeping staircase to face the room. He clinked his glass with a fork. Silence fell.
Rathbone cleared his throat. “Welcome, everyone. There are many reasons for us to gather here tonight. First and foremost, I would like to welcome our chief guest, Rafael Jennings, into the fold.” He gestured at someone in the crowd. Mackenzie stood on her toes to peer over the heads in front of her. She could only see the back of a head covered in shiny black hair. “As most of you know, Rafael is the co-owner of our favorite NFL team.” There was a big whoop. “He has started a sports entertainment company, which will see our Lakemore Sharks being featured and given much-deserved exposure at a national level.” Another round of applause.
“Looks like things are going back to normal,” Nick commented dryly. Over a year and a half ago, the Lakemore Sharks had been disgraced and Lakemore had been on the brink of economic and social collapse.
“This isn’t normal…” Mackenzie said.
Rathbone fisted the handrail, puffing his chest. “There is another reason for this celebration. The last few months have been tumultuous in Lakemore. We saw loss and despair. We witnessed people lose their livelihood. There was chaos and a lot of uncertainty. As a community, we were on the cusp of losing what’s most important—our identity. But we didn’t let it break us. Weendured. Our strength is defined by our ability to bounce back from adversity. And this town has proven its mettle. In the last six months, the crime rates have been record low, the Lakemore Sharks have once again brought the Olympic Championship home, and employment rates are surging. Lakemore has not just survived, it hasthrived.” He raised his glass in a toast. “To peacetime.”
“Salud!”
“What a speech!” Pam cried, finishing her champagne. “Right, honey?”
But the quirky sergeant was too focused on piling his plate with appetizers and hadn’t paid attention at all.
“I guess we can finally relax.” Nick smiled. “Derry is the worst guy I’ve busted in over two weeks. It’s unheard of, isn’t it?”
But Mackenzie couldn’t share the sentiment. She gazed at the toothy grins around her; it was almost like Lakemore was in a trance. Palpable optimism had bewitched the town like black magic. She didn’t feel like she was a part of it. She felt like a spectator. An outsider with a grim sensation swirling in her gut. Through the window, she saw a flock of birds flapping from left to right across the sky. Her grandmother used to say that was a sign of bad luck.
And she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the calm before the storm.
April 11
The next morning, Mackenzie ran through foggy woods coated in moss. It was a particularly chilly April, but the green was popping out, with thick bushes and shrubbery growing wildly. She threaded her way around the woods back to her street.
It was still early. The sun slowly climbed up, a rosy glow dribbling over the row of houses. The sky was still a chorus of gold and grays. She eyed the weeping willow in her front yard. It was bending slightly lower than she’d like, but it was resilient. It wasn’t the worst way to be.
