Page 62 of Wildfire
But the last thing I want is to say it over the phone like I've said it a million times before—so casual. There was no heart and soul behind that one.
I slip back inside the motel room, where Trevor and Jordy are still snoring away. Since I can't sleep, I'll get an extra-long shower and grab breakfast by myself. I need to think about everything—about this life as a musician, Cole, and what I just said.
Because the thing is, my guilt is back— but for other reasons. I'm starting to wonder if this is the life for me. I upended everything to get here, and I feel like I have to stick it out. But this is not what I imagined it would be like and I have to think long and hard if this is what I want. Especially now that we're getting some attention, the pressure is building.
I didn't get a chance to tell Cole, but we got invited to do a radio spot. It's just a college station, but I heard from Trevor that it's pretty popular with hipsters. Since everything is streamedonline now, people from other parts of the country tune in to this station.
This could be the break the band has been hoping for, and I'm not sure I'm up for it. Leering men, shitty restaurant food, and daily travel aren't what I dreamed of when I thought about being a musician.
I decided to pull out my mother's songbook and read it more carefully over breakfast. Maybe something in her music will help me know what to do. I imagine her fronting a band and traveling in her VW bus, and I chuckle. She was a beautiful woman, and I wonder if she got the same treatment I've been getting—dismissed by the woman-hating bar managers and sound guys and groped by the drunk patrons.
What a life.
Chapter Thirty-One: Cole
I ran my idea past the Sheriff, and honestly, I think this guy is tired of leading an underfunded department because he agreed to let me do the legwork instead of his deputies.
So I drive to Port Stratton to meet up with him to get a photo of the evidence and then to try to find Jensen, Georgia's ex-boyfriend.
She had mentioned that he works at a barbershop doing an apprenticeship, but I didn't get the name. I cruise around to the three shops in town and find him at the last one.
I don't know him well, but I can recognize the guy anywhere. He has tattoos down both arms and a shaggy hipster-style haircut. He definitely fits in better in Port Stratton. It is a small city, but the only college in our county is here, so it attracts young people.
He agrees to a quick talk across the street at the coffee shop when he finishes with his client, so I walk over and order a large coffee and some pie. No harm in enjoying the local offerings while I'm here.
I'm finishing the pie when he saunters in. He greets the barista and then slides into the seat across from me.
"Hey, Chief. Surprised to see you. What's going on?"
"I know this sounds strange, but I want to show you something, and I'd like you to tell me if you recognize it."
"That's it?"
"Yeah. That's it."
"Okay. What is it?"
I slide my phone over with the photo of the burnt piece of paper my brother Cody had found at the old miner's shack. The one that was thick like a card with some handwriting on it.
"Do you recognize this?"
"Uh…yeah. Can you…uh…why do you have this?" He scratches his shaggy head.
"Jensen, can you tell me what this is?"
"That's part of a card I gave Georgia when I was breaking up with her."
"So this is your handwriting?"
"Yeah."
"You're absolutely positive."
"Yeah. See the shape of the 'h' in that word? That's how I write them. I know it's a little thing, but it's just something that tells me that's my handwriting. Plus, I remember that card. I remember when I broke it off and what I said. But why do you have a picture of it?"
"That's part of an investigation I'm helping out with. Listen, if the Sheriff needed you to go on record saying this is your handwriting, and you know this was a card you gave to Georgia, would you do it?"
He shifts in his chair and fidgets with the napkin holder. "Is Georgia in some kind of trouble?"
