Page 48 of The Drowned Woman
“To fix things. I know the feeling.”
“But that Ms. Driscoll, she acted as if Nate was already convicted. Then Ruby showed up and there was no more talking or discussion or negotiation. She believed—no, sheknew—Nate and Emily hadn’t done anything wrong and she just… she was like a tornado. Whisked them away, like it was in her nature to do whatever it took to protect them. No thinking, no debate, just doing.”
Leah bowed her head for a long moment. “That’s not the Ruby I knew as a child.” She glanced up once more. “But it sounds like the mother I always dreamed of having.”
“It was humbling to watch,” he admitted. “Made me realize how much I need to learn. She reminded me of your great-aunt Nellie. I felt that same weird combination of awe, terror, and respect that I did whenever Nellie came by the farm.”
“Talk about your forces of nature.” The memory of Nellie brought a smile.
“I’m just saying—maybe Ruby has changed, is changing. After everything, with Ian, with you and Emily moving in here, maybe it’s good for her, for all of you.”
“You’re telling me to trust her. I am, I’m trying. The way Emily loves her… It’s torture, watching her open her heart to Ruby and all I can do is hold my breath, thinking of all the ways Ruby could break it.”
“Maybe it’s not about trust at all. Maybe it’s about having a little faith. I know she’s disappointed you before, broke your heart when you were a kid, but I think she’s trying. And after this morning, I’m realizing that that whole ‘takes a village’ stuff about raising a kid—there’s something to it. You can’t do it alone, and neither can I.”
She glanced at her face reflected in Ian’s computer. It bore little resemblance to the face of the smiling mother cuddling her daughter from his desktop photo. “Honestly? I’m terrified. Maybe it’s not Ruby I can’t trust, but myself.”
“Why?” He leaned forward, abandoning his tea, his expression earnest.
“Ruby blamed how she acted when I was a kid on depression triggered by my father’s death. Depression that took her decades to get over, to the point where she abandoned me time and again when I was too much to handle. And now, after Ian, I finally understand what she felt.” She sagged in her seat, didn’t have the energy to sit up straight. “I’m exhausted, it’s like the world is surrounded by a fog so thick I can’t find a path through it. I’m lost without Ian.” She glanced away, blinking hard. “What if this feeling never goes away? What if I’m just like Ruby? I don’t want that for Emily, can’t let her lose me as well as Ian.”
“She won’t.” His tone was firm, not allowing for any argument. “Because you’re not Ruby. First, you’re already dealing with Ian’s death—you’re seeing a therapist, you’re focusing on what’s best for your daughter, you’re trying to heal, not clinging to the pain. And second, you’re not alone. You’ve got Ruby and me and Pops and Maggie and your friends at the ER. We’re all here for you. All of us.”
As reassuring as his words were, they couldn’t ease the constant knot of fear that held her heart in a vice. She took a sip of tea but its soothing magic was gone. “I need to know: when will it get better?”
His gaze focused on the depths of his tea mug, as if he could read the future. “Know where I was this morning? Before we got called to the Falconer? I drove over the mountain to Lewisburg. Sun wasn’t even up yet, rain was pouring down, fog so thick you could walk across the river on it. But I do it every year. For seventeen years now. I go to where she died, and I bring her favorite flowers.” He looked up, met her gaze. “Guess I’m not the right person to ask how long before the pain goes away.”
They sat in silence for a long moment. “How are you doing?” she asked. “I mean after that letter, knowing Cherise was killed—does that make it better or worse?”
“Both, I guess. Worse because I fought and argued with the police when it happened, even tried to get her folks to pay for a second autopsy—which didn’t help their pain. Eventually I gave in, I let them convince me. Only that meant if she did kill herself, then it was my fault. That I missed the signs or I somehow drove her to it. God, how I beat myself up. But now, knowing the truth—”
“It means it wasn’t your fault.”
He nodded. “More than that. It means I can actually do something. All these years, wondering where I’d gone wrong, asking myself what I missed. Now I have something—someone—to fight. I can bring her justice.”
“All we have to do is find him.” She pulled Ian’s laptop close. “Let’s get to work.”
Twenty-Eight
While they waited for more information on Cliff Vogel—which Luka hoped Krichek would be supplying soon—he and Leah spent the next several hours dissecting everything they knew about Risa’s stalker and the people he claimed to have killed. Hoping to organize the wealth of information Risa had collected and translate it into actionable lines of investigation, they moved to the dining table which they covered with craft paper taken from the kids’ art supplies, making lists in neon-colored markers. Despite the informal office supplies, it wasn’t much different from how he led his team when approaching a new case. The main difference was that officially Luka wasn’t involved—he’d need to feed any ideas they generated to his team via Krichek. Frustrating, but necessary.
“Somehow I thought police work would be more action, less talking,” Leah joked as she stood back to appraise their work. “Where are the car chases and shootouts?”
They shared a grimace at that—they both knew Luka had never had to use his duty weapon until last month when he shot and killed Ian’s killer.
“It’s not like TV,” he assured her. “Real detective work is all about the walk and talk.”
“But everyone lies.”
“Exactly why we talk to them more than once,” Luka said, rifling through their notes. “Sooner or later they trip up. Or we keep talking to other people, widen our focus. Sooner or later someone sees something that leads us back to our actor.”
“Why do you call them actors? I thought they were suspects or perps or persons of interest?”
He chuckled. “Never perp. Suspect has a negative connotation that defense attorneys can use against us, say we have tunnel vision or targeted someone, built a case to fit. Persons of interest, or subject, sometimes, but usually in reports. Actor, I guess because it’s a legal term. Someone who took action.”
“Another thing TV gets wrong.”
“I’m sure all the medical stuff is just as bad.”
