Page 87 of What She Saw
Back at the cabin, the afternoon sun had softened. What filtered through the trees didn’t quite reach the cabin’s interior. And the few table lamps and single overhead fixture didn’t brighten the drab room.
I dragged Taggart’s recliner toward the window, hoping to see better as I settled in the chair to reread the digitized police reports detailing his visit to Larry Summers’s garage.
Maybe most would be upset reading a father’s callous words about his daughter. But I wasn’t upset. I cared as much about Larry Summers as he did me. I had no feeling for him. In many ways, I was him.
Brian Fletcher had asked if I had children. Said I should grab the chance if I ever had it. But Larry’s words were proof I would be a disaster as a parent.
At this stage of his investigation, Taggart had three missing women to find. By the time Tristan Fletcher’s report had been filed almost a week later, the case was making headlines in local news. Soon it would go national. Dawson became ground zero for every reporter looking to get an exclusive.
As Larry was quickly cleared, a rush of reports flooded the Dawson sheriff’s office. These claims of missing women created lists of possible victims and offenders who all needed to be interviewed. But Taggart’s attention never wavered far from Rafe Colton, who remained the number one suspect in his mind.
The landline’s ringer echoed in the cabin, cutting the silence. I almost reached for my cell, then realized the phone remained mounted on the wall. This token of the past was irritating. I raised the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”
“This is Bailey from the rental office.”
“Bailey. How are you?”
“That’s my question for you. How are you doing up there? That place has had its issues over the years, and I’d hate it if you were without hot water, or a toilet didn’t flush.”
She’d not called about toilets. “There’s only one.”
“Are you saying it’s an issue?”
“No. Everything flushes just fine.”
“Good. Good.”
“Is that it?”
“How’s your story going?”
“Slow and steady.”
“No new revelations?” she asked.
“I’m piecing it together.”
“What does that mean?”
“Not sure yet.” I turned and the cord twisted around my body. “While I have you, I have a couple of questions about the festival.”
“Why would you want to talk to me?”
“You were there. You saw it all happen.”
Her voice dipped. “I was drunk that night. And don’t put that in any article, please.”
I took a step toward my notes, but the cord stopped me. “Weren’t you friends with Debra? She worked at the dry cleaner’s.”
“Yeah, sure. She was supposed to meet me at the concert. But we never connected.”
“Your dad didn’t approve of her.”
“Daddy could be a real snob. We didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things.”
“Kevin brought Debra to the concert.”
“That’s right.”
