As we approached the horse pen, Lila and West raised their heads in greeting. The apple tree that had been here when I was a kid had dropped a few on the ground. I scooped up two of them and leaned over the fence. The horses trotted over to me. Their chestnut coats shone under the morning sun.
I gave them each an apple and some love before heading to the vegetable garden. Deer would have loved to nibble away my entire garden, so I had fenced in the raised vegetable beds. I lifted the metal latch. Moonshine brushed my leg as she sauntered toward the tomatoes. The crazy thing liked to lie under them with her paws in the air. Duke plopped in the middle of the row between the zucchini and the beans and rested his chin on his front paws.
I grabbed a bucket and knelt to pick a dozen of the ripest tomatoes. This time of day, the sun warmed their skin, making their sweet fragrance that much richer. The ground was damp from the morning. I picked a small bucket of beans and a half dozen of the yellow squash and zucchini.
I straightened and pressed a hand into my lower back. Squinting, I gazed out across my property toward the row of aspens that lined the river. Beyond, Logan Mountain rose above us like a protective benefactor. This afternoon, I’d swim in the old water hole where I’d spent so much time during the summers of my youth. First, I needed to head to town. The local food bank needed fresh vegetables, and I was low on the type of groceries I couldn’t grow.
For a moment, though, I stood in the stillness of the morning and breathed in the dry, clean air. This was my home. The place I belonged. Nothing could have changed that fact. Not an angry mob or a monster who took Beth from her family. It was hard to believe that anything like that could have happened here in this place of beauty.
I tipped my hat to the mountain and then turned to Blue Mountain and did the same. No reason to dwell in the past. I was here where nature’s blessings called my name.
3
Carlie
A combined scent of scorched coffee and microwave popcorn assaulted me as I walked into the sheriff’s department. This was the scent of death. The smell of the days of my sister’s murder. Black dots danced before my eyes. I pressed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. Fainting was not an option. But God help me, this place. These rooms. The Logan Bend police station, built of brick and men’s sweat and as old as the town itself, had been host of the worst night of my family’s history. I blinked and let the door close behind me.
The place was remarkably unchanged. Tepid light cast from the fluorescent panels shed a depressing yellow hue over a gray-tiled floor and cheaply upholstered chairs. Had they always been army green? I could remember only the color red from that night.
I hadn’t planned on this. I’d been walking by and suddenly an urge to go inside had propelled me forward. I had the journal in my purse. Should I tell them about it? So far, it told me nothing. She called the guy Z. She’d been secretly meeting him. Did that mean he killed her? Without any idea who he was, what could the police do with it? I was here now. Too late. The woman at the front desk had already looked up from behind the screen of a computer.
The woman looked to be in her sixties. I didn’t recognize her. How foolish would I look, bringing in a journal as if it would tell us anything? The detectives who handled Beth’s case were most likely dead or retired. Thirty years was a long time. Would they even entertain the idea of a long-lost journal?
The woman looked up, squinting from behind her glasses as if she were trying to place me. “Can I help you?” A smudge on the right lens of her glasses made me want to reach inside my purse for a tissue. Before she switched to contacts, my daughter had worn glasses. I’d been forever cleaning them.
“I wondered if I could talk to a detective? I have information on a cold case.” How did one ask if there were any leads on a cold case from thirty years ago? A murder investigation for which there had been no leads, no answers. The record of my sister’s last moments was in a box somewhere, abandoned and forgotten. I knew the contents. I could not forget. The killer had left her with her wallet, which held eight dollars and fifty-three cents, her driver’s license, a photograph of Luke, and one of me taken during my sixth-grade year that always made us laugh hysterically. Her heart necklace she wore night and day was in there too. I imagined the white file box as if I’d actually seen it, stored on the shelf with her name and the date of death. Beth’s items forever locked away, hoping for someone to pull them back out, to investigate everything again and find the truth this time. No one would. Unless the miracle I prayed for every night finally came true.
“We only have the sheriff here, ma’am. It’s lunchtime.” She reached for a pad. “But I can take your information and they’ll get back to you.”
“I can wait.” Even as I said this, the urge to flee caused me to turn back to the door.
“Are
