by J. J. Stone
“Whatever’s on sale,” Ada retorted and raised a hand immediately to halt her uncle’s response. “No judging. You should see how quickly he goes through a fifty pound bag.”
Mike rolled his eyes and leaned across the table to collect Ada’s dish. She swatted his hand away and stood to collect their dishes.
“Go relax. I’ll clean up,” she said.
“You don’t have to—,” Mike started to protest but Ada held up a finger.
“Go.”
Mike’s hands went up in surrender as he pushed his chair away from the table. As he rose from his chair, he craned his neck to look outside, scanning the front of the house.
Ada noticed as she stacked the dishes. “Expecting someone?”
“What? No, no. Just ... thought I heard something,” Mike stammered. He clapped his hands together to rouse Tiny. “Let’s go to the den, big guy. You’ll like the rug better than this hard floor.”
Tiny grunted, slowly stood to his feet and followed Mike out of the room.
As they left the room, Ada stepped up to the curved dining room window and cast a quick glance outside. Nothing. She shrugged and headed for the kitchen.
_____
Ada busied herself with rinsing dishes and putting them into the dishwasher. She moved about the kitchen with the ease of familiarity. It felt like yesterday that she was here, cleaning up after dinner so that she could have some reading time before Uncle Mike shooed her off to bed.
Even almost thirteen years after she had moved to Seattle, everything in the kitchen had stayed in its place. As Ada dried a platter, she instinctively went to a cabinet to put it away. She tucked the dish to the side and went to close the cabinet door when she noticed something unfamiliar in the back corner of the cabinet, behind a serving dish.
Ada reached back into the cabinet and pulled out two prescription bottles. Puzzled, she scanned the labels. When she read the drug names, her face turned to stone and her lips pursed.
She placed the bottles back where she found them and shut the door. Her breath quickened and her head pounded. Swallowing hard, she shoved the biting anger down her throat.
“I made some lemonade. You want to pour a couple glasses and come in the den?” Mike called from the other room.
Ada counted to ten and grabbed two glasses from another cabinet. “Sure.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out the pitcher brimming with bright yellow lemonade. She quickly filled the glasses then shoved the pitcher back and shut the door.
She was on her way to the den when the doorbell chimed. She jumped, nearly dropping the glasses. From the den, she heard her uncle ease out of his chair and shush a growling Tiny.
The doorbell rang again. “Just a second!” Mike yelled as he hurried down the hallway.
Ada quickly rushed into the den and set the glasses down on the coffee table. She tiptoed to the doorway and leaned her ear toward the hallway. She heard the door unlock and swing open.
“Gentlemen! Glad you could find the place,” Mike greeted.
CHAPTER 4
Tad sauntered down the emptying sidewalk of Clinton. Night had descended on the sleepy town, which gave Tad the perfect opportunity to get out of the house and find some peace and quiet. His mother had been nagging him about colleges again, despite the fact that he had told her repeatedly that he was going to be a guitarist. She just couldn’t get that through her head.
He reached his favorite bench and collapsed down onto it. From this spot, he could watch the Mukilteo-Clinton ferries come and go from the dock. He’d come here since he was 8 years old. It was his spot.
A couple passed him on the way to their car. They cast cautious glances at him as they walked. Tad caught the eye of the wife and winked at her as he pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket. The wife blushed and looked away.
Tad placed the cigarette between his lips and lit up. He inhaled a long pull and let out a smooth stream of smoke through his nose as he leaned back into the bench.
The last few cars were streaming onto the ferry, headed for Whidbey Island. Tad contemplated sneaking on the ferry at the last second. Then he remembered that math homework due in the morning, still sitting untouched on his desk. He cursed under his breath and stood from the bench, inhaling another drag.
He walked up to the stone wall barrier between the sidewalk and the water. He leaned against it and looked out over the dark, murky waters of Puget Sound. The ferry’s engines kicked on, and the crossing arms for the ferry entrance came down.
As the engines roared to life, the inky water turned white and foamy. The ferry’s horn sounded, signaling its departure. Tad glanced down at the water below him and noticed the end of his cigarette was reflecting an orange ring in the dark water. He inhaled and the ring glowed brighter.
The ferry slowly pulled away from the dock. Tad ignored it and continued to stare down into the water. He pulled in one last, long breath of smoke and watched the butt glow brighter than before. He exhaled an amused chuckle as he eyed something floating toward the surface of the water.
Frowning, Tad leaned closer to the water as the blurry shape slid to the surface. It looked like a clump of dead seaweed. The wake from the ferry engines hit the clump and rolled it.
Tad shouted and the cigarette dropped from his mouth and plummeted down into the water, almost landing on the ghostly white and bloated face of the corpse staring up at Tad.
_____
“You’re such a liar, Uncle Mike,” Ada muttered under her breath as she leapt back across the room to take a seat on the overstuffed leather sofa. She snatched a magazine from the coffee table and pretended to be highly interested as she heard her uncle leading the newcomers down the hallway to the den.
Tiny leapt to his feet and Ada snapped her fingers at him. Grumbling, he lowered back down to his belly, keeping his eyes glued to the doorway.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Mike asked as he and the two men walked into the den.
Ada stayed glued to her magazine as the men walked into the room behind her. Mike walked around to the front of the sofa.
“Ada, I’d like you to meet our guests. Patrick,” Mike motioned to a man, about the same age as himself.
Patrick, a cheery older man with a crop of thick white hair, extended his hand. Ada quickly stood to her feet to accept it. “Patrick Jones. I’m an old friend of your uncle’s,” Patrick said as he gave Ada’s hand a firm shake.
“You worked together at the bureau, right?” Ada asked, “I remember Uncle Mike talking about you.”
“Hopefully all good things,” Patrick joked.
She turned her attention to the second visitor. He wasn’t much older than she, and Ada was instantly hit with the nagging feeling that there was something familiar about his face.
He stepped toward her and extended a hand for her to shake. Ada had barely reached her hand toward his before he grasped it firmly then let it go. “James Deacon,” he said.
Ada studied him, forgetting to respond. She knew that she had seen this man somewhere. She scanned his face, noting the murky green eyes and very faint dusting of freckles on the tops of his cheeks and bridge of his nose. His jawline was sharp and square, and there was a faint but visible scar right above his left eye.
Mike touched a hand to her back and Ada shook her head, realizing she’d been standing mute for the past few seconds. “Ada Greene,” she replied, crossing her arms self-consciously. “I’m sorry but … do I know you?”
The faintest of smiles touched James’s lips as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure,” he replied, “Miss Brandt.”
The fact that he knew her real last name bundled with the emphasis he placed on Brandt hit her like bullet. “What? No,” Ada sputtered, “it’s Greene.”
“You can’t lie to
an FBI agent.”
“Agent?” Ada asked, desperate to change the subject.
“Lead agent, actually.”
Ada’s eyes widened slightly and she tipped her head, impressed. “You’re pretty young for a lead agent.”
“I’ve been lead with the BAU for almost ten years,” James replied, strolling past Ada to the fireplace.
Ada glanced at her uncle and Patrick. Both seemed to be a bit uneasy. No one said anything for a few moments. James studied the pictures on the mantle. “So, why the new last name?” he asked, turning back to Ada while he warmed himself at the fire.
“It’s my pen name,” Ada mumbled.
“That you’ve gone by publicly ever since you started college,” James said, turning back to the mantle to retrieve a framed photo of Ada and Mike.
Ada bit the inside of her cheek and her hands began to quiver. She crossed her arms quickly. “You’re FBI. You know who my father is.”
“Absolutely,” James replied. He walked back toward the group and placed the photo on the coffee table. “I’d change my last name, too.”
“Why don’t we all have a seat?” Mike interjected.
Ada was more than happy to oblige. She sunk into the worn leather couch and refused to make eye contact with anyone.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about the murders,” James said as he took a seat in the recliner by the fire. He fixed his eyes on Ada like a cat on a mouse.
Ada nodded and took a sip from her glass, still avoiding looking at him.
“That’s why I’m here.”
Ada’s brow creased as she shot James then Uncle Mike a confused glare. “Well, it wasn’t me,” she sneered.
James’s lips curled into a minimal smirk. “Cute.”
Mike leaned forward in his seat, looking at Ada. “The FBI thinks this killer is copying Ridgway.”
“As in Gary Ridgway?”
“As in Green River Killer,” James interjected. “As in your thesis.”
“My thesis?” Ada’s pulse quickened. “How do you know about my thesis?”
“It’s not like it’s a national secret,” James joked, pulling out his phone. “Your uncle sent it to me after I contacted Patrick.”
Ada refused to meet her uncle’s groveling gaze. She could feel it burning into the side of her face. “Can we just get to why you’re here? Please?” she insisted, throwing James a quick glare.
James held his phone out to her. She took it and glanced down at the screen. The familiar words of her thesis scrolled before her. “I need a Ridgway expert, and if your thesis is anything to go by, you’re my closest bet.” James held his hand out for the phone back. Ada was all too happy to be rid of it.
“The BAU doesn’t have a serial killer expert?” Ada huffed.
“Our resident analyst had to have emergency surgery. Flew out last night. I needed a replacement, so I gave Patrick a call to see if he knew of anyone local.”
Patrick cleared his throat and leaned toward Ada on the couch. “I know James from when I was teaching at the Academy. Always knew this kid would go places.” He beamed at James, who gave him no reply.
“I’m still really not understanding why I’m a suitable replacement.” Ada’s voice was beginning to rise in time with her uneasiness.
“I,” James placed his fingertips to his chest, “need an analyst well-versed in Gary Ridgway, and you,” he pinned his fingertips together and pointed them at Ada, “wrote one of the most in depth pieces on the man I’ve ever seen. Not to mention you graduated top of your class with a Criminal Science degree and are widely known as a walking serial killer encyclopedia.”
Ada did not like how much this man she had met minutes earlier knew about her and her life. Not one bit. “I did that research and got that degree so that I could be an accurate crime novelist,” she argued.
James chuckled in a way that Ada knew was not jovial and tapped at his phone again. He turned it toward Ada and she winced as the cover of one of her crime novels filled the screen. “Seems like that worked out well for you,” James sneered. “Tell me, how are your sales doing?”
Fury blazed from Ada’s core. “So, to recap, you need my Green River knowledge to help you and the BAU find whoever is doing this.” She fought to keep her voice steady.
James nodded once.
Ada slapped her hands on the tops of her thighs and stood to her feet. “The answer’s no.”
Mike sprang to his feet as Ada fled the room. He waved a staying hand at James and Patrick as he raced after his niece.
_____
Ada tossed herself onto the front porch swing and clamped her fingertips to her pounding temples. She ignored Uncle Mike as he stepped out onto the porch after her.
“Ada. Let’s talk about this,” Mike soothed as he sat down next to her on the swing.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Ada spat. She leapt from the swing and leaned against the porch railing. The crisp fall air turned her harsh exhales into little white clouds. “I don’t know who that guy thinks he is, but there’s no way in hell that I’m helping him.”
Mike sighed and let Ada stand in silence for a few moments. The only sound they heard was Tiny whining on the other side of the front door. It was a good five minutes before the silence was broken.
“Everything might seem like it was twenty-five years ago to you,” Ada began, shaking, “but for me, it feels like twenty-five minutes. No matter how hard I try to get over it or put it behind me, there’s always something that pops up and makes me remember.” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat. “That’s why I didn’t go into law enforcement. Why I decided to write about criminals instead of coming into contact with them.”
“What are you afraid of, Ada?” Mike asked softly.
Ada turned to face him. “I’m having the nightmares again. I haven’t had those in years.”
Mike leaned forward toward her. “And?”
“And it’s like reliving Mom dying. Over and over. All those years of therapy, just going down the drain,” Ada said. She walked over to the swing and sat down, feeling suddenly exhausted. “And now, with tomorrow being such a ... milestone. I just feel like everything is crashing back in on me again.”
Mike opened his right arm to her and Ada curled against his chest like she was six again. “Do you think I would suggest you do this if I thought it would end up hurting you?” Mike asked as he squeezed a comforting hand on Ada’s shoulder.
“I just don’t see the reason to help. If you think this is a way for me to deal with what happened, I’m already doing that with writing and teaching. Those are my coping mechanisms,” Ada said.
“When I was with the FBI,” Mike said, “I had this thing I used to do to deal with any case that just got to be too much.”
“Which was?” Ada asked.
“I’d immerse myself in anything that had to do with the case. Basically made myself sick of it. After I did that, I had no problem.”
“Yeah, but this is different. This is personal.”
“You think I didn’t have to deal with anything personal when I was working?” Mike asked, his tone changing to something between nostalgia and grim regret. “I had plenty of instances where I wanted to walk away and let someone else find the bad guy. But I couldn’t. That was my job. So I had to find a way to deal.”
“This isn’t my job, though, Uncle Mike,” Ada said as she sat up to look him in the eye. “I have absolutely no reason to help them.” She motioned toward the FBI vehicle parked yards away.
“I’d have to be blind not to see how tired you are, Ada. I’m guessing you haven’t seen your psychiatrist in months. Something is bothering you, and I know you enough to know that you probably won’t tell me,” Mike smirked then sobered. “You’ve tried just about everything to help you with come to term
s with what happened. Maybe this is that one thing that will help.”
CHAPTER 5
James stared at the wall across from him, his fingers tapping the top of his leg. Something in the kitchen started dripping, and the rhythm threw off his leg taps. He cursed under his breath and started tapping his right heel against the weathered hardwood floor.
“Patience isn’t really your thing, is it?” Patrick asked with a slight chuckle as he flipped through his second magazine.
James ignored the jibe and glanced at his watch. “I should have been back an hour ago.” A shrill chirp sounded from James’s jacket pocket. He pulled out his phone and lurched to his feet.
Patrick watched James stride out of the room and answer the phone in a hurried tone. “That kid’s going to wake up one day and realize he’s wasted away the best years of his life being a prick,” Patrick mused to Tiny, who had just wandered in from the foyer.
_____
“How long ago was she found?” James asked as he searched the house for a more private room. He wandered down the dim main hallway and spied a desk through a cracked door. He entered what appeared to be Mike’s office and shut himself in. “Do we have an I.D. on her yet?”
James slid his hand along the wall to try to find the light switch but came up empty. He walked across the room to a trio of windows and leaned against one.
“Well, it’ll take me at least half an hour just to get to the ferry, so get everyone rolling. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” James said. “Don’t wait on me to get started.”
He ended the call and clenched his fist around the phone. Slight movement caught his eye, and he peered out the window to the far right corner of the porch. He caught sight of Ada and Mike sitting on the porch swing.
“Ridiculous,” James hissed. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and left the office.
_____
