by T. R. Ragan
His smile reached his eyes, and before she knew what he was up to, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a long squeeze. “It’s good to see you, Sawyer.”
Her heart raced, and she tried not to panic. Relief washed over her when he finally released his hold. “Wow,” she said as she took a step back. “You’re a deputy now?”
“I am.” He pointed to the back of her car. “Broken taillight,” he said. “Might want to get that fixed. If it were anyone else, I would have to ticket you.”
Thankful that he didn’t pull out the little book sticking out of his pocket, she said, “I had no idea. Thanks.”
“I guess you’re back for Sally’s funeral?”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry for your loss. I know the old gal meant a lot to you.”
“She did.” Sawyer’s gaze fell back to the badge he wore. “How is River Rock? Still toxic?”
“In what way?”
“You know what I mean—two girls murdered and the killer never found. It all sort of left a bad taste in my mouth.”
“The homicide rate is much higher in large cities like Sacramento. We did have some Halloween decorations stolen last year, and we have the occasional bike taken off a front porch.” He smiled. “You have no idea how damn good it is to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too, Aspen.” It was true. Although Aspen was older, he’d had a difficult childhood and had dropped out of school at a young age. She and Aspen used to go out into the woods and find a shade tree by the river where they would fish or play checkers. And yet after leaving River Rock, she’d never once reached out to him. She could taste the guilt as it trickled down her throat. “How long have you been working for the sheriff?” she asked.
“A few years now. I can hand out tickets for traffic violations and such, but I can’t arrest anyone. What about you? Last I heard, you were writing for some paper?”
“I was promoted,” she said. “I’m a crime reporter now. In fact, while I’m here I figured I might as well look into the unsolved murders.”
“Ahh. So that’s why you were asking about River Rock?”
“Since you’re a reserve deputy, any chance you can find out if the Peggy Myers and Avery James murders are still on the chief’s radar?”
“I’ll ask, but before you go around knocking on doors, you should know that people are sensitive about that stuff. Most of them want to put all that behind them.”
“I understand.”
A few seconds of awkward silence followed before Sawyer asked, “Will I see you at the funeral?”
“Of course.” He tipped his hat. “I better go now. I’ll keep you in the loop if I find out anything from the chief about the murders.”
“That would be great. See you tomorrow,” Sawyer said. She watched him climb in behind the wheel of his truck and drive off.
After getting gas and talking to Aspen, she breathed easier as she drove along Frontage Road through town, past Dominick’s Doughnuts, the old Fish and Hook store, and the Roasted Bean.
The only thing that had changed was her.
It was weird. Being back in River Rock made her feel as if she had tumbled down Alice’s rabbit hole. Only it wasn’t a colorful, fantastical world she’d landed in. It was dark and immoral, secrets hidden in every corner.
She made a left onto Cold Creek Road. When Gramma still had her wits about her, she had warned Sawyer to leave River Rock at the first opportunity. “Get out of here and never look back. Do you hear me?”
But Sawyer hadn’t listened.
Moments later, Sawyer sat quietly inside her car, engine rattling, idling at the bottom of the driveway leading to the house where she’d grown up. Since her job offered health benefits, she’d been able to seek therapy, hoping to find a way to put the past behind her. Every therapist she’d talked to told her she had some form of anxiety. One therapist said she suffered from high anxiety, the same diagnosis Sean Palmer had given her. Sawyer’s research on the subject convinced her that no matter what they labeled her abuse and trauma, it wasn’t going away. It had become a part of her, and now it was all about managing her emotions.
People with anxiety often worried about things they couldn’t control. That might be true for Sawyer too. She didn’t fear heights or flying. She wasn’t self-conscious. She didn’t worry about her job or her future. She worried that the resentment and anger buried inside her might eventually harden to the point of no return. She didn’t like touching or being touched. She never cried. She trusted no one. There were times she felt like an emotionless shell. Only yesterday, she had observed a young woman lying in pools of blood, and yet Sawyer had hardly given the woman a second thought. How could she be a good crime reporter, let alone a decent human being, if she didn’t feel or care?
Don’t count on anything, and you won’t be disappointed.
No one is really happy, so don’t worry about it.
Those were just a few of the things people had told her over the years to make her feel better, but their words only made her feel as if she should keep silent—as if they were letting her know that everyone has problems, so stop complaining.
If she continued down this path of feeling anger and bitterness, wouldn’t she eventually become coldhearted like her mother?
Her parents had always been gone a lot. When they hadn’t been off searching for treasures for their antique shop, they were ghosts in their own house. Dad had spent most of his time at home locked in his office, while Mom had either been on the phone with one of her Rotary Club members or at a meeting.
Not everyone could be the perfect parent. Mom and Dad never argued like a lot of parents do. But Sawyer knew that unless her parents confronted their own issues, the likelihood that they would ever accept responsibility for their role in any of their children’s lives was doubtful.
With that thought in mind, she stepped on the gas and headed up the driveway.
CHAPTER NINE
Cleo found Brad Vicente at the far table of the restaurant in a darkened alcove.
He stood as she approached. “Brad,” he said. “You must be Cleo.”
“I am. Nice to finally meet you.”
He held her chair while she took a seat. Their wine had already been poured, just as Lily had suspected it would be.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I went ahead and took the liberty of ordering for you.”
“Under the circumstances, I appreciate it. Work was crazy. Traffic was just as bad.”
“Cheers,” he said, holding up his glass.
“Cheers.” They clinked glasses, and she took a sip. A little sweet, but not bad. No weird aftertaste. She set her glass down and looked around. “This is a nice place you chose.”
He smiled.
The restaurant had lots of windows with views of a courtyard made up of a weeping willow and mossy rocks. A candle flickered on every table. She looked him over. She’d been talking to him online for weeks now. She and the rest of The Crew had dissected every post and then decided as a group how to respond. “You look exactly like your profile picture,” she said.
He chuckled.
“I’m serious. It’s refreshing. You have no idea how many men I’ve met face-to-face only to learn they look nothing like their photos.”
He lifted a brow. “So you do this often?”
“You’re my fourth.” She frowned and reached a hand over the table. “You have something on your tie.” As planned, she knocked over his water, drew her hand back, and gasped as if it had been an accident.
He scooted back in his chair and jumped to his feet. Ice cubes fell to the floor, and water dripped from his shirt and pants.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Enjoy your wine. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he disappeared, she went in search of their server and told him the wine was sour and she wanted a fresh bottle of the same wine brought with new glasses. She slipped him enough money to cover t
he wine plus a tip and asked him not to mention it to her date. By the time Brad returned, she’d filled both glasses and drunk hers.
“Good as new,” he said as he took his seat.
He didn’t waste any time refilling her glass. She took a sip and smiled. “Your profile mentioned you had a large family and that you’re the outdoorsy type, but what I want to know is why you’re still single.”
He chuckled again.
“No, really,” she went on. “You’re handsome, successful, good-humored—”
“I have flaws, like everyone.”
“Such as?”
“I’m an exercise addict. I go to the gym twice a day, sometimes three. I can’t get enough.”
She sipped her wine, observed him over the rim of the glass. “What else?”
He leaned toward her. “I’m also addicted to sex.”
It was her turn to laugh. “Seriously?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m kidding. I wanted to see your reaction.”
“Well, that’s too bad.”
Before he could respond, the server brought their dinner. Miso-marinated sea bass for her and porterhouse steak for him.
“So,” he said after the server left, “you were saying?”
“I forget,” she said before sliding a bite of fish into her mouth and chewing. She sipped her wine. “Maybe I’ll remember before dessert is served.”
“You intrigue me.”
“You’ve only known me for twenty minutes.” She ate while he stared at her, his eyes probing.
“Should I be worried?” he asked.
She smiled. “Most definitely.”
Before they finished the bottle of wine, Brad appeared antsy, less patient. They skipped dessert, he asked for the bill, and quickly ushered her from the restaurant.
She stumbled slightly as she walked across the parking lot toward her car. What the hell was going on? She’d watched every move he’d made, and she’d only drunk one glass of wine.
He linked her elbow with his. “Why don’t you come to my place for dessert?”
She wobbled, then stopped and held on to him for support. “I don’t think so. Isn’t there a three-date rule before I go home with you?”
His jaw hardened. “I didn’t take you for a tease,” he said under his breath.
The man had gone from happy-go-lucky to suppressed fury in a matter of minutes. The look on his face scared her. “What did you say?”
“Maybe I should drive you home.”
“I’ll be fine.” She hoped that much was true. She didn’t feel well. She inhaled deeply. “I just need to get some fresh air.”
“The least I can do is walk you to your car.”
“No need,” she told him, but he kept his arm hooked around hers and continued onward as if he knew exactly where she was parked. She’d taken only a tiny sip or two from the first bottle of wine. Whatever he’d spiked it with couldn’t possibly have been enough to throw her off her game. Her gaze darted from one side of the parking lot to the other. Someone from The Crew is supposed to be here. Where are they?
Her car came into view. If she could get inside and lock the doors, she might be safe.
He pulled out his key fob. The headlights of the car next to hers winked.
The same thing happened to Lily.
Her insides turned. She was going to be sick. What the hell is going on? In that moment she recalled the look Brad had given their server as they walked out the door, their hands in a viselike grip. Had Brad slipped their server another tip? The server must have found him in the bathroom and told Brad what she’d done, then spiked the new bottle, knowing Brad would pay him for his troubles.
“I’m not feeling well,” she said. Her vision blurred suddenly, her car now resembling a gray mass. Dizziness overcame her.
“Don’t worry,” he said as she melted against his chest and into his arms. “I’ve got you.”
CHAPTER TEN
Jolted awake by the sound of the front door opening, Sawyer jumped to her feet. She’d fallen asleep on the living room couch. The lights came on. Her eyes strained against the brightness.
Mom and Dad were home. It took a moment for her vision to clear. They stood side by side. In the time since she’d seen them last, Dad appeared to have aged twofold. His dark hair, his best feature, had thinned considerably and was mostly gray. He held a cane in his right hand. Mom had never been what Sawyer would consider a beauty, but she always managed to hold herself regally, spine stiff and chin jutting, as she was doing now. Her silver hair had been blown dry into a classic bob, her bangs swept to one side. Her face appeared pinched, her lips so tightly drawn they made a white slash beneath her nose.
“Where have you been?” Sawyer asked, not intending to sound accusatory, merely curious.
“Your dad had no idea what time you were coming. When dinnertime rolled around and you still hadn’t shown up, we decided to head into town for something to eat.”
“It’s ten p.m.,” Sawyer pointed out.
“Don’t get sassy with me,” Mom said. Before she could go on one of her tirades, Dad put a hand on her mother’s arm.
She scowled at her husband. “What? We’ve hardly seen her since she left home, and yet we’re supposed to pull out the banners and whistles when she decides to make an appearance?”
Mom had always been an angry person. Sawyer’s therapist told her that many people’s anger stemmed from their inability to deal with fear, disappointment, or frustration. It annoyed people like Mom that they couldn’t control every little thing that happened in life. Her mom’s anger could be rooted in past trauma, but until she recognized her behavior, she wouldn’t be able to see that her anger was only hurting herself.
Sawyer was used to her mom’s outbursts, and most of it went in one ear and out the other. But it was the reason she rarely visited. If Sawyer could afford it, she would have stayed at a hotel. But money was tight, and her mom was harmless.
“Joyce,” Dad pleaded, “this isn’t the time to—”
Mom looked down her nose at Sawyer. “I’m assuming you brought your outfit for the festival next week.”
Sawyer glanced at Dad to see any telltale sign that her mom might be joking. Dad took a breath. Mom wasn’t kidding.
“I didn’t bring an outfit for the festival since I won’t be staying very long. I have to get back for work.”
“I’m going to bed,” Mom said with a huff.
They listened to the sharply accented footfalls as Mom disappeared down the hallway. The bedroom door slammed shut.
“Your mother has had a long day,” Dad said to Sawyer.
“I should have texted before I left.” Neither of them made a move to step closer and wrap their arms around each other. Dad and Mom had never been the affectionate type, so it worked out well all around.
Dad’s posture relaxed some once Mom left the room. “I’m glad you came. It’s good to see you.”
“You too, Dad.”
“I guess I’ll head off to bed. Unless you want to stay up and chat, or—”
“No,” she said, surprised by his offer. “We should both get some sleep. It’ll be a long day tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Your room is ready for you. There are clean sheets on your bed.”
“I was thinking I’d sleep in Gramma’s cottage.”
He shook his head. “The mattress is stained. The place is a mess.” He turned to leave, didn’t get far before he glanced back at her and said, “Gramma Sally would be glad to know you came to say goodbye.”
She nodded but said nothing as he walked away. He didn’t know his mother-in-law, the woman he’d lived with for the past seventeen years. Gramma would not be happy to know Sawyer had returned to River Rock. Gramma never wanted to live with the daughter who despised her for leaving her father, a man Sawyer’s mom never talked about. Their family was built on secrets rooted in shame, secrets that only served to lead to trust issues and anxiety.
Lack of funds had made it im
possible for Gramma to turn down her parents’ offer to live with them. The same reason Sawyer wasn’t staying at a hotel. Sawyer had paid rent while living with Connor, but since she had no plans to sleep on her sister’s couch for too long, she needed to save every penny for a deposit and first month’s rent on a new apartment.
She grabbed her duffel bag and purse from the floor, turned off the lights, and made her way down the hallway to her bedroom. Shadows crossed her path, and the wood floors creaked beneath her shoes. In the blink of an eye, she was twelve years old again.
She held on to the wall for support. She could see him. Smell him.
Sawyer fell back a step, nearly lost her footing. Breathe. Breathe, damn it!
Whole minutes passed before she was able to shake the memories away and stop her hands from trembling. She continued on, pausing when her hand grasped the doorknob. Her plan had been to stay the weekend. But already she saw no reason to be in River Rock. After the funeral, she would return to Harper’s home, tell her sister she’d been right, and ask her if she could stay there until she found an affordable apartment.
Sawyer opened the bedroom door, brushed her hand against the wall, and flipped the switch before stepping inside. The beat of her heart drummed faster. The bed, the dresser—everything looked the same. This was the first time she’d been in her old bedroom since Gramma came to live with them. Gramma had moved in to the cottage in the backyard, and her parents had never tried to stop Sawyer when she moved her things into the cottage and slept on a cot next to Gramma. The cottage had always smelled of roses growing right outside the window. But her bedroom had a dank, musty, unused smell to it.
The single bed with a patchwork quilt and flattened pillow had been pushed against the wall. There was also a dresser. Curtains with a washed-out, flowery print covered the small window above the dresser. A slumped-over Raggedy Ann doll sat on a straight-back chair in the corner of the room. She considered taking the quilt and pillow to the main room and sleeping on the couch.
You’re no longer a little girl. You’re in control now. You’re strong. You can do this.
She searched through her duffel bag, pulled out her camera, and scrolled through the digital pictures she’d taken at the murder scene. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stared at the picture she’d taken of the living room. A woman’s coat had been tossed over the arm of the couch.
