by Elle Keaton
His attention was caught when the anchor announced the discovery of a body off the Mt. Baker Highway. From everything she wasn’t saying, Adam suspected it was a homicide. They had not yet identified the body, and all they could say was that it was a white female, possibly between eighteen and twenty-five years old. The anchor wrapped it up with a trite statement about making sure your loved ones were safe.
Jesus Christ. As if the public wasn’t paranoid enough. Still, it piqued his curiosity. A few minutes of research revealed this was not the first body discovered in Skagit County this year. There had been another back in May, close in age but Hispanic. To Adam’s way of thinking, body dumps were like fleas or cockroaches: if there was one, there were twenty more never found.
He called Mohammad.
“You’re bored.” It wasn’t a question. “You are bored and task avoiding, so you want me to help you interfere with a local investigation.” If Adam hadn’t known Mohammad was as straight as a metal ruler, he would have fallen in lust with the man’s voice alone. He’d harbored a weird crush for the first six months he worked in Mohammad’s unit but had managed to let it go when he met Mohammad’s incredibly smart and lovely wife, Ida. He and Ida had become good friends over the years, so Adam forgave her for stealing Mohammad. She was constantly trying to set him up, something he had managed to avoid so far.
“I’m not bored. I’m concerned,” he lied.
“Adam, I’ve known you for over ten years,” Mohammad replied. “Have you been to your father’s place yet?”
Curse Mohammad’s sensitivity and his elephantine memory. Why couldn’t he have been a goldfish? Also, curse his own rare moments of honesty about his personal history.
“Yes, I’ve been out there.” Adam sighed. “It’s even worse than I remember. I can’t help but believe that this legacy is a final punishment. The only one he could affect me with. I’m working on it, though.” A bigger lie this time.
“You realize, Adam, that I make the big bucks because I am even better at your job than you are? I say you have done little more than stop by and see what you could without going inside. That’s what I would do, so I think it’s what you would do, too.” Mohammad’s family issues were different than Adam’s, but no less difficult: Regardless of the fact that Mohammad had been born and bred in the good ol’ US of A, his parents had disowned him for falling in love with a westerner. Go figure. Families sucked everywhere. Mohammad and Ida had been together almost twenty years, and Mohammad thought maybe his mother would forgive him if there were grandkids, but neither he or Ida wanted them. Adam needed to stop feeling sorry for himself.
“Okay, yeah. I’ve been to the property and looked at it like you said. But, truth, an old friend of his is helping out. We’re going through the backyard tomorrow, and hopefully the house next week. I don’t know how long it’s going to take.”
“You have an obscene amount of sick and vacation leave banked. I think you have hours from your first year. I don’t know how you’ve flown under the HR radar for so long. You have the time; use it. And don’t call me again about interfering with a local investigation. I’ve been down that road.” He hung up before Adam could reply. Fucker. Adam watched the late-night repeat of the news, which had nothing new to add, but still something pinged Adam’s internal radar.
Eight
EIGHT
Sara ambushed Micah while he was distracted by the heavenly aroma of his Americano. If the café was slow, she would often come and sit with him. He didn’t know what she found interesting about him. He’d designed her personal website, as well as the one for the café—one of his favorites—but he didn’t think that was enough of a reason to hang out with Skagit’s most boring man. For a little while he’d worried she was attracted to him; he’d gotten the random “I’m gay” comment out to ward off anything happening. She’d looked at him like he’d lost his mind, responding with an outraged “Duh!”
The woman had skills. The ambush was well hidden in polite chat about pretty much nothing: a funny story about her cat, a funny story about his cat, some Facebook video she had to show him. One minute he was drifting along, letting his thoughts ebb and swell along with the soothing drift of vapor from his coffee cup. Then, bam, suddenly he was saying yes to an invitation to Thanksgiving at her house. Mad skills. He must have been seriously distracted not to see her leading up to that. Then she finished with the killing blow of asking him to invite Adam Klay “if you run into him in the next few days.”
How was he supposed to ask a complete stranger to Thanksgiving dinner? Not complete stranger, he reminded himself; they had been introduced, as well as Micah literally falling into the man’s lap. What was Sara up to, anyway? Micah was worried that it wasn’t just Sara behind this invitation; that her dad, Ed, was also involved. Ed was a well-known character around Skagit. Micah liked him, but wasn’t certain he wanted him involved in—
Micah cut the thought off. He wasn’t thinking it. It wasn’t going to happen. Because he had agreed to it, he would figure out a way to invite Adam for Thanksgiving. But that would be it. Nothing else needed to happen or be expected to happen.
Liar, whispered a quiet voice. Liar, liar, liar.
Nine
NINE
Adam hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d rolled out of bed at half past five, thinking he would grab coffee and get a head start. He forgot it was November and the sun didn’t even rise until nearly nine, and that was if there wasn’t cloud cover. It was sheeting rain, again. He’d gone to the Booking Room and nursed a coffee and scone until Sara started giving him funny looks. Maybe it was the scowl. On his way out he ran into a startled Micah, who took one look at him and backed away, out from under the protection the tiny awning offered, fat raindrops immediately pouring down the back of the guy’s neck. Adam grabbed him and pulled him back under the shelter, in the process bringing their faces so close they could have been sharing a kiss. For some unfathomable reason this made Adam grumpier. He jerked his hand off Micah’s coat and stomped out into the deluge to his crappy car. In the rearview he could see the poor guy standing there with his mouth open. Hopefully Sara would rescue him soon.
He supposed the sun was up by now. It was kind of lighter than it had been, anyway. The Subaru bumped up the road and then down the sparsely graveled drive to the parking area of Gerald’s place. No other cars this morning. Ed had probably changed his mind. Adam didn’t blame him. When his car windows steamed completely, he got out and grabbed the gloves and industrial trash bags he’d picked up. The Dumpster was supposed to have arrived yesterday, but Adam couldn’t see it hiding anywhere. Another fucking phone call he’d be making.
Twenty or so bags of trash later, he heard the rumble of big engines. Ed’s decrepit truck was leading the way for a huge flatbed truck with wooden sides. He was grinning like an idiot. “You need one of those cell phones, Adam!” he yelled. “I coulda called you and let you know we were just waiting for Don to finish up. This’ll work better than one of those dumb-sters, and Don is donating.” Adam recognized Don. He’d been around a bit back in the day. And of course Adam had a cell phone. He just hadn’t thought to give his number to Ed.
“If you’d waited a bit at the café, I would’ve found you.” Ed looked sideways at him. “Sara said you were in quite a humor. Strong words for her. Sounds like you owe that poor Micah Ryan an apology.”
Adam wanted to disappear into the earth. This was a handy reminder why—weather notwithstanding—L.A. was so much better. Anonymity. “Micah Ryan, huh?” Adam’s brain had one single track.
“That poor boy has a story, for sure,” Ed said.
Adam didn’t think of Micah as a boy, but thought better of telling Ed that. “Huh.” World’s most proven way to extract information.
“His entire family was killed in a terrible car accident ’bout ten years ago. Mother, father, sister. He’s never been the same.” Ed chuckled sadly. “Well, he was always kind of kooky anyway. But, yeah, pretty much crippled him. He
came home from graduate school, moved into that house, and didn’t really come out for a couple of years.” Ed’s voice was quiet; Adam moved closer. “Big blow to the community, too. Rumor had it Micah’s dad, Brett Ryan, was thinking about running for election. His mom, Lucinda, was a professor at the university, history or something. And of course his sister Shona, so young, only like ten or something. Until Oso it was the biggest tragedy around here.” Ed shook his head and Adam nodded in agreement.
Six of the most miserable wet hours that Adam had ever spent later, about a quarter of the actual trash in the yard was loaded into Don’s truck. They still had to go through and pick what could be considered recyclables: washing machines, unidentifiable hunks of metal, two or three rusted-out shells of cars. And they hadn’t touched the storage sheds yet. To his horror, Adam had found the skeletons of at least two small animals (he thought they were cats) nestled in the cars’ interiors. A fridge dating from the 1950s was probably hazardous waste. There were microwaves that had sat out in the weather year after year. And more. So much more. His dad had done a pretty good job of hiding what he had on the property from his neighbors, though they had all thought of him as eccentric. To Adam’s mind eccentric did not equal hoarder, but what did he know? He was overwhelmed. Monumentally overwhelmed. He surveyed the yard, and it didn’t look like they had accomplished anything. He was soaking wet, freezing, and had passed hungry several hours ago.
Adam wanted a molten-hot shower and clean clothes; he wanted a drink and maybe a fuck. The fuck was negotiable, since he hadn’t had sex in so long he’d probably forgotten how to do it. He hadn’t wanted to have sex in a long time, his workload had been so brutal. Probably wouldn’t happen tonight, either. An anonymous hookup in Skagit would be less anonymous than he would like, but he could use a drink.
Adam remembered to give Ed his phone number; he was Ed’s second contact after Sara. Adam had a laugh with him about that. They agreed to meet up again the next day. Ed knew a few guys who might take the cars for scrap.
One not-hot-enough shower later, Adam was debating delivery for dinner versus going out in public. Micah’s image drifted across his internal screen. Adam had no idea what it was about the guy that drew him. Micah was tall and lean. Adam had always been envious of those with a runner’s body. So, yeah, when he had dated he’d tended toward Micah’s physical type, but in all honesty it was probably Micah’s eyes. Micah had the most expressive eyes Adam had ever seen. They told a story so well, Micah probably didn’t even need to speak. While Adam didn’t know if Micah was gay or not, he was betting on yes. He hadn’t gone to cop school for nothing. Regardless, he (a) didn’t know Micah at all, (b) couldn’t be certain he was gay and available, and (c) couldn’t assume a positive answer to (b) meant he wanted to have sex with Adam.
Was there a gay bar in Skagit? That would be a big change. Probably more likely to be one south, toward Seattle.
Lo, the internet came to his rescue. Yes, there was a gay-friendly bar on Main Street, the Loft. Adam got dressed, pulling on blue jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt and topping them off with his black boots and leather jacket. With his phone and wallet tucked into his coat he was good to go, maybe even a bit overdressed. Smiling to himself, he left the motel.
At the Booking Room the next morning, Adam looked up from reports he was not supposed to be working on and saw Micah exiting the police station. Huh. He’d never seen Micah deviate from his usual routine before. He stood on the sidewalk looking a little lost and maybe angry, before turning and walking in the opposite direction. Adam felt a twinge of something, disappointment maybe, spear his chest.
The Loft had been disappointing. Maybe it was the day of the week; he didn’t know for certain. The space itself had been nice enough, an old-style storefront that looked small on the outside but was surprisingly large on the inside. A mahogany back bar featuring flashy liquor bottles against an inset mirror was nicely complemented by the bar itself. It was long, probably sitting at least twelve, with several tap handles in front. There appeared to be a dance floor as well, although he hadn’t seen anyone dancing.
The bartender had been friendly enough, asking a few questions and then leaving him to brood as he wished. Maybe it hadn’t been the bar so much as Adam’s frame of mind. He’d caught himself drifting into thoughts about Micah, wondering if he danced or even went out much. He hadn’t, yet, had a real conversation with the seemingly shy man; what was he doing thinking about him?
“Enjoying the view, city boy?”
Adam started, disturbed that his inner musings had been spoken aloud. Jack Summers had taken the seat opposite him. He hoped Jack thought he was looking at some woman, not the handsome man who was walking away. Adam wasn’t in the closet, but he hated having his private life out for public debate.
“Yeah, lovely,” Adam muttered.
Jack Summers was an arrogant asshole; Sara had that right. Adam had no doubts that he used his position on the SkPD to make the people around him afraid. He also thought he was God’s gift to humanity in general, and women especially. Adam thought he was a sociopath and hated having anything to do with him. Unfortunately, Jack had seen him at the Brewery a few evenings ago and remembered Adam from high school. Revisionist history had them best friends. Adam wasn’t going to be in town long enough to care.
“Well, it’s nice to look at, but I can assure you that pool is co-old to swim in!” Jack laughed at his own joke.
Adam’s curiosity got the better of him. “What are you talking about?”
“Small town, Adam, only so much to go around. She’s a real bitch.” Jack nodded toward the window. “Jennifer Verdugo. Thinks she’s better than everyone else. Not much to it, really. She’s just an ice-cold bitch.”
Adam spotted a Hispanic woman, probably late twenties or early thirties, also walking away from the police station. By “bitch,” Jack probably meant the woman had refused his advances at some point. She deserved a medal.
“She runs that young-adult shelter. Always harboring punks and pieces of shit who run there and cry wolf when Mommy and Daddy pull the hammer.”
Adam wondered how many times Jack had been through sensitivity training, and if his behavior had been even worse before.
Luckily, Jack’s coffee was ready, and he departed with a, “Let’s get together later; you can catch up with some more of the guys.” Jack clearly had a different memory of high school than Adam.
Most winter days in Skagit the clouds were so low it seemed as if Adam should be able to touch them without even stretching. The heavy gray underbellies hung close and threatening, smashing right up against the Cascade mountain range. They could stay there for days, hunkered down. There were even different degrees of rain. He had complained about getting caught without an umbrella, and Sara had looked out the window, declaring, “This isn’t real rain.” She followed that with a lecture about how real Northwesterners don’t need umbrellas. He’d wanted to choke her, but she hadn’t given him his coffee yet. Besides, Ed was growing on him.
As a child, Adam had never planned on leaving the Skagit Valley. He’d loved the time spent hiking around his dad’s acreage. When he was fifteen, he’d talked Gerald into getting him a kayak, which he wanted more than a car. When he did leave, he never planned on returning. Being back was awkward. Memories kept popping up, reminding him that his time here had not been entirely painful, and that was confusing as hell.
The independent bookstore he had spent hours in as a child and young teen was, remarkably, still in business. The building it claimed as home was a cheery mint green now, defying the grim Skagit skies. On the other hand, the open fields he remembered were gone, paved over and packed with cheap housing or those strip malls that always had the same five stores in them but no customers
Ten
TEN
Operation Ask Adam Klay to Thanksgiving was not going smoothly. Micah had seen Adam through the Booking Room’s window and thought today would be the day. He kept replaying the weird ex
change the day before, when Adam came storming outside and stopped to glare at Micah for a heartbeat before practically ripping the door off an aging SUV and driving off into the pelting rain. Except he’d touched his neck, and the skin there still burned hot.
Putting Adam out of his mind for the time being, he set himself up at “his” table, working for several hours before coming up for a breather. Adam wasn’t the only person on his mind. He was still irritated about his field trip to the SkPD headquarters the other day. The whole experience was nagging at him.
Part of the problem was that he didn’t know the procedure for what he wanted to do, or if he could do it. Jessica Abrahams concerned him. She had once been a part of the Ryan household, almost a second sister to Micah. When Shona and Jessica were about nine and Micah had been home for the summer, his parents had thought he should babysit one evening. The little creeps had locked him out of the house, but Micah’d had the last word when he disconnected the cable from outside. Their outrage had been magnificent and completely worth the scratches from the blackberry bush he’d had to clamber through to get to the box.
Micah hadn’t seen Jessica in years. Maybe at the funeral, but certainly not since then. The young woman who had sat across from him the other day was a far cry from the girl who had played tricks on him with help from his younger sister. She was too skinny and looked like she needed a shower. Something was wrong, seriously wrong. Micah wanted to report her missing (he couldn’t find her) or maybe just endangered, but she was an adult now and not related to him. The officer at the front desk had been entirely unhelpful, hardly bothering to take notes.
