Surviving the Truth

by Tyler Anne Snell

  There it was. The story Willa was trying to find.

  The mystery she was trying to solve.

  The one box that had consumed her thoughts since finding it buried at the construction site a month before.

  And now she’d finally told someone.

  And now it was time to see what Detective Gray thought.

  * * *

  EXPECTATIONS HAD A way of being a bit wild sometimes. What you thought you were going to get and what you actually got. It was like sitting there holding an empty cup while water poured into your hands instead.

  In this situation, Kenneth felt like his cup was still waiting to catch some very vague conspiracy theory about the town or a neighbor. Instead he was sitting there holding a picture, a box, and a story about a man who left his family thirty-five years ago to go to the store.

  And he didn’t rightly know what to do with it at first.

  Mainly because the one who had poured it all in had seemed more invested in finding out what had happened than in hoping for attention that many before her had come seeking.

  Willa Tate gave off the impression that she very much wanted to help.

  That was why he felt just a little regretful that he was going to have to shut her down.

  “It’s a shame what happened to that family,” he said, using the voice he reserved for civilians when it came to the job. A voice he hadn’t needed to use until recently. “But I’m not sure what I’m seeing here is a direct cause to believe in murder or to even prove that a man didn’t just leave his family.”

  Willa opened her mouth. Ready, he assumed, to jump back into what she believed was the truth.

  Maybe if Kenneth had lived a different life the last seven years or so, he would’ve let her. And Willa Tate could’ve tried to change his mind.

  But Kenneth’s life had been changed a while ago in the most violent of ways.

  Every plan, every hope and every dream he’d ever had had been destroyed, rearranged, and painfully put to rest.

  Along with a future he didn’t recognize had come a perspective shift.

  Before he’d been looking at the world with rose-colored glasses. Now he saw the world for what it was and his eyes continued to be bloodshot for it.

  He hadn’t come back to the sheriff’s department, to a life in law enforcement, because he’d simply wanted to do good.

  He’d come back because he’d wanted answers and justice, too.

  And he couldn’t have either if he accepted every far-fetched story that walked through the door. No matter how much she looked like sunshine.

  “The best I can do for you right now, Miss Tate, is have you give me your number and I’ll give you my card. I can look into the name to see if we have anything on file here.” He powered on. “Though I have to warn you, since this unit was just formed, I’m the only one working through any of the files that come along with it until we can find someone else to hire who has the qualifications we’re looking for. It might take a few days for me to find what’s there or to see what’s not. How about that?”

  Kenneth didn’t have to know the woman to understand that she was not a fan of anything he’d said.

  “What about the bullet casing? What about the blood? Those aren’t exactly things you typically find buried unless something’s wrong. Right?”

  “I’ll admit, it is a bit odd, but I’m still not convinced it’s not anything other than maybe geocaching or coincidence. I mean why bury the evidence to a murder and have it sit underground for that long when you can just destroy it some other way? The creek stretches far and wide here in town. There’s a whole lot of forest, too. You could easily hide any one of these things between when Mr. Linderman went missing and now. Plus—” Kenneth pulled the smaller box out and turned it so she could see the ring. “I’m not at all an expert in jewelry, but I do believe this box comes from Cadence Jewelers in town, and they didn’t open until 2002 or 2003. Why would it be in here with the rest of these items?”

  Willa’s sunshine had dimmed into what he could only describe as pointed determination. And it wasn’t pointed at him.

  “How do you know it’s from Cadence Jewelers?” she asked. “The ring box, I mean.”

  For some reason Kenneth hadn’t expected that question. He felt the tension in his body before he heard it in his voice.

  “That trim on the inside is something the owner does specifically for locals. She calls it a nice personal touch. Also, most of the more prominent jewelers have a logo of some sort on theirs.”

  Kenneth didn’t want to answer any more questions so he stopped there, put the ring box back into the wooden one, and shut it. He was reaching for his business card as Willa pulled the box back to her.

  “I’ll let you know if I find anything,” he said, passing it over as he stood.

  Rising, Willa Tate produced her own card. Clanton Construction was typed in fine print across the top.

  “Thank you.” Her voice was clipped but she didn’t continue.

  Kenneth walked her to the door. It was only when she was through the threshold that she stopped and turned back to look at him.

  “This town has had a habit of losing people, whether it be through some violent means or just by falling through the cracks.” Her eyes narrowed on him. Her nostrils flared. If he had the time, Kenneth believed he could have counted every freckle across her face given how close they were. Instead he got the sharp end of good intentions and extreme determination. “Josiah Linderman may be gone but I will not let his memory and what happened to him fall through the cracks. And you shouldn’t, either.”

  The contents of the box shifted as Willa turned on her heel and walked herself back out to the lobby.

  Kenneth could have almost sworn that the hallway became a little darker in her wake.

  Chapter Three

  Martha could tell something was wrong. She’d been like that for as long as Willa could remember. It didn’t matter if it had something to do with a bad day at school, a crush who didn’t like her back, or client interaction that rubbed her the wrong way, Martha Tate-Smith had a knack for knowing when to bring the sweet tea and cookies to her sister.

  “Willa Tate, I know you’re in there,” her sister could be heard calling at the side door at the top of the stairs next to the garage. “Not only is your car parked out here but I saw you walking like a bee was in your britches. Now open up so we can talk about it while we take in our God-given daily dose of sugar that we don’t need.”

  Willa thought about not opening the door. Sure, technically Martha was her landlord and, sure, she was her sister. But Willa was so mad that she knew seeing Martha, cookies or not, wouldn’t make that bee in her britches go away.

  When Willa had gone to the sheriff’s department, she’d hoped to find someone who at the very least would listen and at the very most take action. Find whatever information they could about Josiah Linderman and maybe come up with a plan for next steps. Instead she’d been given a card with a number, a vague outline of what was next, and a warning that nothing might be found or done.

  It hadn’t been an inspiring meeting, which was a feeling that had rolled over into uninspiring frustration an hour later.

  A frustration that she was going to have a hard time hiding from her sister.

  Willa took the wooden box and placed it in its hiding spot. She let out a sigh and went to the door.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Willa asked in greeting when the door was open.

  While Willa was big blond hair and freckles, Martha was smooth dark hair and one singular mole on her right cheek. The difference between them was all down to genetics. Willa had taken after her mother and Martha had taken after their father. But personality wise? Both sisters had somehow become more like each other than anyone else.

  That was why living with each other could be disastrous on
any given day.

  “Don’t you go sassing me,” Martha shot back. She pushed inside the apartment, the smell of cookies wafting off of the plate as she passed. “I’m just here to make sure you’re okay. First you say you’re taking off work for a personal day and then you come back here looking all scrunched face and bothered? You better believe that I’m going to come ask what’s going on.”

  Willa followed her sister to the kitchenette in the corner.

  Despite it being above the garage, the mother-in-law suite was surprisingly spacious. The living area, including the kitchenette, was big enough for a couch, a TV, a desk and four barstools at the counter. Two of those barstools were occupied by indoor plants that, for whatever reason, Willa couldn’t seem to keep alive. Martha’s husband, Kimball, liked to joke those were the stools where houseplants went to die. Past them and through the doorway next to the small refrigerator was the bedroom. It was smaller but had everything Willa might need.

  Though even if it had been lacking, it was still better than living with Landon right after they’d broken up. Willa liked to be an optimist, but even that situation had caused her a few stomachaches of worry before Martha had stepped in.

  “I took a personal day to do a few personal things,” Willa responded, taking a seat next to her currently dying plant. “That means it’s none of your business unless I say so. Okay?”

  Martha rolled her eyes as she took the Saran wrap off the plate. She worked part-time at a bakery downtown. Her specialty was chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies. But it was her Oreo cheesecake that was her absolute gift to mankind. That was why both Willa and Martha’s husband had made a rule that she wasn’t allowed to bring that specific work home with her.

  “Willa, if you’re using that ‘it’s none of my business’ line on me then it has to be about a boy,” Martha concluded with quickness. “Last time, it looked like you sucked the end of a lemon when we were talking about the guy you dated—what’s his name? The one with the tattoos?”

  Willa had to chuckle at that.

  “Are you talking about Rodney? Rodney Bishop?”

  Martha did a small clap. “Bingo!”

  “First of all, I didn’t date Rodney,” Willa corrected. “I went on a date with him after Landon, and while it wasn’t bad, it was better for all involved to just stay friends. Second, every time I’m frustrated doesn’t mean it’s about a man. I think that could be considered sexist, you know?”

  Martha took a cookie and went to the fridge to pull out the jug of sweet tea. She started pouring her glass while talking around the bite of cookie in her mouth.

  “Well, it’s not like you’re exactly out here living some kind of exciting life. No offense—”

  “Hey! Much offense,” Willa interrupted.

  Martha kept on like she hadn’t said a word. “—so excuse me for assuming it had something to do with relationships. But if it isn’t about some man,” she continued, “then what is it about? Did something happen at work?”

  Willa might have been older by two years, but there were moments when concern for her family overtook Martha that she seemed older and—dare Willa think it?—maternal. She finished pouring her tea and leaned against the counter, nearly matching eyes on Willa.

  “You can talk to me, you know?” Martha added. “I won’t judge.”

  Willa wasn’t worried about her sister judging her for what she had done the last month. She didn’t think Martha would give her any grief over the fact that, for almost four weeks, she had doubled down on a mystery that may or may not exist. That her heart was starting to—or maybe, as she suspected, already had—become attached to a man and his family who had been gone for thirty-five years. Willa should have told her sister then, between the dying plant and fresh cup of sweet tea, all about the box and its collection of odd contents.

  But then she thought of what wasn’t in the box anymore.

  The one item she had taken out and hidden in a separate place.

  The one object that might have piqued Detective Gray’s attention, despite his reservations about Willa’s story.

  She might have trusted her sister, respected and loved her, but something about what had happened to Josiah and the box kept Willa’s stomach tight.

  She didn’t want to tell Martha because it felt like anyone else knowing would put them in danger somehow. Just like when someone can feel someone else staring at them or watching them. It was a simple feeling that Willa couldn’t escape.

  Though it was one she was hoping would have gone away had Detective Gray believed her.

  “I know I can talk to you,” Willa said, voice soft. “But I’m fine. Today’s personal day was work-related and frustrating, but nothing bad. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep that well last night.”

  It wasn’t all a lie but it wasn’t all the truth. Guilt and shame pushed frustration and anger out of Willa but she stuck with what she’d said. She didn’t know what was worse, though. The fact that Martha seemed to believe her or the fact it was so easy to let her believe her. Either way, the subject changed, they ate cookies together and, after a while Martha declared it was time to go back to work.

  She patted the top of Willa’s hand before she left.

  “Don’t forget family dinner will be this week,” Martha said halfway out the door. “I cooked last week so you and Kimball are combining your powers to make this meal.”

  “Oh, I won’t forget,” Willa assured her sister. “Mom’s already promised to send me a recipe to attempt.”

  Martha laughed. “God help us all!”

  Willa would have taken offense to that but it was like another switch had flipped within her. Talk of a normal family dinner made her think about Josiah. Thinking about Josiah made her think of the box. And thinking about the box?

  Well, that led her to the small window seat at the front of the room.

  Willa looked around as if someone had somehow snuck in and was hiding in the room with her. She waited a few moments and then pulled up on the cushion.

  There was no box inside. Or at least not a sturdy one.

  She took the lid off of a shoebox and stared at what she should have told the detective about.

  A shiver went up her spine.

  Willa had never been comfortable around guns.

  * * *

  THE DAY DRAGGED out longer than Kenneth’s sinus medication supply lasted. By the time five o’clock rolled around, his head felt like it was trapped in a vise.

  “You know, Delilah, there are some people up north who don’t even know what humidity is. One day you and I are going to pack our things, take a truck, and just head north. What do you think about that?”

  Delilah didn’t seem to mind the fantasy. She wagged her tail and then let out a yawn. Kenneth gave her a gentle pat. Despite the building pressure in his head, he smiled. There was just something about a dog that made the world a little bit better.

  A rap against the door made that tail wagging go into overdrive.

  He turned to see Foster Lovett filling his doorframe. Lovett was the lead detective for the sheriff’s department and one of the reasons why Kenneth had agreed to return. For all the hot water the department had found itself in with the town a few years prior, Lovett had been doing his damnedest to pull them all out of the mud. He’d also, according to the sheriff, been the reason why the cold case unit had been formed. Getting each case solved and sorted wasn’t just a job to Lovett; it was more important. And that had gained Kenneth’s respect.

  He also had seen Delilah earlier and had only smiled, polite.

  That, too, made Kenneth like him more.

  “Hey there, Lovett. How can I help you?”

  The detective leaned in the doorway. There was a file beneath his arm and he was rubbing his wedding band with his thumb. He looked tired but Kenneth didn’t know if that was from work or the newborn bab
y he and his wife, Millie, had at home.

  “I just came in here to check on you,” he responded with a smile. “I saw how crowded the lobby got today. If I hadn’t been on the way to court to testify in a case, I might have given you a hand to help cut down on how many people you had to talk to.”

  Kenneth shrugged. “This is the job,” he said simply. “Everyone thinks they have a story and it’s my duty to listen to the stories... Even if it makes me want to drink more coffee than I’m sure is good for me.”

  Both men laughed. Most of the people in the department had a running joke about how much coffee each of them drank, especially since the county coroner, Amanda Alvarez, had come to the department to school them all on their health.

  “You can’t help people if you don’t help yourself,” she’d said. “Make some healthy choices. For starters, maybe don’t drink your weight in coffee before noon every day.”

  No one had promised her they would cut down on their coffee yet Kenneth had been surprised to see that some had actually followed her advice, most notably Deputy Park. Though that might have less to do with his personal health and more to do with the fact that he seemed to be a big fan of Dr. Alvarez. But that wasn’t Kenneth’s business.

  “Well, either way, I’m impressed that you made it through them all,” Foster continued. “Did anyone tell you anything you think has actionable information?”

  Kenneth ran his hand through his hair, using the small gesture to buy him an extra second or two to think about how he wanted to respond.

  “There were a few people who gave me names and spoke about cases they believed had been filed wrong. Most of them I already knew about. Just like I knew most of the people who brought it up were directly involved with those who, because of whatever crime they’d committed, are now serving time. Still, I’ll look into them, but I don’t imagine we’ll get anything new there. Also, there was another name I was given that I hadn’t heard before.”