by Tess Oliver
"Holy shit, holy shit." It took me a second to find the words. "He killed her. He fucking killed her." Finally, the gravity of her situation was hitting me. At first, I thought Sutton was just running from life itself, but she was truly in hiding. "You're the only witness left. Do you think your dad killed Kenzie too?"
A chill was starting to creep into the truck. She crossed her arms. "I don't know why he would have killed her three years later. We'd kept quiet about all the inconsistencies, but the two of us had made a pact that when we were adults, we'd bring him to justice. I'm just not sure why he would have killed her at that moment. Why not me too? I mean, if I was still alive, then there was still a witness." A nervous laugh rolled up from her throat. "Trust me, there is nothing harder than trying to pin a crime on a man who is literally in charge of the law. Since my mom's body never showed up there was never any proof she was dead. Everyone in town went on believing that she'd just up and left her two young daughters, never to be heard from again."
"Yeah, never sounded right to me or my parents but they kept to themselves. That was their way of dealing with their own shit. Plus, everyone was so intimidated by your dad. He wore that badge like a light saber that could cut off your head with one wrong word. Sorry, I was watching Star Wars last week. But you still think Kenzie was murdered? Maybe she was carrying this awful burden for too long, and she just couldn't bear it any longer. I always pegged you as the much stronger sister."
Sutton smiled at me. "Did you? And here I was thinking that you considered me just the little toad who followed around the princess."
"Come on, Sutton, you know that's not true. I mean—who helped you carry in your solar system model?"
Unexpectedly, she reached over and put her hand on mine. "You were quite the hero that day. Maybe that was when the crush on you started."
"Still can't believe that's true," I said. "But, guess I was kind of a stud in third grade."
We both laughed. For a second, it helped clear the heavy topic floating around the cab of the truck. But it was still there, clinging to the bits of laughter, weighing them down with the gravity of the situation. Sutton was having to carry out her own witness protection program, moving from place to place, changing her name and appearance just to stay one step ahead of a murderer, a murderer with the special distinction that he was a retired police officer, a man who still had a lot of connections.
By the time the seconds of levity ended, I'd resolved to help her. And it wasn't just a silly, meaningless offer to help bring her dad to justice. After conjuring up the memory of that rainy afternoon, another piece of that day popped into place. At the time, I hadn't thought anything of it. Now it made some terrifying sense. I'd sort of repressed it, waiting to hear her story and now that sliver of the puzzle fit perfectly in place, making that piece far more relevant. So relevant that I was almost afraid to bring it up.
I turned to her. "Sutton," I said, quietly, seriously.
She took my tone as a reason to turn to face me. "Yes?"
"I'm going to help you. You can't just keep running."
She shook her head before I finished. "It's just easier this way, Kingston. Don't worry about me. I've managed so far. My dad's health isn't what it used to be. Too many free donuts. I figure he's got twenty years left."
A dry laugh shot from my mouth. "Seriously? So you're just going to live like this for the next twenty years—on your own, never finding a home or place to put down roots?"
She tucked her hair behind her ears. "It's not all bad. I get to see a lot more of the country than most people. Lately, I've been toying with the idea of traveling to South America."
I put up my hand. "Stop, just stop with that. I'm only on call for a local fire station. I can take myself off the call list. We're heading into winter, so the fire danger is diminished. I'm going to help you."
"How?" she asked, skeptically.
"This is going to sound crazy, but I think I might know where he buried your mom."
12
Thirteen years earlier
Dad was dressed head to toe in his yellow rain gear. I'd ignored his advice to wear a raincoat to school. My sweatshirt was soaked and the sleeves had stretched long past my hands with the weight of the water. Dad fiddled with the broken handle on his truck as I pushed my bike up the driveway. Halfway home, the water in the gutters had gotten too deep for me to pedal. I was as wet as if I'd been dunked in a swimming pool, fully clothed.
I used my soaked sweatshirt to wipe the rain from my eyes, but it only made things worse. "Dad," I called before he could slip inside the dry cab of the truck. "Dad, where are you going?"
"Molly over on eighteenth needs me to unclog her drain. Go on inside and get dry."
"Dad—" I'd had a question building up for weeks, and I'd never gotten the nerve to ask it but time was running short. My birthday was tomorrow. "Dad, what about that Xbox? Tim says he's got another buyer for it, but he's waiting for you. He's holding it because you promised you'd buy it from him for my birthday." I blurted out the whole thing, but the downpour and the dark clouds overhead were dampening the effectiveness of my plea. Dad was anxious to get out of the rain and into the truck.
He raised his chin so he could see me beneath the rim of his rain hat. "Sorry, King. I'm short on cash right now. Maybe for Christmas."
"But, Dad, it'll be gone by then. I can't ask Tim to hold onto it for that long. He needs the cash for his new Xbox."
"Sorry about that, champ. We'll find another deal like that in December." With that, he slid into his truck, leaving behind the pouring rain and my dreams for an awesome birthday. I wasn't sure why I even thought my birthday would be awesome. The good ones were pretty few and far between. It seemed Dad always managed to come up short on cash right before them.
Wet to the bone and pissed off at my dad, I tossed my bike down in a muddy puddle and trudged into the house. I half-heartedly wiped my feet on the doormat. It was stupid to bother considering the river of water trailing behind me into the kitchen. The yellow cake mix and can of chocolate frosting I'd asked Mom for was sitting on the counter. There was a carton of rocky road ice cream in the freezer. I wouldn't be playing Xbox, but at least I'd be able to eat myself sick on cake and ice cream.
I pulled off my sweatshirt and draped it over the washing machine. "Mom?" I called. "I'm starved. What's to eat?" No answer. That was when I noticed that the breakfast dishes, including my half eaten bowl of cereal, were still on the table. The reality of the messy table hit me like a wrecking ball. Her depression was back. We'd had a reprieve from her dark mood for several weeks. She'd even gotten up last Sunday to make pancakes. I knew it was too good to last. It always came back, the shitty, awful mood that dragged all of us into her black hole. And just before my birthday. I glanced at the cake mix and frosting. It was never going to get baked.
Just in case I was wrong, I walked with crossed fingers to the bedroom. There was no missing the lifeless lump under the covers. Her dark hair was splayed out on the pillow, and her face was tucked down toward her chin. The quilt was pulled up to that drooped chin. Dark rings were already circling her tightly shut eyes.
"Mom?" I said quietly as I stepped into the room. "Are we gonna have dinner?"
Her voice was so ragged and quiet I could hardly hear her. "Maybe your dad can cook some eggs. I'm not feeling well." She turned around to face away from me.
I stomped back through the house, leaving extra puddles of water with each step. A box of Pop Tarts was sitting on the counter. I shoveled in two, untoasted, and gulped milk right from the carton. Mom would have been mad, but not nearly as mad as I was. I'd stupidly allowed myself to get a little excited about my birthday. Instead, I'd be spending it with no Xbox and an uncooked cake. If I was lucky, my dad might sit down to eat the ice cream with me.
I glanced through the kitchen window as I guzzled the milk. The rain had stopped, but everything was so wet, it looked as if it was still coming down. The sun was setting fast, but there was s
till enough light to race my bike along the flooded streets spraying everyone's already wet cars with some gnarly rooster tails.
I headed out the door and grabbed my bicycle. For two hours, I raced around every street finding the best ones for riding. I pedaled fast and hard until the wind was out of me, and my legs felt like they were filled with Jell-O.
The sun had been hidden behind thick clouds all day. When they had finally started to thin, the sun had dropped behind the mountain peaks leaving a cold, wet night. Spraying water with my bike tires had left me soaked. I shivered and my teeth kept snapping together, but the last place I wanted to be was home. It was one of those times I really wished my best friend, Jack, still lived in Westridge. The lucky sucker was living the cowboy life on a cool ranch. He had his own horse and everything. I couldn't even get a used Xbox, but Jack had his own horse. And Xbox. Vick, his stepfather and the coolest guy ever, gave him one for his birthday. And it wasn't a used, out-of-date system. It was brand spanking new.
My legs had just enough energy to get me to the park. The rain had kept everyone at home. Even Kenzie wasn't out. I'd seen her dad, the meanest cop on the planet, get home early. It looked like something was up, so I didn't stop to say hi. My day had been going too shitty for me to have enough luck to run into Kenzie at the park. I left my bike at the picnic tables and headed to the trail that led up to the old shed. It was mostly just splintered wood. The story was that some guy came through town about a million years ago. He built the shed and lived in it until the people in town told him he had to go. It wasn't much use now because there were too many spiders and shit living in it to use for a make out place. Girls refused to step foot in it. Even Kenzie, who was so cool I'd seen her pick up a mouse by its tail just to get it out of the road, refused to go inside the shed. She said it looked haunted. She might just have been right.
The trail that was normally hard-packed from footprints was pure slosh from the rain. That didn't stop me from taking the hike. My shoes were already soaked through, and there was nothing waiting for me at home. The Pop Tarts had given me a boost of energy, but now my empty stomach and sore muscles were begging for something more. Dad would probably stay out late and end his work day at the local bar. It was his go-to move whenever my mom was in the dumps. It meant I'd be eating peanut butter toast for dinner by myself, and as hungry as I was, I was in no hurry for that disappointing meal.
The sun had set completely and some of the clouds had returned, leaving the forest trail pitch dark. I'd hiked the trail enough to know my way, even without light. It had stopped raining so a lot of the forest creatures were out scavenging for food. Noises and movement in the bushes never bothered me. I'd always felt a deep connection with the wilderness, probably because it was the place I preferred to be whenever my parents were not in the mood to be parents. They'd told me hundreds of times that I was their miracle baby, that after several miscarriages my mom didn't think she'd have children but then there I was big and bouncy and ready to be loved. Only, that was where their happy story ended. They were both too absorbed in their own lives to have time for their miracle child. It made me wonder why they bothered to have me at all.
I reached the shed and was startled by a sound I wasn't expecting to hear. Voices. Deep men's voices. They were speaking in hushed tones, so I couldn't understand what they were saying. I walked around a dark turn and saw two figures standing at the top of the next hill. One aimed a bright flashlight in my face.
"Who's that? Bristow? Is that you?" I easily recognized Sheriff Jensen's deep, angry voice. I'd heard it more than I would like to admit. Because of the light in my eyes, I couldn't make out the face of the guy next to him, but by the size and the way he stood kind of stooped over, I figured it was Isaac Rangel. He'd been Sheriff Jensen's friend since high school. Rangel was kind of a loner who lived off the grid up in the woods. He rarely came down to town, but when he did, I noticed people walked a wide berth around him. Might have been the stink or it might have been because he was just that creepy.
"Kingston, what are you doing up here at night?" Jensen asked. He didn't sound suspicious, more angry, like I'd interrupted his hike. Why the hell was he hiking up the trail in the mud and at night? Guess he was just as creepy as Isaac. He kept the flashlight in my eyes. I had to shade them not to be blinded by the fucking beam.
"I'm just taking a hike—like you," I added meekly. As much as I hated the man and wanted to tell him he was an asshole, the badge and the fact that he was as mean as a grizzly bear kept me from speaking my mind. Something my dad told me I was far too apt to do.
The flashlight lowered for a second, just long enough for the bright white spots in my eyes to fade. Both men were wet and covered in dirt, not just mud on boots but arms, legs, even their faces were streaked with it. Before the flashlight beam blinded me again, I caught a glimpse of something in Isaac's hand. It looked like a shovel.
"Get on home, now, son. You don't need to be up here in these mountains. It's dark and wet. Go home." Jensen's tone was even more harsh than usual.
Reluctantly, I turned around and trudged back down to the park and my bike. He'd asked me what I was doing up on the trail, but the bigger question was—what the hell was he doing up there?
I slipped and slid down the soaked trail and picked up a jog to get to my bike. The sheriff and his creepy friend had not followed me down directly. I was able to hop on my bike and pedal away without having to see them again. And that was just fine with me.
13
Present
The sun was already up and heating my bedroom on the east side of the house. After I'd told Sutton about running into her dad on the dark trail on the night her mother had disappeared, she had grown quiet and sad. She had known all along that her dad did something to her mom, that the mother who adored her girls would never have left them alone, without a word, but I'd opened up a window into the whole sordid tale. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I'd probably caught Sheriff Jensen and his friend, Isaac Rangel, in the middle of covering up a murder.
I showered and walked quietly out to the front room. Sunlight seeped through the blinds and across Sutton's face. It was still hard for me to believe that she was there, in my house, sleeping on my couch. I'd tried to talk her into taking the bed and letting me sleep on the couch, but she insisted she was more used to couches than beds. It was unfuckingbelievable what had become of a woman who should have been researching cancer at one of the finest medical institutes. Instead, she was skipping from town to town, singing in dives and bars and working hard to stay out of the path of her vicious father. My dad had mentioned that Sheriff Jensen was living in the middle of nowhere, in a remote cabin, fishing and hunting his way through retirement. Or was that just what he'd told everyone? Did Sutton actually have reason to worry, or was she just running scared for nothing? It seemed she was too smart for that. Maybe Jensen wasn't too worried about finding the only witness to his lies because there was no body. My newest revelation might have changed all that.
While I'd tossed and turned about it for the short amount of night we had left once we got to my house, I'd come up with a plan of sorts. Something that I hoped might help us get to the underbelly of Westridge.
Sutton stretched her arms up. The movement caused me to hold my breath. She was so fucking sexy. It made me feel like an asshole. Here she was struggling to keep a life going, and I was imagining how that stretched out body would look naked. She'd told me back when we were teens that she thought I was different, only it turned out I was just the same as all the other horny jerks pining for Kenzie. Hearing it had felt like a slap in the face. It had made me see Sutton in a different light. How easily we'd all dismissed her, ignoring the fact that she was just as hot as her sister, all because she wasn't wild and flirtatious like Kenzie.
I stepped as lightly as possible, not easy on a creaky hardwood floor, to the kitchen. Luckily I had gone to the store the day before, so my fridge wasn't the usual deserted wasteland
of beer and moldy blocks of cheese. I even had eggs, I thought with a mental pat on the back as if having eggs in the fridge was a monumental achievement.
I'd forgotten about the extra squeaky floorboard in the kitchen until my foot and my weight landed directly on it. The noise was similar to the one produced by stepping on a cat's tail.
Sutton yawned and sat up on the couch. Her short hair stood up in every direction. Frankly, it looked adorable. And those eyes, those green eyes that always sparkled like jewels, even after a long night.
"How'd you sleep?" I asked. "That couch is pretty well worn in by my fat ass binge-watching and playing video games."
She wriggled back and forth, a movement that sent her breasts, no longer in a bra, vibrating behind the loose t-shirt she'd worn to bed. She tossed off the covers, exposing bare, long legs. They were tanned and sleek and would have looked amazing wrapped around my waist. I shook the thought from my rotted, one-track minded brain, only it wasn't easy to shake loose. Especially when she stood up and strolled across the floor in just the t-shirt.
I had to drag my gaze away and focus back on my carton of eggs. "So—" my voice was ragged and hoarse. I cleared it. She hopped up on the counter stool and threw one sleek leg over the other.
"How do you like your legs? I mean eggs, yes eggs." The voice went rough again. "Scrambled all right?"
Sutton pushed her hair behind her ears and rested her arms on the counter. There was just a hint of a smile letting me know that she had not missed my slip of the tongue. "Scrambled sounds good. Do you think I could take a quick shower?"
"Shower?" I repeated lamely. Normally, I wasn't an idiot in the presence of a woman, but this morning I was really giving it a go. "Yeah, yeah of course. I've got some clean towels in the cabinet under the sink, and I'll get you a new bar of soap."
