“If Delia gives him a good word, he’ll get a huge feather in his academic cap. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Emily said after mulling it over.
“He’s already full professor at U of M. Why does he need another feather?”
“It’s a competitive field filled with competitive intellects.” Emily eased back into the passenger seat. But what would Nick know about that? He had chosen a sleepy sheriff’s life in a place where rising up the ranks required minimum friction. Emily’s mind drifted to the long ramen noodles and hot broth she would soon be slurping down. So soothing. A taste of Sunday study nights in Chicago.
“I can prove he’s using you and Delia.” Nick’s tone was challenging, and she knew he wouldn’t let it go until he made his point. “First point of proof. Motive. He wants department chair status before forty,” said Nick.
“How can you prove that?”
“He’s already achieved tenure, which usually takes professors half a life-time. He needs widespread acclaim to seal the chair deal.”
“Like I said, he’s ambitious. So’s everyone else in his field.”
“If he can get Delia on board with an endorsement, bam-o. The golden ticket.”
“Ticket to where, exactly?” she said with a tired sigh.
“To … speaking engagements … grants … book deals! Knighthood!”
Emily let out a laugh. “I am genuinely entertained by your fabrications,” she said.
“Mark my words. He’s coming on hot and fast. Like a wildfire. And he’s going to burn right through you. Pull the pin on that extinguisher and get ready.”
Emily had known a ton of doctors just like him in med school. He was one of those guys who puffed their feathers out like a peacock at first to get you to look at them. And then once you did, they backed down and turned sweet and soft and even a little insecure.
“Second point of proof. Opportunity—”
“Oh, we’re still doing this?” Emily grinned.
“I’m just getting started.”
His playful tone relaxed Emily. She was starting to like this game.
“He was totally playing you to meet Delia. He could have sent one of his students or assistants. No. He came up here himself.”
Emily’s attention drifted from images of peacocks back into the middle of Nick’s ongoing diatribe.
“Third point of proof. Means. He already knew Delia owned a bakery. He wanted you to suggest it so he could tell Delia you sent him there.”
“How can you know he would know that I would suggest Delia’s bakery?”
“Em, come on. It’s the only decent café in town.”
“Delia didn’t seem bothered by his assertive questioning. She loved the attention,” said Emily.
“Fourth proof! See! He’s got her mesmerized by his charm, too!”
“That one I’ll give you. She calls him Charles!” And they both laughed. “But for your information, she sees right through him.”
“Aha! Corroborating testimony!”
“When are you planning to make the arrest, Sheriff?”
“Besides, I think he knew back at the morgue if that skeleton was male or female and he’s just stringing us along,” said Nick.
“I disagree. I couldn’t tell either from just looking. It can be challenging to differentiate when the skeleton is not fully grown into their adult frame. Was Sandi tiny?”
“Yeah, she was petite.”
“How petite?”
“I dunno, five foot? People were always surprised to learn she was in high school because she looked like she was in junior high.”
“There you go. Her pelvic structure might have looked more kidlike. Not that I’m suggesting those bones are hers. I’m just saying. I don’t think he was pulling one over on us.”
Emily’s hunger was taking over her interest in Dr. Payton’s witch hunt. She didn’t see him as a threat. He was a brilliant scientist and they needed him to help identify the Pinetree Slope bones. He would do just that.
“Okay, Sherlock, let me throw this wrench in your case theory. Delia told me about a fourteen-year-old boy who went missing in that same area at hunting season about eight or nine years ago. They never found him or a body.”
“I’m a step ahead of you, I got a few tips on the hotline about that,” said Nick.
“What’d you find out?”
“I looked up his file. Eddy Morton is the boy’s name. I’m planning to do a search on the national missing-persons database to see if there has been anything new, maybe from another state. You never know. Sometimes these kids pop up later.”
“See. Those bones could be Eddy’s,” said Emily. “That’s why we want Dr. Payton to be extra careful here.”
Which would be better—finding out that the bones are Sandi’s or Eddy’s? It was horrible to think about either one. A real Sophie’s Choice scenario. She looked over at Nick. He was signaling and glancing in his mirrors to enter the freeway. She waited to speak until Nick was safely in the far-left lane to continue.
“Did the police ever talk to you about Sandi’s disappearance?” she ventured.
“Of course,” said Nick, eyes glued to the road.
“And what was the outcome?”
“I mean, I told them basically what I told you. I said she was really upset about those alleged videos and that she wouldn’t talk to me.”
“And they let you off? I mean, you said you were the last person she saw.”
“They held me overnight. They grilled me about our relationship. About my alibi. My parents hired an attorney, and somehow it all got worked out by morning.”
“What was your alibi?”
“I went right home after I dropped Sandi off, and I hung out till my parents got back from work. Maybe around six thirty.”
“What were you doing at home during that time?”
“A number of things, probably. Homework, TV, shooting hoops.”
“Probably?”
“I don’t have a clear recollection of that afternoon.”
Emily didn’t get it. To this day, she could recall everything she had done the morning of her mother’s accident. When she’d gotten up—6:05 AM. What she’d been wearing—jeans and a short-sleeve sweater and her favorite tan leather ballet flats. What she’d had for breakfast—half a bagel and orange juice. How she’d gotten to school—bus. Her first class of the day—geometry. Who’d been sitting in front of her—her best friend, Jo. When she’d gotten called to the principal’s office to get the news—11:20 AM, between third and fourth periods.
Emily looked up as they approached an overhead street sign. “That’s your exit. McClintock Street. Two miles.”
Nick started to maneuver the car, a lane at a time, across four lanes of traffic.
She could see why the police couldn’t have made any arrests at the time without any physical evidence of the video or witness testimony. But Nick had been told there was a video. Where had the breakdown been in the evidence-recovery process with the police? Had they searched James’s house? Sandi’s house? Lockers? Computers? Phones? Or had it just suddenly vanished?
“Do you really think those videos existed?” Emily asked. “Or is it like when guys brag that they went to third base with a girl and then it comes out later from the girl that he was too chicken to even try and kiss her?”
“Who knows? I think so, based on how Sandi reacted when I brought it up. But everyone who knew about the video lied to the cops about its existence,” said Nick. “Guys are apes sometimes.”
“That’s your excuse?” Her wounding shot caused him to fall silent.
“Me included. I should have said something right away.”
Nick gripped both hands on the wheel and clenched his jaw. And drove.
More and more and more silence flooded between them. Overflowing buckets of silence pouring out and filling the car until neither could move through the thickness.
Silence. The greatest sin of omission.
Emily was almost
choking from it until Nick’s voice plumbed an air hole into the deep silence.
“I don’t have an excuse, Em. I left senior year ridden with guilt and regret.” The pressure valve opened; the silence released with a swoosh. “The only way I could deal with it was to get my badge. I thought it would make me feel more in control. But every year that has passed, I’m just more imprisoned with guilt. I stuff it down, but it gurgles back up like rotting sewage.”
“We still don’t even know if those bones are Sandi’s.”
“At this point, it’ll be worse for me if they’re not,” said Nick.
Point taken. Sandi or no Sandi, Nick needed to win this battle.
“Let’s take a look at the timeline again. School got out at three. Sandi asked you for a ride. And then you dropped Sandi off … when?”
“Probably close to four. But before that we both kinda lingered with friends after school, and then I drove her to McDonald’s to get a Coke before I took her home.”
One thing that seemed unanswerable was what had happened to Sandi between four and six. Had she left with someone else after Nick dropped her off? Had someone else come to the house? Who else had known about the videos? And how exactly were they tied to her death, if at all?
“He’s been out there all this time. Living like nothing ever happened.” Nick’s voice grew tight.
“Who?”
“James.” Nick said.
“You think he killed her? Why?”
“Maybe the fact that he got the heck outta Freeport as soon as he graduated and he’s never been back.”
“I know someone else who got the heck outta Dodge,” Emily reminded him, trying to lighten his mood. “People have their reasons. Doesn’t mean murder’s behind it.”
“I just got the feeling there was something shady there,” said Nick.
“Fair enough. But what about the facts? Did James have an alibi for that afternoon?” Emily asked.
“He said he went home after school. Even his folks testified. His mom said he came home around four. His dad said they all ate dinner together about six thirty, and then James left for a friend’s house to do homework a little after eight.”
“And you don’t believe that?”
“His parents both worked. How would they know if their son was home after school?”
“What would be James’ motive?” Emily asked.
“That’s why it’s been a mystery for ten years, Em.” He launched a missile of frustration at her.
“Didn’t you say she was on the outs with her stepdad?”
“She basically put him in jail.”
“That sounds like motive to me.” Emily rubbed her growling belly as they exited the freeway. “We’re not going to solve this tonight. Let’s focus on ramen. Since this is your first time, lemme explain how it works.”
“How it works? Uh-oh. Sounds complicated. You sure I’m gonna like this?”
“I’m not sure at all. But you asked what I wanted to eat.” She grinned.
Nick feigned a nervous look.
“Hey, it’s just broth, noodles, meat, and veggies. Simple.”
Nick sailed through the green light at the end of the exit ramp and turned left.
“Okay, should be about two blocks up on the left. They have a parking lot in the back,” Emily said. “You choose your broth, meat, and veggies. You can also get an egg or tofu.” He made a face at the suggestion. That wasn’t going to happen. “All of the ramen dishes come in a big bowl. Like a soup.”
“We drove all this way for a bowl of soup?”
“Well, kinda. I mean, it’s hearty. You eat it with a wide-mouthed flat spoon.”
“Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
“You’ll see what I mean. You need a flat spoon so you can scoop up the noodles and meat. And don’t worry about slurping or food hanging out of your mouth. That’s all part of it.”
“Sounds very romantic.”
Emily laughed, and her eye caught the name of the restaurant painted on a red awning. “Oh, there. It’s right over there with the little tables outside. How cute! It’s not too cold to sit outside, is it? In Chicago, Brandon and I always love to eat outside. There was this one café that kept heaters on outdoors through Christmas so you could—” She stopped, realizing her blunder in bringing up the ex. “Sorry.”
“No, no. It’s okay. I mean, it’s pretty recent history. I can’t expect you to just forget it. It’s a part of who you were … or are. But it would be helpful to know where you stand with Brandon.”
She could tell he was trying to keep it light. But she knew it’d been bothering him since Brandon showed up at the funeral unannounced and proclaimed his undying devotion with the most inappropriate timing in the world. It was so unlike him to be that incongruous that Emily knew he was truly, truly serious about them getting back together.
“We broke off the engagement.”
“Yes, but then he showed up at the funeral home drooling all over you. Didn’t look over to me.”
“I’m going back to Chicago soon to see what I can work out with my residency status and pack up my stuff. I told Brandon that we’d grab a bite and we’ll talk about what happened at the funeral home.”
“Does that mean you’re moving back to Freeport permanently?”
“Don’t read into that.”
“If you go back to Chicago, will you guys get back together?”
“I don’t know.” She was weary of the third degree.
“On a scale of one to ten, ten being most likely, where do you think you would place your answer right now?”
“Nick. Enough.”
They were now parked outside the ramen house, and patrons were streaming past on their way to the brothy goodness inside.
“Must be really good if all these people are here,” Emily commented into the uneasy silence between them. “Glad we made reservations.”
“Em, I’m just going to put this out there. I know this isn’t supposed to be a date or anything, but I want to keep seeing you. Like, officially,” Nick blurted out.
Whoa. Too much. Too soon. Too strong. Now she was just plain hangry. “Let’s just eat some ramen. Please?” She swept him with a broad smile and got out of the car.
14
The next morning, Emily was in her father’s office, tasked with organizing a mountain of paperwork and weighing the pros and cons of selling or shutting down her father’s medical practice, which he ran alongside the medical examiner’s business. Pro: Shutting it down would be way less work for her. Con: The people of Freeport needed all the doctors they could get. When her father was alive, he’d been one of eight full-time practicing physicians for a county population of ten thousand. One less in town and everyone would be feeling the difference.
Pro: If she sold it, she could reap the profits and pay off medical school loans. Con: It might take a while to find the right fit. Idea: She could quit residency and immediately take over her dad’s practice.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Brandon.
When r u coming back?
That was Brandon. Direct and to the point.
She texted back: Not sure.
He replied: Haven’t cancelled Palmer House yet. Their wedding venue.
Her: That’s only 2 months away. You have high hopes.
Him: We could always elope. How does Grand Caymans sound for Christmas?
This was a very out-of-the-box suggestion for someone who loved spending money on experiences and events.
Her: Cancel Palmer. Get your money back.
Him: Does this mean Cayman’s a go?
Her: Let’s talk this over face-to-face.
Him: So … when r u coming.
He would be relentless until she gave him an answer.
Her: Maybe next weekend?
Him: Can’t wait. Securing dinner reservations. TTYL.
And just like that, he was offline. Totally engaged one second, completely MIA the next. That pretty much described their dating life. W
hen he was there, it was magical. And when he was gone, it felt … hollow.
She sighed, took a sip of her now-lukewarm coffee, and went to check her emails. One from Nick had the subject line Morton Boy Not It. Uh-oh. What had he found? She clicked the link Nick had attached. Up popped a recent police report from Coral Gables, Florida, about Eddy Morton—or rather Gabriel Dade, his pseudonym. The report stated that his mom had convinced a distant cousin to “kidnap” her son during the hunting outing and hide him away with a family from the cousin’s church in Florida until she could safely relocate, because the boy’s father had been beating them for years. The mother was afraid that if she reported it to the police, the state would take her son away or her husband would find a way to kill her and the boy before justice could be administered. Mom and son had it all worked out. On the morning of the hunt, fourteen-year-old Eddy purposefully forgot to bring their cooler of food, sending the father into town for something to eat. Meanwhile, the cousin showed up to take Eddy away without a trace. Mom spent the next six months playing the elaborate role of grieving parent until she could safely get out of there. Emily wondered how many beatings she had to survive during that time.
Then, Mom cooked up her own little witness protection plan. Brilliant. They were discovered only when Eddy went to register to vote four years later and conflicting identification documents started to churn up. A gracious judge allowed Gabriel to give up his lie and become Eddy again. For the price of community service, he’d avoided jail time. And as it turned out, his dad had continued down a bad path and overdosed three years earlier, so Mom and son did not have to live in fear any longer. While the story was tragic, it meant that the bones found at Pinetree Slope were not Eddy’s.
Emily clicked out of her email when her phone rang. There was that number from lower east Michigan. This time she recognized it and a little zing pinged up her spine.
“Dr. Payton?” she said, standing up to stretch and holding in a yawn.
“Dr. Hartford. So good to hear your voice,” he said.
“Likewise.”
“I’m calling about the Pinetree Slopes remains. I have some more information for you. Is now a good time?”
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