It takes me a moment to realize what he’s reading. “Hey! That’s private!” I leap forward and try to snatch the computer off the table.
He shoots to his feet and holds the laptop high in the air, out of my reach. “You studying to be a marksman or something?”
I bounce up and down like a basketball player blocking a three-pointer. “It’s research.”
“Hunting rifles and huge bullets? Is there a rabid elephant loose in the area I don’t know about?”
I stop hopping. “Why do you care about my Internet surfing habits? I mean it’s none of your business what I do anyway. Not that I’m doing anything.”
He hands me the computer. “Ah ha! Defensiveness equals guilt.”
I shut the lid and set it on the kitchen counter. “Nosiness equals rude.”
He narrows his eyes and rubs his chin. “You’re acting suspicious. And don’t deny it because I’ve known you and your antics all your life. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.” I stop. “Fine. I found a bullet.”
He remains silent for a few minutes, as his brains works to process everything. “Where?”
“In the woods.” No need to mention Mo. I’m not going to lie, just can’t tell him the whole truth.
Wyn cocks his head. “So what? You think the bullet belongs to that guy from the store?”
“Al? Yup.”
Wyn shrugs. “Well, then let’s take the bullet to Carl. He can check for prints.”
I wrinkle my face. “Um, we can’t. I didn’t know what it was when I grabbed it so my prints are all over it.”
He slaps his forehead. “G, what were you thinking? You don’t seem to be all here these days. It’s like you’re a different person. You’ve lost your edge. Forgotten everything you know.”
I dip my head to one side and purse my lips together. “Come on, Wyn, cut me a break.”
His face softens. “All right. All right. Let me see it.”
I rub my eyes. “See what?”
“What else? The bullet, ding dong.”
I retrieve the casing from my jean pocket and place it in his hands. “Here. It’s not gonna help though. I already looked online and combed through Dad’s books. They all look the same. Probably from a standard hunting gun.”
Wyn holds it up to the lamp and inspects it before blurting out, “Holy shit.”
Survivor Skill #32
When hiking, be aware of hunters and know when hunting season is for certain animals.
I glance over his shoulder. “What is it?”
Wyn points to a ridge that runs down both sides of the cylinder. “Dum dum.”
I flick the back of his head. “Dude, stop with the ding dong and dum dum crap.”
Wyn thumps my forehead back. “Not you, silly. That’s what this is called. A dum dum.”
“What do you mean?”
He faces me, still pinching the bullet between his pointer fingers. “It means this isn’t really a standard .308. These dudes are making their own bullets in the woods. They’re serious about this, and they don’t want to get caught.”
“How do you know?”
“Captain’s talked about these types of bullets before. I think he caught someone using them a while back. One-Stoppers. At least, that’s what he calls them. Here, I’ll show you. Give me your knife.” I hand him my pink Swiss Army knife, and he jams it into the seam. After jiggling the end, the bullet pops open. A couple small steel balls roll across the table. “See. These guys are loading bullets with ball bearings. The bears don’t have a shot in hell.”
I pick up one of the little balls and roll it around in my palm. “What does it do?”
“The bullet expands on impact, making the hole much bigger. Guarantees a kill, and the bullet is completely untraceable. Wonder why they’re using these? Not really standard for your average jerk hunting off season.”
My eyes widen as another puzzle piece falls into place. “When I was in Dad’s office earlier, there were some articles about bear poaching. Talked about hunters selling bear parts—gall bladders and paws—for a ton of money overseas.”
“What about the bear at the Station 19? Was he cut up?”
I picture Simon lying on the ground. “No, he was intact. Nothing seemed to be missing. From what I saw, it was a thrill kill.”
Wyn whistles. “Well, if anyone is poaching and selling bear parts, it’s more serious than we thought. It’s a federal offense. We gotta tell Captain.”
I plead with him. “Wait. Not yet. I need your help first.”
He shakes his head and frowns. “Noooo way. I know that look. Your idea of help is either a felony or a hike up Mount Kilimanjaro.” I stare at him, pleading with my eyes. His face softens, and he pokes the dimple in my chin. “Damn it! I hate that I can’t say no to you.”
I grin. “No, you don’t.”
“You don’t deserve me.” He releases an exasperated growl before answering. “What do you want me to do this time?”
“I need to get on Carl’s computer.”
“You’re nuts!” His voice has a pinch of panic mixed with dash of anger. He pushes me aside and hops to his feet, pacing the room like a caged animal.
I grab his arm and get him to look at me. “Hear me out first. I saw a note in my dad’s case file that Carl found a bullet shell. If I can see a picture of it, maybe it’ll match this one.”
“Captain would have noticed a dum dum.”
“Maybe he missed it.”
His body tenses, and his lips purse. “I doubt it.”
“Then maybe he knows about it and isn’t saying anything,” I blurt out.
Wyn glares at me and his voice rumbles. “So what, Captain’s crooked now? You’ve gone too far this time. I’m outta here.” He storms toward the door.
I block him from leaving. “Wait, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
He crosses his arms. “How dare you accuse him? First of all, he’s the closest thing I’ve known to a father, and you know how I feel about him. Secondly, Captain’s known you your whole life. Not to mention he busts his butt for this town. In more ways than one. Take it back, or I’m leaving and you can do this on your own.”
I hang my head. He’s right. I’m so desperate for answers, I’m accusing friends and family of crazy stuff. “I’m sorry. I’m tired. This is starting to get to me.”
He takes in a deep breath. “Starting to? Look, I know you’re having a hard time, but you gotta be careful what you say. Blaming innocent people because your world is messed up is not going to change anything.”
Clutching his hand, I nod. “I know. I’m sorry. Will you help me? I need to get that evidence file. Find out about that bullet.” I grab my notebook and start rifling through the pages. “On CSI, they catalog everything in some kind of evidence software.”
“Only this isn’t CSI. This is real life and, if you get in trouble, it doesn’t end in an hour.”
I hold up my notebook and point to the file name, smiling. “See. Here it is. If I can match this bullet to the ones in the file, we’ll have proof there’s a connection. But I need your help.”
Wyn sighs. “Fine. But this time … you better get in and out.”
I pounce on him and hug his neck. “I’ll be as quick as a cricket.”
“Let’s hope you don’t get squashed.” I realize we’re embracing so I peel my arms off his neck and we separate. Even though we are now standing a few inches apart, I can feel the heat drawing me in.
He clears his throat and steps back. “Captain’s still out of town until tomorrow night. It’s the only day we can go.”
I follow where he’s going. “Yeeeaaaaahh. Only Bernice will be there.”
He waves me off and struts toward the door. “No problem there. I can get her outta the office, but it won’t be for long. She’s real picky about leaving the place unattended in case Captain calls.”
Then I snap my fingers. “Shoot, I have an appointment with Dr. Head. Mom’ll kill me if I do
n’t go.”
Wyn strolls over to the door and flings it open to leave. “With the current condition of your psyche, I would recommend you never miss it. So I’ll meet you there when you’re done.”
Survivor Skill #33
In the wilderness, denial can be dangerous when facing real fears and challenges.
The next morning, I hide in bed until Mom screams up the stairs. “Grace, we’re leaving in five minutes!”
I throw back the covers and linger in front of my closet. What does one wear to a B&E? In addition to attending my second felony, I plan to meet Mo later. With or without my bike, I’ll find a way. This time, I want to look extra good. Not like I-tried-too-hard good or that would be totally obvious, considering my idea of formal is a clean shirt. I’m going for sporty boho.
After sifting through raggedy clothes, I choose a pair of tan pants from the back of my closet that I’ve never worn, my good hiking boots, and a black fitted t-shirt with a cool butterfly design on the front.
Before getting dressed, I glance at the covered mirror and stand in front of the old sheet for a moment, mustering up the nerve to peek. Reaching over, I grip the corner of the cloth and yank. The cover slides down the glass and curls into a heap on the rug. I gaze at my reflection.
My long dark hair fans out over my shoulders. I barely recognize my own body. My legs reach up higher than I remember. My boobs are still small but slightly fuller. I smile. And my reflection smiles back.
I have to say, I look pretty good.
With Mo, I feel beautiful. Like a woman, for the first time.
~~~~
The whole way into town, neither Mom nor I say a word. Eleven point seven miles of awkward silence. Makes a twenty-minute trip seem like an eternity. I cough a few times to add noise on top of the truck’s choppy melody. Every time my mouth opens to talk first, Luci jostles around in the back, making me steam all over again.
Finally, we reach Dr. Head’s office. I’m so relieved to escape the quiet ride from hell, I practically fall out the door.
Only then does Mom speak. “I’ll pick you up at work.”
Without answering, I shut the door ultra hard to be extra obnoxious. The window rattles, threatening to shatter right alongside our relationship. I charge straight into the brick building with purpose and slam the door behind me, never looking back.
Once inside, I peek through the thin, cheap drapes and watch her sitting in the truck with her head hanging. She opens the door slightly as if she’s coming in and then slams it shut again. She sits there until her shoulders start to shake. I stand frozen, watching Mom cry, not knowing what to do, but wanting so much to run out and comfort her. Just talk. Like we did before Dad went missing.
Like we haven’t done since.
A few minutes later, Mom wipes her face and rolls out of the parking lot, taking her frustration out on Dad’s clutch. Tears clutter my vision as I watch the distance between us grow until the truck becomes only a dot on the highway.
Once she’s gone, I drag myself upstairs to Dr. Head’s office. This is the first time I’ve ever been punctual. It’ll probably give him a heart attack. Or worse, he’ll think, “we’re making progress.”
When I push through the door, Dr. Head jerks his head up, startled as expected. He checks his crazy-eyed clock. “Grace, you’re on time.”
I study my watch. “Actually, I’m a minute and forty-three seconds early.”
He comes out from behind the desk and sits in his therapist’s chair with a notepad on his lap. “Didn’t think you would show after you missed our appointment the other day. You know I’ll still have to charge your mom.”
“Trust me, I’ve heard all about it. And if you don’t mind, I’ll just pay for it myself.”
Dr. Head looks a bit surprised. “That’s nice of you.”
“It was my fault. Besides, it will make life a little easier at home.”
He doesn’t miss a beat or a chance to dig into my psychological state. “So your life at home is hard?”
I plop down in my assigned chair. No use fighting it anymore. “That’s an understatement.”
Dr. Head lights a pipe and props his feet on a small fabric stool that reminds me of my granny’s old Sunday hat. I cough, emphasizing my annoyance at the smoky intrusion on my lungs. Doesn’t bother him any. No matter what the situation, he always seems unfazed. He blows out a smoke ring before asking anything. “Because of your dad?”
“What else is there? Though I’m pretty sure Mom would say it’s because of me.” I huff at my bangs, realizing we’re already talking about my problems, and I’ve haven’t even been in the chair for a full minute. Obviously, I’ve lost my touch.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” He takes his glasses off and cleans them with the corner of his button-down shirt. “She’s going through a tough time too, ya know.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe I’m tired of worrying about her. Maybe she should worry about me for a change. She is the mother. I mean, she drove me here and didn’t talk the whole way. What parent does that for no reason?”
Dr. Head gets up and pulls his chair next to mine. He breathes through his teeth, sounding like a balloon with a small leak. “I need to tell you something.”
I sit up straight and prepare myself for some psychobabble. “About me or my mom?”
He sits up straighter and exhales before speaking. “Actually, it’s about your dad.”
My mouth clamps shut. It takes a lot of energy to toss out a word. “Okay.”
He scratches his chin, but keeps a straight face. “I talked to your mom last night.”
I groan. “She called you too? Geez, does the whole town have to know I was out late? It’s not exactly front page news .”
He butts in. “Actually, she came here to see me.”
My chest rises and falls much quicker than before. Otherwise, I don’t move. Can barely swallow. “To talk about me?”
He exhales before answering. “You could say that.”
“And?”
“She wanted me to discuss something with you.”
I shift in my seat as sweat dribbles down my back. “Dr. Head, can you just tell me what you’re trying to say?” I grab the armrests and brace myself for something to crash into me.
He reaches over and grabs the tissue box.
“Thanks.” I grip the box in my lap, crushing the cardboard sides. Is he expecting major waterworks or something? Whatever he’s about to say isn’t going to be good. I relish in the moment of ignorance, waiting for him to spill the beans.
He speaks very slowly. “Grace, your mom got a call from Carl yesterday.”
My mouth dries out like the Sahara in summer. Great, now my mom knows about the evidence I found. This will cost me at least six more months in therapy. “Is this about the Cheetos bag? Did Carl find something?”
Dr. Head looks confused. “The Cheetos bag? No. I’m afraid it’s something else.” He pauses to pack his pipe. “They found a shirt floating in the river.” Everything seems to stop as I wait for his next sentence. “It’s your dad’s.”
It takes a second for my brain to play back what he said. Both hands slide up and cover my mouth, allowing only a whisper to escape through my fingers. “Oh God. Is there more?”
He frowns and nods at the same time. His eyes even look a little moist. “It was shredded to bits and had … blood on it.”
I stare at him as if I didn’t quite hear exactly what he said. Then I close my eyes and picture Dad walking away that final morning. How he stopped and saluted me as I stood watching out my window, barely awake. I can’t imagine not ever seeing him again. My throat tightens, and I cough a few times to clear any blockage.
Dr. Head is still talking while my eyes are shut. “They are officially closing the case and declaring your dad—”
“Dead.” I choke out the word. It tastes bitter in my mouth, making me gag.
“Carl think the shirt confirms the drowning theory.”
I releas
e the breath I’ve been holding for God knows how long. I study the bracelet Dad gave me, not able to quite comprehend that this may be the last gift I’ll ever get from him. “Why didn’t Mom tell me?”
“I think she tried to find you. Then I guess she thought it was best for me to tell you in here. In case you need to talk about anything.”
“Maybe I just need her.”
Dr. Head nods as he lights the tobacco. “She was barely able to tell me without crying. She didn’t want you to see her like that. But I agree the communication between you two needs a lot of work.”
I sit there unable to process anything. As if there’s a wall surrounding my brain, preventing some information from passing through. I can’t imagine what happened to Dad, but even I know this isn’t a good sign. The blood is proof he’s hurt in some way. And being in the river doesn’t look good either.
Dr. Head pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m so sorry. It’s normal to be sad.”
Normal? Nothing about my life is normal. My heart pounds out a Morse code emergency signal. The well-constructed dam holding back my emotions cracks as a single tear breaks loose and rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away immediately. “I’m fine. This doesn’t mean anything. The blood only proves he was hurt.”
Dr. Head closes my really, really thick file and rocks in his chair. “I’m sure it was quite a fall. None of us want to believe he drowned. But we can’t change it. He’s gone, and your mom is worried about you holding on so tight. Maybe this will help you move on.”
My heart is knocking against my ribs, begging to be free. “No.” The raspy tone doesn’t come close to resembling my real voice.
Dr. Head replaces his glasses on his nose and peers over them like an old librarian. He keeps his voice steady. “The longer you wait, the harder the grieving process will be. The sooner you accept where we are, the faster you can heal.”
Untraceable (The Nature of Grace Series) Page 19