Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
EVERETT
I wake at five on Sunday morning, start a pot of coffee, then make my mental checklist for reviewing Marin’s case files while it brews.
But my thoughts drift to Vivian, and last night, instead.
I’ll be replaying her perfect mouth on my cock until the end of time.
I loved touching her, kissing her, holding her soft hand in mine, but making her come was by far my favorite. I’m the only one who’s gotten her there twice, huh? Challenge accepted. Next time, she’ll be coming for me as many times as she can take it.
Next time.
I run my hands through my hair and gaze through the window over the sink.
Am I stepping into the fire with this girl?
Though she admitted some of her past, she’s holding something back. She could have very good reasons for that, but what if those secrets come back to bite me in the ass like they have in the past?
I wish she was here, so I could bring her breakfast in bed. What does she like? Toast, maybe pancakes? How does she feel about coffee? I’ve seen her with tea, so maybe she doesn’t even like coffee. What about other things? Does she like to sleep in on the weekends? Or is Mateo like Logan when he was that age, and up with the sun?
The final splutter of the coffeemaker draws me back to my kitchen, and the work I need to accomplish this morning.
After pouring myself a cup of coffee, I pad into my office and settle at my desk. I spend an hour rereading the transcripts of the key interviews we conducted in Marin’s case.
The first is the 9-1-1 call placed by her mother at six fifteen in the morning, when she realized Marin hadn’t come home the night before. She had already called Marin’s friends, so the message has a frantic quality that chills my skin. It’s easy to imagine Ashley Lambert’s panic. It’s every parent’s nightmare.
Then I reread Zach’s interview of Beth Hutchins. Beth and Marin were close friends, but Beth hadn’t seen Marin since the previous morning, when Beth had been on her way into the diner for her shift as a waitress. Marin had passed her going the opposite way in her Ford Ranger. The two had waved like they usually did. They were supposed to meet up at a bonfire that night, but Marin never showed. Beth hadn’t been overly worried because the invite was casual. However, Beth’s texts went unanswered, which wasn’t like Marin. When Zach first questioned Beth, we were running with the belief that Marin was only missing. None of us had expected to find her body up in Lost River Canyon.
The next interview is Troy Robinson’s. At the time, he considered himself Marin’s best friend. He knew her habits, but not her secrets. It was only from another friend, Linnea Whittaker, that we learned Marin was seeing someone. But Linnea knew only that the guy wasn’t part of their friend group.
Tapping my pen against my notebook, I think back to the search for this mystery date. I canvassed Bitterroot Community College. Talked to Marin’s professors. Scoured CCTV footage, hoping to spot Marin talking to someone that fit the profile. But it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. I searched every single feed from campus the day Marin went missing, but she never appears. According to her professors and Troy, Marin failed to show up to her classes that day. The day previous, I watched her get into her truck in the parking lot just after three o’clock, then drive away, alone.
I checked with her coworkers at Bear Mountain Hay & Feed, but no one had noticed anything that stood out, such as a customer who lingered to talk to her or a car in the parking lot that didn’t belong. And with no security camera at the register, there wasn’t much else I could do.
I re-read the interview with both parents, then one we did with Marin’s brother too. We had help from Sofie Hayes, Zach’s wife and a skilled child psychologist, to make sure we didn’t traumatize the boy. Though learning of Marin’s loving and sometimes silly nature as an older sister was valuable, it didn’t give us any new leads.
Finally, we have my very short interview of Jason Prosser, Marin’s ex-boyfriend. Short because he’d brought his lawyer, who kept him on a tight leash.
When did you last see Marin?
December thirtieth.
What did you do together?
Talked.
About?
Us.
Is that when you broke up with her?
Yes.
How did she take it?
She cried.
When did Marin find out you’d been sleeping around while still in a relationship with her?
I don’t know.
According to her phone records, she called you on February fourteenth. Was it then?
I don’t remember .
February Fourteenth is Valentine’s Day. Did you have plans to see her?
No.
Based on what I learned from her friends, I knew that was a lie. But Jason’s lawyer shut that line of questioning down. I was angry as hell, but before I could get a warrant to confiscate his phone and search his property, Jason’s alibi for the night Marin was killed checked out. Jason also volunteered his DNA. When it didn’t match any of the evidence we collected from Marin’s body, the crime scene, or her truck, I realized we were barking up the wrong tree. Jason was certainly guilty of being an asshole and a selfish prick, but the likelihood of him being her killer was extremely low.
Tomorrow, I’m planning to ask Marin’s parents about that pendant. At the time of her death, the pendant was a mystery to them, and a dead end to us, but now, it’s a critical link to these murders.
But in asking them about it, I’m going to cause them so much pain.
An hour later, while I’m heating the griddle for Logan’s favorite chocolate chip pancakes, I text Vivian.
Thinking about you
Thinking about you too
Sleep okay?
Took me a while to stop replaying our time together
My pulse jumps.
Not sorry
Very funny. How was your night?
Rough. I wanted you here so I could hold you
The dots dance, then stop. What is she thinking right now? When can I get her alone again? How far can I step into the flames with this girl, and not get burned? Her reply finally arrives.
You lost sleep because of that?
And other things
Are you trying to get me worked up? It’s not even noon
I feel like crowing from the roof because hell yes I’m trying to get her worked up. Before I can think of a way to ask her to come over tonight so we can pick up where we left off last night when she calls.
“Morning,” I say.
“Morning,” she says with a hint of laughter. “What are you guys up to today?”
From upstairs, I hear the water running in the bathroom. Logan brushing his teeth. “Homework. Then we’ll probably play catch, run a few errands. What about you and Mateo?”
The fire in the woodstove crackles in the background. “Matty’s still asleep, so I’m getting in some work.”
I frown. “Like for the clinic?”
“No, it’s just some temporary work I took on.”
I want to ask more about this, but she continues, “Is there someplace I can chop kindling?”
“Are you out? Why didn’t you call me?”
“You’d drive all the way out here for a kindling emergency?”
“I’d drive faster for a kissing emergency.”
She laughs softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’ll get Dad to bring up kindling today.”
“Thank you.” I picture her sitting on the overstuffed chair watching the colors warm outside the big windows. It makes me want to be there with her. Maybe I’m the one having a kissing emergency.
“We’re visiting a rental property today,” she says, drawing me back to my kitchen.
I respect that she’s trying to take care of the situation for her and Matty as best she can, but it doesn’t mean I like her leaving Ruby Gulch. “Does this mean you’re not going back to The Meadows?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure I can break my lease yet. But if I stay, will I feel safe?”
I want to fix this for her. To keep her from feeling threatened again. Ever.
I should dial this protectiveness back, but I’m hard wired to feel this way about the people in my life. A flaw that’s proved disastrous in the past, so why am I not listening to the warning signs now?
I lean back against the counter and tap my clenched fist on the edge of the sink. “Sounds like a tough question to answer.”
She releases a sigh. “I’ll figure it out.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me, because I have no doubt she will. She’s choosing to be positive despite her challenging circumstances. It’s a testament to her resilience, and though she’d probably scoff if I said it out loud, I admire her for it.
“Is that offer of yours still on? To help at the trailer?” she asks.
I blink at the view outside my window. She’s just openly asked for my help—a first. “Just—” I release a soft breath “—tell me when, and I’ll be there.”
“Is tomorrow okay? After I get off work. Your mom said she would watch Matty for me.”
“I can be there after my shift.” Maybe Logan could hang with my parents too, so I could give Vivian my full focus. Plus, Logan would not be overjoyed to tag along if it involves cleaning.
I ladle a pancake onto the hot griddle. “You and Matty want to come to dinner at our place tonight? ”
“That sounds fun,” she says, sounding surprised, but pleased. “You sure Logan won’t mind?”
“I’ll double check, but I don’t see why he’d object.” I flip the pancake, the scent of melting chocolate and cinnamon crowding my senses. It makes me once again wish she were here right now, so I could share it with her.
“Okay.”
“I’ll send you my address. It’s near the middle school. I’m at the end of a cul-de-sac, with the basketball hoop over the garage.”
We settle on a time and say goodbye.
Logan and I grind through geometry, a history worksheet on the Spartan wars that is so dry and forgettable it’s a wonder either of us stays awake, and finish a book report for English, then take a break in the backyard with a game of catch. It blows me away how Logan seems to get stronger all the time, growing into his lanky frame before my eyes. His voice has started cracking and this summer we had to have the how-to-take-care-of-things talk. He was so embarrassed he couldn’t look at me.
Do girls have that happen to them? he asked.
Yep. It’s just not as, um, obvious.
He cringed.
“Would it be okay if miss Vivian and Mateo come for dinner tonight?”
He fires off a pass. “Sure.”
“Maybe you could play with Mateo for a bit?” I throw the football back, making him jump a little to grab it, but he’s so light on his feet, it’s like he levitated.
“He’s pretty cute for a rugrat,” Logan says before firing back another pass, this one with some meat in it, making my palms sting.
“It wasn’t so long ago you were a rugrat.”
“He’s wicked smart. Knows like a million facts.”
I throw the football back. “He show you his tape measure? ”
My throw goes wide but in a lightning-fast sprint, he snags it. “Yeah,” Logan replies, arching his arm back to fire off another pass. I take this one in the gut. I lob it back and he snatches it with ease.
“Are you into her?” Logan says, his eyes turning thoughtful as he flips the football in his hands. “Greta’s shipped you guys.”
I peer at him. Is this new terminology Greta’s influence? “Uh, is that a good thing?”
He laughs. “Not good or bad. It means you belong together.”
Is that so? Kind of a mindfuck considering my wildly swinging thoughts . Though I certainly like kissing her. Touching her. Making her smile.
“Are you okay with me asking her out?” I ask.
“Heck yeah.” His cheeks flush. “Just, like, don’t tell me stuff about it, okay? It’s weird.”
“Got it.”
We head back inside, and I convince Logan to help with cleaning up. He’s used to the Sunday routine, and I’m used to his grumbles, but we do laundry and scrub bathrooms. He finishes changing his sheets and packs up his schoolwork without me having to ask, so when his best friend Grant stops by asking if Logan can come shoot hoops for a while, I say yes.
I’m making a grocery list when my cell buzzes from my pocket. I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Is this Deputy Rumsey?” It’s an older woman.
“Speaking,” I reply.
“This is Beverly Ovenell, from The Meadows. I have a message to return your call?”
“Mrs. Ovenell, yes, thank you for calling me back.” I head to my office where I left my notebook and settle into the chair. “Is now a good time to talk?”
“I’ll be home tomorrow. Would you like to come by?”
“Sure,” I say. “One quick question though, if you don’t mind. Were you home during the day on Tuesday? ”
“Indeed, I was,” she replies. “Such awful business,” she adds, an edge to her tone.
“Is afternoon okay? Say two o’clock?” My morning’s already booked with The Lamberts.
“I’ll be ready,” she says.
We hang up, and I return to the kitchen, a little thrill dancing under my skin. Mrs. Ovenell might just be exactly what I have yet to obtain in this crime: a witness.