Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Ifight the tears as I pull away from my parents’ home. “I didn’t come back to dig up old ghosts,” I remind myself. “I’m also not trying to create problems.”
I repeat those phrases in my head as I pull onto Main Street.
Heading toward the Walleye Tavern, I turn north. With lunch consisting of a few bites of chicken salad, I decide to get out of this village. The walls feel as if they’re closing in on me. I do what I always do—I run. This time my purpose is to go to a town with more options.
Reading the sign telling me I’ve left the incorporated village of Blue Gil lifts my spirits. Nevertheless, Craig Gilbert is in my thoughts.
An accident.
None of my cable series would close a case with such a vague conclusion. Then again, maybe that’s fiction. Inhaling, I follow Maple Road as it turns into County Road 62. It’s the long route to Lawton, but driving the hills reminds me of bike rides Liv and I used to take in the summertime.
The sky above the blooming scenery is a mixture of clouds and sun. It’s the kind of sky that gives one the hope for the warmer weather to come and at the same time, sends a chill over your flesh, leaving goose bumps in its wake.
Don’t cause problems.
My knuckles blanch as I hear my mother’s voice and tighten my grip of the steering wheel. When Becky called and told me about Craig, I didn’t immediately decide to rearrange my schedule and take a series of planes to Michigan. The process was more drawn out.
I did what I do.
I began searching for details.
My curiosity grew until it morphed into the plan that now has me driving narrow country roads in search of civilization. Never once during that planning process did I set out to cause problems. Maybe—perhaps I want something completely different.
I want answers.
After six years of a life I never imagined living, I gave into a compulsory need to know if Craig ever thought about us. Was there ever a small sliver of regret?
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I inhale deeply and square my shoulders. I can’t allow this quest for answers to be personal. If I do, I’ll never see the clues. Instead, I must concentrate as Jill Thorne, criminal/legal visual-effects researcher.
With multiple big-box stores to choose from in Lawton, I pull into Wagoner’s parking lot.
Thirty minutes later, with enough groceries to last me at least a week, I stop at a gas station in Lawton.
All my wandering has depleted the tank. After starting the gas flow, my growling stomach reminds me that despite groceries, I’ve barely eaten.
Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I walk toward the front doors of the small attached mini-mart. A bell jingles as I step inside.
I have a ready-to-eat salad in the car, yet my mind is debating the nutritional value of an apple or banana while my emotional self eyes the glazed donuts. As I turn toward the back refrigerators, I spot a woman down the aisle.
Our eyes meet.
The bottle of water slips from her grasp and bounces on the dirty floor.
It takes me a moment to recognize the blond woman. The pieces of the puzzle come together as the blood drains from her cheeks, and I notice her swollen eyes and the young boy at her legs. It’s been over six years since I laid eyes on her. The sight of her son causes my heart to ache.
My posture improves. “Mrs. Gilbert.”
She instinctively reaches for her son, pulling him closer. “Thorne? You’re the oldest Thorne girl?” The question comes from her increasingly pale lips.
Nodding, I offer, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Her eyes narrow and her voice is gravelly. “Why are you here? You moved away.”
Why am I here?
I’m here because I think there’s more to your husband’s death. That’s the reason, though I can’t make myself say it aloud. “I’m visiting. Julie’s graduation is coming soon.”
Serena Gilbert stands tall, her expression suddenly blank as if I’ve struck her.
“I am sorry,” I say again.
Shaking her head, Serena bends down, retrieves the bottle of water, and takes her son’s hand. “Come on, Joey. We need to get home.”
And just like that, she hauls the boy, his little legs trying to keep up as they head toward the cash registers.
For more than a few seconds, I stand statuesque, my hand hovering over a banana, wondering why Serena Gilbert would be with her son in Lawton the day after her husband’s funeral.
Surely, she has a house full of family and friends looking in on her.
Mom said the man in the blue truck is her brother-in-law.
By the time I make it up to the cash register with my donut—yes, I changed my mind—there isn’t any sign of the Gilberts. I contemplate asking the young man at the counter if Serena seemed odd, but by the looks of things, he’s more interested in whatever is on the screen of his phone.
Taking the faster route on my return from Lawton, I skirt past Old 44 toward town. Since I departed earlier this morning, the clouds have broken, giving way to late afternoon sun. The pale blue sky has me again wandering.
I turn and drive by the high school.
Not much has changed since I graduated, except that now, along the drive that goes up to the building, there is a makeshift memorial.
The ground is littered with stuffed animals, flowers, and balloons.
I slow the car as I drive closer, watching Mylar balloons blow and bob in the breeze.
There are also letters tossed onto the ground.
I can’t help but wonder what each one says.
Will they be read by anyone? The sheriff or Serena?
Fighting the urge to stop, I turn around in the mostly empty parking lot and find myself farther from the cottage.
Taking a side road, I come to the entrance to Brooks Park.
While it never became the town jewel that it was intended to be, Brooks Park was a place where high school students congregated when I was a teenager.
As the sun lowered, we’d gather to make plans for the evening festivities.
The vicinity has numerous secluded areas to disappear if you wanted privacy as well as abandoned fields for bonfires if you wanted a crowd.
Summer brought coolers of cheap beer, recreational marijuana, and even stronger drugs if that was your thing.
Back then, there was an old barn up the road. I also wondered if Mr. McKenna, the owner, ever suspected that at least half of the town’s teenagers lost their virginity in that barn amongst the old straw and musty blankets.
Thinking about it now makes my skin crawl.
God only knows how many mice and spiders also called that barn home.
My first visit to McKenna’s barn didn’t end the way I intended.
At fifteen years old, I decided it was time to find out what all the fuss was about.
Mostly my goal was to get sex over with.
Listening to the stories of other girls, I was certain I was one of the only virgins left on the planet—definitely the only one left in Mills County.
I didn’t lose my virginity that night, nor did the boy I was seeing.
We both thought we wanted to. After each drinking a beer, which made my stomach queasy, we climbed the tall ladder to the hayloft.
The others down on the first level knew exactly what was going to happen.
The boys below cheered when we reached the top.
The girls wore smiles, but I knew some were jealous that it wasn’t them.
Others looked on with bitchy indifference.
Falling onto the wool blanket, Justin Sims and I fumbled and pet, neither of us sure what to do next.
He unbuttoned my top and after unsuccessfully undoing my bra, lowered the cups.
Nothing about his touch was enticing or erotic.
The loft was dimly lit, the only light coming from the moon through the slats in the walls.
We were hot and sticky from the late spring’s humidity with stale beer on our breath.
Time passed and the jeers grew louder from the floor below.
Finally, we whispered our agreement, and the rest was a production.
Perhaps it was the beginning of what would be my career.
By the time we made our way down the ladder, the others thought they knew what we’d done.
They didn’t know we’d both chickened out.
The next school day, Justin and Jillian were all everyone could talk about.
I should have minded, but I didn’t. According to Blue Gil’s high school code of conduct, I was then one of the many—an insider, without having to do it. Justin, the sophomore who claimed to have taken me, was also part of the in crowd. It was a lie we both willingly perpetuated.
To keep up the charade, we continued to see one another. Our friendship lasted until his senior year.
Last I heard, after college, Justin Sims moved to Grand Rapids.
I pull the car into the parking lot at Brooks Park alongside multiple others as well as bikes filling the two bike racks.
The playground equipment has been updated since I was younger.
The monkey bars are now replaced with colorful, safer structures.
The new slide won’t deliver first- or second-degree burns on a sunny summer day.
The ground is no longer hard-packed dirt but a softer, processed surface.
Despite the sunshine, as I open the car door, a cool breeze blows my hair.
Tucking my hands under the sleeves of my jacket, I make my way toward the open mowed fields where an impromptu football game is in progress.
I don’t recognize any of the players on the field, differentiated by the well-known distinction of shirts versus skins.
My attention goes to the metal stands. Only five rows high, there is a group of girls, some cheering, others posing for selfies, and the rest talking to one another.
Later in the summer, the fields will be lined with white chalk for softball games played by the men and women of Blue Gil of all ages. I believe my father is still in an over-fifty league. The games are only the prelude for drinks later at the Walleye Tavern.
I remember sitting in those stands with my friends and watching either a game of football or baseball.
It’s then that I see a familiar face, lighter red hair like our mom’s and big blue eyes like both of our parents.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my youngest sister in person, but our mother has been good at sending pictures, and of course there is the ever-present social media.
I’m struck by how thin she appears. I hadn’t noticed that in any of the pictures.
Julie hasn’t spotted me. She’s busy talking and laughing with other girls as the boys continue to run, throw, catch, and tackle, their yells, curses, and plays filling the air.
I contemplate if I should walk up to Julie—the dilemma of the out-of-touch sister. More than likely, she doesn’t know I’m in town. And if I accept my mother’s invitation, I’ll see her tomorrow.
Standing about twenty-five yards away, I lean against a tree and watch as I try to recall what I was busy doing before my high school graduation. I can’t help but wonder if one of the boys currently taking part in the football performance was one who found their coach dead in a ditch.
Were these boys and girls crying yesterday?
Today as they continue their lives, is it an act of sanity or have they moved on?
“Miss Thorne?”
I turn to the deep voice, surprised by the uniform. I don’t need to read the gentleman’s nametag to know the man beside me. “Sheriff Manes, you still recognize me.”
Nodding, he replies, “It’s been a while.” He turns toward the girls on the metal stands. “You here for your sister’s graduation?”
That would make the most sense.
“Work.” I take a breath and turn toward him. “I research real” —I start to say crimes— “incidents to make fictional ones more realistic.”
He nods. “I know what you do. Tell me, what has that to do with Blue Gil?”
“Coach Gilbert made the national news when he went missing, but there’s been radio silence since he was found.”
The sheriff nods again.
“Is there anything you could add to what little information has been released?”
“Nope.”
“Sheriff, how did the coach die and why aren’t other people wondering?”
“Young lady, I’m not privy to everyone’s wonderings. I would suppose people wonder all sorts of things, like why the daughter of two very respectable Blue Gillians would disappear for six years to return now.”
“I didn’t disappear,” I reply a bit defensively.
“I moved away for school and started working. My work brought me back.” When my reply is left unanswered, I say, “I read that Coach Gilbert was found by two members of the football team.” I tilt my head toward the game still happening.
“One of those boys wouldn’t be the one who found him, would he? ”
“Names were kept from the press for a reason, Miss Thorne.”
“You wouldn’t be able to keep them out unless they were minors.”
Sheriff Manes shrugs.
“It must have been traumatic for them. I wonder why Coach wasn’t found sooner, by you or another one of Blue Gil’s finest.”
“I personally patrolled the area twice.”
“And you missed him? Was it because of the rain? Or do you think someone moved him?”
“Hmm.”
If I know anything about small-town law enforcement, admitting mistakes isn’t something they relish. “How much rain did you get?”
“Now, that wouldn’t be hard for you to find out. I bet that phone of yours has that information.”
“Do you think his death was an accident?” I ask point-blank.
The sheriff tips the front of his hat. “Watch yourself, Miss Thorne. Get whatever you came to get and don’t cause trouble.”
He starts to walk away, but I hurry ahead and stand in his way. “What is everyone hiding?”
His chin rises. “Good day. I suspect we’ll see you tomorrow at church.”
It isn’t a question, yet I reply, “My mother asked me to attend.”
“God’s house ain’t a place for nosing around. We’re busy here in Blue Gil. Got graduation and the season starting. Best to leave things the way they are.” He takes a step to the side and walks toward the parking lot.
When I turn, I see that the girls in the stands are looking my way. A cute brunette turns to Julie. With a nod, my sister waves and calls out my name.