Chapter 34
Chapter
Thirty-Four
My eyes open as I feel the touch of someone moving my hair away from my face. I blink, bringing Keith into focus.
“Good morning.” His deep rumble reminds me of our nighttime activities.
A smile curls my lips. “Good morning.”
“I hope you don’t regret—”
The shaking of my head stops his words. “I have no regrets.”
After a long good-morning kiss, Keith throws back the blankets from the bed.
I watch as he stands. When Craig and I were involved, he was only twenty-four or twenty-five years old.
The maturity of Keith’s body makes it obvious that he’s a man in ways Craig was not.
Keith turns his back to me. I watch as he steps into his blue jeans and pulls them up, the sexy V at the base of his spine catching my attention.
When he turns, his dark eyes shine. “Would you like coffee?”
“I’d love coffee.” I sit up, bringing the sheet over my breasts. “So this” —I motion between us— “isn’t going to be awkward?”
“No, Miss Thorne, unless you want it to be.”
“Now I know we’ve gotten past the Miss Thorne.”
His smile blooms, a full toothy smile like one I couldn’t recall seeing.
“Jill, I’ll make us coffee.”
In the bathroom, I take care of business, including splashing my face with water, brushing my teeth, and taking a brush to my unruly hair.
In the reflection, I notice red splotches on my neck similar to the other morning.
The difference is that this morning, I have full recollection of what took place.
There wasn’t anything I didn’t want.
By the time I slip into pajama pants and a sweatshirt, Keith is out on the front porch with two mugs of coffee. He turns as I step through the doorway, his bare chest on display.
Stark lake is still, a mirror reflecting the trees near the shorelines. Going to the railing, I lift my face to the light-blue morning sky and listen to the sounds of nature. Warmth comes to my back as Keith steps up behind me. His bare chest radiates heat, and his muscular arms cage me.
I spin in his grasp.
“You’re beautiful, Jill.”
“Thank you for last night.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I have to go back to Marquette soon.”
Nodding, I exhale. “I need to go back to my life too.” I splay my fingers over his chest. “I’m not needy. We don’t need to make lame attempts to see one another or stay in touch.”
“I wouldn’t mind knowing you’re good.”
I inhale the masculine scent of his skin as I grin. “I’m good right now. Let’s not make promises. Just good memories.”
Keith nods, releasing the railing and we both take seats in the Adirondack chairs facing the lake.
“What are your plans for today?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” I look around for my phone. “Let me go find my phone.”
I locate it in the kitchen charging. When I bring the screen to life, it appears I’ve missed text messages from Liv and Echo. Taking it out to the porch, I pull up Liv’s message.
“My sister Liv messaged last night. She said that Julie is home and asked if she could stop by.”
“Last night?” Keith’s eyes open wide. “I hope she didn’t.”
My smile lifts my cheeks. “If she did, she didn’t let us know.”
I send her a text message.
“SORRY, I’M ONLY SEEING YOUR TEXT NOW. I WENT TO BED EARLY. WORN OUT.”
That was mostly true.
I receive a reply almost immediately.
“WORN OUT. SAME REASON I DIDN’T STOP AT YOUR COTTAGE. GLAD TO KNOW YOU’RE OKAY. I WISH YOU WEREN’T OUT THERE ALL ALONE.”
I scoff, wondering what she’d say if she knew I wasn’t alone. Instead of opening that can of worms, I give her message a thumbs-up.
After we finish our coffee, Keith stands, telling me his plans for the day. He wants to follow up on a few things before he leaves town. “It’s a seven-and-a-half-hour drive to Marquette.” He turns toward the lake and sighs. “For the first time since I arrived, I don’t want to leave.”
“We have lives. Maybe we’ve given enough time to our suspicions.”
He faces me. “If I don’t learn anything else, I’m taking off in the morning. I can’t put off my captain any longer.”
My thoughts go to Echo and my more valid excuse. “I’m going to stick around to be sure Julie recovers.”
“Are you going to visit her?”
I shrug. “I’ll see if anyone in my family, other than Liv, reaches out.”
A tad awkwardly, we say goodbye.
After a shower, I sit down at my laptop and check my emails.
Echo’s text and email ask me if I’ve seen her earlier email from yesterday. As I start to open it, my phone rings. Liam’s name is on the screen. For the next few hours, he and I have a long discussion about a new visual-effects issue with the episode of Under the Surface that’s currently filming.
Eating a turkey sandwich for lunch, I think about Keith driving back to Marquette. That thought reminds me of Theo’s challenge, the one to research the cold case in Marquette. I consider asking Keith about it and push that thought away.
Damn, he’s in my thoughts too frequently.
As much as I want to be more hands-on in our quest for answers, like Keith, research is what I do.
I spend much of the afternoon analyzing the pictures of Craig and adding more scribbles to my notebook.
The exposed intestine is disgusting, yet I can’t help but describe it in my notes for a future show.
My phone stays on the counter, not vibrating with messages from my family. I heard from Liv last night and this morning, but it still bothers me that my mom hasn’t reached out. I know she’s beside herself with Julie. A quick text to her oldest daughter wouldn’t take time away from her youngest.
About four thirty, I drive into town and stop at the Dollar Store. If I only buy one bottle of wine, I can’t overdo the drinking. Besides, spending the day dissecting the pictures of Craig has me unsettled. After the Dollar Store, I swing by the Walleye Tavern.
It’s that time of day when the pool tables are hopping, and the dining room is still sparsely populated.
“Jillian,” Theo says without his usual handsome smile.
“I thought I’d stop by to let you know I’m still okay.”
His smile makes a limited-time appearance. “Good to know. Did you move to your parents’ place?”
“No,” I confess. “I’m still out at the old Iverson place. I kept my doors locked.”
Pressing his lips together, Theo shakes his head. “I heard Keith Gilbert is leaving town tomorrow. It won’t be soon enough as far as I’m concerned.”
I wonder where Theo heard that piece of gossip. Instead of asking, I say, “I think you’re wrong about him. Blue Gillians don’t know what it’s like to be an outsider.”
“It’s more than that.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Did you look into that cold case in Marquette?”
“Not yet. I will.” I started a few times and got sidetracked. “Hey, thanks for worrying about me.”
“Jillian, look up the case. Keith Gilbert is one of the detectives working it.”
“I will, Theo. Thanks again.”
“It’s what friends do. Thanks for stopping by.” He quirked a brow. “Do you want a drink?”
“More than you know.” I lift my hand. “See you later.”
As I unlock the door to cottage two, I realize I should have ordered a cheeseburger to go, remembering that another turkey sandwich is my only option. Before I make my dinner, I walk around the cottage, checking each window and door.
The temperature warmed even more during the day than yesterday. I open the door with only a screen at the front of the cottage. As I’m cleaning up my dinner dishes, my phone pings. My anticipation spikes, hoping it’s from Keith and not another from Echo. It’s neither; the message is from Liv.
“LEAVING MOM’S. COULD I STOP BY?”
A quick glance at the clock tells me it is after seven in the evening. The daylight hours are getting longer with the combination of Michigan’s recent time change—spring ahead—and the approaching summer solstice. That means we have about two hours of sunlight.
While I’m not falling victim to everyone’s warnings, I don’t like the idea of my sister leaving here after dark.
I text back.
“I’M IN COTTAGE TWO. COME BY.”
She replies:
“I’LL BE THERE IN FIFTEEN.”
In preparation for Liv’s visit, I eye what’s left of my iced tea from dinner and leave it on the kitchen counter.
The thought of hearing about my family, the people who haven’t reached out to me in two days, makes tea the less desired choice.
I pour myself the last glass from last night’s wine bottle, throw the bottle away, and put away the plate left from my dinner sandwich.
I also close my notebook, the one filling with unanswered questions.
Before I close my computer, I click on the zip folder and take one last look at Craig’s fractured thigh.
“The femur,” I say aloud, “is a big bone, the largest human bone.” I realize I’m not actually speaking to anyone.
However, talking aloud helps me think. “Accident. Sure, Sheriff Manes. Craig Gilbert’s cause of death was an accident.
He didn’t trip and break the strongest bone in his body, unless it was compromised. ”
Then, I do what I do, playing devil’s advocate, searching for all plausible possibilities.
There’s the real possibility that most to all of the injuries occurred postmortem.
It’s then I notice an attached PDF, I hadn’t seen earlier. My concentration has been on the pictures. Taking another sip of my wine, I click on the PDF. As is common, the title is redacted, obscuring Craig’s name. The date is present.
Not all medical examiners include written data. I almost missed this. As I begin reading, I find my answer to the question I posed to Austin: one hundred percent identity match with dental records.
Reading further, I conclude that the examiner’s findings correspond to my observations. The data is just that, observations and clinical findings. It’s not meant to conclude, only to inform.
Lacerations, contusions, abrasions, and fractured bones.
Vertebrae C-6 and L-12 were crushed. The rest of the report discusses observations during the autopsy, what isn’t visible from the pictures.
Bite marks consistent with a small carnivore and birds were located on the intestine.
Maggot infiltration within the exposed cavities.
I read the next paragraph twice, taken aback by what I see.
Cerebral hypoxia.
Pulmonary edema—alveolar spaces fluid-filled.
Metabolic acidosis.
Flipping open my notebook, I write the findings in my notes.
As I do, I’m hit with a revelation. Going to the bedroom, I gather my work notes, the ones Liam and I worked on a few days ago.
I turn the pages until I find what I wrote regarding drowning: loss of oxygen to the brain and lungs filled with fluid resulting in metabolic acidosis.
My pulse kicks up a notch.
Shit, could it be possible that Craig didn’t die from whatever landed him in the swale, but from the water?
He drowned.
If that’s the case, how long was he there? Why couldn’t he get out?
My stomach twists as the turkey sandwich I ate threatens to reappear.
I scan the rest of the report looking for toxicology findings. Craig Gilbert tested positive for multiple vitamins, creatine, and fish oil, as well as a low-dose diuretic. I write those down for further research.
No trace of poison or illegal substances.
Biting my lower lip, I stare at my notes. This information has given me more questions, not fewer. I quickly close the notebook and push down the computer screen. I’m not ready to discuss this information with anyone, especially my sister.
I want to share it with Keith.
As I take another drink of the wine, the pieces of the puzzle move around in my head.
I look up at the ceiling and speak, “Okay, God, I’ll add six months sober as a judge if you can help me find the answers to what happened.
” I’m not certain God is in the dealmaking business.
Maybe I should be happy I ended up with a gentleman two nights ago, and my sister has her eyeballs.
Perhaps that should be my incentive to avoid alcohol.
I ask for another favor. “Can you show me how Craig’s information is connected to Marty and Julie? ”
There is no audible response. No bolt of lightning.
Taking my glass, I walk to the front of the cottage and stand at the screen door, feeling the breeze on my face.
I step momentarily onto the porch. Out on the water are two fishing boats.
For a moment I think about how peaceful it would be to do nothing but watch a bobber for endless hours.
What must that be like, to let the cares of the world disappear while waiting for a fish to bite?
As I mill that thought around, a knock comes from the back door.
Entering the front door, I’m able to see all the way through the cottage.
I left the sheer curtain pushed to the side of the window.
Liv peers back at me. My sister hasn’t changed, looking the same as she did the last time I saw her and the day before that.
We Thornes look similar, shades of red hair, and blue eyes.
Even our builds are similar, except for Ollie because, well, he’s a man and doesn’t have the curves we girls do.
I hurry toward her.
“Liv,” I greet as I open the back door, “come in.”
She takes a step in. “Wow, the Harrisons really fixed up this place.”
“You’ve been in here before?”
She grins. “Phrogging didn’t start with Julie’s age group.”
“No shit?” I laugh.
“No shit. But you don’t have to mention that to Becky. The Iversons owned this place then.” She eyes my glass of wine. “I have to drive back to Three Rivers, but after spending the day with our family, I’d love a glass of whatever you have.”
“Coming up.”
As I pour the finest wine the Dollar Store has to offer into a glass, I ask, “How is Julie?”