Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
Josie’s body jostled with every pothole they encountered as Gretchen maneuvered her vehicle through the Cahill Woodling Cemetery.
It was located forty-five minutes northwest of Denton, near Selinsgrove.
Most of the headstones looked quite old.
The roads inside its black Gothic wrought-iron fencing were clearly not well-maintained, if they were maintained at all.
Josie knew nothing about Turner’s upbringing other than the things he’d told her in the last few days, but if his mother was buried here, it stood to reason he’d grown up in this part of the state.
She wondered if he’d applied for the job in Denton to be closer to his mother’s grave.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Gretchen, wincing as another hole in the road sent her body flying right off her seat.
The only thing that kept either of them from hitting their heads were their seat belts. Josie found the grab handle on her side and clutched it tightly. “This is where he said he’d be. He’s been here before. It was on the GPS records from his phone.”
What she didn’t say was just how closely she’d looked at most things on Turner’s phone.
Josie could call it due diligence, but the truth was that having a look into his life, and in a sense, his brain, via his cell phone was weirdly fascinating to her.
Everything she believed about him up until she found out he had a daughter was so radically different than the parts of him she’d recently learned about.
For example, she’d always thought the endless scrolling he did was on social media.
He didn’t even have social media accounts.
The apps weren’t even installed on his phone.
She was pretty sure it was the dictionary he’d downloaded that kept his thumbs in constant motion.
What word would he have chosen today?
Byzantine?
No. Tenebrous.
Josie’s phone chirped with a text message.
She’d left it in the console so she could access it easily if Noah called or messaged, but it was just the Chief telling them he was going to accompany Noah to the bed and breakfast. Their first order of business, if they wanted to move forward with any investigation into Griffin Holt, was to make sure they had a firm connection between him and Maxine.
While Josie and Gretchen were on their way to ask Turner about whether he’d ever met or heard of the guy, Noah was putting together a photo lineup that he and the Chief would show Edward Greathouse to see if he could positively identify Griffin Holt as the man who had been meeting with Maxine at the bed and breakfast for almost a year.
They crested a hill, and near the bottom Turner’s Impala sat on the side of the road, nearly touching a row of headstones.
The grave markers in this area looked a bit newer.
He stood in front of a particularly large one, a bouquet of flowers at his feet.
He was in a suit again and she was baffled that he didn’t get heatstroke just from standing around in that thing.
He turned at the sound of their approach, squinting against the sun, watching as they parked.
As Gretchen reached for her door handle, Josie said, “Go easy, okay?”
Gretchen sighed. “I’m not that big of a bitch.”
Josie hummed, waggling her hand in the air in a maybe, maybe not gesture.
Laughing, Gretchen lightly punched her arm and climbed out of the SUV. Turner eyed them as they picked their way through the markers. He gave a telltale tug of his beard before looking Gretchen up and down. “Parker.”
Josie groaned. He just couldn’t help himself, and she knew from experience that if anyone found it impossible not to stoop to his level, it was Gretchen.
“Jackass,” she responded, face impassive.
He looked down his nose at her. “Guess we’re even. Good thing, because I don’t have a dollar on me.”
Gretchen tipped her head to the side. “That’s too bad. Guess you’ll have to come up with some other way to thank me for this.”
Josie watched as her friend produced a slim can of Turner’s favorite energy drink from her back pocket and held it out to him. She hadn’t even seen Gretchen grab it from the car. She hadn’t seen it at all, actually.
Turner eyed it suspiciously. “Why do I feel like there are strings attached to this?”
“I’m trying to be nice to you right now,” Gretchen said.
Slowly, he took it, watching her like she was a snake about to strike. “I appreciate it?”
Gretchen put a hand on her hip. “Is that a question?”
“No, just… this is weird.”
“I don’t like it either,” Gretchen said.
They had a stare-off for another handful of seconds, Josie shifting back and forth on her feet, feeling the secondhand awkwardness. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she said, “We think we’ve tracked down the guy who was having affairs with Maxine and Dani.”
A muscle under his eye twitched but he managed to match her cool professional tone. “How?”
Josie recounted the convoluted path that had led them to Griffin Holt’s doorstep. Turner started pulling at his beard in earnest. His deep blue eyes darkened. The rise and fall of his chest grew faster.
Gretchen tapped the can clutched in his hand. “Drink this.”
Josie was sure he hadn’t slept since she showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night.
He probably needed the caffeine, but Josie didn’t think it was a good idea given his rising anxiety.
She knew what Gretchen was doing, though.
Giving him something to focus on. Something physical to do. A micro-distraction.
He thumbed the can open and took a sip. They were both used to him guzzling it like some drunken frat boy, but neither of them commented on that.
“Does he have them? Did you go to his house? What are you doing here? Oh, fuck.” He stumbled backward and Gretchen lunged forward, catching him under his elbow before he fell into his mother’s headstone.
“We don’t know anything yet, Turner. We’re still looking, okay?”
The can dropped from his hand. His eyes were terror-blind and under his beard, his skin turned ashen.
“Hey,” Gretchen said, fitting her body under his arm to take on his weight. “Hey, listen to me.”
Josie wrapped his other arm over her shoulders, holding his wrist as he wobbled back and forth between them.
“Turner,” Gretchen said firmly.
Without discussing it, Josie and Gretchen moved in tandem, guiding him toward Gretchen’s SUV.
With one hand, Josie opened the liftgate and then she helped Gretchen get Turner under it and seated on the edge of the cargo area.
His legs were long enough that they reached the ground.
Josie hopped up next to him, prepared to bar his chest if he fell over.
Even seated, he seemed unsteady and out of it.
Gretchen stepped right up to him, inserting herself between his legs, and lightly slapped his cheek. “Hey, Turner. Look at me. Look. At. Me.”
Josie leaned forward so she could see his face. His eyes were still unfocused. “We’re still looking for Dani and Cassidy,” she told him. “Do you hear me?”
“Pull it together,” Gretchen said, slapping his cheek a little harder this time.
His movements were slow and sloppy, but he caught her wrist in his hand. He blinked several times. Once his breathing slowed, he said, “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”
A wave of relief crashed over Josie. There he was.
“Slapping you?” said Gretchen as he dropped her arm. “I’m just sorry you weren’t really out of it. I could have gone harder.”
Turner shook his head as Gretchen took a couple of steps back.
Josie said, “You’re not even going to say anything about her being in your personal space?”
“I’m saving it for my sexual harassment complaint,” he said. “Quinn, you’re my witness.”
“Not a chance,” Josie laughed.
They fell silent. Josie estimated five minutes passed by the time Turner’s breathing was completely under control again. He pushed his fingers through his already unkempt curls. Then he waved his hands at them. “All right, get away from me. It’s hot enough out here without you two crowding me.”
Once Josie and Gretchen were a good three feet away, he said, “Did you bring him in yet?”
“Noah has to get an ID from the bed and breakfast owner first,” said Josie. “He’s headed over there now with the Chief to do a photo lineup.”
“No,” Turner said. “This will take too long. What if this bed and breakfast guy doesn’t ID him? What if you can’t find anything to tie him to Maxine or Dani? Then you can’t bring him in, can’t do anything, and the whole time, my wife and kid are right fucking there in his house!”
“Calm down, Turner,” Gretchen said. “We are going to get everything we need. I know we will. We just need a little more time.”
“We don’t have time, Palmer,” he said. “They don’t have time. My daughter doesn’t have time.”
His voice cracked again on the last word, the sound raw. For a minute, they just stood there in a loose circle. Josie knew they were all thinking the same thing. Cassidy and her mother might have run out of time days ago. That’s what the statistics told them. What they knew from experience.
“Quinn.”
Turner’s tone had gone from angry and disgusted to wary and curious. She looked up to see his brows draw down as he stared over her shoulder. Then his eyes shifted to hers. He glared.
“Quinn, did you do this?”