KAREN
Josie can be mad at me all she wants, but I told her the truth—everyone who came in contact with Derek Sickler ended up in a bad way.
The first was the woman from the bar. I will never forget the morning I found out what happened.
The ice in my iced coffee was melting, and so was my good mood. The kitchen radio faded into the background as I gaped at the front page of the newspaper in my hands.
BODY FOUND IN SUSQUEHANNA RIVER
The body of Sarah Holes, an Ohio native, was found in the Susquehanna River earlier this morning.
The police are investigating the drowning, which is the third this month.
They are asking for any witnesses who’ve been in contact with the deceased to come forward.
Drownings were nothing new in this part of Pennsylvania, especially during a rainy year when the river was deep and unforgiving to reckless paddlers and swimmers.
It was the photograph of the smiling woman staring at me from the page that made my insides twist with dread.
The loud rasp at the door jerked me out of my stupor. Through the kitchen window, I saw Donna’s car—I hadn’t even heard it pull up.
Donna didn’t wait for me to open the door. She was already stomping into my kitchen, flannel shirt over a tank, her bob a mess, holding a newspaper in the air. “Did you see this?”
I tossed my newspaper onto the kitchen table and drummed my fingers.
Donna took a seat across the table from me. She tapped the photo on the front page. “This the woman, ain’t it? The one you told me about the other day? Looking for that guy Derek?”
I nodded, our eyes meeting, her head nodding, mimicking mine.
“Goddammit, K,” she sighed. “Goddammit, you think he did it?”
I shrugged.
“That arrogant little shit,” she blurted.
Smokes, drinks, and swear words—that was Donna.
“He did it, didn’t he? Or it’s some wild coincidence.
You know how I feel about coincidences. The guy shows up here, has a fake driver’s license, starts schmoozing all the local girls, stirs up trouble, carries a goddamn gun.
” Donna bulged her eyes at me. “Then his wife shows up looking for him, and boom!” She raised both hands in the air. “She’s dead. Drowned!”
“It might have been an accident.”
“Oh, yeah?” Donna snorted. “’Cause she came looking for her hubby who’s some sort of twisted Casanova, and while at it, she decided to go for a swim? A stroll by the river? Slipped and fell? Give me a goddamn break, K!”
I knew it sounded bad, and something had to be done about it. “We need to call Steve,” I suggested.
“Steve and the whole goddamn police department.”
“D, hang on. I mean, call Steve—just Steve. Tell him how it is. About the guy, his wife. Let Steve bring the guy in and do the background check. We can’t be pointing fingers without proof.”
Donna threw her hands in the air. “He can point a gun at others, but we can’t point fingers. And how ’bout Steve checks his concealed carry permit while at it? And the place where he lives. Where does he live, by the way?”
I sighed, looking away.
“Just peachy, K! We don’t know!” She laughed angrily. “We don’t know a damn thing about that guy. What if he’s the next Ted Bundy?”
“Oh, zip it, D,” I snapped.
“And those two chiclets”—she nodded vaguely in the direction of Alysha’s room—“they don’t know shit from Shinola, and they don’t listen.”
“Calm down, will you? And call Steve. Now.”
I pushed off the chair and walked to the counter to make us fresh coffee.
Steve showed up just minutes later. He shook his head as we told him about Derek and the woman who came to my bar the other night.
“Do you know where he lives?” he inquired.
I didn’t track every slimeball who came into my bar, but this one was getting too close to my family. I should’ve done my research.
“Alysha!” I yelled. Nine in the morning, and she was in bed and probably would sleep until noon. “I’ll go get her.”
Five minutes later, Alysha, barefoot, in her shorts and tank, stood in the kitchen in front of our little council, squinting and rubbing her eyes.
“He lives off Market Street and Birch Lane,” she said. “I don’t know the house.”
“Bullshit,” I said, confronting her. “Don’t play stupid. Your car was towed from someone’s house the other day. His?”
“Oh my gosh, Mother! Why do I need to—”
“Enough!” I barked, and she froze like a deer in the headlights, her posture suddenly slumped and cowardly. I could call the tow place and ask Regi, who worked there, for the address, but I needed my daughter to come clean.
She gave the address and the phone number, then whined when I took her mobile from her and checked her messages. She stood there, beet red, like she should have after the crap I read in her texts. If she was smart, she’d delete that nonsense, the way she offered herself to the guy she barely knew.
Soon, Steve and Donna left.
I went to Alysha’s room and found her sulking with her headphones on as she listened to music.
I could put her on curfew. I could tell her to stay home the rest of the week.
Could take away her mobile, lock the house, threaten…
too many things to count. But the downside of being a single mother and a business owner was that you simply had to make the sacrifices.
Not sure if I would’ve changed my life if I had a chance.
Not sure spending more time with Alysha would’ve changed her much.
I was hoping that moving to a city and starting college would make her think like an adult.
I just didn’t know that the trouble was already taking hold, growing roots too deep.
I snapped my fingers in front of her face to get her attention.
“What?” she clipped.
I yanked the headphones off her ears. “This is serious, Alysha.”
I had to have a talk with her about the woman, Derek, Victoria, all things grown up, because yes, grown up she thought she was. So I took off the kid gloves. I tried to be respectful. Never thought I’d have to trick my own daughter into respectful behavior in return.
“He has a wife and a kid,” I said. “She drowned. An investigation is on the way.”
Alysha was trying so hard not to cry that her face contorted into a mask, chin trembling—and that was something I’d never seen before, not even when we had fights.
She sniffled like a child. My heart cracked.
That was how I knew Derek had gotten too deep into her, and there was no point telling an eighteen-year-old who’d never gotten her heart in a twist that the man she was fussing over was a player.
Young love doesn’t listen to reason. And if she thought that was love, there was no way I could change her mind. I needed to get him away from her.
I left the room, walked to the kitchen, and stood by the window, listening to the heavy fair traffic on the streets. I thought about what Donna would say—shit was about to hit the fan.