JOSIE
“How do we know the drowning wasn’t an accident?” I ask Trevor.
“Well, let’s see. Our guy was in Burnville under a false ID.
Or at least per Karen Boots. She was the only one who’s ever seen that fake ID.
Derek Sickler, New Jersey, though his Ohio ID is James Derek Sickler.
His domestic partner, Sarah Holes, came looking for him.
The night she was at Ma Shirley’s Tavern talking to Karen, she received a phone call at her motel room.
As per the front desk lady, Sarah Holes drove off in the middle of the night.
Three days later, her body was found downriver, her car parked at the Burnville Bridge.
Her father was a sheriff, and when he came to town, he told the local police that James a.k.a.
Derek skipped town back in Ohio, emptied the bank account, and the sheriff was on his trail.
So obviously, James a.k.a. Derek was on the run.
His girl comes into town looking for him, and then—what?
Goes for a swim in the river? In her clothes?
Or accidentally falls in? How convenient. ”
“Okay, so let’s say that wasn’t an accident. How do we know that Derek was involved?”
“Aha!” Trevor leans back on the couch, cocking his head at me. “We don’t. But a couple of things from the court transcript are a little suspicious.”
“Like what?”
“Like Alysha Boots’s testimony.”
“My mom’s?”
He nods. “Apparently, she knew Derek had a partner. She said he told her that Sarah Holes was his ex and a psycho.”
“Why are you bringing up my mom?”
“The drowned woman’s father said he got a call from his daughter the night she went missing. His daughter said she was talking to a girl named Alysha who was helping her locate Derek.”
“If my mom was hanging out with him, she would know where Derek was, right?”
“Exactly. Alysha said she never talked to that woman, never met her.”
“Maybe she didn’t.”
“Maybe she lied. Because when everything happened later, fingers were pointed at your mother, not your grandmother.”
I gape at him in shock. This is the first time I’ve heard that my mother was a person of interest in this case.
“Alysha Boots didn’t have the best reputation in high school,” Trevor says, not looking at me. “You know that. Neither did her best friend, Victoria.” He looks at Rika, who nods in agreement.
“I know,” I say, more defensively than I want it to sound.
“Don’t get me wrong, she was a popular girl, if not the most popular girl in town. That didn’t always come with the best, whatchamacallit, decisions on her part, things she did that didn’t fly well with the locals.”
“I get the idea.”
I haven’t talked to many people who had a good word to say about my mom back when she was in school. Grandma always chose the best memories to talk about. We always do this with loved ones who aren’t with us anymore.
My school was a different story. I’d heard plenty of gossip, especially in high school, when everyone was clever enough to pick the worst bits to bully with.
I couldn't stand this town growing up. The people who talked trash about my grandma, who called my mom a slut and a junkie, who joked that my father could be any guy in a fifty-mile radius. All the judgmental pricks who were drinking their brains out at farm cribs and screwing in hunting cabins and pickup trucks. Same old. Our generation wasn’t very different from our parents’.
The truth is, my mom was the girl who everyone wanted to fit with. Jealousy is a sharp weapon.
Me, I was the one who didn’t fit. I rarely was on anyone’s radar unless someone was fishing for a juicy story, as my family’s past definitely had plenty.
So I preferred to be alone, in my room, reading or playing my guitar, occasionally hanging out with those who were outcasts like me.
Most importantly, I had Grandma, who was my human barricade against all that.
She wasn’t affectionate, didn’t know how to do family time much, busy with the diner she managed, often making me do my homework there, or hang out in the office, or help in the kitchen.
But if there was trouble, she’d stomp into my school principal’s office and lay it out like it was.
Many were afraid of her, especially after what happened.
I suppose that was natural. But she’d always been like that, according to stories I heard—strong-willed and unapologetic.
She could’ve been a mayor. Or a sheriff.
Or a principal. Or an entire parent committee. And to me, she was all the above.
“I don’t mean to bring up the negative stuff,” Trevor says, pulling me out of my thoughts, “but you have to look at the facts objectively. I do. I was almost a decade older than your mom. Wasn’t in town when all that went down, but I heard people talk later.
All of it. Good, bad, mostly bad. No offense, that’s how it was.
” Trevor clicks his vape pen and takes a deep drag, then exhales as I wait for him to talk.
“So, when you objectively look at the facts, you wonder if those two, Alysha and Victoria, had their boots muddy.”
I try to understand what he means by this. “Are you implying that they were somehow involved in what went down?”
“They were, I’m sure. There wasn’t enough evidence, hence they never went to trial. But all the clues point to them.”
I take a deep breath, processing what he just said. My mom is dead. Her best friend from school left town right after the trial. My grandmother obviously served time, though not for murder.
“Okay,” I say, “but why? Why would they be involved? I mean, let’s say the guy is a psycho.
He was involved with plenty of women in this town in a span of several weeks.
Had a beef with my grandma at the bar, which doesn’t make sense because my grandma is hard to rattle. Why would she get so wound up?”
“Her and Donna Snickett,” Trevor corrects me. “Because their daughters were running around with that guy, stirring up all sorts of trouble.”
“They weren’t the only ones. And who cares?”
Trevor exchanges looks with Rika, then clears his throat. “Okay, I’m not going to beat around the bush. When I say running around, I mean it wasn’t just partying. Alysha was involved with Derek.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure.”
“I mean, involved in a way that made Karen really angry.”
“Doubt it. My mom didn’t have a stellar reputation. But surely that guy wasn’t anything special.”
Trevor tosses the vape pen on the table and shakes his head in obvious irritation. “He was”—Trevor flicks his brows, pinning me down with his gaze—“special. Considering he is potentially your dad.”
“What?” I blink hard, stunned.
Trevor laughs and exchanges glances with Rika. “She’s clueless, no?” He turns to me. “Don’t tell me it never crossed your mind. I mean, I don’t wanna rub you the wrong way. But that’s pretty obvious.”
His words hit me like a train. Not that I didn’t consider it. Sure, I did. In fact, when I got the picture from the stranger, I looked at it dozens of times. But being so bluntly confronted by this guy makes me uncomfortable.
“I mean, that’s the first thing you gotta think,” Trevor says.
“Your mom was running around with that guy. You were born when? Nine months after he left town? That guy, Dougie, the one your mom dated in high school, his parents requested a DNA test when you were born, which turned out negative. There were other guys, sure, as per the rumors.”
My face catches on fire. I look at my hands, not knowing where to hide my eyes. It’s déjà vu, the way I felt in high school when they bullied me about my mom.
“So that leaves us with a pretty strong possibility,” Trevor says in a voice that’s soft and calm, which is the only thing that keeps me from bursting into tears, “that James Derek Sickler, the one in the picture, the kidnapper, well… He’s potentially your father.”