Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Blue Gil isn’t a larger city.
The windshield wipers move with a slow, mundane rhythm, clearing away the light rain that began as I left the Dollar Store.
Thankfully, Mary, the store clerk, was busy with another customer when I entered, earning me only a huff instead of a rebuke.
Securing coffee, creamer, bread, margarine, and wine I made it to the counter before she could ask me to leave.
I’m aware that Dollar Store wine isn’t well-known in the upper echelon of wine enthusiasts.
Restaurants in California do not highlight Dollar Store or Spring River wine.
Nevertheless, returning to my hometown has renewed my desire to allow alcohol to calm my tattered nerves, and the time of night left me few options.
Ironically, there are multiple wineries in the area that produce delicious wine.
St. Julian was my grandfather’s favorite.
It’s located twenty minutes north in the small city of Lawton with all the amenities, such as grocery stores, restaurants, multiple bars, and even a single-screen movie theater.
If Dollar Store Mary knew my identity or family, she showed no indication. When she looked at my identification, she simply said, “California, huh? This store opens and closes at eight. Best to remember that.”
I replied with a nod.
For a village that makes revenue from summer visitors, Blue Gillians aren’t always known for their hospitality.
Slowly, I turn the car, pulling off Old 44 onto a dirt lane. Any moonlight that was present at the cemetery is now obscured by the clouds drizzling cool drops of rain. Though leaves have begun to sprout, in the darkness the trees appear more skeletal, their branches blowing in the growing wind.
From this vantage, the backs of the cottages are visible.
These houses, like other lakeside homes, were designed with the front positioned toward the water.
Stark Lake is an average-sized boating, fishing, all-around recreational lake, rounding out at about 250 acres.
That’s big enough to keep the water fresh from underground springs, but not as large as some others.
For the next two weeks, the area should be quiet. Once the Memorial Day weekend arrives, all bets are off.
I squint, trying to make out the small inlets and signs above mailboxes.
It’s the presence of taillights that garners my attention.
I turn the car onto a small lane that ends in a natural expanse—a circular drive of sorts—as my phone rings. The name on the screen tells me it’s Becky. I place it at my ear after hitting the green icon.
“I was about to ask where you are,” Becky says. “Get your ass out here.”
Parking the car, I watch as the door to a grey SUV opens.
It’s been a long time, yet there’s no mistaking Becky Harrison, now Sanders.
A smile comes to my lips as I cut the engine and open the door.
Despite the cool drizzle, within seconds we are in an embrace, her five-foot-two slim frame against my five-foot-five and a bit curvier one. As we pull apart, her deep-brown eyes peer up at me as the rain drops grow fatter, dampening our hair.
“I can’t believe you’re here. I mean, you didn’t come when I got married.”
Sadly, I straighten my lips, holding back the long-winded explanation. “Becky...”
She shakes her head. “Hey, you know I still love you. But you’re here and...I can’t stay long.” She reaches for my hand and tugs me forward. “Come on. I have you in cottage two.”
We don’t say another word until the door is unlocked, light switch flipped, and key tossed onto the counter.
The walls are the original light knotty pine, and the floor is covered in ceramic tile fabricated to look like grey wood planks.
The door we enter opens into the kitchen and dining area.
These cottages have been here for a long time, but one look around and it is obvious that this one has recently been renovated.
The countertops are hard surface, the cabinets bright white, and the modern appliances are stainless steel.
“Beck, this is beautiful.”
“It’s only two bedrooms, but I didn’t think you’d mind.”
I walk farther into the large room, passing the breakfast bar with two stools and moving into the living room.
The front wall of the living room is constructed totally of glass.
In the center is a French door. Off to one side of the room is a stone fireplace with a television secured above the mantel and a wood-burning stove inside the stone casing.
It’s then I notice the chill.
“You can use the woodstove if you want,” Becky says. “There’s a wood pile out near the parking.” She grins. “Watch out for snakes and mice.”
Her warning makes me shiver.
A laugh I haven’t heard in too long rings in my ears. “That’s what happens when you move off to the big city.”
“Lake Forest isn’t that big,” I reply.
Becky’s eyes grow wide. “First, it’s in California, and second, do you remember where we grew up?”
I do, more and more by the second.
One more look at the wood stove and I rub my hands together. “Is there another way to heat this place?”
“Oh,” Becky says as she goes to a dial on the wall. “Yeah, there’s heat and air conditioning.” That’s the way she says it, as if having both is a luxury. “Let me turn on the furnace.”
As soon as she turns the knob, the room fills with a clicking noise followed by warm but dusty air beginning to circulate.
“Sorry,” she says, hurrying to the door in the center of the glass front and opening it. “The cottage has been closed up for a while. That smell will clear out as soon as the dust in the ducts burns away.”
I walk up behind her and peer over her shoulder to the outside.
It’s not easy to see in the dark, but past the screen door, I make out a porch that extends the full width of the cottage.
Beyond that are stairs going down to a grassy lawn, followed by sandy beach.
From the beach there is a white wooden dock protruding out into the water.
Nothing but darkness can be seen farther away.
“Docks already in?” I ask, knowing they must be removed every autumn in preparation for the lake freezing.
“Yeah, the season is about to start. Hank and I...” Her words trail away as she lets out a long breath.
Trying to ease the tension, I turn back to the living room. “Your parents have done a great job updating these.”
“One at a time. This one was first because it’s smallest. Cottage six has a hot tub on the deck and four bedrooms. They’ve talked about putting in a pool for all the cottages to share.”
“A pool? There’s the lake.”
“All the big houses have them. You big-city folks are afraid of what lurks at the bottom of a lake.”
It’s my turn to smile. “It’s been a long time, but damn, we used to spend all summer diving down to the unknown.”
“With the sand and muck squishing between our toes.”
The emotions from earlier come back vigorously.
Maybe it was the two double whiskies. Whatever the cause, I’m fighting tears again.
Turning away, I notice a small hallway that appears to T to two bedrooms, one door to each side, with a full bathroom in between.
When I turn back, Becky is staring at me.
“Thank you,” I say. “This place is better than perfect.”
“Washer and dryer are off the kitchen.”
I nod.
“How long do you think you’ll need it?” she asks.
“I don’t know for sure. I had dinner at the Walleye Tavern.”
Her lips straighten. “Who saw you?”
“Theo, Theo Morton.”
“Father or son?”
“Son.” I raise my eyebrows. “I didn’t recognize him. He’s grown up.”
“So have you.” She turns and sits on the overstuffed sofa.
It’s shaped like an L, to facilitate viewing the fireplace and windows simultaneously.
It’s covered with a navy slipcover and too many blue and white nautical throw pillows.
“Jillian, you look great. Theo won’t say anything.
He’s a good guy, but damn, the Walleye Tavern on a Friday night…
” She shakes her head. “I’d be surprised if Shannon hasn’t already gotten a call. ”
“I don’t know how recognizable I am to these people.”
“These people? The people who you grew up with?”
I shrug. “I didn’t recognize Theo.”
Becky smiles as her brown eyes shine. “Well, he was a year younger than us and” —her smile grows— “as you said, he’s grown up.” She tilts her head. “Are you staying for Julie’s graduation?”
Shit. How could I have forgotten that was coming?
I spin in place before plopping down next to her. “I definitely win the shitty-sister-of-the-year award.”
“Yeah, you hadn’t mentioned it, so I thought before you saw your mom—”
“First the cottage and now that reminder, I owe you.” Becky and I talk on the phone at least once a month, but no phone conversation is like looking her in the eye. I reach out and place my hand on her knee. “How are you doing?”
“Good. Really,” she replies less than convincingly. “So, you don’t know how long you need the cottage?”
“Graduation is in June?” I shake my head. “I can’t stay that long.”
“I’m sure you’ll convince Shannon.”
I let out a long breath. “I think it might be best if I don’t stay at Shannon and Jerry’s.” My work comes to mind. “Does this place have internet?”
“Just like the big cities.” Becky turns toward the kitchen. “There’s a folder with all the information you need.”
“This is really a great place to stay. If you’re sure you don’t mind me being here.
And,” I add, “I know you said it is rented from Memorial Day weekend on, but that’s two weeks away.
I talked my boss into letting me work remotely.
I don’t have a ticket to get back home, but.
..” I think about being here after all this time.
“...I sure as hell won’t be staying longer than two weeks. ”
Becky looks down at her wrist. The watch appears to be a smart one. I’m happy to see that she is progressing with the times. Not everyone in this stagnant world is living in our childhood of two decades ago.
“I can’t stay long,” she says, her tone growing serious. “I’ll try to get together with you. We’ll find time. First, tell me why you came.”
“You called.” I pull my hand back and cover the fingers of both hands with the sleeves of my sweater as I stand and shut the open glass door. The screen was allowing too much cold breeze to enter. Besides, the dust has cleared away. The air is clean.
“I’ve called before,” she says.
Her wedding.
“Please, you know why I couldn’t come.”
Truly there were many reasons. Her groom was only one of them.
“I do, and now?”
I toss my head from side to side as I again fight the emotions. “I guess I need to know.”
“He’s dead, Jillian. What more do you want to know?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.” I spin back toward her. “Something feels...I can’t describe it.”
“I think,” she says with a sigh as if she is measuring each word, “you conjure up fiction for a living and that makes you see stories where they don’t exist.”
“It’s not all fiction. I do research on crimes—real crimes. Then I use that research to help put together believable stories for the various made-for-television series.”
That is what I do. In a nutshell, I am a criminal and legal visual-effects advisor for a visual-effects specialist with three different cable network shows.
My research partner and I see the outline before a script is complete.
Then we give real life examples of similar situations and cases, all the way from crime to final verdict, unless the case is cold.
Liam’s and my insight give authentication. After our input, it’s up to the writers and directors of each show as to how they use our information.
It’s our job to provide it.
Despite my parents’ skepticism, majoring in journalism, law, and criminal justice all came together for a purpose. It was the internship during my last two years of college that opened the door.
Of course, all three shows have the disclaimer about not real people...any similarity...
“Coach Gilbert is dead,” Beck says. “From what I’ve heard around town, his body was barely identifiable.” She shivers. “I’ve heard the animals...or birds...they...”
“What?”
“I don’t know for sure. Rumor is that his eyes were gone.”
My nose scrunches and my stomach twists as I envision crime-scene photographs I’ve studied.
I’m aware of the effects the elements can have on the human body.
And then there are the parasites and wildlife.
Recent warmer weather combined with cool snaps, as well as waking hibernating animals can wreak havoc.
“So the casket was...”
“Closed. Mrs. Coach saw him, but she and his family decided to let the world remember him as he was. Besides, she didn’t want Joey to remember...”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh as I return to the couch and sit down. “That’s all I’ve been doing since I heard, remembering.”
“Listen, I’m thrilled you’re here.” Becky stands. “I am. I agree you need to contact your mom. You know she would want to see you. Jerry too.”
I let out another breath.
“But leave the coach’s death alone. Of course there are rumors, but Serena and Joey don’t need to be reminded. Everything that happened before is water under the bridge and all that shit, but damn, he’s gone and his family needs to go on. Let them.”
I blink my eyes as her advice settles in. Instead of replying, I stand. “Hey, let me walk with you out to your car. I need to get my suitcase and groceries. And then I think I’ll call it a night. It’s been a long day.”
Becky reaches forward and embraces my shoulders, pulling me close.
Her long brown hair tickles my nose as the aroma of flowers fills my senses.
When we pull apart, she grins. “I’ll be in touch.
Let me know if you change your mind about staying out here and decide to go to your folks.
No biggie either way. If you want it, it’s yours for two weeks. ”
“Thank you, Becky. Thanks for everything. For being there when I needed you. I wish I...” had been there to save you from the monster you married.
I don’t say that. She knows my thoughts.
“I love you,” I add.
“Like a sister. Forever.”
Together we walk back to the cars as the rain continues to fall.