Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
Iwake as the sun crests the horizon. Wrapping my hair in a messy bun, I make my way out onto the front porch, coffee in hand and blanket around my shoulders.
Purples and reds saturate the eastern sky, the colors reflecting upon the still waters of Stark Lake.
Birds chirp and chipmunks scurry as if the world is on course, spinning on its axis and following its track through our universe.
Yet that isn’t how it feels. The earth seems off-kilter.
It has been six years since I have stepped inside Blue Gil village limits, and within three days of my arrival, the town and its people are in a state of upheaval. My family is living in a fog of uncertainty. The tragedy I came to investigate has been obscured by another, bigger and more vicious.
The untimely death of a respected man pales in comparison to the assault of two teenage girls—one teenage girl for sure.
At least our family has an answer, unlike the Thompsons. There is a sense of peace in knowing the truth, even if it’s not a reality we hoped for.
By the time Matt and Liv returned Ollie and me to Mom and Dad’s house last night, the sky was dark, the moon shone, and the stars had sprung to life.
Despite the invitation to stay at our parents’ home, we all decided to sleep where we belonged.
Matt and Liv headed for Three Rivers and Ollie for his place on Bloomfield Lake, near Lawton, in a home that used to belong to our grandparents.
For me, where I belong would be Lake Forest. Instead of traveling across country, I chose cottage two on Stark Lake.
Once here, forgoing wine, I searched for the bottle of vodka I purchased.
It wasn’t where I thought I put it. Then again, no one would accuse me of thinking clearly.
I shook my head as I opened another cupboard, finding the tall bottle.
At first, I considered adding Diet Sprite and cranberry juice.
Weariness won and I settled for straight vodka.
Three rapid shots and my nerves begin to calm, allowing me to push away the images of my sister I’ve concocted in my mind.
I replace them with the vision of her sleeping.
We were all given time to make a quick visit to her hospital room. Despite her breathing on her own, there were still a litany of cords and tubes and a chorus of beeps and hums, and bandages covered her skin where she’d been bitten by the mice and insects and otherwise injured.
As I stood there with Mom beside me, I thought of what Dad said. He said she looked good, like she was sleeping. If I could ignore the surroundings, his statement was true. Her eyes were closed, not filled with anguish, terror, or shock.
Peaceful.
It is the word I hung onto throughout the night.
After consuming the third shot, I checked my phone.
Usually, I was more responsive. Yesterday hadn’t been usual in any sense of the word.
When I went to the search on the McKenna farm, I turned off my phone and placed it in my purse, unwilling to allow the notifications of the world to interrupt my goal of helping to find Julie.
As the screen came to life, I saw that I had missed calls from Becky, Echo, and Liam. I also had a text from Echo saying she wanted to talk to me on Monday to discuss my progress and one from Becky asking about Julie.
I texted Becky and told her I was finally back from the hospital, that Julie was stable, and we would know more in the future. I also asked about Marty.
When I fell asleep, she hadn’t yet replied.
Now that I’m awake, with my legs curled under me on the large Adirondack chair and my steaming mug of coffee on a small wooden table to my side, I again bring the screen to life, checking for responses.
Two text messages from Becky Harrison. Maybe it was time to change her last name to Sanders. Married over five years. I should consider it.
Text message 1: (received at 11:08 p.m., last night)
“GLAD YOU’RE BACK AND JULIE IS STABLE. NO LEAD ON MARTY. THE TOWN CONTINUED SEARCHING UNTIL NIGHTFALL. SCHOOL IS CANCELED FOR TOMORROW. ANYONE WHO CAN WILL BE GATHERING AT MCKENNA’S FARM TOMORROW AT 9 IF YOU CAN BE THERE.”
Text message 2: (received at 6:47 a.m., this morning)
‘I’M SORRY. I SHOULDN’T HAVE MENTIONED THE SEARCH. YOU DON’T NEED TO COME. I’M SURE YOU’LL BE AT THE HOSPITAL. GIVE SHANNON A HUG FOR ME. I’LL LET YOU KNOW IF WE LEARN ANYTHING.”
Laying the phone down, I pick up the warm mug of coffee. Before lifting it to my lips, I look up at the trees reaching toward the bluing sky. Closing my eyes, I rest my head against the chair and block out my thoughts; instead, I listen.
The happenings of the last day seem unreal—fictional. If it were, I would be the one assisting in the particulars that make it appear believable.
My thoughts go to the least of my concerns, the specific details of the world immediately around me. There is undoubtedly a peaceful rhythm in nature that calms the soul. I peer up again at the branches flexing in the gentle breeze.
Some of the tallest trees around Stark Lake have been in place for centuries.
Their roots reach deep into the fertile soil, giving them the strength to withstand the violent winds of tornados, cracking strikes of lightning, and invasive infiltration of insects.
These same trees provide homes for birds and vermin, shade for the weary, and even sap for the hungry.
As I lift the ceramic mug, the hairs on my arms and at the nape of my neck stand to attention; like lightning rods, they’re alerting me to a change. Twigs snap and rotting leaves crunch until I’m no longer alone. Pulling the blanket tighter around me, I stand.
A man I don’t recognize comes to a stop near the porch steps.
Standing nearly four feet above him, I make a mental note.
Medium height. Dark blond hair, wide shoulders, and a mug of coffee in his grip.
The thought that this man could be the one who hurt my sister quickly disappears with his attire.
His pants are soft and covered in large green and gold Gs.
His hoodie is solid green with Green Bay Packers on the front.
Upon his feet, he’s wearing canvas loafers.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice is deep, reverberating through the morning air in a nonthreatening tone.
My gaze narrows as I force a smile. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“I saw your car. Your plates aren’t from Mills County. From one outsider to the other, I thought it might be nice to talk to someone. If you don’t mind.”
I pull the blanket tighter. “I-I...” The urge to tell this man that I’m not really an outsider disappears as quickly as the thought occurs. Maybe now I am an outsider.
His facial expression softens, his dark eyes morphing to a shade of milk chocolate as he takes a step forward, closer to the edge of the steps.
“I apologize. I should have led with an introduction. I’m Keith and usually more polite.
It’s been a rough few weeks.” His head tilts.
“I’m not from around here. I live up north. ”
I immediately know who he is.
He’s Keith Gilbert, Craig Gilbert’s brother.
And according to my mother, by up north, he means Marquette.
I don’t say any of that aloud. Instead, I respond in kind, my smile unsure. “I’m Jill. I live west. Way west. West Coast.”
He lets out a low whistle. “You’re a long way from home.” His gaze goes to the empty chair on the other side of a small table from mine in a silent request.
“I don’t have much to offer, but you’re welcome to join me,” I say, motioning to the chair to my right.
“Thank you, Jill.” He climbs the stairs. Now on equal footing, he stands at least six inches taller than me. Lowering his mug to the table, he takes a seat. “It’s nice to talk to someone.”
He isn’t wearing a wedding band. Checking for that is subconscious, yet the thought registers.
I settle back in my chair. The lake before us is calm, a large mirror reflecting the images of the trees along the edge. The shades change, growing darker in the center. Beneath the water is a bottomless hole, the darkness showcasing the depth, not the blue of the sky above.
The crimson hues have given way to sapphire as the sun continues to rise.
“I could ask,” Keith says, “what brought you here, but I suspect that this time of year, it’s the same thing that brought me here.”
Should I be upfront or should I fish for what he knows?
“I’m here,” I say, “to learn some truths, ones that can only be found in person.”
“Then we are here for the same reasons.” Keith turns to me. “Were you familiar with Craig Gilbert?”
Though I can’t stop the memories his question evokes, I refuse to acknowledge them. “The teacher and football coach.”
“Yeah. I’m his brother.”
“Oh” —I tilt my head— “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Keith sips his coffee. “If I had a dime...”
“I’m sure you’ve heard that a lot. He was well liked around here.”
Keith’s eyes narrow and his forehead furrows. “Is that the feeling you get?”
“What do you mean?”
He settles against the chair and peers forward, collecting his thoughts. “I hear the words people say. I watched the display of emotions at the funeral. Hell, they packed out a high school gym.” He shakes his head. “Craig would be proud. He’d say he fooled them all.”
“Excuse me?”
Keith takes a deep breath. “Nothing. Forget I said that. I’ve just been cooped up in this shitty little town for over a week, and it’s getting to me.”
While I would and probably have said the exact same thing, hearing it from an outsider causes an unexpected response, a need to defend Blue Gil, to stand up for the people who have set their roots deep in this town’s soil, refusing to be affected by the winds of change.
“If you’re Cra—Coach Gilbert’s brother, why stay out here?”
“As opposed to the vast hotel options Blue Gil offers?”
My lips curl upward. “I meant with your sister-in-law.”
“So, you do know Craig?”
“I know he’s married. Was. Or...”
Saving me from tripping even more over my own words, Keith answers, “My parents were with her and Joey. And her parents were here.” His head shakes. “My folks left Saturday, but hers are staying for...” He looks my way. “What is the appropriate length of stay when your daughter becomes a widow?”
“I-I would need to google that.”
His smile returns. “Let’s just say, we’re not close, and it’s a busy house. I like time to think.” His gaze lightens again. “But it’s nice to talk.”
I can’t judge. I’m not staying with my family either.
“How long are you planning on staying in this vast metropolis?” I ask, turning back to the lake.
“I was supposed to be gone today. My captain isn’t thrilled about the extension on my bereavement.”
“Why extend it?” I turn and take in his profile as he also stares out at the water.
“What do you do, Jill?”
Okay, we’re changing the subject. “I work for a production studio in Hollywood.” It’s the easiest explanation.
Keith’s eyes widen. “Have I seen you in anything?”
“No.” My cheeks warm at the thought of standing in front of the camera. “I’m not an actor. I’m just one of the many behind-the-scenes people that make your viewing more believable.”
He nods. “That’s cool.”
“It can be. And you,” I ask. “What do you do?”
“Nothing as glamorous. I’m a detective in Marquette.” He scoffs. “Yes, before you judge, there is crime in the UP.”
“No.” I feign shock.
“There’s crime everywhere. Sometimes it’s hidden.
Other times, there’s a neon sign.” He takes another drink.
“You asked why I extended my stay.” He doesn’t wait for confirmation.
“I heard about the girls that went missing. I met them. And now I feel responsible for their disappearance.” He looks at me. “Have you heard about them?”
Responsible?
Confession time. “Yeah,” I say. “I was at the farm for the search. Then at the café.”
“They’re so young.”
“When did you meet them?” I ask.
“Have you seen Blue Gil?” He scoffs. “It’s more difficult to not meet people than meet them. Those girls and others were at the viewing, the funeral, and at that party Saturday night.”
“You were at the party?” My pitch is higher than I plan.
“I was there for someone else, but yes. I don’t want to publicize it. You understand?” He looks directly at me. “A police detective at a mostly underage party with more than its share of illegal substances... yeah, that tidbit doesn’t look good on my record.”
“Why did you say you feel responsible?” I ask.
“I was at that party. If I closed it down and sent everyone home like my conscience screamed for me to do, they would be home and safe.”
I shake my head. “This is Blue Gil. Nothing is as simple as it seems.”
Keith doesn’t respond.
“Did you help look for them?” I ask.
He nods. “I’ve been working with Sheriff Manes behind the scenes. He’s a good man and a good ’ole boy. He prefers to keep the peace, not ruffle feathers, and keep appearances shiny. I think recently that strategy bit him on the ass.”
“So, are you going out again today?” My gaze goes to his Green Bay pajama pants.
Keith smiles. “After I shower and dress.” He stands. “Thanks, Jill. It was nice to meet you and talk to someone who isn’t immediately suspicious of my motives the moment they hear my name.”
I also stand and offer my hand. As we quickly shake, I confess. “I’m not suspicious, and I must confess, I’m not completely an outsider. At least, I wasn’t.” I shrug my shoulder. “I’m not fully sure what the Blue Gillians who stayed here would say, but I am from here. My family is here.”
Keith takes the steps two at a time and turns back. “You’re clever, Jill. I like that too.”
“Clever?”
“You didn’t come at me with the usual sympathies and platitudes. You were feeling me out first.”
Heat radiates from my neck upward as I imagine doing that. It’s been a while, but Keith is attractive in a unique and rugged way. Not that I’ve thought about feeling him out.
Keith’s eyes soften as his cheeks too turn a shade of pink. “That didn’t come out the way I intended. You were testing the waters before you shared your connection.”
“You can never be too sure,” I say.
“Will I see you at the search?”
“No. I’ll be in Kalamazoo.”
His expression turned quizzical, as if wheels were spinning in his head. “At the hospital?”
“Yes. Julie is my sister.”
“Jill.” His eyes open wide. “Shit. You’re Jillian Thorne.”
“I am.”
Keith takes a deep breath. “Well, fuck me. That makes...” He appears to collect himself. “Miss Thorne, I sincerely hope your sister recovers from whatever happened and that one day she can help with finding her friend.”
The small lightning rods are again on alert. What exactly does he know about me or Julie’s injuries? I stay even keeled. “That’s what we want, Detective, for both girls to be home safe.”
“Thanks for the conversation. I understand if it’s our last.”
I shake my head. “I hope it’s not.”
“Have a good day, Miss Thorne.”