Chapter Sixteen #2
“All right,” Meredith said, excited by the prospect. She’d been with Wade the first time he’d visited the crime scene. She was invested in this case, and she wanted to help him solve it. “Where do they keep yearbooks?”
“Let’s find out.”
She let him open the library door for her and escort her to a worktable. Then he went in search of the reference librarian. Five minutes later he brought her a trio of heavy yearbooks dated from 1986–1988. He didn’t tell her why he’d chosen those years.
“If you find a good candidate, mark the page.”
Meredith grabbed a few pieces of scrap paper from a little box nearby. “What are you going to do?”
“I have to look at microfiche. Archives of the Gazette.”
She nodded and waved him away. Feeling important, she started with 1986 and flipped to the sports team pages.
Although the population of Lost Lake was mostly Hispanic, there were a number of tall, blond-haired athletes.
She studied the basketball team and baseball team, varsity and junior varsity.
She scanned the superlatives page, where she found the biggest flirts, and students most likely to do important things.
She felt a twinge of sadness, because her high school experience hadn’t been anything like theirs.
She also felt a wave of homesickness for Plainview.
Wade’s questions about her family reminded her of the siblings she’d left behind.
Her younger sister, Amanda, had graduated two years ago.
She’d been an excellent student, unlike Meredith.
She’d earned a scholarship to Oklahoma State.
Amanda had invited Meredith to her graduation ceremony.
Although she’d planned to attend, Tripp had prevented her from going.
Meredith pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand.
She marked a few pages in the ’86 yearbook and moved on.
None of the students fit the description Wade had given.
They weren’t quite tall enough, or their slack faces didn’t forecast bright futures.
It was also difficult to judge the football team photos, as they posed in helmets.
She switched to the ’87 yearbook, which yielded an immediate and startling result.
A photo of a senior boy on the football team made her gasp out loud.
He wore a red uniform with the number ten on the front.
He had a white helmet tucked under one strong arm.
He appeared well over six feet tall, with sweaty blond hair and a cocky smile.
He looked like a younger version of Wade Hendricks.
With one shaking finger, Meredith traced the caption underneath the photo. She sounded out several words, including the student’s last name. It was Pickett.
She leaped to her feet with the yearbook and went in search of Wade.
She found him in a dark, cramped room, bent over a computer-like device that displayed blocks of text.
The idea of scanning it for clues made her dizzy.
He glanced up from the screen, rubbing his eyes as if it wasn’t a pleasant experience for him, either.
“Look,” she said, triumphant.
He studied the photo of the handsome, grinning boy. His expression indicated mild interest, rather than awe or astonishment.
Meredith realized that Wade didn’t see the resemblance. “He looks like you.”
“Okay,” he said, shrugging.
“And his last name is Pickett.”
He frowned at her in confusion. “Pickett?”
“Remember Cordelia Pickett? The confused old lady who thought you were her long lost grandson?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“She said it was a miracle that you finally came home.”
Wade stared up at her as understanding dawned. He jumped to feet, grasped her shoulders, and planted a kiss on her parted lips. “Meadows, you’re a genius!”
She laughed, delighted by his enthusiasm.
Wade removed the phone from his pocket to take a photo of the yearbook page.
“Cameron Pickett. He fits the profile to a T.” Meredith waited as he entered the name into a search engine.
After a minute of scrolling, he tucked the device back into his pocket.
“I’ll have to run his name when I get back to the office. ”
“What can we do today?”
“We can talk to Cordelia.”
Meredith followed him to the reference desk to return the materials. Then they rushed out the door, back into the hot day. Wade drove toward the neighborhood where they’d performed wellness checks after the tornado.
“If he lived in this area, he was close to the trail,” Wade said.
“It fits.”
“I wonder if he went missing, and they didn’t report it.”
“How do you know they didn’t?”
“He’s not in the system.”
They fell into a companionable silence. Her lips still tingled from the contact with his. He was so charismatic, so intense in his pursuit of the things he desired. She didn’t stand a chance of resisting him.
Cordelia Pickett’s house appeared as sad and dilapidated as it had on their previous visit. Meredith remembered the old woman’s fuzzy mental state and felt uneasy. Wade knocked on the door repeatedly, to no avail.
“She’s not home,” a voice called out. A man in a dingy baseball cap and overalls approached from the house next door. “She’s at Hill County Hospital, last I heard. She’s been faring poorly.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Wade said. “Do you know if she has family in the area?”
“She’s got a granddaughter, but she don’t visit.”
Wade thanked him for the information before they walked away. They returned to his truck, where he appeared pensive.
“Do you want to go to the hospital?” she asked.
He cranked up the AC. “No. We’re supposed to be on a date.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I do.”
Meredith hid a smile, secretly thrilled by his choice.
He offered her a water bottle. “The trail is right here. Let’s look for physical evidence, as planned, and I’ll talk to Cordelia another day.”
She accepted the drink and took a sip. Perhaps he was making a logistical decision, but she felt pleased nonetheless. A trip to the hospital could take up the entire afternoon. She wanted to spend the time alone with him.
He drove the short distance to the trailhead and parked.
No other vehicles were there, so they would probably have the place to themselves.
He gathered the backpack of supplies and led the way down the path.
Summer came early to this area of Texas, which was part desert, part woodlands.
They was little shade, and Meredith wished she’d brought a hat to protect her face from the blazing sun.
Sagebrush, prickly pear cactus, and mesquite bushes lined the trail.
In less than thirty minutes, they’d arrived at the live oak tree with the rope swing.
The swimming hole beckoned, dark and inviting.
The gravesite was another hundred steps away.
They paused to share a bottle of water.
“Do you want to have lunch or look for evidence first?” he asked.
She’d rather look for evidence, but it was past noon. “Are you hungry?”
His gaze traveled over her body in a slow caress. “I can wait if you can.”
She didn’t think he was trying to be suggestive. The air between them was just … very sexually charged. “Let’s keep going.”
He continued down the path, toward the fallen tree. The mound of uncovered earth appeared to have been sifted through, but the scene was much the same as it had been before the remains were removed.
“What are we looking for?”
“A rock,” he said, taking off the backpack. “We’re looking for a rock that’s big enough to do serious cranial damage, but small enough to lift easily.”
“We’re looking for a murder weapon.”
“Yes.”
“You think it’s in the water?”
“That’s where I’d throw it.”
He sat down to unlace his boots. She slipped out of her tennis shoes.
“How will we recognize the right rock?” she asked.
“The skull had traces of tree sap on the fractured area. I’m hoping to find a rock with that residue.”
She watched him roll up his cuffs. He had tanned calves and strong feet.
After a short hesitation, he shrugged out of his shirt and left it on the bank.
Then he waded into the creek, shoulder muscles rippling in the sun.
His male beauty was actually blinding. She had to blink to clear the stars from her eyes.
She tied her hair back at the nape of her neck and followed him into the water. The creek was murky green, with a mix of mud and slippery rocks underfoot. The shock of cold felt delicious against her overheated skin. They slogged into the middle of the creek together and started searching.
It was a slow, time-consuming process. Meredith lifted softball-sized rocks from the water and handed them to Wade. He studied the surface for residue and tossed them toward the opposite bank. Soon they had a pile of discarded specimens.
“What if the killer used two hands?” she asked.
He gave her a curious look.
She lifted a large rock from the creek with both hands and mimed smashing someone’s head like a pumpkin.
“It’s possible, but unlikely. The best murder weapon is heavy but compact, and easy to use against a moving target. If the victim evades the strike, and the attacker can’t swing again quickly, he’s at a disadvantage.”
Meredith let the large rock fall back into the water. “Fair enough.”
They continued to mine the creek bed. The sound of rushing water was peaceful, and she found Wade’s presence comforting.
Lifting rocks was hard work, however, and it was difficult for her to maintain her balance in the knee-deep water.
She stumbled sideways at one point and grabbed Wade’s arm for support.
He lost his own footing. They both fell into the creek, sputtering and laughing.
Then he helped her stand, and they began again.