Chapter Fifty-Eight Judson
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Judson
Jennifer Thompson Sawyer’s house was very neat, edges sharp, paint crisp.
I strode to the front door and knocked. Footsteps came quickly, and the door opened to a familiar face. The glasses were new, but her dark hair was still pulled tight in a ponytail. A few more lines around the eyes, still slim.
“Mrs. Thompson.”
“Jennifer, please. We’re the same age, Agent Blackwood. Judson. We went to high school together.”
“Right.” Encounters like this were always strange. People never knew how to balance the kid they remembered with the badge in front of them. “Jennifer.”
“Come on in. I have your photos all organized.”
The house mirrored its owner. Nothing fancy but clean and precise. “What do you do these days?”
“Librarian.” She tossed a grin over her shoulder. “Reference. I love cataloging facts. Life’s one big yearbook.”
Books survived. Memories didn’t. My own yearbook had sat untouched for years, until today.
Most of what I carried from the last seventeen years wasn’t worth remembering.
But the memories had stuck anyway. Some haunted.
If I did look back, it was to the ten months with Raine.
My life had felt as if it would come together.
But as one piece fell into place, another dropped away.
A teetering house of cards. My life stayed upright—until a stiff breeze blew it down.
“That’s great.”
On a polished walnut dining room table, there were six stacks of pictures. Some black and white, some color. On each stack was a note indicating the subject. Raine Hale, Gabe Durant, Maria Cooper Durant, Amy Stocker, and Ken Watson.
The order impressed me. Annoyed me, too. It reminded me of my own need to compartmentalize.
I reached for Raine’s stack. Snapshots. Group photos. Her senior portrait. Carefully, I set her stack aside.
Amy’s pile was the thinnest—three photos total, but the change over time was sharp—an awkward and lost image morphed into polished mimicry.
A Raine look-alike. In one photo, Amy wore the same heart-shaped necklace still displayed in her current professional picture.
I was certain the necklace had belonged to Raine.
Had Raine lent it . . . or had Amy taken it?
In each image, Amy hovered in the background, off to the side, head bowed or turned. Easy to miss. In the final shot she was standing on the football sidelines close to Gabe. Not looking at each other but with only inches separating them.
Ghost Girl.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Jennifer said.
“How so?”
“Amy was turning into Raine. I’d heard she was living on the Hale land. I guess it’s natural. She didn’t have anyone, and Raine was not only nice but always looked like she had it together.”
“I didn’t notice Amy much in those days.”
“A lot of girls did. They teased her about the change.”
Kids could be terrorists. “Was she bullied?”
“It stopped when one of the girls found a dead rat in her locker.”
“I remember something about that.”
“Yeah. Quite the fright.”
“Amy?”
Jennifer shrugged. “Never proved who did it. But the teasing stopped. Amy could hit back.”
“Did you see her do anything?”
“Sure. A guy grabbed and pulled her toward him. She slipped free, whirled around, and punched him squarely in the face. He looked ready to swing back, but a crowd gathered. He backed off.”
“Remember the guy?”
“Ken.”
My gaze shifted to Ken’s stack. Bright smiles. Perfect black hair. Square jaw. “Did Ken ever make any other moves on Amy?”
“Not that I heard of. But you know Ken. He was slick.” She grinned. “You notice a lot behind a camera lens.”
Ken’s arms were wrapped around a girl’s shoulder. A beer in hand. A fist thrust up in a cheer. Hugging Gabe and Maria close. Ken was always in the center.
Maria’s pile showed her alongside Raine often, sometimes with Gabe, once Ken. Her smile always fixed, always wide. Too wide.
Gabe had a small stack. Football team. Halloween dance. Leg in a brace after the ACL tear. In many, his eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks ruddy. Drinking, even then.
“You see Amy and Gabe together?”
“A few times. Like I said, no one notices Yearbook Girl.”
After his injury, Maria had pushed Gabe to take on more rehab. But Gabe had been adrift. Amy didn’t have expectations then. Now—she’d probably reminded him of a time when he’d mattered.
“You’ve done a great job, Jennifer. Thanks for organizing these.”
“I’m glad you reached out.” She slid all the images into a folder and handed it to me. “I hope this helps.”
“Thanks.”
“I heard Amy was found dead on Hale land.”
I didn’t respond.
“Hate to speak ill of the dead, but you know Amy dealt drugs.”
“I’d heard that.”
“She sold to everyone. She serviced the poor and the richer kids. I think she made a small fortune.”
“Do you know where she went after high school?” I asked.
“Stayed in the area.”
“Think she was still dealing?”
“I’d heard she’d walked away from that. Too many busts the summer after graduation. And she wanted to be legit. But the money is good and real estate is slow.”
“She got back in the game?”
“She did.”
If Amy had sold drugs in high school, she wouldn’t have needed Raine’s paychecks. She’d taken the job at Hale House for what it gave her—credibility.
And if she’d still been selling drugs, that would widen the circle of potential killers.