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Authors: Sharon Pape
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strange to you, but I’m not looking to put his killer in prison. The truth of the matter is that Brian would have gone on hurting and ruining innocent people if he’d lived.”
“If I agree to take on the case, I need you to understand there’s a good chance I won’t succeed in finding what you’re looking for.”
“In other words,” Clarissa summed up, “you doubt you’ll be able to find his killer, since you don’t believe he was murdered.”
Rory nodded. “That being said, I’ll set my bias aside and make every effort to track down his killer if in fact there was one.”
“Fair enough. How much do you require as a retainer to get started?”
Rory spent a minute explaining her fees, and Clarissa insisted on writing her a check on the spot.
“I’ll need you to tell me everything you can about your son’s relationships with the people who were in the canyon with him. Sometimes what seems trivial winds up being pivotal in solving a case.”
Clarissa shook her head. “I’m afraid I won’t be much help. My son didn’t stay in regular contact with me.” She spoke dispassionately, as if she’d sealed the painful emotions in a deep vault a long time ago. “And when I did hear from him, I had to take whatever he told me with the proverbial grain of salt. I don’t think he actually understood the difference between lying and telling the truth.” She paused for a moment as if to gather the strength to continue.
“Something was missing in Brian,” she went on stoically. “I realized it when he was only five. Chances are it was there before then, but I simply refused to see it. No mother wants to accept—” she interrupted herself as two other members of the troupe entered the room. “I guess we’ll have to leave it there for now,” she whispered, popping a demure smile in place as Brett Campbell and Jessica Krueger walked up to them.
If Brett had sustained any injuries in the flood, they were hidden beneath his clothing, but Jessica had a cast on her left forearm, along with a sling to hold it in a neutral position against her body.
Since other reinforcements might not arrive for hours, if at all, Rory took that opportunity to excuse herself and say she’d be in touch. She found Helene sitting on a stone bench just outside the funeral home enjoying a chocolate-covered ice-cream bar from one of the trucks that trolled the streets that time of year. During the half-hour ride home, she let her aunt hold up both ends of the conversation while she thought about Brian Carpenter. Some stones were just better left unturned, and she suspected that what lay beneath his was dark and ugly. Maybe she should have refused to take the case. But it was too late now; her curiosity had already set up shop.
Chapter 8
“I t’s good to have you and the mutt home.” Zeke grinned, the slash of dimples around his mouth like fissures carved into the planes of his face by time and adversity. He was standing in the backyard with Rory watching Hobo retrieve the tennis ball she’d thrown for him.
Minutes earlier, the marshal had appeared fresh from rehab, causing Rory to literally jump with the surprise of finding him right in front of her. They had to think of a better way for him to announce his arrival when there were no electric lights for him to flicker. On one occasion, he’d tried saying her name, but she’d been just as startled by the unexpected sound of his voice.
Hobo, on the other hand, wasn’t at all taken aback to see his former nemesis pop out of the ether. After Zeke had helped save his life, Hobo had wholeheartedly accepted him into the pack without bias against his lack of flesh and bone. In his worldview, there were no gray areas. You were either good or bad, part of the pack or not.
As soon as Zeke had materialized, he’d requested an update on the events in Page, which Rory provided in great detail, including the fact that Clarissa had hired her and finishing with the strange news
“If I agree to take on the case, I need you to understand there’s a good chance I won’t succeed in finding what you’re looking for.”
“In other words,” Clarissa summed up, “you doubt you’ll be able to find his killer, since you don’t believe he was murdered.”
Rory nodded. “That being said, I’ll set my bias aside and make every effort to track down his killer if in fact there was one.”
“Fair enough. How much do you require as a retainer to get started?”
Rory spent a minute explaining her fees, and Clarissa insisted on writing her a check on the spot.
“I’ll need you to tell me everything you can about your son’s relationships with the people who were in the canyon with him. Sometimes what seems trivial winds up being pivotal in solving a case.”
Clarissa shook her head. “I’m afraid I won’t be much help. My son didn’t stay in regular contact with me.” She spoke dispassionately, as if she’d sealed the painful emotions in a deep vault a long time ago. “And when I did hear from him, I had to take whatever he told me with the proverbial grain of salt. I don’t think he actually understood the difference between lying and telling the truth.” She paused for a moment as if to gather the strength to continue.
“Something was missing in Brian,” she went on stoically. “I realized it when he was only five. Chances are it was there before then, but I simply refused to see it. No mother wants to accept—” she interrupted herself as two other members of the troupe entered the room. “I guess we’ll have to leave it there for now,” she whispered, popping a demure smile in place as Brett Campbell and Jessica Krueger walked up to them.
If Brett had sustained any injuries in the flood, they were hidden beneath his clothing, but Jessica had a cast on her left forearm, along with a sling to hold it in a neutral position against her body.
Since other reinforcements might not arrive for hours, if at all, Rory took that opportunity to excuse herself and say she’d be in touch. She found Helene sitting on a stone bench just outside the funeral home enjoying a chocolate-covered ice-cream bar from one of the trucks that trolled the streets that time of year. During the half-hour ride home, she let her aunt hold up both ends of the conversation while she thought about Brian Carpenter. Some stones were just better left unturned, and she suspected that what lay beneath his was dark and ugly. Maybe she should have refused to take the case. But it was too late now; her curiosity had already set up shop.
Chapter 8
“I t’s good to have you and the mutt home.” Zeke grinned, the slash of dimples around his mouth like fissures carved into the planes of his face by time and adversity. He was standing in the backyard with Rory watching Hobo retrieve the tennis ball she’d thrown for him.
Minutes earlier, the marshal had appeared fresh from rehab, causing Rory to literally jump with the surprise of finding him right in front of her. They had to think of a better way for him to announce his arrival when there were no electric lights for him to flicker. On one occasion, he’d tried saying her name, but she’d been just as startled by the unexpected sound of his voice.
Hobo, on the other hand, wasn’t at all taken aback to see his former nemesis pop out of the ether. After Zeke had helped save his life, Hobo had wholeheartedly accepted him into the pack without bias against his lack of flesh and bone. In his worldview, there were no gray areas. You were either good or bad, part of the pack or not.
As soon as Zeke had materialized, he’d requested an update on the events in Page, which Rory provided in great detail, including the fact that Clarissa had hired her and finishing with the strange news
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