Caching Out Read Online Free PDF Page A

had taken a break from the spring sun and snoozed
in the shade of the homes that weren’t underpinned. Pulling into the driveway on
lot thirty eight, Tate noticed that Reva's home wasn’t in much better shape
than the others but that she did keep it neat. The area around her trailer had
been mowed and on both sides of the steps leading up to her door she’d placed
planters that bloomed with red and yellow spring flowers. Flowers that reminded
him of the window boxes at Saralyn Parker’s neat little one story house in town.
    Stepping
up to the door, Tate heard a radio blasting rock music and caught the greasy
scent of something being fried. He knocked and stepped back a few feet to wait.
No answer. After a few moments he knocked again, and heard the scrap of a metal
chain sliding from its lock. The door opened a crack, just wide enough for Reva
to see outside.
    “Oh,
it’s you. Come on in.” Reva pulled the door open and stepped back, motioning
him inside.
    Tate
stepped into a small rectangular living room and glanced at Reva; her green eyes
were dark-rimmed and red against the ash-white color of her bare face. Her
strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, making her appear much
younger than her twenty-four years. In one hand she held a pot holder and in
the other a metal spatula dripping with oil.
    “Come
on in the kitchen and have a seat. I’m almost done here.” Stepping around a
worn dining room table that had probably belonged to her mother before her,
Reva moved to the stove and the black cast iron skillet that sat bubbling on
one burner. She reached into the cabinet and pulled down a glass bowl to scoop
the frying potatoes out of the grease-coated skillet. Once the task was
complete, Reva turned the stove’s gas burner off and set the bowl on the
counter. She looked at Tate, a sad smile on her face. “Have you found out who
killed Saralyn?  Is that what you came to tell me?”
    Tate
laid his cap on the yellow Formica table and sat in one of the chairs at the
table. “No, we haven’t caught the killer yet, but I do have a couple questions
for you about Saralyn.”  A deep sigh pushed from his lungs, “Were you aware
that she smoked marijuana, Reva?” Tate didn’t mention the Ketamine.
    Lunch
forgotten, Reva stood behind a chair at the table across from Tate. Gripping
the back of the chair until her knuckles turned white she leaned forward, her
green eyes sparking with anger. “Saralyn was not a dope user. She may
have taken a toke every now and then, but that’s it.”
    Not
breaking eye contact with her, Tate’s voice was soft and firm. “What do you
mean, every now and then Reva?  Did she smoke every day, once a week,
how often is every now and then?” Tate watched as Reva sucked in a deep breath
and let it out slowly but still he pressed her for answers. “Where’d she get it? 
She have connections out at the Res, or was it brought in from somewhere else?”
    Reva
pulled the chair out and dropped into the seat. She cupped her chin with both
hands and raised her watery eyes, meeting Tate’s gaze with her own. “Get this,
Tate Echo. Saralyn was not a drug user. As far as I know she only smoked once
since she graduated college and moved back to Pine Ridge to teach. She told me
that she went to a party at her cousin’s house over in White River a couple
weeks ago where she met a guy and they really seemed to click. They stepped out
on the porch to talk and he pulled out a joint. She took a few tokes. Nothing
more.”
    Tate
leaned forward and met Reva’s gaze, “She mention any other drugs to you?”
    “Other
drugs?  No, why would she, there weren’t any?”
    Ignoring
her question, Tate continued to pepper Reva with questions of his own. “Who’s
the guy, did she tell you that?  I need to talk to him. Maybe he had something
to do with her death.” 
    Tears
pooled in Reva’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks to the corner of her mouth. Hesitant,
she said, “His name was