investigated—that all unobserved deaths were treated as suspicious until shown they weren’t, but I asked anyway just to confirm that he wanted it to be me doing the checking.
He nodded. “Find the last person who saw him, who spoke to him. Check credit card spending, possible extramarital affairs, unpaid bills, debt, that sort of thing. You know the drill.” Joe looked me in the eye and it felt strange, as if I hadn’t seen his in a long time. They looked pale and distant, slightly rimmed in raw pink. “If he committed suicide,” Joe said, “something will show. If it was truly an accident, everything will be pretty much status quo.”
3
----
K EN AND I turned off Whitefish Stage Road onto the long gravel driveway between the towns of Kalispell and Whitefish. To the side of the drive, a vibrant yellow field of blooming canola spread picture-perfect until it hit a border of deep-green trees near the Stillwater River. The Columbia Range under a sky so blue it looked artificial stood in the background and completed the country picture, making it perfectly serene.
My stomach tightened and I felt short of breath at the thought of fracturing such a scene—of looking Cathy Sedgewick in the eye and telling her that she would not be seeing her husband, and her children would not be seeing their father ever again. But I had no choice; this was my task.
“Ranch Lane should be right up here,” Ken said, studying the map on his cell-phone GPS app.
I made a right where a small farmhouse with green shutters nestled among tall cottonwoods with deeply furrowed bark. A small porch sat in front with flower boxes below the large windows. Above the slanted porch roof, two windows looked out across the field from the small A-line second story.
A barking golden retriever ran toward the car. I rechecked the house number on the mailbox as I passed to make sure I had the right place and parked the Explorer in front of the garage. I sat for a moment and looked at the dog, its tail wagging eagerly.
I let out a breath as if releasing steam from a pressure cooker. It didn’tfeel real; the evening was too perfect for this. I glanced at Ken and he looked at me questioningly. “Ready?” I asked. Ken nodded and I forced myself to get out. “Hey, buddy,” I said to the dog solemnly and gave him a pat on the head. We walked toward the front porch and a warm breeze tickled my face. I could smell steaks from a grill from their backyard.
The front door swung open and Cathy stepped out and started walking toward us calling the dog—Max—to her. I knew it was Cathy because I recalled her from the time at Pizza Hut, and I’d seen her with Wolfie a time or two at other local restaurants when I’d been out with Lara.
She smiled and waved, then pushed a strand of dark curly hair behind her ear. She wore shorts, a faded purple T-shirt, and flip-flops. The sun, still intense but lowering in the western sky, painted her skin tawny. “Monty?” she squinted at me through a questioning smile.
“Yes, hi, Cathy, good memory.” I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. I noticed her eyes drift to my badge, to Ken, then flicker to the NPS vehicle. I was only a distant acquaintance and would never have a reason to stop by under normal circumstances. Her smile faded, and she narrowed her gaze as if sensing something wasn’t right.
“Yes, of course I remember you. What brings you out to visit us?” she asked. “Paul isn’t here right now.”
“Cathy, this is Officer Ken Greeley. I’m not sure if you’ve met, but he’s also with Park Police. May I ask if the kids are home?”
Cathy nodded, her eyes growing large and scared. “Jeff’s out back with a friend playing badminton and Abbey’s upstairs.” She pointed up. “Is everything okay? Have you seen Paul?”
I motioned to the porch and started that way slowly. I didn’t want to tell her out in the driveway. Ken walked with me, and she followed. I felt bad delaying it, making her trail
He nodded. “Find the last person who saw him, who spoke to him. Check credit card spending, possible extramarital affairs, unpaid bills, debt, that sort of thing. You know the drill.” Joe looked me in the eye and it felt strange, as if I hadn’t seen his in a long time. They looked pale and distant, slightly rimmed in raw pink. “If he committed suicide,” Joe said, “something will show. If it was truly an accident, everything will be pretty much status quo.”
3
----
K EN AND I turned off Whitefish Stage Road onto the long gravel driveway between the towns of Kalispell and Whitefish. To the side of the drive, a vibrant yellow field of blooming canola spread picture-perfect until it hit a border of deep-green trees near the Stillwater River. The Columbia Range under a sky so blue it looked artificial stood in the background and completed the country picture, making it perfectly serene.
My stomach tightened and I felt short of breath at the thought of fracturing such a scene—of looking Cathy Sedgewick in the eye and telling her that she would not be seeing her husband, and her children would not be seeing their father ever again. But I had no choice; this was my task.
“Ranch Lane should be right up here,” Ken said, studying the map on his cell-phone GPS app.
I made a right where a small farmhouse with green shutters nestled among tall cottonwoods with deeply furrowed bark. A small porch sat in front with flower boxes below the large windows. Above the slanted porch roof, two windows looked out across the field from the small A-line second story.
A barking golden retriever ran toward the car. I rechecked the house number on the mailbox as I passed to make sure I had the right place and parked the Explorer in front of the garage. I sat for a moment and looked at the dog, its tail wagging eagerly.
I let out a breath as if releasing steam from a pressure cooker. It didn’tfeel real; the evening was too perfect for this. I glanced at Ken and he looked at me questioningly. “Ready?” I asked. Ken nodded and I forced myself to get out. “Hey, buddy,” I said to the dog solemnly and gave him a pat on the head. We walked toward the front porch and a warm breeze tickled my face. I could smell steaks from a grill from their backyard.
The front door swung open and Cathy stepped out and started walking toward us calling the dog—Max—to her. I knew it was Cathy because I recalled her from the time at Pizza Hut, and I’d seen her with Wolfie a time or two at other local restaurants when I’d been out with Lara.
She smiled and waved, then pushed a strand of dark curly hair behind her ear. She wore shorts, a faded purple T-shirt, and flip-flops. The sun, still intense but lowering in the western sky, painted her skin tawny. “Monty?” she squinted at me through a questioning smile.
“Yes, hi, Cathy, good memory.” I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. I noticed her eyes drift to my badge, to Ken, then flicker to the NPS vehicle. I was only a distant acquaintance and would never have a reason to stop by under normal circumstances. Her smile faded, and she narrowed her gaze as if sensing something wasn’t right.
“Yes, of course I remember you. What brings you out to visit us?” she asked. “Paul isn’t here right now.”
“Cathy, this is Officer Ken Greeley. I’m not sure if you’ve met, but he’s also with Park Police. May I ask if the kids are home?”
Cathy nodded, her eyes growing large and scared. “Jeff’s out back with a friend playing badminton and Abbey’s upstairs.” She pointed up. “Is everything okay? Have you seen Paul?”
I motioned to the porch and started that way slowly. I didn’t want to tell her out in the driveway. Ken walked with me, and she followed. I felt bad delaying it, making her trail
Similar Books
The Pet Shop
K. D. Grace
Orlando (Blackmail #1)
Crystal Spears
Who Loves Her?
Taylor Storm
Fairytale of Headley Cross
Clare Revell
Tender Savage
Iris Johansen
The Moment
Douglas Kennedy
The Manchurian Candidate
Richard Condon