The game is zero sum. And we'd never have had to play it if Beau and my mother didn't have an affair.
I'm nearly to the edge of town when an idea comes to me and I turn my car around. The sheriff said the files were likely never transferred to a computer, but I can’t leave it at that. I have to exhaust the possibility.
Parts of Brea's death will likely always be a mystery to me. I can't experience that twice. I can't let this go until I know, one-hundred-percent, that my mom hitting that tree was an accident. And I don’t want to wait for the police department to take their sweet-ass time.
Farley letsme into his apartment. He is far younger than I expected. Possibly even still in high school.
I go to shake his hand, but he says, "Sup," and turns away.
Hmm. Okay.
I follow him down the short hallway to his bedroom. It's cramped, and it smells like teenage boy. It's a scent I don't want to think too much about.
Farley sits down at his desk, where there's a large computer, and looks at me, waiting.
"I need you to find out if there was an autopsy done on a woman twenty-two years ago."
"That's going to cost you. I'll find out all kinds of shit, but government systems are a bitch. Not to mention a federal crime."
"I'll pay you whatever you want."
He watches me. "You do know it's entirely possible the results aren't in a computer, right?”
“So I’ve been told. I want you to look anyway.”
He grunts. “Twenty-two years ago, there were like, horse-drawn buggies and shit."
I give him a withering look. "Not quite."
He glances over at his dark screen. "Five hundred dollars. Right now."
I open my phone and transfer him the money. "Get to work."
32
Jessie
"Jessie,there's a delivery here for you." One of the cowboys peeks his head into the barn.
I sigh and walk outside, blinking against the bright sun. A white delivery truck with the name of a furniture store on the side sits idling. This must be Sawyer's bed.
I have no idea if he'll ever sleep in it. The thought takes my already twisted heart and gives it an extra squeeze.
"Follow me," I yell to the driver, motioning to the ranch truck I was given yesterday. I lead him to my cabin and point out which bedroom.
He and the other person with him carry the bed inside in pieces. He stops in the doorway to Sawyer's room. "There's already a bed in there."
"Okay?" I try to keep my irritation in check. I need to get back to what I was doing.
"We were paid to deliver and set up, not disassemble and haul away."
I tell them to hang on, then go to my room and grab some cash. “Here.” I return, holding out a one-hundred-dollar bill. "Will this be enough to cover taking care of it all?"
The driver swipes it from my hand. "Yep."
I wait in the kitchen while they get to work. Since I'm here, I make lunch for myself. I'm halfway through the process when the guy comes into the kitchen. "All done. I need you to sign this saying you received the bed. And," he places a leather-bound book of some kind on the table. "We found this between the mattress and the box springs of the old bed."
“Thanks,” I say, eyeing the book.
