“Oh my God,” he said over the chorus, because he recognized every detail.It was her.She was Poison Rose.She’d lost her mother young.She was from the Midwest.The last name on her prescription bottle was, quite literally, Rose.
Heart full of thorns, on a twisted vine,
She cut me deep, man, she bled me dry,
Poison rose, poison rose.
Wade pulled over to the side of the road in a squeal of tires.
“Son of a bitch!”he said, raking a hand through his hair.
Tripp Gilley, country music superstar, was her abusive ex.She’d called him Travis.This was unbelievable.Wade listened to Gilley’s signature voice with a queasy stomach.This bastard had put his hands on Meredith.This best-selling, chart-topping, Grammy Award–winning bastard had abused her.He’d left scars on her beautiful face.
The worst thing was he might get away with it.She’d have to lawyer up to even make an allegation against him.She’d have to go public, and the press would crucify her.Tripp was a popular celebrity with a legion of supporters.
Wade did a quick search on his phone for Tripp Gilley.According to his website, Gilley was performing at a concert in New Jersey.Thumbs flying over the keys, Wade added Meredith’s name to the search.The only result was a photograph of the two of them before Gilley got famous.He had tousled dark hair and soulful eyes.She wore a strapless silver dress that showed off her pale skin.She looked thin, almost brittle.Although Gilley was a slim man, he towered over her.His arm rested lightly on her shoulders.
Wade’s fury skyrocketed.
The caption readTripp Gilley with Meredith Roseand offered no details about their relationship.She could have been anyone—a groupie, another artist, or his publicist.The photo had been taken more than five years ago.
Heart pounding with anger, Wade continued the search.He located the article about her disappearance, which didn’t mention Gilley or offer any new information.After scanning the text quickly, Wade tossed his phone aside.
Now what?
He took several deep breaths, trying to remain calm.He couldn’t fly to New Jersey and murder Tripp Gilley.Although he wanted to resort to physical violence, immediately and with extreme prejudice, that wasn’t the answer.Not right now, at least.
There was no easy solution to Meredith’s plight.Wade wished she’d trusted him enough to share the details herself, but he understood why she’d refused to name her ex, and why she found the situation hopeless.
Secrets keep people sick.
Meredith’s words were hypocritical but true.The secret about Billy’s death felt like a sickness inside him.He’d been keeping it to protect his professional reputation, and to save his father’s.These reasons seemed thin to him now.
Guilt overwhelmed him.He could have been a better role model for Billy.His brother had needed guidance, and Wade hadn’t offered it.Their dysfunctional parents had failed to set boundaries for him.Billy had been a pawn between them, a tool they used to hurt each other.Wade had stayed away, choosing the safe haven of sports.Strenuous activity had always soothed his body and quieted his mind.
Wade shoved the family problems out of his mind, along with thoughts of Meredith, and entered the station.He scanned his emails for a response from the coroner.He’d promised to deliver a computerized sketch as soon as possible, but criminal investigations took priority over unknown remains from decades in the past.He buried himself in paperwork until lunchtime, when he rose from his desk and walked outside.
It was warm, like it had been at the swimming hole yesterday.There was a café on the corner that sold decent sandwiches.Wade headed that direction, in no hurry.He spotted a familiar white truck parked in the shade across the street.
The vehicle belonged to the man Jackson had questioned, Paul Murphy.Wade lingered in the shade of an oak tree while Murphy exited the café.He held a paper bag in his right hand.He kept his left arm close to his body, as if movement pained him, but he wasn’t wearing the sling.His clothes were dusty and nondescript.A pale cowboy hat was pulled down low on his forehead.If Wade hadn’t seen the truck, he might not have recognized the man.And if Wade hadn’t gotten close to Meredith, he might not have noted anything amiss.
Cowboy hats and dusty clothes were common in Lost Lake.Even so, Murphy looked like a man in disguise.With his head down, and his face angled away from view, he appeared to be deliberately avoiding eye contact with strangers.He scanned his surroundings from beneath the lowered brim of his hat as he strode forward.
Wade recognized it.The hyperalert vibe, the tension in his shoulders, the methodical search for threats.
He looked like acop.
Charlie Franklin’s words from the other day floated back to him.He smells like gun oil and fabric starch.
Jackson suspected Murphy of being a criminal, and he was definitely a tough customer.Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between seasoned thugs and off-duty cops.Men on both sides of the law had to stay fit, keep their wits about them, and be ready for physical attacks at any moment.
Wade watched as Murphy climbed behind the wheel of the truck and drove away.Wade considered calling Jackson to discuss his hunch.Instead, he decided to let sleeping dogs lie.He didn’t need to solve every mystery in Lost Lake.
Wade bought a sandwich and went back to work.The hours dragged on as he completed an online training about radio codes.Finally, it was time to go home.On impulse, he ducked into a gift shop to buy something for his mother.Meredith was baking a cake, and he wanted to acknowledge the occasion.None of the cards were appropriate for celebrating a dead person’s birthday.Wade selected a bouquet of flowers in a bright mix of cheery colors.He hoped it would soften the blow of a difficult conversation.
He wasn’t sure his mother could handle the truth, but it was time to tell it.
Chapter Twenty-One
