“So why did you call?”
“I was interested in the work you’ve done on the reservation. You know Palmer Edmonds well?”
“Well enough to get his take on the situation with the missing. Why? What does he have to do with the pickle you’re in?”
“Nothing.”At least, not that I know of.“But he has something to do with another case I’m working on.”
Jeremy leans his entire back against my car and listens intently. I tell him about Clarissa Haynes without using her name, and that Palmer Edmonds had breakfast with Clarissa the day she went hiking, but that he won’t speak to me, and refuses to speak to Clarissa’s brother, Paxton. I tell him why.
“Aha.” He smiles again. “So, you want to use me to get in front of him because Paxton hasn’t been able to?”
I give an innocent shrug.
“What do I get in return?”
“Depends,” I say. “If you can get Edmonds to talk to me about Ridgeway, I might consider giving you that exclusive.”
I can’treallyfathom the idea of going through with it, but I can’t think of another bargaining chip in my possession.
“Might?That’s weak.”
“It’s better than nothing. And it might help me figure out what happened to this poor drowned woman.” I don’t tell him it might also provide another avenue to figure out if the killer, or at least a copycat of the killer, is affiliated with the Ridgeway Ranch in some way.
He thinks about it. “I know who you’re talking about. Clarissa Haynes, right?”
“Yes.”
“Sad case,” he says, and he looks sincere. “Who hired you to look into her death?”
“Someone who cared for her.”
“The guy with the black Blackfeet Nation Pikuni license plates who just drove away?”
Again, I shrug.
“Okay. I can try. But why are you running around alone? Shouldn’t you have a bodyguard or something?”
“And pay him—or her—with what? And the real danger doesn’t kick in until my six days are up.”
“Which is the day after tomorrow.”
“You’re keeping track?” A wire of tension travels up my spine. I casually run my fingers across my gun.
“The whole nation is. But still, Crosbie, your life is at risk. Are you taking this seriously enough?” He pins me with his eyes, like he’s known me for years. It’s the same intense way he looked at me when he handed me the note the night before. I can’t read it. I can’t readhim. Is it born from good ol’ basic genuine interest in me or is it something else entirely? I can’t tell. Everything is too messed up. Too crazy.
“Yes,” I say, staring back. “Of course I am.”
“Why are you going about business as usual?”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe go on a vacation somewhere safe, somewhere nobody knows about.”
His concern feels real. It melts something inside me. I feel the pressure of tears threaten behind my eyes but push them back. My mind is frayed from my interaction with Jess. I’m still trying to make sense of the coincidence of her speaking to Ryan Petronis’s sister, Vivian, the sister of the boy who was raped during a football team’s hazing ceremony under the supervision of the coach who ended up being one of the CA’s victims. And of Jess not telling me about it. What I need is one of those walls to hang photos and draw dashed lines or solid lines around connections and possible connections. What I need is time to think it all through—even probe deeper into my conscience and consider all the consequences if I confess, and how to plan to catch the killer if I don’t. Is it possible to upload all your facts and suspicions to AI and have it point you in the right direction? Probably, andthatthought creeps me out, too. It’s all making me uneasy and a little crazed, but I don’t need to let Jeremy see the mess.
When I’m confident I can speak without my voice cracking, I say, “There’s been a part of me that’s been in denial. I mean, it’s hard to swallow something like this. And even after having it sink in, a part of me still wants to believe this is a stupid internet trick and a colossal coincidence that two of the people in the joke both ended up dead, but I know that’s wishful thinking. There’s no situation where two people matching two of the sketches both end up murdered.”
“What about that deputy outside your house? Is he doing his job? I mean, your boyfriend had a point. I got to your house fairly easily.”
