My fingers tighten around the phone.
“We’re cutting back,” she adds.
I close my eyes. “Is this about this sketch business?”
“We think you need to focus on that right now. You know, keep yourself safe.”
I also need to pay my bills!I want to shout. But even more, I ache to unleash a string of curses on Trey and Fiona.
Instead, I take a breath. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll be sending you the report before the day’s over, and I think you’ll be happy with what I’ve discovered about Lasserio. And as far as this other situation, I won’t need more than a few more days to focus on it. Let’s chat again then.”
After what feels like an endless silence, she says, “I suppose, but, you know, it’s notjustabout your safety. I mean, it is, of course, that’s the most important thing, but it’s also that, well, you know.”
“No, I don’t,” I say and wait.
“Well,” she finally adds. “It’s also about what it says. You know, about you.”
“What it says about me?”
“I don’t know how to say this, so I guess I’ll just come out with it. But what it says about your integrity. Orlackof it. There must be some reason you’re being targeted.”
I feel a sharp sting right to my solar plexus that settles into a deep ache in my belly. The comment hits dead-on. Linda’s right. It’s not that I don’t know it, it’s just hearing it from someone I rely on for my bread-and-butter work assignments makes me shrink even more, like I’m sliding and fading into the floor. “Linda, please, let’s chat again in a few days.”
“Okay, I guess,” she mutters. She offers, “Stay safe.”
“Will do,” I say. “Bye-bye.” Like we’ve had an entirely normal conversation, like she’s told me to have a nice trip, instead of suggesting I’m a terrible person while telling me to stay alive.
I’ve shifted my focus back to Randal Askens when my phone vibrates again. It’s Paxton Rhoads.
“Hard to tell given how far away the image is,” he says about the pack in the video I sent him. “But from what I can see, it looks familiar, like itcouldbe Clarissa’s. Is there any way to get a closer look?”
“Possibly,” I say. “I have a few connections. Do you recall if there’s anything distinguishing on her pack, like had she written her name or initials on it or something?”
“I know she ironed on a patch of our tribal flag on the canvas flap.”
“That’s something.” I replay the video, enlarging it and trying to see a spot of sky blue, the color of the Blackfeet Nation flag, but it’s too grainy and I can only see one side of the pack. “I’ll see what I can do and call you later.”
I pivot back to Randal Askens. It’s finally late enough in Washington, so I call the high school in Snohomish. It’s an hour earlier there, only seven a.m. I figure school starts around eight, but someone might be there. No answer. I hang up on the recorded voice that comes on the line and go get another cup of coffee.
I do another half hour of research, and as soon as the clock hits seven thirty Pacific time, I try again.
This time a woman answers with a chipper voice. “Becca Parson.”
“Hi,” I say. “I’m Randy’s sister, Ellen Atherton, formerly Askens.”
I made a note from Facebook that Randal has a sister who lives in Texas named Ellen Atherton. She called him Randy in her post and said that they should talk more often, so it seems a safe bet that chipper-morning-person Becca has never met her. Also on Facebook, I saw that the service for Randal has been postponed until later in the fall, when more of Randy’s family members, including a brother who lives in England and a favorite uncle in Tokyo, can attend.
“Oh,” Becca says, surprised. “Randy mentioned he had a sister. Are you in town?”
“I’m in Dallas. Just calling to, well, I don’t know. I guess it’s been so hard to wrap my head around all this craziness. I was thinking if I called and spoke to someone where Randy worked, it might help me process, you know.”
“Of course,” she says, heaving a richly empathetic sigh. “I’m so sorry for your loss. We all miss your brother so much.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“So how can I help?”
“I don’t know. There’s nothing specific, really. It’s just, you know, the FBI ... they’ve been grilling me, and they’ve asked all sorts of stuff about your school.”
