“That it’s a damned inconvenient time for investigating a murder, and it’s not going to get any better.”
I nod. “I’m also trying not to freak out over what happened to Gloria. The more chaotic things get, the less likely we’ll be to realize anyone’s missing. Perfect environment for anyone bent on murder.”
“Yep.”
THIRTY-THREE
First thing the next morning, I am not knocking on Marissa’s door. I’m at April’s place as she gets ready for work. I brought breakfast, which she’s eating as she scans her schedule.
“How’s Gloria?” I ask.
April doesn’t look up from her reading. “As well as can be expected. She appeared to have experienced only minor injuries, but I am concerned about her abdominal pain. I will be examining her again this morning. I expect it’s muscle soreness from being kicked, but I will remain concerned until the pain eases.” She looks up then. “I hope you intend to find whoever did this to her.”
I bite back a sarcastic reply, and settle for staring at her until she says, “Yes, I worded that poorly. Obviously you intend to. I mean that I hope you do. We do not need a serial entomber on the loose right now.”
“Pretty sure no one ever needs a serial entomber on the loose. Or would that be serial vivisepulturalist?”
Her brows rise.
“Vivisepulture is the practice of burying alive. Don’t ask me how I know that. I probably read it in a book. I may also be saying it wrong, and ‘vivisepulturalist’ is almost certainly not a word.”
“But it could be, as that seems to be what we have here. Have you confiscated all the shovels in town?”
When I don’t answer, she says, “That is the obvious first step, Casey. You must remove all the tools that could be used to bury people alive.”
“I’ll get on that. For now, I have a laundry list of tasks. The planes start departing today.”
She nods, her gaze sliding away.
“Is there anything else you’d like to talk about, April?”
She shakes her head. Then, when I’m at the door, she says, “Do you think we can do it?”
I turn.
“A new Rockton,” she says. “Do you think it’s possible?”
“I think if it is possible, then we can do it.”
“It’s important,” she says. “To people. It’s been … It’s become important to me.”
“Me, too.”
She exhales softly, as if she expected the ceiling to collapse at her admission. She straightens her shoulders.
“Then we shall do it. A better Rockton, where residents are not buried alive. Or shot. Or murdered in any way.”
“That would be wonderful.” I smile at her, and then I slip out while she returns to her schedule.
* * *
I’ve just settled in the station when the door opens. I don’t look up. I know who it is by the angry slap of sneakers.
“Hello, Marissa,” I say. “Nice to see you this morning.”
“You’re a vindictive bitch. Has anyone ever told you that?”
There’s no real anger in her voice. Annoyance, yes, but mostly exasperation, and I may be wrong but I think I detect a hint of grudging admiration.
“Vindictive seems harsh,” I say as I look up. “I’m not out to get you, Marissa. I’m just doing my job.”
“By sending someone to inform me that I’m now on the last flight out?”
I shrug. “You’re part of an active investigation, and I’ve been having trouble interviewing you. I thought a little incentive might be in order.” I wave at her. “It worked, didn’t it?”
She glowers at me. “So it’s a threat? Talk to you, or I’m stuck here to the bitter end.”
“No, the bitter end is for the cleanup crew. Your exit was delayed. That’s hardly catastrophic. Unless you’re in a hurry to get out. A hurry to get away. Or get away with something.”
“What exactly are you accusing me of, Casey?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. You’re just acting very oddly, and now there’s the Gloria situation.”
She hesitates. “What Gloria situation?”
“Someone lured her into the forest, marched her away at knifepoint, and buried her alive.”
“W-what?” She stares at me. “You’re joking, right?”
“I don’t see how that’d be funny. It certainly isn’t for Gloria. Fortunately, she managed to escape.”
Marissa sinks into the chair I brought in from outside. “How is she?”
“Physically okay, it seems. Emotionally, though?” I shake my head. “She was a wreck last night, as you might imagine. Knocked out and then waking up to realize you’ve been buried alive?”
Marissa looks sick. Then she sits there, staring into nothing.
“Gloria,” she says finally. “God, who would do that? Gloria is…” She looks up. “She’s like that nice, quiet girl who hangs out with the assholes. You know what I mean? There was always that clique in school, not quite the popular kids, but they thought they were, acted like they were, and kids like Gloria made the mistake of believing their advertising. In return, they treated her like shit.”
“Did you know she was a recovering alcoholic?”
Her lips tighten. “Those assholes. Conrad knew, I bet, didn’t he? He was always pushing her to drink, and when they hooked up, I did wonder…”
She shakes her head. “I should have done more than wonder. I should have talked to her. But by then, I’d moved on, and I cut her out of my life with the rest of them. It was a shitty thing to do. I’d see her in town, and my gut would clench, and I’d pretend not to notice her. I didn’t mean it. I just…” She swallows. “I had to get away from them, and she felt like part of ‘them.’ Except she wasn’t. They were toxic, and she’d been poisoned.”
Marissa exhales. “I’ll speak to her now. Try to make up for it.”
“That’s great,” I say. “However, I didn’t call you here for Gloria-emotional-support duty.”
She’s so lost in her thoughts that it takes a moment before her head snaps up. “You think I buried her alive?”
“Here’s what I know. You were the last person to see Jolene. You were spotted by multiple parties speaking to her, and then she was found dead in the forest.”
“I thought that was an accident.”
I look at her. Just hold her gaze and say nothing for a moment. Then I continue, “You may be looking for your rubber boots.”
“My what?”
“Your boots. They were on your front porch. They are now in evidence, because while I was trying—repeatedly—to speak to you, I noticed them on your porch and realized they looked about the right size for treads found near Jolene’s body. They match exactly. A hair found inside one also matches Jolene’s.”
“What? Slow down. My rubber boots—”
“Where were you at eight last night?”
“I…” She blinks. “Eight? I—”
I plow on. She’s asked me to slow down, and that’s exactly what I am not going to do. This isn’t a normal interrogation. This is going toe-to-toe with a professional, and I need to hit her as hard and fast as I can.
“Someone heard a woman arguing with Jolene the morning before she disappeared. Then you were seen talking to her later, the last person who did.”
“I—”
“You took on Conrad as a client when all evidence suggested he broke into Will’s place. That he hit you over the head. Yet you agreed to represent him? That made no sense.”