The Creeping

“Careful not to choke.” I kneel on the ground, swiftly stowing the instrument in its case. “And it’s a violin, not a cello.”


She rolls her eyes. “Same difference. I get PTSD thinking about the dying animal noise you made when you used to practice. I stopped at Powel’s.” She swings the bag of gummies in my face. “And it took me forever to drive here, because there are cops everywhere.” I snatch the bag from her and ferret out the green ones. They’re the only color I eat. “Are you listening to me, Miss Piggy?”

“Continue.” I grin, revealing a mouthful of green gummies. “Do I look so hot, Zo? Should I go over to Taylor’s looking like this?” I tease, alternating winking one eye, then the other.

She tries to cover my mouth with her outstretched hand, but I stick my tongue out, licking her. “Gross. Just shut up for a second, you sticky bitch!” she says, laughing. I try to look serious wiping the candy oozing down my chin, but I’m reduced to giggles when I see how hard she’s trying to choke back her own laughter. “Stella! I’m trying to tell you something important.” I roll back on the floor, holding my stomach. It’s such a release to laugh after hours of crap. “Stella, listen to me. It’s Jeanie’s mom.” I gulp the gummies down instantly. I sit up, staring at Zoey, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“They found her this morning. She’s dead.”





Chapter Six


Dead” is a funny word. For ages I’ve said that Jeanie is probably dead, but it’s different to hear that it’s unequivocally true about someone. Dad’s nana died when I was ten and both Mom’s parents long before I was born, so I don’t have a lot of experience with death. Zoey says it like a dirty word; something that can’t be taken back. I’ve always said it like it’s a get-out-of-jail-free card. Like Jeanie being dead is the best-case scenario; it’s freedom from whatever monster took her. Mrs. Talcott being dead isn’t like that.

The morning and afternoon pass quickly. Uniforms fill my house. It takes them an hour to arrive, but once they do it’s as if they’re breeding like bunnies to produce more cops that take up every spare inch of space. More badges whispering about me from the corner of my living room; more badges’ radio static; more badges coming and going. Since it storms again, they track mud on the carpet, a funeral procession of footprints carving up the living room floor. If Mom still lived here, she’d throw a fit over the stains and mess, but Dad doesn’t notice incidentals. I curl on his recliner, lost in blankness, my vision tunneling until all I see is a tiny keyhole of light in front of me.

At first I don’t get why they’re all here, and then one word says it all. Homicide. Mrs. Talcott’s death is ruled a homicide almost immediately. A rookie with acne and a lisp speculates loudly that he thinks it’s Jeanie’s killer come back to tie up loose ends and to off the witnesses. Then he and the dark-skinned woman cop he’s talking to peek in my direction. As though they half expect me to be finished off already.

Detective Shane arrives just as the news crews set up camp on our lawn. They bring plastic tarps and giant umbrellas to shelter their equipment from the rain. Shane barks for them to move on to the sidewalk as he grinds his soiled boots into the welcome mat. He sniffs the air, face softening at the scent of Dad’s turkey meat loaf wafting from the kitchen.

“Everybody who doesn’t live here, out,” he orders. I close my eyes as Shane settles on the love seat across from me. I’m not questioned this time but briefed. Every detail he keeps brisk and clinical: Mrs. Talcott strangled; her body dumped along the road on the outskirts of town; they suspect a connection to Jeanie’s disappearance and the discovery of Jane Doe.

“Are there any suspects?” Dad asks, his voice tense but controlled.

“You know I can’t discuss possible suspects, Joe,” Shane answers.

“Jeanie’s father is obviously at the top of your list,” Dad continues.

Shane sighs loudly. “Kent Talcott claims to have been home all evening with his wife. He says they went to bed at quarter to eleven, and that’s the last time he saw her. A gossipy neighbor heard about Jane Doe and phoned Bev Talcott to tell her a little after midnight. That’s the last anyone spoke with Bev. The neighbor called us this morning once she heard Bev had been found. There was no sign of forced entry in the house. Kent said his wife often had trouble sleeping and would take late-night strolls. Neighbors corroborate this, and her key was found in her pocket.”

He sets his chin and continues, “As you know, Kent Talcott had a similarly questionable alibi for Jeanie’s disappearance. He was still working as a park ranger at Blackdog State Park and was patrolling the fire trails that morning. There was a two-hour gap where no one saw him. Not surprising, since the trails are remote. His connection with the park where Jane Doe was found is hard to ignore.”