The Creeping

“No, it wasn’t,” I agree.

Sam moves to sit on the bed next to me; the mattress squeals under his weight. He’s serious all of a sudden, and it kills the laugh gurgling up from my throat. “Stella, about what I was saying before.” He turns to me, lips parted, the pulse in his neck beating steadier than my own. “I want you to know that—”

“SAM!” Mrs. Worth yells from the foot of the stairs. “The police are here to speak with you.”

“Oh crap.” I leap from the bed like it’s on fire and jam my feet into the ruined flats. “It’ll be Shane. I should have called him back.” I grab my bag and rush down the stairs. Sure enough, Detective Tim Shane fills the foyer with his broad shoulders and menacing frown.

When I’m halfway down the stairs, he says, “In the car, please, Stella,” in his best cop voice.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Worth. Thank you so much for dinner. Bye, Sam!” I shout without turning to see if he’s followed. My cheeks and thoughts are feverish. I want out of here. I’m not prepared to hear what Sam wants to say. Mostly because I’m not sure how I’ll respond. I also can’t stomach being chewed out by Shane in front of him.

I duck past Shane and through the door, jumping off the porch and jogging to his idling sedan. Heavy droplets of rain plop from the sky, and I hurry into the car’s cloth interior. It reeks of cigarettes and greasy fast food. After another minute, Shane joins me, silently backing the car out of the driveway. Mrs. Worth stands on the porch waving, her back-lit silhouette somehow warm and inviting. Traveling away from her sends a pang deep into my chest.

We drive without speaking. I crack my window, hoping that some fresh air will vanquish the nausea rising in my stomach. When it doesn’t work, I try apologizing.

I twist to face him, hands imploring. “Look, I know today was bad. I understand you had those cops follow to keep me safe. But I was totally fine with Sam. And there was something we needed to do without them.”

Shane grits his teeth and growls, “Stop calling them cops. It’s disrespectful. They’re police officers who would risk their lives to keep you safe.” I clasp my hands in my lap, trying to look remorseful. “You scared the shit out of me. I’ve been looking for you for hours. The DNA results came back on the finger bone.” I hold my breath, waiting. Waiting for him to hiss Jeanie’s name. Waiting for all the strangely shaped jigsaw pieces to snap together as something obvious—horrible, yes, but instantly recognizable, like a kiddie-porn pervert. “It’s not Jeanie’s,” Shane says instead. The words are raw, screechy. My head droops to the seat.

“The lab says the bone is old—older than Jeanie’s would be. They called a bone-dating specialist in to give us an exact age. Techs combed through the graves disrupted by the mudslide, and it didn’t come from any of them.”

For a block there’s only the beat of rain as I imagine techs counting the toes and fingers of skeletons, humming this little piggy went to market, as part of some deranged lullaby.

“We’ve got something really ugly on our hands, and then you go and ditch my officers like that. What were you thinking?” Shane’s volume builds. “Or is that the problem, you weren’t? You wanted to run off with your boyfriend, everyone else be damned.”

This ignites my temper. Yes, anger is easier than fear, so I grasp at it. “He’s not my boyfriend, and I’m trying to do everything I can to figure out what happened to Jeanie and the poor little girl in the cemetery and whoever she had a piece of.” I jab my finger into his shoulder. “You’re the one wasting time with Jeanie’s dad. Do you understand that?” I glare at him accusingly. “You’ve got an innocent man while the real perv is free.”

Shane brakes hard at a red light; the tires shriek on the wet pavement. “What are you talking about? Kent Talcott is a likely suspect. What do you mean he’s innocent?” His baritone booms in the confined cab like we’re inside a beating drum. Anger must be easier for him too.

“I’d know if it was him. Don’t you get that?” I clutch my hands to my chest. “I’d feel it here when I look at him, and I don’t. He’s a good dad who’s never done anything wrong. Like mine. You’ve taken the only family Daniel has left.” My voice cracks as I clamp my mouth shut. OHMYGOD. Why did I bring up Daniel?