Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

He sits across from me. “Lay it on me.”

I tell him about the scene in the town council chamber. “I handled it poorly and walked out. Tomasetti, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know you didn’t. Auggie knows it, too.” He takes a sip of wine, sets down the glass. “That said, you have rankled a feather or two over the years.”

“Apparently, that’s my specialty.”

“One of many reasons I’m crazy about you.”

I frown. “You’re not making it easy for me to be miserable.”

He fingers the glass stem, swirls wine. “So what else is bothering you?”

I pick up my glass and sip. “It’s scary how well you know me.”

“I think that’s supposed to happen when two people who care about each other live together for an extended period of time.”

Reaching across the table, I smack him on the arm. He smiles at me and we fall silent. He’s waiting for me to continue. I’m procrastinating, because I’m pretty sure he’s not going to like what I have to say.

“I’ll go first,” he says after a moment. “You don’t believe Joseph killed his wife.”

“The more people I talk to and the more I learn about the case, the more convinced I am that something is not right.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to do about it?”

“I thought I might poke around a little, talk to some people, see what I can find out.”

“People like who?”

“The lead detective, for one.” I tell him about Sidney Tucker.

“He still with the sheriff’s department?” he asks.

“Retired.”

“And you’re going to do all of this while you’re on restricted duty.”

“You know how it is with me and rules.”

“They just get in the way anyway,” he says dryly, and then eyes me over the rim of his glass. “Kate … look, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I wouldn’t be doing my due diligence as the love of your life if I didn’t, so I’m just going to put it out there.”

“Okay.”

“Bear in mind … when Joseph King was killed, you lost a big part of your childhood. We see things differently when we’re young. We see people differently.”

“I’m aware,” I say.

“Maybe your opinion of him is skewed because of your past with him. Because he was a big part of your life and you cared about him.”

“Tomasetti, it’s been a long time since I was thirteen years old. I’m a cop and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a handle on any bias I might be experiencing.”

“I guess that means you’re not going to let me talk you out of this.”

I take my time answering, knowing it’s important to get the words right. “Five children are going to grow up without their parents; they’re going to grow up believing their father murdered their mother. I think there’s a good possibility someone out there got away with murder.”

“Will you do me a favor?”

“If I can.”

“If you have to walk into the lion’s den, watch your back, especially around Crowder.”

“I will. He wasn’t exactly subtle about his opinion of me.”

“Or King.”

We fall silent, both of us caught up in our thoughts.

“I wish I could let this go,” I tell him. “I wish I could walk away and forget about it. Tomasetti, I can’t.”

“If you did, you wouldn’t be you and I probably wouldn’t love you as much as I do.”

I nearly choke on my wine. “I think that’s the corniest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“You could be right.”

“But it’s working.”

He grins. “Maybe you should set down that glass.”

I do. “Turn off the stove.”

Dinner forgotten, I pull him to his feet. He takes me into his arms and presses his mouth to mine.





CHAPTER 17

There are certain moments in which time stands still. Moments when every emotion, every physical sensation—the breeze on your face, the smell of fall foliage, or the refrain of a song on the radio—is imprinted on your mind and remains crystal clear through the decades.

The spring storms came with relentless fury the year I turned thirteen. Four days of driving, torrential rain filled the gullies and turned even the smallest streams into raging rivers the color of creamed coffee. Painters Creek swelled to three times its usual size, the swift water tearing hundred-year-old trees from the earth and sending them downstream.

One of our mama cows and her newborn calf went missing that third day. Daisy was everyone’s favorite—sweet and personable with a star the shape of Ohio on her forehead. Datt and Jacob spent the morning looking for her. I wasn’t allowed, which I took as a personal affront because it was me who’d cared for her since she was just a calf. I knew Daisy better than anyone; I knew her favorite grazing spots, and I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to her, or God forbid, her calf. And so while Mamm was busy scrubbing the upstairs bathtub, I pulled on my jacket and slipped out the back door to look for her.

Daisy preferred to graze in the low area near the creek where the grass was lush and green and she had plenty of shade on sunny days, so that’s where I began. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I caught my first glimpse of the creek. It had transformed from a meandering stream to a raging brown torrent that cut into the bank and tore around the trees like a writhing, churning serpent.

I’d only walked along the bank a couple of hundred yards when over the roar, I heard Daisy bawling. I could tell by the pitch that she was scared. I ran toward the sound, which seemed to be coming from somewhere downstream. I knew about the dangers of high water. Instead of getting closer to the creek, I headed toward the high area we called “the cliffs,” where I would have a clear view and hopefully pinpoint her location.

I plowed through saplings and bramble, the stickers from the raspberry bushes tearing at my face and clothes. Finally, I was standing on the edge of the cliff, a place where the water had carved out a muddy cave right beneath me. Thirty feet down, the tops of the saplings swayed as brown water swirled past.

“Daisy!” I cupped my hands over my mouth. “Daisy!”

Through the saplings, I caught a glimpse of movement. The black and white of the cow’s coat. Squinting, I sidled closer to the edge of the cliff, and I got my first good look at her. Daisy and her calf were standing on a small rise surrounded by fast-moving water. Usually, the sandbar-like rise is an extension of the bank. The flooding had turned it into an island that was quickly being consumed by swift water. Both cow and calf were in danger of being swept away.

It hadn’t occurred to me to bring Daisy’s halter or even a rope. I had no way to get across the water. No way to reach her.