I hear the sheriff’s chair give an emphatic squeal and know he’s gotten up. The floors vibrate under his plodding gait as he comes over to my desk.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Is that kid really setting animals on fire?”
“Fire marshal says so.” The fire marshal actually said more than that, but Sheriff Gray doesn’t need to hear the descriptive language he used. The man was very upset. I’ve never seen a grown man cry, but after seeing the pictures of a family’s beloved pet, I don’t blame him. I felt queasy thinking about it, and it takes a lot to make me queasy.
“Well, I’m going to do you a favor,” Sheriff Gray says, handing me a Post-it note.
I read and look back at the kids’ interview room. I can hear banging on the wall. “What about them?”
“I’ll take care of them,” he says. “I’m the sheriff. I can do a referral to juvenile court the same as you, and I’ve done this job longer.”
Outside of a multiple murder in the Snow Creek area, the cases I’ve had lately have been thefts and high-dollar vandalism. The note the sheriff handed me has eight words printed in his perfect, steady hand.
It reads like a telegram.
Marrowstone Island.
Mystery Bay State Park.
Cove.
Floater
A floater is a tasteless but accurate descriptive term we use for bodies found in water. I haven’t been on the job very long—two years—but this is the first time I’ve heard of a drowning in the little cove of Mystery Bay, Marine State Park.
“Homicide?” I ask.
He gives a little shrug. “They want a detective. You tell me after you get there.”
I grab my windbreaker that doubles as a raincoat, thinking the sheriff is done.
He’s not.
“Detective Carpenter, meet Reserve Deputy Marsh.”
A younger version of me, but with red hair instead of blond, steps in front of my desk with her hand held out. A smattering of freckles high on her cheekbones are visible through the makeup she’s applied. The hand is perfectly manicured.
Those nails won’t last the day, I think.
I can’t help but notice my own hands just then. My skin is dry, tanned from spending time in the sun. Nails somewhat chewed but practical for this kind of work.
I already don’t like her, but, to be fair, I don’t know her.
I remind myself to get to know her first and then not like her.
Her grip is like water, soft. She is wearing a blue pinstriped suit with a white silk blouse billowing out in front. She probably got the idea for her getup from a television show where all the female cops are busty, with longish styled hair, and dressed in high heels. Her ridiculous outfit will last about as long as her nails before it’s ripped or covered with mud or puke or blood.
“Ronnie Marsh,” she says.
“Nice to meet you, Ronnie.” I don’t mean it. I’ve got a case to work, and in my mind I’m already heading to Marrowstone Island. I let her hand drip through mine, and I slip into my windbreaker. As I turn for the door, Sheriff Gray stops me with a hand on my shoulder. I don’t like to be touched, but I’ll make an allowance for him.
“Take her with you, Megan.”
I work alone. Always have. I work alone for a reason. I don’t want complications. I don’t want relationships. Working together qualifies as a relationship. Relationship equals abandonment. That’s what life has taught me. My brother Hayden hates me because I left him in Idaho with a veritable stranger. My mother betrayed and lied to me in the worst way.
Everyone does eventually.
Reserve Deputy Marsh can ride along with me for today, but that’s it.
“You’ve got her for a week.”
I shoot him a look. I don’t care if the reserve sees it or not.
“I’m swamped, Sheriff. I can do today. Maybe you can give her to someone else?”
“Swamped with what?”
I stay mute. He already knows the answer. I’m tempted to say, Sheriff, you and I both know I’m not working shit right now. So why don’t we save some time here and you hand her to someone that wants to work her. But I don’t say that because Sheriff Gray gave me a job when probably no one else would. Because he knows things about me. Because he has helped me erase some of my past mistakes. And, more than anything, because he is about the only person I can trust.
He doesn’t remove his hand from my shoulder. “You might as well take vacation time, Megan. It’s so dead around here.”
I wish he wouldn’t use that word: “dead.” It has a way of multiplying trouble. Like a virus.
Just then, Nan, Sheriff Gray’s assistant, shows up. She is also wearing a suit. She and Marsh could be twins. I change my assessment of where Marsh got the idea for her attire. She must have seen Nan.
That doesn’t bode well for her.
“Sheriff,” Nan says, “Marine Patrol wants to know if they need to respond to the drowning.” She’s looking at me, smiling at Marsh, and talking to the sheriff. She’s perfected multitask ass-kissing. “Should I tell them you’re both with a suspect and can’t be disturbed?”
Reserve Deputy Marsh speaks up. “I just completed my rotation through Marine Patrol. Captain Martin gave me a good write-up. He said I was his best intern yet.”
I’d met the captain one time during my academy rotation. He was good-looking, in a Ted Bundy sort of way. I remember he was always partial to the female cadets. The guys, no matter how adept they were on the water, barely squeaked by with a passing grade.
“I can see that,” I say.
Nan and Marsh were exchanging looks and giving each other a knowing smile. It’s no secret that Nan has a picture of Captain Marvel—that’s what I call him—displayed on her desk. He is at the helm of his boat, bravely sailing into a perfect sunset. I remember a while back he gave Nan a ride on his personal boat. The next day she came to work in wrinkled clothes, messed-up hair, no makeup.
I just rolled my eyes when I saw her.
Sheriff Gray looks at me for a response.
“I won’t know if I need the Marine Patrol guys until I get there. What’s their location?”
Nan gives me a stare. “The captain didn’t say. He just asked if he should respond.”
“I’ll call Captain Marvel when I get there.” Then I change my mind. “I’ll call the captain on my way,” I say, and try to leave.
Sheriff clears his throat. “Aren’t you forgetting someone? Take Deputy Marsh with you.” He says this like I should stand to attention and salute.
I head to the parking lot, and Deputy Marsh trails behind me with her high heels clacking all the way. I get to my old Taurus and hit the unlock button on the key fob. I forgot that the key fob doesn’t work anymore. The good thing is the car is old enough that it still has a regular key on the fob. The bad thing is the car is old. I’ve asked for a new car. I won’t get one until I have to drive with one arm out the window holding the door shut.
The day just gets better and better.
I open the door with the key and hit the inside unlock button. Nothing happens. I lean across and unlock the passenger door. Ronnie Marsh waits until I pull out of the parking lot before she starts what will become stream-of-consciousness chatter. I tune out somewhere around her graduating from middle school at the top of her class.