Just plain eggs, Dad.” Good gravy, my stomach really might be upset if he tries to doctor up the eggs.
After bringing me my eggs—plain, thank God—Dad and I veg on the couch for the rest of the night, watching bad reality TV and laughing at the stupid things people will do to get their fifteen minutes of fame. But every time the clock chimes indicating another hour has passed and my mom still isn’t home, the more worried I become.
My mom is an assistant district attorney. When we lived in Baltimore, she worked in the financial crimes unit and she spent most of her days either in a courtroom or staring at a computer screen. She was getting burnt out quick and began applying for jobs in smaller areas. When the chief of DAs called and offered her a position in major crimes for the entire county, rather than one section of one small division, she was thrilled. It was her dream job, and she jumped at the chance. Luckily Daddy’s job is flexible, and his boss allowed him to transfer to their Chattanooga location. Life’s a lot different for both of them in this rural county. Dad hates the commute into the city but was thankful they let him transfer at all. Mom doesn’t see a lot of craziness like on Law and Order ; instead, she mostly deals with prosecuting drug charges and DUIs. If work was keeping her occupied until after nine o’clock, it would have to be for something big—like a murder.
Dad’s snoring away in his recliner, so I begin to make my way up to bed, tiptoeing so as not to wake him. I click off the lamp in the den before ambling across the room to close the curtains. Glancing out the window, something catches my eye. I squint, unsure what I really saw, but it’s gone.
A cold shiver runs up my spine. I could have sworn I saw someone looking in my direction, right in my window. Is someone stalking me? Do the Calottas know? Are they keeping tabs on me? Is Marco? A thousand other thoughts race through my head, each more terrifying than the last.
I scramble to the front door, locking both the knob and the deadbolt before peering out the peephole. Still nothing, but I know I saw something. I’m certain of it.
As I climb the stairs to my room, I try to convince myself that it was just Mr. Slater walking his dog. Thinking that allows me to settle down a little, but I still can’t fall asleep. I am just finally dozing off when I hear the garage door open. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s nearly eleven. As much as I just want to ask my mom about whatever kept her at work so late, I know better. She’s tightlipped about work stuff, both because of attorney/client privilege and because she’s always afraid whatever horrible thing she’s working on will scar me. If she only knew …
I wait until I hear my parents go to bed before I sneak downstairs as quietly as possible, cursing the creaky floorboards on the old house. I find Mom’s briefcase slung over a chair and take it into the downstairs bathroom, locking the door behind me. I pull out the files and weed through each one, looking for anything that involves the murder I witnessed.
I find it at the bottom of the stack. The file is pretty thin, and I’m disappointed they don’t have more information yet. I comb through every word, trying to make sense of it all. Thirty-six-year-old male victim found floating on the banks of the Tennessee River early yesterday morning by a fisherman. The body was bloated and had been scavenged by animals making his corpse unrecognizable, but fingerprints identified him as Daniel Everett. I close the file, thanking all that is holy that there is no picture of the body. I do not need that mental image.
I read the name again, trying to figure out why it sounds so familiar. The Everetts are a large family in the area, with lots of second, third, and fourth cousins spread around the state, so I can’t place which one Daniel was. A relative of Hunter’s I assume, but which one? With no picture in the file, and my
After bringing me my eggs—plain, thank God—Dad and I veg on the couch for the rest of the night, watching bad reality TV and laughing at the stupid things people will do to get their fifteen minutes of fame. But every time the clock chimes indicating another hour has passed and my mom still isn’t home, the more worried I become.
My mom is an assistant district attorney. When we lived in Baltimore, she worked in the financial crimes unit and she spent most of her days either in a courtroom or staring at a computer screen. She was getting burnt out quick and began applying for jobs in smaller areas. When the chief of DAs called and offered her a position in major crimes for the entire county, rather than one section of one small division, she was thrilled. It was her dream job, and she jumped at the chance. Luckily Daddy’s job is flexible, and his boss allowed him to transfer to their Chattanooga location. Life’s a lot different for both of them in this rural county. Dad hates the commute into the city but was thankful they let him transfer at all. Mom doesn’t see a lot of craziness like on Law and Order ; instead, she mostly deals with prosecuting drug charges and DUIs. If work was keeping her occupied until after nine o’clock, it would have to be for something big—like a murder.
Dad’s snoring away in his recliner, so I begin to make my way up to bed, tiptoeing so as not to wake him. I click off the lamp in the den before ambling across the room to close the curtains. Glancing out the window, something catches my eye. I squint, unsure what I really saw, but it’s gone.
A cold shiver runs up my spine. I could have sworn I saw someone looking in my direction, right in my window. Is someone stalking me? Do the Calottas know? Are they keeping tabs on me? Is Marco? A thousand other thoughts race through my head, each more terrifying than the last.
I scramble to the front door, locking both the knob and the deadbolt before peering out the peephole. Still nothing, but I know I saw something. I’m certain of it.
As I climb the stairs to my room, I try to convince myself that it was just Mr. Slater walking his dog. Thinking that allows me to settle down a little, but I still can’t fall asleep. I am just finally dozing off when I hear the garage door open. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s nearly eleven. As much as I just want to ask my mom about whatever kept her at work so late, I know better. She’s tightlipped about work stuff, both because of attorney/client privilege and because she’s always afraid whatever horrible thing she’s working on will scar me. If she only knew …
I wait until I hear my parents go to bed before I sneak downstairs as quietly as possible, cursing the creaky floorboards on the old house. I find Mom’s briefcase slung over a chair and take it into the downstairs bathroom, locking the door behind me. I pull out the files and weed through each one, looking for anything that involves the murder I witnessed.
I find it at the bottom of the stack. The file is pretty thin, and I’m disappointed they don’t have more information yet. I comb through every word, trying to make sense of it all. Thirty-six-year-old male victim found floating on the banks of the Tennessee River early yesterday morning by a fisherman. The body was bloated and had been scavenged by animals making his corpse unrecognizable, but fingerprints identified him as Daniel Everett. I close the file, thanking all that is holy that there is no picture of the body. I do not need that mental image.
I read the name again, trying to figure out why it sounds so familiar. The Everetts are a large family in the area, with lots of second, third, and fourth cousins spread around the state, so I can’t place which one Daniel was. A relative of Hunter’s I assume, but which one? With no picture in the file, and my
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