on the edge of the orange paisley couch with the center cut out and stared at the hole in the foam.
“So if this isn’t the police station,” she asked, “what is it?”
“It’s the evidence room,” Josh explained. “All those rows back there, they’re full of boxes of evidence—everything from bikes to guns to booze.”
Something in her face changed. “Every case? How far back?”
“Older than me,” Samba said, handing her the glass of iced tea. “Don’t even hazard a guess.”
She chuckled, at ease again.
“I’m Samba, by the way. And that’s Josh. What’s your name?”
For the first time, she hesitated. It was only for a beat, but Josh saw her consider her options before answering.
“Aurora Atchison.” She almost whispered it. It took Josh a minute to process the name, roll it over in his head, figure out why something about it sounded familiar.
Samba didn’t take as long. “Well, I’ll be darned,” he answered, removing his glasses and studying her. She looked towards the door and shifted uncomfortably when Samba spoke again, this time more gently.
“Are you here about your mother’s case?”
She stood up so quickly that she almost upended the table. “Yes. I can come back, though—I know it probably takes a while to pull the files. You guys are probably busy. Thanks for the tea. I—um, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’m just going to go.”
“I’m sorry,” Samba said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s all right. Really.” She bolted for the door. Josh followed her outside, his brain churning with the details of her case. Aurora Atchison. It was an old case that was almost a legend in Cooper’s Bayou—part horror story, part cautionary tale. An abusive husband, a murdered wife, the baby daughter left at the mini-mart. So this was her—the little girl lost, now returned.
“Hey, listen,” Josh called to her. “I get it. You don’t want to talk about it—believe me, I get it.” She paused on the bottom step and turned to face him, shading her eyes from the sun.
Josh dug around in his pocket and retrieved a folded white square. He scribbled a number on the back of it. “I mean, if you get lost, or whatever.” That was ridiculous—the town was four streets wide—but she took the card.
“Thanks, Josh.”
“I’m not really from here either, you know,” he said. It was all he could think of to say. “I know what it’s like to be new in town.”
She smiled and nodded, and he watched her walk to her rental, a cherry-red subcompact. In his mind, he finished the sentence.
I know what it’s like to return to the scene of the crime.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Aurora wanted a margarita.
She’d never been much of a drinker. Usually, she just ordered a Diet Coke at bars when she was out with friends. “I’m driving,” she’d tell the bartender when he shot her a questioning look, even though they both knew nobody drove in New York City.
Control freak, Nicky teased her at work, but she was right. It was better than being out of control, wasn’t it? “Tightly wound,” her attending had called her, which made her think of the cheap gold watch he wore too snugly on his hairy wrist. It wasn’t a completely bad quality. It made her a good friend and a fantastic nurse. It made her reliable and punctual.
It also made her a little bit boring.
Still, this trip to Florida was changing all of that.
She felt a strange comfort in the house on the bayou. She had even ventured into town a few times, to the grocery store, and then to the evidence room. Of course, she hadn’t made any friends here yet, and she didn’t feel like she could just stroll into a local bar and order a drink the way you could in New York. It was an odd sensation, being a stranger in town whom everyone knew. Papa had left her instructions about the house, but he hadn’t told her who was trustworthy. All she knew was that he had been working on something, that some question
“So if this isn’t the police station,” she asked, “what is it?”
“It’s the evidence room,” Josh explained. “All those rows back there, they’re full of boxes of evidence—everything from bikes to guns to booze.”
Something in her face changed. “Every case? How far back?”
“Older than me,” Samba said, handing her the glass of iced tea. “Don’t even hazard a guess.”
She chuckled, at ease again.
“I’m Samba, by the way. And that’s Josh. What’s your name?”
For the first time, she hesitated. It was only for a beat, but Josh saw her consider her options before answering.
“Aurora Atchison.” She almost whispered it. It took Josh a minute to process the name, roll it over in his head, figure out why something about it sounded familiar.
Samba didn’t take as long. “Well, I’ll be darned,” he answered, removing his glasses and studying her. She looked towards the door and shifted uncomfortably when Samba spoke again, this time more gently.
“Are you here about your mother’s case?”
She stood up so quickly that she almost upended the table. “Yes. I can come back, though—I know it probably takes a while to pull the files. You guys are probably busy. Thanks for the tea. I—um, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’m just going to go.”
“I’m sorry,” Samba said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s all right. Really.” She bolted for the door. Josh followed her outside, his brain churning with the details of her case. Aurora Atchison. It was an old case that was almost a legend in Cooper’s Bayou—part horror story, part cautionary tale. An abusive husband, a murdered wife, the baby daughter left at the mini-mart. So this was her—the little girl lost, now returned.
“Hey, listen,” Josh called to her. “I get it. You don’t want to talk about it—believe me, I get it.” She paused on the bottom step and turned to face him, shading her eyes from the sun.
Josh dug around in his pocket and retrieved a folded white square. He scribbled a number on the back of it. “I mean, if you get lost, or whatever.” That was ridiculous—the town was four streets wide—but she took the card.
“Thanks, Josh.”
“I’m not really from here either, you know,” he said. It was all he could think of to say. “I know what it’s like to be new in town.”
She smiled and nodded, and he watched her walk to her rental, a cherry-red subcompact. In his mind, he finished the sentence.
I know what it’s like to return to the scene of the crime.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Aurora wanted a margarita.
She’d never been much of a drinker. Usually, she just ordered a Diet Coke at bars when she was out with friends. “I’m driving,” she’d tell the bartender when he shot her a questioning look, even though they both knew nobody drove in New York City.
Control freak, Nicky teased her at work, but she was right. It was better than being out of control, wasn’t it? “Tightly wound,” her attending had called her, which made her think of the cheap gold watch he wore too snugly on his hairy wrist. It wasn’t a completely bad quality. It made her a good friend and a fantastic nurse. It made her reliable and punctual.
It also made her a little bit boring.
Still, this trip to Florida was changing all of that.
She felt a strange comfort in the house on the bayou. She had even ventured into town a few times, to the grocery store, and then to the evidence room. Of course, she hadn’t made any friends here yet, and she didn’t feel like she could just stroll into a local bar and order a drink the way you could in New York. It was an odd sensation, being a stranger in town whom everyone knew. Papa had left her instructions about the house, but he hadn’t told her who was trustworthy. All she knew was that he had been working on something, that some question
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