don’t take care of.”
“Meaning…it had dents?”
“The color was not good.”
“The silver was more gray than—shiny?”
“It was orange.”
“Orange?”
“Like on the back. I saw it when she zipped through the lot like a bat outta hell!”
“Where did you see it? The back of the car? Like the trunk?”
“No, the protector bar. It was kinda bent and—”
“Rusty? The bumper was rust-covered?” Will guessed. Carol had said before she thought the car was old, but she’d never said it was orange before.
“Yeah, that’s it. Rusty. The bumper was rusty. Does that help?” she asked, keying into Will’s sparked interest.
“Maybe. Those are the kinds of things that help when you remember them.”
“I’ll keep remembering,” she assured him. “Maybe I’ll remember some more tomorrow. Can you come by?”
“Carol,” her mother sighed.
“Mom, I’m helping!” she declared, right back.
“I’m not sure I can stop by again tomorrow, but you can always call me,” Will said.
“Okay.” She turned her head and peered at him sideways. “You’re not just humoring me, are you?”
“Carol!”
“No,” Will assured her. The mother turned three shades of scarlet on hearing her daughter mime her and her husband’s own words. “You never know when something might help.”
Carol shot her mother a see there look as Will’s cell phone rang. Excusing himself, he stepped onto the Pellters’ front porch and punched the talk button. “Tanninger.”
“Will, there’s a fire out by the Laurelton Airport,” Barb told him.
“Uh-huh.” He waited. Since the strip of land euphemistically known as the Laurelton Airport was outside the city limits, it was within the Winslow County lines and therefore the sheriff’s department’s jurisdiction. But fires were the fire department’s problem.
Barb enlightened him. “Dead body at the scene. Looks like whoever started the fire was trying to burn the body.”
“Homicide?”
“Yep. ME’s heading to the scene. But from what I’m getting, that body’s been dead awhile. At least a week. Female.”
“Someone trying to cover up the crime.”
“Most likely.”
“Okay, I’m on my way,” Will said.
“I’ll meet you there.”
Gemma opened her mailbox and was relieved to find a new bank card. She’d made the trip to the bank to access her funds, but hadn’t yet gone for her driver’s license. The thought of a picture in her current bruised state had really squelched her desire to abide by the law. For now, she was driving without it. If she got pulled over, tough. She would just deal with the consequences.
Even though most of her memory had returned—she could recall a lot of her growing up years although specific details were still hazy—she was at a complete loss about her recent past. She didn’t remember any part of chasing out of LuLu’s after some unidentified man. The only piece that seemed to stick out was eating oatmeal and cinnamon three days before she woke up in the hospital. Anything before that came in fits and starts, but with Macie’s explanation of her on-again/off-again brain, Gemma had accepted this annoyance as part of her own weird makeup.
Still, she’d been desperately trying to remember who she’d chased after, out of LuLu’s. Was it that pedophile, Letton? Was she the person who had deliberately run him down? Would she do that?
I would if the target were Charlotte.
She thought about that hard. She would kill to save Charlotte.
She smiled faintly as she thought of Macie’s daughter. Eleven years old. A truant. Tough as rawhide, with endless energy and a smart mouth. Charlotte was a truth-teller. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Gemma could remember nearly everything about her. She identified with Charlotte, who, though her mother loved her dearly, was independent in the way of only-children and loners. She lived with Macie, but she also lived in a wider world. Everyone around Quarry knew Charlotte.
“Meaning…it had dents?”
“The color was not good.”
“The silver was more gray than—shiny?”
“It was orange.”
“Orange?”
“Like on the back. I saw it when she zipped through the lot like a bat outta hell!”
“Where did you see it? The back of the car? Like the trunk?”
“No, the protector bar. It was kinda bent and—”
“Rusty? The bumper was rust-covered?” Will guessed. Carol had said before she thought the car was old, but she’d never said it was orange before.
“Yeah, that’s it. Rusty. The bumper was rusty. Does that help?” she asked, keying into Will’s sparked interest.
“Maybe. Those are the kinds of things that help when you remember them.”
“I’ll keep remembering,” she assured him. “Maybe I’ll remember some more tomorrow. Can you come by?”
“Carol,” her mother sighed.
“Mom, I’m helping!” she declared, right back.
“I’m not sure I can stop by again tomorrow, but you can always call me,” Will said.
“Okay.” She turned her head and peered at him sideways. “You’re not just humoring me, are you?”
“Carol!”
“No,” Will assured her. The mother turned three shades of scarlet on hearing her daughter mime her and her husband’s own words. “You never know when something might help.”
Carol shot her mother a see there look as Will’s cell phone rang. Excusing himself, he stepped onto the Pellters’ front porch and punched the talk button. “Tanninger.”
“Will, there’s a fire out by the Laurelton Airport,” Barb told him.
“Uh-huh.” He waited. Since the strip of land euphemistically known as the Laurelton Airport was outside the city limits, it was within the Winslow County lines and therefore the sheriff’s department’s jurisdiction. But fires were the fire department’s problem.
Barb enlightened him. “Dead body at the scene. Looks like whoever started the fire was trying to burn the body.”
“Homicide?”
“Yep. ME’s heading to the scene. But from what I’m getting, that body’s been dead awhile. At least a week. Female.”
“Someone trying to cover up the crime.”
“Most likely.”
“Okay, I’m on my way,” Will said.
“I’ll meet you there.”
Gemma opened her mailbox and was relieved to find a new bank card. She’d made the trip to the bank to access her funds, but hadn’t yet gone for her driver’s license. The thought of a picture in her current bruised state had really squelched her desire to abide by the law. For now, she was driving without it. If she got pulled over, tough. She would just deal with the consequences.
Even though most of her memory had returned—she could recall a lot of her growing up years although specific details were still hazy—she was at a complete loss about her recent past. She didn’t remember any part of chasing out of LuLu’s after some unidentified man. The only piece that seemed to stick out was eating oatmeal and cinnamon three days before she woke up in the hospital. Anything before that came in fits and starts, but with Macie’s explanation of her on-again/off-again brain, Gemma had accepted this annoyance as part of her own weird makeup.
Still, she’d been desperately trying to remember who she’d chased after, out of LuLu’s. Was it that pedophile, Letton? Was she the person who had deliberately run him down? Would she do that?
I would if the target were Charlotte.
She thought about that hard. She would kill to save Charlotte.
She smiled faintly as she thought of Macie’s daughter. Eleven years old. A truant. Tough as rawhide, with endless energy and a smart mouth. Charlotte was a truth-teller. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Gemma could remember nearly everything about her. She identified with Charlotte, who, though her mother loved her dearly, was independent in the way of only-children and loners. She lived with Macie, but she also lived in a wider world. Everyone around Quarry knew Charlotte.
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