October 20, 2017
“Winter storm warnings are in place for Waldo, Knox, Lincoln, Kennebec, and Hancock counties. Expect eight to ten inches of snow. Late Friday afternoon, a winter storm warning is also issued for Southern Aroostook County, where eight to ten inches of snow is expected to fall between three a.m. Saturday and three a.m. Sunday. A winter weather advisory is in place for the rest of the state.” The television blares over the small chatter of a few customers—the Petes and the Prescotts—at Hello, Good-Pie.
Bob Prescott, the elected sheriff of Knox County, off duty, a wide smile spreads across his face. “Warden Young, good to see you, young man.” We shake hands.
Mrs. Prescott, also known as Judy, reaches over and gives me a hug. “Oh, Eli, so good to see you. Getting handsomer every time I see you. How’s your dad? Did you get our dinner that we left with Althena at the church?”
I don’t remember who the hell made dinners for Pop as Merit stressed about where to keep them all when Pop got home from the hospital.
“We did. Thank you,” I say, looking down at Alex. “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, I’d like you to meet Alexandra Fisher.” I stay away from the word girlfriend because I’m not sure what the hell we are.
“Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, so nice to meet you.” Alex extends her hand to each of them so naturally, taking their hands into hers.
But something is instantly off about Judy. Her head tilts, and her face changes. “The Alex Fisher who wrote the Hero series? And I’ll Be Back? And—oh my.” Judy throws her arms around Alex. “Holy heavens, Bob! A celebrity in our sweet town of Granite Harbor!”
Alex’s eyes move to mine. “Nope, not a celebrity, just a writer.” She tries to awkwardly wiggle from Judy’s embrace, who’s talking a million miles a minute.
But it’s Clay who saves the day from behind the counter. “What are we all having this fine morning?” He leans across the counter, hands folded.
Judy and Alex turn toward Clay, and Alex touches Clay’s arm. I’m sure it’s a touch of thanks that he saved her from the Judy Prescott tornado.
“Warden Young, can I have a word with you in private?” the sheriff asks.
“Absolutely, sir.”
“I’d say to go outside, but the dropping temperatures would make for an uncomfortable conversation.”
“Randall, is it all right if we talk in back?”
Randall looks up from his cinnamon rolls that he’s ready to put in the oven. “Of course. Side room, off the restroom.”
We make our way to the back. Hello, Good-Pie is a thousand square feet total, which includes the kitchen, a place for the patrons, and the restroom.
“Haven’t seen weather like this this time of year in a long time,” I say. “Too cold for October.” Although it’s almost November. That’s when the temperatures really begin to dip.
“You working the Richardson case? Read through the case files this morning. Just wanted to bring myself up to speed.” Bob isn’t as young as he used to be, but he’s been an excellent sheriff, reelected for five terms for Knox County.
“The wild-game portion, yes. We interviewed the Richardsons. We’ve set up trail cams at all sites to see if the perp returns. Going to go collect them today before the storm hits.”
“State Police interviewed the Richardsons, too. Guess they really didn’t find anything too important.” The sheriff crosses his arms. He pauses. “You guys?”
I shake my head. “Nothing too out of the ordinary, no.”
“I understand law enforcement hasn’t been able to find any evidence from the perp. Damn shame what happened to the young woman.” Bob and Judy have two daughters around Lila’s age. I’m sure it’s more real for them. “Any information on the slain animals? Were they able to collect any human DNA?” Bob asks.
“No.”
Something falls in the hallway that adjoins the back room to the kitchen. I look just in time to see Clay swiftly moving away from the door.
Gasps come from the main part of the bakery. The sheriff and I come around the corner to see what’s going on. We watch the others as they watch the snow fall quietly outside.
Excitement builds from inside me—and not because of the snow. I was raised in Maine. Survived below-zero temperatures. Shoveled in it. Worked in it. It’s Alex. Her usually cool demeanor is enamored with the peaceful white that falls from the sky. I walk up behind her, wanting to put my arms around her. It’s something I’d do at home, but I’m not sure how she’d take it in the bakery, in front of others.
Leaning down, I whisper in her ear, “We need to go get the trail cams before this sticks.”
She nods, turning to face me, and whispers, “That’s if Judy will let me go.”
She motions down to their hands clasped. I chuckle to myself.
Alex turns to Judy. “It was so nice to meet you, Mrs. Prescott.” Alex gently puts her free hand on Judy’s arm, as if to say good-bye more subtly.
“Oh, you, too, Alex!” Judy throws her arms around Alex one last time.
“We’ve got work to do,” I say to the group as Alex grabs our coffees and cinnamon rolls from the counter.
She motions a good-bye to Clay and Randall.
We head to the truck, and I turn back to look at Hello, Good-Pie. I grin as I see the Petes, the Prescotts, and Clay and Randall all staring out the window—not at the snow, but at us.
“Look,” I say.
Alex turns her head and smiles. “Are they staring at us or the snow?”
“I’d say they’ve seen snow before. But they’ve never seen a woman as beautiful as you in person.”
“Oh, Warden Young, I’m sure you say that to all the writers passing through.”
She looks ahead, and I watch her. The snowflakes dance and stick to her face; some attach themselves to her eyelashes. Alex holds her hands out and tries to catch a few.
We walk to Alex’s side of the truck, only because she has the coffees. She’s gotten more adjusted to the door thing. She said I’d probably tire out soon from opening the door all the time, but I told her it’d take a lifetime. Before I let her in, I hesitate. Not sure if I should do this in town with people watching. But I do it anyway. I lean down, and I kiss her in the softest way possible on her cheek. I linger there for a moment and then pull away, looking down into her caramel-colored eyes. She stares back, and all is quiet as the snow falls around us.
“What was that for?” she whispers.
“For all the times Kyle can’t.”
I hear a hitch in her breath. I feel it.
A smile spreads very slowly onto the sides of her cheeks. “Thank you,” she says as her voice breaks, reaching up and kissing me on the lips.
She hesitates there. Maybe it’s fear, eating the lettuce and all, becoming broken all over again, but I need to reassure her it’s not going to happen. She takes her palm, places it against my cheek, and slowly pulls away.
“Well, good morning, you two lovebirds,” Ida says as she stands under the awning in front of Rings Pharmacy. She smiles.
“Good morning, Ida.” I walk to her and touch her arm. “Where are you headed in this weather? You need to get home.”
“Oh, I know, Eli. Just couldn’t get home quick enough. Ruthie’s coming around with the car. Going into Rick’s here to get my pills.” She pats my hand. “You don’t worry about me. You worry about Alex and keeping her here, in Granite Harbor.” Ida winks at Alex. “I don’t remember the last time I had a strapping young man on my arm.”
“Well, I must say, Ida, he’s lucky to be on your arm. You’re sure you don’t need any help?” Alex walks over, something Grace wouldn’t have done.
“Oh, no, for heaven’s sake.” Rick, the pharmacist, comes out. “Warden Young, Ida.” He looks to Alex. “And you must be the writer that everyone is talking about.”
“Just Alex.” She puts out her hand to Rick. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, Alex.” He turns his head to Ida. “All right, Ida, let’s get you inside.”
We just collected the last trail cam, and the snow is really starting to fall.
“We’d better get home soon. Don’t want to get caught in this.”
“It’s so beautiful.” Alex stares out her window.
“It is but only when you have a home and a warm fire to get to.” I reach over and put my hand on her leg. “Hey, before we go home, let’s take Rookie and do a training exercise.”
I see a spot where we’ve done some training before just off the road, behind a grove of trees. The snow hasn’t yet blanketed the ground completely, and I think it will be good for Rookie, a little more challenging with the snow.
I grab two fired bullet casings from my ashtray in the truck and let Rookie out of the back. I walk to Alex’s side, but she’s already got the door open.
“Rookie, come,” I call.
He comes to the truck and sits in front of me. I throw one casing one way and then the other in the other direction.
Rookie waits for his command.
“Find.”
And, with that, he darts into the tree line. We follow.
Rookie uses his nose to sniff out the gun residue. After a few minutes of following a trail, he quickly lies down next to a tree.
When we reach him, he’s whining.
“Good boy,” I say. “Find,” I say.
He lets his nose lead the way in the other direction, in search of the other bullet casing.
I reach down and grab her hand. “What’s your family like?”
Alex looks up from the freshly fallen snow that is starting to stick. “My dad, Philip, is sick—Alzheimer’s,” she says so candidly. Like one of the walls she put up has just toppled down.
I’m quiet. I want her to continue.
“My mom, Meredith, is nothing short of amazing. I’m an only child. My mother is an only child, and her parents have since passed.”
“What about your dad’s side?”
She hesitates. “Well, if we’re being scientific, Philip Fisher isn’t my biological dad. He adopted me when I was three. He’s ten years older than my mom.” She shrugs. “I’ve never met anyone from his side of the family. Made it sound like everyone was gone. I’m sure my mom knows more. But I guess it doesn’t really matter to me.”
We slowly walk along.
Rookie’s body language catches my eye. He sniffs. Sits. Lies. Stands. Lies again.
“Huh, that’s not normal behavior.” We walk quickly to Rookie, who’s whining. “What is it, boy?” There’s snow and brush, which makes for some mud.
Carefully, I take my fingers and push some of the brush and snow away.
“It’s blood.” I stop, knowing I don’t want to harm the evidence. I need to find what type of blood this is. I make more space with my fingers across the ground, only to uncover more dried blood. A lot of dried blood.
“What do you think it is?” Alex asks, bending down now.
“I don’t … I don’t know.” I push back more shrubbery to find a human eyeball.