his flank, my fingers catching on the burrs that have entwined themselves in his coat. Later, I will gently remove each, being extra careful not to yank the hair in the sensitive area around his scar. It wasn’t until Stitch lived with me for a full year before he would fully expose his belly to me.
To the left of me, through another of my many windows, I have a clear line of sight to the four-wheeler I parked outside Evan Okada’s outfitters. He must not have returned yet and I wonder if the officer has found any more articles of clothing that could possibly belong to Gwen.
I don’t worry about missing the phone call from Dr. Huntley. I know the moment it rings, Stitch will alert me, as he has been trained to do. There is a narrow crack in the clouds that I know won’t last long. I close my eyes, and the sun floods through the window so that instead of darkness behind my eyelids I see a warm amber glow and I can sleep.
Stitch wakes me with a poke and I immediately sit up and look to the telephone, but see no red flashing light to let me know it’s ringing. Disoriented, I try to get my bearings. In the time I’ve been sleeping the sky has cleared and the sun has lowered but not quite dipped below the horizon, turning the sky a melancholy shade of blue. It must be nearing five o’clock. I’ve been asleep for hours. From the floor Stitch watches expectantly and when he’s sure he has my attention he moves to the back door, and I startle when I see the hulking figure of a man standing there, hands shoved in his pockets. Right away I recognize that it is Jake, still dressed in his suit, and I blush, wondering how long he’s been standing there watching me sleep.
I switch on a lamp, and he smiles smugly at me through the glass as I bend down to remove the wooden rod, then slide open the door. He steps inside, pauses to pet Stitch and slips off his dress shoes, thick with mud.
With a grin, Jake points to me and makes the sign for tired and I self-consciously fluff up my sleep-flattened hair. I don’t know what it is about Jake but somehow I always revert back to that goofy kid who wants to impress her brother’s best friend. He cuffs me on the shoulder and looks me in the eye. “How are you doing, Earhart?” he says, using the nickname he gave me back when I was eight and he was twelve and making the sign for plane crash. A gesture that is strikingly similar to the sign for I love you. I dressed up one Halloween as Amelia Earhart, the famed and ill-fated pilot, and the nickname stuck.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m a nurse, Jake, I’ve seen dead people before.”
“Yeah, but they usually don’t pop up when you’re casually paddling by.”
“True,” I admit. “But I really am okay. Were you able to get ahold of Gwen’s husband?” I ask.
Jake’s face sobers and he shakes his head.
“Do you think he did it?” I ask.
“It’s usually the husband. So, yeah, chances are he did it, but we need to gather a hell of a lot more evidence before we settle on him.”
I pick up my now room-temperature cup of tea and move to the sink to dump it out. “Want some coffee or tea?” I ask.
“Anything with caffeine would be great,” he says when I turn back to face him. “I have a feeling I’m going to be up all night with this one.” He follows me to the kitchen area and leans against the counter while I make the coffee.
“Do you think the shoe Stitch found belongs to Gwen?” I ask. I start the coffeemaker, hoping that the answer is no. It’s bad enough knowing that Gwen died just a few miles away from me, but the thought that she might have been on the very trail that runs right up to my front door sends a chill through me. “It’s an odd place to find a shoe,” I say.
“It’s an odd place to find a body,” Jake says.
I tell him about seeing the beer bottle.
“Yeah, we saw that. We’ll see if we can find any fingerprints, but it was probably just left there by some kids.”
“What about footprints?” I ask. “I saw four sets. Mine, the DNR guy’s, Stitch’s paw prints and one more.”
Jake taps the countertop with his fingers. “It was a muddy mess up there. But we tried to get casts of the prints. We’ll see what comes of it. It could mean nothing. I guess whoever did this could have come by a different route.”
I shake my head. “I’ve been through that area a thousand times. It’d be tough to force someone or carry them a different way. It’s pretty rocky and woodsy.”
“What are you thinking?” Jake asks, giving me his full attention. This is another thing I think is both great and confusing about Jake. Every once in a while he forgets that I’m his best friend’s little sister and actually talks to me like I’m an intelligent human being. Other times he dismisses me as if I’m still an annoying kid.
“A motorboat was nearby just before Stitch found Gwen. The wake nearly knocked me off my board. Maybe he brought her there by boat and pushed her overboard there.” This is a terrifying thought. Probably 75 percent of the households in Mathias own some kind of boat, including Jake, David and my neighbor Evan Okada. I rummage through my cupboard in hopes of finding something to offer Jake to eat. I pull down a box of crackers and then go to the refrigerator and find a block of cheddar cheese. “I guess he could have dumped her anywhere and the current brought her to where I found her. Do you have an idea of how she died yet?”
He shakes his head. “We’ll have to wait for the autopsy.” I pull a knife from a drawer and begin to slice the cheese into bite-size pieces. He pops one into his mouth and chews and swallows before speaking again. “I have my suspicions. It wasn’t a peaceful death, that much I know.”
“Does the press know yet?” I think about how I told David to watch the news tonight.
“Yeah, vultures,” Jake says. I think of the turkey vultures flying overhead this morning. Had they already zeroed in on Gwen, ready to swoop in to pick away at her remains? “They must have heard it come over the scanner. By the time we transported the body to Mathias, the reporters were already at the dock waiting there with the ambulance.”
“You moved her by boat?” I ask in surprise. “I thought you were moving her by OHV.”
“Well, yeah,” he says. “It was the fastest way. Took her in the DNR boat. Once we got to the public dock we transferred her to the ambulance. She’s on her way to Des Moines for an autopsy as we speak. We should know more tomorrow afternoon.” Stitch sits at my feet and I know he’s waiting for me to toss him a cracker. I do, and he swallows it whole and waits for more.
“You shouldn’t feed him that crap,” Jake admonishes me. “It’s not good for him.”
“What? You never give Rookie treats?” I ask in mock disbelief. Rookie is Jake’s former partner, a ferocious-looking German shepherd that would tear your throat out if Jake gave him the command. Rookie retired two years ago at the ripe old age of seven and now spends his days in full-fledged pet mode.
Jake doesn’t bother answering. We both know that he only feeds Rookie the best. If a dog could be like a child to a person, Rookie’s that dog. Jake’s told me several times that Rookie saved his life more than once. The first was on the job when a suspect who had just robbed a pawnshop decided it was a good idea to start shooting.
