to visit a dinky little seaside town with all of its 8,500 people and with a lighthouse as its biggest tourist attraction when they could visit Seattle in all its grungy glory?
Yeah, not me.
So, having people in town who were clearly not local...made for some discomfited feelings.
But she’d been waiting for something big, something worth writing about that would make people sit up and notice. Let’s get real, writing about bake sales and fund-raising efforts weren’t going to further her career. Sure, currently she worked for the Port Orion Tribune but that was just to build her résumé. Not that the Tribune was sending her on ground-breaking news leads but opportunity was what one made of it, so Quinn never treated one story above another.
Which, she’d admit, wasn’t easy when she was tempted to “forget” the deadline for a fluff piece on the church Sunday school daycare when she really wanted to focus on something that could actually make a difference, such as the time she discovered the school district central kitchen had been using food stuffs that were past their expiration.
Maybe the threat of a little soured milk wasn’t all that dire in the big scheme of things but Quinn liked to think that stories like that helped build her foundation for later.
For example, if she hadn’t followed up on the expired foods, she wouldn’t have been able to put the dots together when a rash of kindergartners caught a whiff of food poisoning and ended up in the hospital after a vomit-fest had followed afternoon snack.
The school was lucky the parents didn’t sue.
But if they had, Quinn would’ve been right there to catch the story, which given the fact that she’d discovered the misdeed in the first place, would’ve been a huge feather in her cap.
However, no one sued.
The school called it an “oversight” and in response, put a new committee in place to ensure it never happened again.
They also fired the head cook, although not because of the food situation but because it was discovered that he had been going up to Seattle on weekends to do things best left unsaid, and the district didn’t think it was prudent to keep him on staff.
Another story that fizzled to nothing under the suffocating veil of a “confidential personnel issue.”
And Quinn was tired of her hard work going down the tubes.
This story was the one that was going to change everything. She could feel it in her bones.
Nothing was going to stand in her way.
Silas pulled into the sleepy coastal town of his birth and took a moment to adjust. A barrage of memories assailed him as he maneuvered the rental car through the tiny downtown, the storefronts nearly the same as the day he’d left, and swallowed against the continuing echo of his brother’s voice.
The chill in the air was damp. This was the kind of weather that got stuck in your lungs and stayed there throughout the winter, as storms lashed the seas and battered the coast.
He parked outside the sheriff’s department, choosing to go straight to the authorities before checking into his hotel.
A lone seagull screeched and he glanced at the bird. After losing Spencer, the sound had always creeped him out.
Silas walked over to where the dispatcher sat behind a heavy glass window and flashed his credentials.
“Special Agent Silas Kelly here to see the sheriff about the recent Seminole Creek murder investigation.”
The woman behind the glass gave Silas a once-over but buzzed the sheriff.
Moments later Sheriff Lester Mankins appeared, looking older, grayer, with more lines on his face, but certainly the same guy he remembered from when he’d been a misguided teen, acting out from grief.
He would’ve thought that Mankins would’ve retired by now.
“As I live and breathe... Silas Kelly, the most stubborn, angry cuss that I’d ever dragged by the scruff of the neck down these halls. How are you, son?”
And just like that he was fourteen again. Silas struggled against the pinch in his sternum and extended a hand. “Can’t complain, Sheriff. How about you? Why haven’t you retired yet? Isn’t there some fish out there with your name on it?”
“Every damn weekend,” he joked, patting Silas heartily on the back. “C’mon back. Let’s talk in my office.”
Silas followed Mankins and took a seat once the office door was shut behind them.
Mankins spoke first. “I can only imagine that you’re here because of that poor girl we fished out of Seminole Creek early this morning. Bad news surely does travel fast.”
Silas confirmed with a nod.
Mankins sighed. “I figured. But I gotta say, seems a little out of federal jurisdiction. Tragic as it is, the case is likely just a grim statistic. Girls find themselves in bad situations and things get out of hand.”
“Is that what you think happened?”
The sheriff shrugged, spreading his hands. “Well, it’s how the case presents at first blush.”
“I’d like to see the case file.”
“Hold on, hold on, big shot. My investigating officer hasn’t even had time to put thought to paper. Have you checked into your hotel yet?” At Silas’s head shake, he said, “Well, how about you get checked in, go eat some chowder, warm up your bones and then tomorrow morning we’ll see how things look.”
Silas hated waiting. “I’d like to pull my brother’s cold case.”
That caused Mankins to do a double take. “Whatever for, son? Let the boy rest in peace. There’s no sense in dredging up painful memories.”
“I can appreciate that, Sheriff. But I think the two cases might be linked.”
“And why would you think that?” Mankins asked. “Your brother disappeared almost twenty years ago and there’s been nothing like that since. This girl has nothing in common with your little brother. Whoever did that terrible thing to Spencer...they’re long gone. I can almost guarantee it.”
Silas didn’t believe that, no matter how many people had suggested the same theory.
It was too random.
Most murders were rarely random.
“If it’s all the same...I’d like to pull the files.”
Mankins heaved a sigh as if Silas were chasing ghosts and wasting his time but he pressed a button on his phone, saying, “Janice, can you get Hanford to go into the archive and pull all the files pertaining to Spencer Kelly? He’s likely gonna have to go to storage. I don’t think they’re still in the building.”
“Yes, Sheriff.”
Mankins
