She heard footsteps, recognizing at once who it was by the shape of the hat on his head. “Just like a blister,” she had said to Sheriff Borg when he had been within earshot. “Showing up when the work is done.”

He walked over to where she was sitting and placed his foot on the step, resting his forearm on top of his thigh. “We need to talk.”

Her first thought was Chris. “Is it my boy?” she asked, and pulled herself up, her muscles exhausted. It wouldn’t be the first time the sheriff had paid her a visit: minor stuff Chris had been involved in, graffiti, peeling out in the Pavilion parking lot, pissing in public. The sheriff always had brought Chris home rather than slapping a fine on him—or worse, locking him up in jail for the night. He was willing to help her out, knowing she was raising Chris on her own.

“No,” he said. “It’s not about Chris.”

“Well, then come on in.” She was thirsty, and whatever it was he came to tell her, it could wait until she had a drink. She went over to the door and held it open. He stepped inside and removed his sheriff’s hat. His gray hair was clipped close to his scalp. His brow was furrowed. He followed her to the small kitchen where she offered him a glass of lake water. He declined.

When she finished drinking and set the glass down, she noticed the blister the size of a quarter on her hand. It was almost funny given her earlier comment. She poked at it, the fluid inside squishing around. Man hands. The thought reminded her of an episode on an old sitcom about a guy breaking up with a woman for having man hands.

“So what’s this about?” she asked.

“It’s about what happened today.” He was tall like her. If any man at the lake could match her height and strength, he was the one.

“You mean the little girl? What does she have to do with me? Did they find her?”

“No, they still haven’t found her.” He started playing with his hat, kneading the edges with his fingers. “But they did find something else.” He paused.

“What?” She had no patience for bullshit. Whatever it was, she wanted it straight-up.

“They recovered some bones today while they were searching for the girl.”

She eyed him, skeptical about what he was telling her. “What bones?” she asked.

“I’m no medical examiner, but they looked to be bones from a forearm.”

She stared at him, wanting to believe what he was telling her was true.

He stared back. “Of course, they’ll need to be sent to the lab. It will be a couple of days before we have any definite answers.”

Her breathing was shallow, her spine rigid. “What does this mean?” she asked. The bones had to be her brother’s, Billy’s. The sheriff wouldn’t be here otherwise.

“I’m not sure it means anything. Just that we may have found what we couldn’t before.”

“But it could prove something, right?” She never believed Billy’s drowning was an accident, although that was how it was ruled, an accidental death, even though his skull had been cracked. At the time they had explained it, justified it with excuses, how he must’ve fallen, hit his head, and drowned. There hadn’t been any witnesses to prove otherwise, although Dee Dee didn’t believe that either. Billy had left the cabin that night with his girlfriend, Jo. Where the hell was she when it happened? Why wasn’t she with him?

There was something off about that whole night from the moment Jo had set foot inside their home. She had been distracted, waiting for Billy to finish dinner so they could go out for the night. Billy had asked Jo a question twice, although Dee Dee no longer remembered what the question was, something innocuous. But Jo wasn’t paying attention, and that was the strangest part. Jo always gave Billy her full attention. For three summers since Billy was thirteen years old, Jo was a permanent fixture by his side like a lake leech stuck to his skin.

But that week, that particular night, Dee Dee was certain something had changed. It was as though she felt the fracture in their relationship as sure as if the earth’s fault lines had shifted beneath her feet. Of course, it was impossible to know exactly what had changed. And she had never gotten the chance to ask him.

And then there was Heil, how hard he had pushed to have the case closed when witnesses confirmed Billy had been drinking underage, the alcohol supplied by Heil’s bar. As for the missing bones from Billy’s forearm, they were thought to have been clawed off by snappers, gone forever.

So no, she never believed her brother’s drowning was an accident. There were too many unanswered questions.

“Look,” the sheriff said. “I know you’re hoping they’ll find some evidence, something new to suggest it wasn’t an accident.”

“You know I am,” she shot back, letting her anger and frustration show. She was nineteen and already knocked up and alone, deserted by her boyfriend, when she had lost Billy. She was just a kid. And yet the sheriff had always been willing to listen to her, to the possibility there was more to the story about her brother’s disappearance than he was ever able to prove.

Tonight he stared at her as though he was unsure whether or not to continue. He knew her well enough to know there was no reasoning with her when she was agitated.

“Go on. Spit it out,” she said.

“Not a lot of people know about the bones. Heil wants to keep it quiet. He doesn’t think it’s a priority under the circumstance. All he’s concentrating on is the current situation with the girl. He doesn’t want to remind people there were other drownings around here.”

“What Heil does or doesn’t do makes no difference to me.” All she needed was someone in a lab somewhere to prove what she had known all along.

“Fair enough. Just don’t get your hopes up.” When she didn’t respond, the sheriff put on his hat. “You should wear gloves next time.” He pointed to her hands, referring to the blister. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and showed himself out.

*   *   *

After the sheriff left, Dee Dee grabbed a six-pack of beer from the refrigerator. She turned off all the lights and stepped outside to sit on the porch swing in the dark and think. She often sat alone deep into the night, staring out at the lake, drinking beer with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. Some might say she had a problem, drinking alone in the dark undercover. Maybe she did. But she had stopped caring what other people thought a long time ago. So what if she drank herself numb most nights? She wasn’t hurting anyone and how many people could say the same thing? Not many by her estimation. Not many at all.

A cool breeze blew from the water. The storm broke the humidity at least for a little while. She popped the tab on the can. The sheriff was right. She needed to keep things in perspective and try not to put too much into a pair of bones. It could prove to be nothing. But what if it proved to be something?

She downed the beer and crushed the empty can in her hand, the blister screaming in protest. She reached for another can.

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was early evening the next day, and the little girl was still missing.

Jo stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her head. She was wearing her favorite low-rise jeans and a white T-shirt. She felt a little better after showering, but the pack of cigarettes she had smoked while sitting on Eddie’s dock that afternoon in the hot sun had added to her already pounding head.

It had taken two hours for the text message to go through to Kevin telling him he needed to get to the lake, that they may have found Billy’s bones. She wasn’t sure what it meant, if it meant anything, but she wanted him here. While she had fiddled with the phone, she watched the underwater recovery team search the lake to no avail.

She rubbed her brow.

Gram walked past, her purse slung over her shoulder. She was wearing one of her staple outfits for special occasions—a pair of blue cotton pants and matching blouse.