if my father might answer, although I knew that he never would. I thought of Max’s words, how even when cases are closed, we don’t always have all the answers. Life was much the same way. But I couldn’t deny that I wanted to hear my father’s response, just as I wanted to know how events unfolded that horrible day at the bison ranch. I didn’t like mysteries. If I could have revived Carl Shipley long enough to interrogate him, I would have.
Overhead the sky formed a hazy gray tent, and the ground beneath me chilled me until I shivered. There’d been another freeze the night before, and the sun hadn’t yet warmed it. The forecast included snow for the coming weekend, and I thought of that morning at the ranch, the frost on the rooftops and the mountains’ snowcaps, the breeze that shivered through me as I looked at the bodies of Anna and her children under the bloodstained sheet.
The hearses paraded into the cemetery, four in all, and Jacob and his parents arrived in a limousine. After they crawled out, someone handed Jacob his only surviving child, baby Jeremy. The woman tending him clambered out, and I saw that it was Mother Naomi. Jacob handed the baby back to her, and they walked to the graves together.
Another car pulled up, one with Mullins and his two wives, followed by a pack of their children. One of the daughters resembled Laurel. I saw the similarities in her patrician features. Mullins nodded at me, and I responded. He tried to smile, but in the end simply turned away. At the graveside, my lead detective and his wives joined Jacob and his parents. Tears flowed, and Jacob singled out Mullins to stand with him at the head of Laurel’s casket.
Around them the mourners congregated, the men wearing dark suits and coats and the women with the skirts of their long dresses flowing from beneath woolen wraps. Some carried flowers to place on top of the four sad coffins, two so small they squeezed the breath from my lungs.
“Heavenly Father, we are here today to entrust to you two dutiful women, wives and mothers, and two innocent children,” the ceremony began.
I didn’t listen to the consecration of the burial plots, or when the officiate asked God to comfort Jacob, Mullins, and their families. My thoughts drifted to the river, to Myles and Laurel on that final Saturday. I wondered yet again, as I had so often, why they appeared so agitated. I thought of Carl’s photos, of Myles with his arms crossed and Laurel rushing away when she saw Naomi arrive.
Max and the sheriff came to the services and stood beside me. We were silent, somber like all the others, and as the crowd disbursed, the three of us walked off together. We left the sheriff at his car, and then Max escorted me to my SUV.
“Have you decided about the cabin?” Max asked. “Brooke is staying at Alice’s, so she’s taken care of. I’m leaving in about an hour.”
“Well, I’m still…” I fumbled, unsure what to say.
“Clara, there’s no pressure here beyond that I want to be with you.” I knew he was trying hard to put me at ease. “We can take this slow. I promise. Nothing has to happen other than that we have the freedom to be together without others watching.”
I understood what he was asking, why he wanted the time alone without the town, his daughter overseeing us. My pulse quickened and I felt unsure. I thought of Myles and Laurel—their story had ended, and despite my fears, I didn’t want that for us.
“Sure. I’ll meet you there, but I have some work to clean up. Text me the directions, and I’ll join you tomorrow morning.”
Max grinned at me, happy, and I thought he might grab me in his arms, but I saw a clutch of townsfolk watching, and I hurried away.
From the cemetery, I drove into town to the station. I felt on edge about the weekend with Max. I wanted the time with him, but I still had fears. I wondered if I should be honest, tell him about my past? It was such an odd tale. What would he think?
My desk had a pile of reports on it. The last of the fingerprints, fiber and hair evidence had arrived in manila envelopes from the state lab. A note said that the DNA was a few days out. Still troubled that so much didn’t make