of that in my life.
I decide to phone Ronnie.
“Megan. I was just thinking about calling you.” She sounds excited.
“Did you find something?” My heart beats harder.
“I found a news article involving someone named Kim Mock. He apparently was arrested and charged with murdering a Megan Moriarty almost twenty years ago. He was killed in prison. But the interesting thing is there is a newspaper photo of him being transported from jail to prison. Guess who is transporting him?”
“Michael Rader,” I say.
“Not only that, but when Mock was killed in prison, Michael Rader is the corrections officer who found the body.”
Of course, I already knew this. I knew Michael had Mock killed by other inmates—or did the job himself—because Moriarty’s family began questioning if the police had arrested the right guy.
“That’s great, Ronnie. We’ll get into it more in the morning. Take some time off and chill. We’re going to be busy getting all the paperwork together.”
My phone dings.
“I just sent you the picture from the article,” she says.
I pull the picture up. It’s Michael Rader all right. I came across the same picture years ago after Monique told me about him.
“Good work, Ronnie. I talked to Gabrielle. She remembered her mom said Michael had a brother named Alex Rader. He’s a cop. Can you add that to your research list?”
“I’ll get on it first thing in the morning. I’m going to have drinks with Marley and I’ll find out what the crime lab is doing.”
I thank Ronnie and end the call. I’ve lied to her before but I hate that I do it with such ease.
The tapes with all my secrets call to me and I select one regarding Shannon Blume’s murder. I hope to find some answers in the past. If nothing else they help me think of who I was and who I’ve become. I slot the cassette, refill my wine and wait for the tape to begin.
Dr. A: Why were you in Kent? Staying at a Best Western, you said.
Me: Yes. I wanted to find out what happened to Leanne, Shannon, and Megan. I found a story in the paper about Shannon Blume’s murder with a picture of the Blumes’ home. A homeless guy named Steve Jones was arrested and convicted for Shannon’s murder, but I knew it wasn’t him. It was my bio-father.
I remember finding the Blumes’ home and how it looked just like it did in the online newspaper article. It was a single-story rambler with white shutters and matching window boxes. In front was a monkey puzzle tree that had grown nearly as tall as the roofline.
Me: There was a photo of Don and Debra Blume in the story. I found the house easily and peered through the window of the garage. Two cars were there. One was a Ford Focus, like the one I was driving. My mother had taught me how to manipulate people. To be what they needed me to be. I thought I would act as though I loved my car or hated it, depending on whatever they said about theirs.
The tape goes silent. I’m thinking of what I want to reveal.
Dr. A: Take your time.
Me: Mrs. Blume answers the door with a wary but kind smile. I tell her I’m with the North Bend Courier newspaper. I ask if she had heard about our series on Marilee Watson who was murdered last year. I tell her my editor wants me to do a new series about how people cope after a tragedy and ask if I can talk to her and Mr. Blume.
She said, “You can’t cope after a tragedy, Miss?…” She searches her memory for my name, and I hand her a business card I’ve stolen from the newspaper office.
I say, “I’m Tracy Lee. That’s the point of my article. My aunt Ginger was killed in a car wreck and I know it’s not the same as what happened to Shannon, but my mom has never gotten over it, either. I’m including my thoughts about that in the article too. But it can’t be about me.”
I wonder if I remind her of her own daughter. If she thinks I’m too young for the job. If she’s just having a bad day. Maybe every day after you lose a child to murder is a bad day.
She says, “It was a long time ago. We really don’t like reliving it. I’m sure you can understand that.” Of course I did. I hate that I’m opening old, never-really-healed wounds, but I