Although it never faded from the memory of those who lived in Port Gamble, people did find ways to move on.
Visitors who came to the Buena Vista Cemetery to pay their respects never knew that one of the little girls’ graves was empty. Kim and Park Lee refused to bury their daughter Christina there. It was too cold and windy, and its location was too much of a reminder with that awful bridge off in the distance.
Instead, they had Christina cremated and kept her ashes in an urn in their living room.
Park Lee was among those who could never forget the loss of his firstborn daughter. The mill supervisor died when shrimping in the choppy waters of Hood Canal the year after the tragedy on the bridge. The sheriff’s investigation closed the case as an accidental drowning. His wife, Kim, knew better. When the county authorities returned his personal effects, Kim noticed something missing from his wallet—Park’s fishing license. She knew there was no way he’d have gone shrimping without that. Park was very strict about doing things the right way, the legal way.
At thirty-four years old, Park Lee simply could not face his hurt anymore.
Kim arranged photos of her husband and daughter on a shelf above the TV in the living room. On either end of the shelf, she placed two turquoise and gold cloisonné urns. One held the remains of her daughter; the other, her husband.
They’d been up there so long that Beth no longer begged to spread the ashes on the shore because she thought it would be fun and dramatic. After a time, weeks would pass before she even noticed that the urns were there.
It was just her and her mom and that was all it was ever going to be. And while Kim tried hard to make her daughter feel special, Beth never really felt it.
Once, in a moment of deep introspection and personal clarity, Beth admitted to Hay-Tay that the reason she never stayed with anything very long was because “none of it seems to work.”
“What do you mean?” Taylor had asked as the three of them walked across the field by the wedding pavilion. It was summer and a bridal party was being photographed along the edge of the bluff overlooking the water.
“I’m not blaming my mom,” she said. “I guess I get that the love she has for Christina and my dad is stronger because they’re dead. It isn’t like she gets any do-overs with those relationships. She can fantasize and romanticize.”
“People do that, sure,” Hayley said as the girls sat in the freshly mowed grass, not caring that their butts would turn green.
“Sometimes I just want to tell her, ‘Hey! Look at me! I’m still here!’”
Taylor touched Beth on the shoulder. “She knows that, Beth,” she said.
They watched as a young eagle tussled with a gull overhead.
“On some level I get that,” Beth said. “It’s just hard when half your family’s in urns, you know?”
THE PARENTS OF THE DEAD GIRLS and the husband of the bus driver received financial settlements from the state, though each of them would have traded the money for their loved one’s life any day of the week. After lawyers’ fees, the sum was nowhere near the hundreds of thousands reported by the Seattle media.
Kim Lee put the money into CDs and watched it grow, like the accountant that she was. She could have cashed it out any time she wanted and moved away. Anywhere—even Fiji. But she stayed put because Park and Christina considered Port Gamble home. Though they were completely portable, they weren’t going anywhere.
The Berkleys used their windfall to finance and refurbish the Timberline, a restaurant that they’d never own because no historic buildings in Port Gamble could be sold to anyone.
When Katelyn was in seventh grade, Sandra and Harper confessed to her that the college fund she’d thought she’d have for her pain and suffering had been spent on a new car and the first restaurant.
“Don’t worry, baby,” Sandra said. “Your grandparents are going to take care of your college education. They’ve promised.”
The disclosure had brought some relief. Katelyn was sure Starla would get some fabulous scholarship to a top-tier school, while she’d need to pay her way to get there.
“I trust you, Mom,” she had said. “I know you’d never let me down. You or Dad.”
chapter 39
THE MORNING AFTER COLTON FOUND HIS WAY into Katelyn Berkley’s computer, he drank a glass of orange juice and ate two thick slices of cinnamon toast that his mother made. Shania James slathered on the butter and sugar nearly to the point of complete calorie overload, but that’s the way her son liked it. He’d been thinking all morning about Katelyn, her mother, and whatever it was that was on her laptop that Sandra had wanted to see. As he ate, he watched from the window for Hayley and Taylor to emerge from their house so they could huddle at the bus stop.
He left Katelyn’s laptop and a Post-it note with her password on the kitchen table. Sandra Berkley said she was going to come by later in the morning to pick it up.
“Did you look at any of it?” Shania asked.
He shook his head. “Not really,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t. “Seemed a little invasive to me.”
Shania nodded in the direction of the Ryan girls and Colton got up.
“Yes,” she said, “I think it would be. But I think if something happened to you, I’d probably do the same thing.”
He zipped up his coat, grabbed his backpack, and went for the door.
“I guess I should start deleting all the bad stuff I’m into when I get home tonight,” he said, deadpan. “You know, so you don’t have to dig through all that ugly.”
“No need,” she teased. “I’ve already installed a secret Net Nanny on your PC. I’ve caught up with all your ugly already.”
Colton was fifteen, too old to hug his mom, but he wanted to just then. He never had any doubt that she was always on his side.
“Bye, Mom,” he said.
The sky had cleared overnight, which brought temperatures down to well below freezing. Hayley, Taylor, and Colton met in the alley. The girls were zipped up and prepared for the Arctic. To humor her mother, Taylor wore what Colton knew was Aunt Jolene’s vomit scarf. Hayley had on a bright red scarf with a four-inch black leather fringe. He’d been with her when she bought it, and she had told him it was both cool and functional.
“Which is very difficult to achieve,” she had said.
Colton handed over the thumb drive. “All of Katelyn’s info is on this,” he said. “E-mails, saved chats, Word docs.”
Hayley took the thumb drive and zipped it into her pocket.
“Now are you going to tell me what’s up with that?” Colton asked.
They were nearly at the bus stop, where a few other kids were waiting.
“I have a feeling that Katelyn would never have committed suicide,” Hayley said, thinking about how she was going to say the next part.
“We both do,” Taylor said, cutting in. “It’s either an accident—”
This time it was Hayley’s turn to cut off her sister. “Or a homicide,” she said.
“You’ve been reading too many of your dad’s books.”
“Maybe so. But suspicion is a good thing,” said Taylor, the daughter who had never cracked a Kevin Ryan paperback in her life.
The bus came into view, and the space between the kids tightened as they lined up to get on board out of the cold.
“How’s that?” Colton asked, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder.