“Is that all you wanted to ask me?” I ask.
I start to stand up, but Chief LaRoche leans toward me.
“Do you know anyone in Florida?” he asks.
My breath catches in my throat, but I won't let it show on my face. Letting the breath out slowly, I keep my eyes locked on him.
“Why?”
“Do you?” he asks.
“Is this some sort of game we're playing?”
“The address he gave when he registered for the hotel room is in Iowa but his license says he’s from Florida.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
He throws his hands up in the air and gives a disingenuous smile. “Probably nothing. Just thought I'd run it past you and see if you had any ideas.”
“I was in that cabin for less than an hour when he came to the door. Why would I have any ideas about who he is?”
My mind wanders back to the note in the drawer. Part of me wonders if I should tell LaRoche what I know. There are details I could give him, insight I could offer. That man is dead, lying somewhere waiting for someone to know who he is. But I stop myself. His face hasn't shown up on any missing person's reports. The news hasn't shown a desperate woman pleading for the return of her husband. No one is looking for him, but he was looking for me. I need to know why, and I'm not going to compromise the link he has to my past.
“Be careful where you go around here, Ms. Monroe. It's easy to get lost when you don't know what you're dealing with.”
My eyes narrow.
“I don't think this is something we should call him about. He should know in person.”
The chief's eyes lift up toward the voice going by the open door to his office.
“I tried, anyway. He's not answering. We should just go find him,” another voice answers.
The two voices are close, which means the men likely stopped in the break room just to the side of the chief's office. LaRoche doesn't look happy about me hearing them, which means I want even more to know what they're talking about.
“Is he up at the bar at this time of day?” the first voice asks.
“Thank you for coming up here to talk to me,” Chief LaRoche harrumphs, clearing his throat and making his voice a little louder like he's trying to cover up the sound of the other men. “I appreciate your help.”
“They're talking about Jake,” I say. “What's going on?”
“I don't know what they're talking about. But I promise I will keep you updated on the man on your porch if there are any further developments.”
I point behind me toward the door. “They're talking about Jake. I want to know what's going on.”
He stares back at me, his watery eyes daring me to challenge his authority. I stand up and walk out of the room. The sound of his chair scraping across the floor as he pushes back to chase me would be amusing if I wasn't so interested in finding out why they were talking about Jake. Nicolas and an officer whose name I never caught look over at me from the coffee machine as I walk into the break room.
“Are you looking for Chief LaRoche?” Nicolas asks.
“What's going on with Jake?” I answer.
“Ms. Monroe, this area is not open to the public,” the chief says, coming up behind me. “If you'll come with me, I'll walk you out.”
But I stay still, staring at Nicolas. His gaze flickers from me to the chief and back. “This is an active investigation, and until we've spoken to Jake, we can't talk about anything.”
He's not going to budge. But I'm not going to back down. I walk out of the police station and get into my car, but don't leave the parking lot. Several minutes later, Nicolas and the other officer come out of the side door and get into the marked car parked in one of the few spots. I wait until they pull out of the lot, and then drive up behind them. They might not tell me what's going on, but there's nothing they can do about me driving through town and happening to go to the bar. Maybe I want a snack. I definitely need a drink.
Nicolas glares at me when he sees me parked across the street from the bar.
“I thought I told you this was an active investigation,” he says.
“You did. You didn't say anything about me not being able to go to a public place.”
I step in front of them and walk into the dimly lit building. Jake is leaned against the bar, staring down at something in front of him. There are only two people sitting in one of the tables in the far corner, and the rest of the room is silent. He looks up when he hears the door, and a look of relief softens his face. He crosses to me and gathers me in his arms.
“The police are here,” I manage to tell him in the second before the door opens.
I step away, but Jake takes my hand and keeps me close beside him.
“Nicolas, Brent. What is it? Did you find out something about my father's grave?”
“Is there somewhere we can talk, Jake? In private.”
His eyes slide to me, but Jake's hand tightens around mine. “I want Emma with me.”
“Fine. Can we go in the back?” Nicolas asks.
Jake looks over at the one occupied table. “Burke. Keep an eye on things for me. Cissy should be in soon to cover the bar.”
One of the men lifts his hand above his head in acknowledgment. Jake leads us behind the bar and through a door leading into the back of the building.
Chapter Eleven
Then
There wasn't really a water park season in Florida. That's one of the reasons she loved living there so much. There were a few months during the year when the temperatures would drop low enough to keep her out of her bathing suit, but that didn't stop the parks from being open. Some might shut down briefly and others would have long refurbishments, but seeing the slides churning out water when they drove past, even if she was in a jacket, made the lonely days less dark.
They didn't get to go to them nearly as often as she would have wanted to. If she had her choice, she would check in to one of the parks sometime in February and not leave again until the Christmas lights went up. She longed for the peaceful weightlessness of floating in the lazy river. Hours could slip by under the bright sun, nothing but the flowing water and inner tube beneath her, and she barely noticed. There was no worry in the water. It held her up and guided her along. She didn't even have to think. There were no decisions to make, no reason to have to feel on edge.
When she wasn't in the lazy river, she went for the slides. The bigger and faster, the better. She remembered being younger and staring up at the biggest slides. They towered over her, the sound of the water rushing down them almost deafening. People screamed as they shot down them and bounced across the surface of the pool at the bottom. Some children even sobbed as they dragged themselves out after toppling beneath the water. It didn't deter her. She wanted to experience it. She wanted to feel what it was like for gravity and water to take over completely and send her shooting along the brightly colored tubes.
She was too small then. Her head hovered a few inches beneath the wooden arrow that marked the height requirement, not even letting her straighten her spine or puff up her hair and steal a bit of extra height. She would have to wait.
Then they were gone. They went somewhere without water slides or pools, where a park was little more than a sandbox and swings. It was cold and gray a lot of the year. That's when she started to long for the palm trees and ache for the sting of the hot concrete. By the time they went back, and she stood on that concrete again, staring up at the slides, they didn't look as big. The rush was still there. The people were still screaming. But she didn't want to know what it was like to give over her control. Instead, she wanted to push back.