Dirt

  I stood behind Jack, my hand on his shoulder as I leaned in to watch him navigate to the Justice for Jack Stratton Jr. Facebook group. My stomach was in knots as he typed in the search bar “Mike Kevin O’Toole.”

  He scrolled through the results quickly, until he reached the bottom of the list of posts. “This is where it started,” he said, clicking on the timestamp of a post made by a woman named Karen McNair in early August, about two weeks before I moved into my mom’s house. “Karen lives in Boise, Idaho. She’s been in the group for a couple of months, ever since her house was broken into and she came across Junior’s case on websleuths.”

  I clutched my chest. “Did something happen to her family?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that,” Jack said, shaking his head adamantly. “But someone else in Boise wasn’t so lucky. A man walked in on a burglar in his home and now he’s in a coma. And there are a lot of people who think that the person who shot that man is the same person responsible for a string of burglaries in affluent neighborhoods.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep them from trembling. I wanted to say something, but I was dumb with fear.

  Jack spun the desk chair around and beckoned me. “Come here,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around me as I sat in his lap and laid my head on his shoulder. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Do you trust me?”

  I nodded, because I did trust Jack to keep me safe. But I still couldn’t speak.

  I was finally beginning to understand why Jack was obsessed with this case. It was a rabbit hole of twists and turns that fed into our every fear. How could he even breathe under the burden of this information?

  Ignorance was such sweet bliss.

  “I don’t want to know any more,” I said, sliding off his lap, the bottoms of my Ugg boots smacking the wood floor. “I need to get start—”

  My cell phone vibrated in the front pocket of my hoodie. When I pulled it out, I was happy to see Dylan’s name.

  “Who is it?” Jack asked.

  “It’s Dylan,” I said, as I finished reading his long text message.

  Dylan:

  Hey, beautiful. I’m really sorry to spring this on such short notice, but does your offer still stand for a place to crash? I quit my job this morning and told my mom #thetruth and she flipped the fuck out. Long story short, my BFF Avery is hiking in Colorado until the end of next week. You would be doing me a HUGE solid if I could crash at your mom’s place until he gets back, so I don’t have to pay out of my ass for a hotel.

  Me:

  Yes!!!!! Where are you? I’ll pick you up right now. I’m in Portland!

  Dylan:

  Your eagerness is a little frightening. I’m at home. My mom is at the shop.

  Once I verified Dylan’s home address, I looked up from my phone to find Jack staring at me. “He came out to his mom, and now he needs a place to stay for a few days until his buddy gets back from Colorado. I’m going to pick him up so he can stay here. Okay?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Do I have a choice?”

  I shook my head. “I promise I’ll make it up to you when we go home. I’ll let you tie me up.”

  I was about to turn around to leave, when Jack grabbed me from behind. I yelped as he pulled me into his lap again, laughing as he buried his face in my neck.

  “You’d better believe I’m going to hold you to that promise you just made,” he growled.

  I giggled as he slid his hand between my legs and kissed my neck. “Really? What are you gonna do to me after you tie me up?”

  His teeth scraped over my earlobe as his hot breath roared inside my ear. “First, I’m going to lay you on your back and tie you to the bedposts.” His tongue traced the outer edge of my ear and I couldn’t even bring myself to remind him that we didn’t have bedposts. “Then, I’m going to tease your hot, little pussy with my tongue, my finger, my cock.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath as he massaged my pussy through the fabric of my leggings. “How are you going to tease it?” I breathed.

  He pressed his lips to my ear so I could feel every dirty word. “I’ll slap it, suck it, finger it, lick it. I’ll get drunk on it. And when you’re soaking wet and begging me to come, I’ll fuck you till you’re seeing stars. Then, I’ll own it.” He slid his hand down the front of my leggings. “How wet are you right now?”

  I swallowed hard as I reluctantly pulled his hand off my throbbing center. “I have to go. Dylan is waiting,” I said, standing up on shaky legs.

  Jack chuckled as he watched me leave. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, pixie.”

  * * *

  Ace and I waited in the SUV for Dylan to emerge from the two-bedroom bungalow he shared with his mom, very near Sunny’s. When he finally emerged, Ace helped him load his suitcase and a backpack in the trunk. He hopped into the backseat carrying a box.

  “It’s an X-box. Yes, I’m a gamer. No, I can’t live without my X-box. Don’t make fun,” he said, closing the car door.

  “Never even crossed my mind,” I replied with a grin. “You’ll need something to occupy your time until your friend gets back next week.”

  He didn’t respond, but the muscles in his scrawny neck appeared taut with tension.

  “Of course, you’re welcome to invite your other friends over, too,” I continued. “And I’ll be working on my mom’s garden today. But once I go home, I’ll only be an hour away if you need anything.”

  He sighed and flashed me a relieved smile. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t have to do this alone.”

  A few minutes later, as we approached the house, Dylan turned to me. “I know you’re probably going to get sick of hearing this pretty soon, but thank you. You make me believe that there are still people out there who truly care.”

  “Stop it. You’re going to make me cry,” I said, waving off his gratitude. “Besides, you might not feel so grateful when you have to sleep in my old bedroom. I’m going to try to finish up in the garden today, but Jack and I might have to stay the night if I have to finish tomorrow.”

  Dylan looked confused. “Why is that supposed to bother me?”

  I flashed him a sheepish grin, then turned around to face straight ahead as Ace pulled my SUV into the driveway. “I promise we’ll try to be as quiet as possible.”

  It took him a minute to understand what I’d meant, but as I opened the door to get out of the car, I smiled as I heard Dylan gasp.

  * * *

  Once Dylan and Ace had taken all his stuff up to my old bedroom, I brought him down to the office to meet Jack.

  “Jack, this is Dylan,” I said, stepping out of the way so they could shake hands.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Dylan said with a nod.

  Jack nodded back. “Nice to meet you.”

  I had never seen Dylan look so nervous.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, then uncrossed his arms and began rubbing the back of his neck. “I hope I’m not in the way here. I can totally get a hotel room if this is too weird.”

  He began to turn around, but I grabbed his arm.

  “No, you’re not getting a hotel room. You’ll be fine in my room. Come on. You can help me in the garden,” I said, looking over my shoulder at Jack as I pushed Dylan toward the door. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

  He laughed as I blew him an air-kiss. “Get out of here.”

  Dylan smiled awkwardly as he followed me out of the house onto the back porch. As we crossed the lawn toward the garden shed, I couldn’t help but notice that he looked slightly giddy.

  “Dylan, do you have a crush on my husband?” I asked with a smile.

  He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide his grin. “He’s super nice.”

  “And super hot?”

  He shook his head. “He’s your husband. Can we please talk about something else? This is, like, the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had. Well, other than the conversation I just had with my mom.”

  I wrapped my arm a
round his shoulders and squeezed. “It may not seem like it now, but you did the right thing.”

  He flashed me a worried smile. “I hope you’re right.”

  26

  Jack

  “What’s up, boss?” Ace asked as he entered the office.

  “Is my wife working in the garden?”

  “Yes, sir. She’s out there with Dylan.”

  I nodded. “Good. I’m working on some case stuff. I need you to text me when you see her coming back inside. I don’t want her to walk in on this. It’s not… She’s a bit sensitive about this stuff, you know?”

  “Yes, sir. Understood.”

  As Ace closed the office door behind him, I stared at the images on my computer screen, the screenshots I took of the comments and posts I’d found recently in the Justice for Jack Stratton Jr. Facebook group, the ones I’d hurriedly scrolled past when I searched the group in front of Laurel earlier. One post from a guy named Kevin O’Toole was especially troubling.

  Facebook Post:

  Kevin O’Toole:

  September 22nd

  This group is nothing but a witch hunt. If you guys don’t stop harassing my brother, I’m going to take matters into my own hands. He had nothing to do with this. Leave him alone!

  Comment by Karen McNair:

  10 minutes ago

  If your brother didn’t have a history of breaking and entering he wouldn’t be on anyones radar! This isn’t a witch hunt. its an investigation! If you don’t like it you can leave the group!

  I found Karen’s bad grammar endearing. But I took Kevin’s threats very seriously.

  I suspected that “take matters into my own hands” meant that Kevin was going to take one of three different courses of action:

  1) He planned to report the group to Facebook for doxxing — or in layman’s terms, harassing someone or encouraging harassment by posting their personal contact information in a public forum. Little did he know that Mark Zuckerberg and I weren’t strangers. I’d had lunch with him the last time I was in Palo Alto.

  2) He would contact authorities in Boise, Idaho and make a false harassment claim against Karen, the other Boise residents in the group, or me.

  3) He was planning to get revenge or silence us with counter-harassment or violence.

  Seeing as there were thousands of other Facebook groups investigating thousands of other murders and missing persons cases, Kevin would get nowhere fast if he took option one. As long as we didn’t share Kevin or Mike O’Toole’s contact information, we were well within our rights to speculate about Mike’s guilt.

  He could try option two, but without being in the same state as me, he probably wouldn’t get very far, since I was the owner of the Facebook group, not Karen.

  If Kevin even considered option three, he was in for the rudest wake-up call of the century.

  Even though I had no reason to believe that Kevin’s threat was imminent, it didn’t hurt to let Ace and Matt know they should be extra vigilant today. Especially since I’d received an interesting email from a Detective Ava Robinson a couple of days ago.

  Robinson had some interesting information about Mike O’Toole. This new lead brought into question the prevailing theory that Beth and Junior’s deaths were simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  I closed the Facebook screenshots and opened up Robinson’s email again just as a call from Matt came through on my phone.

  “Did you find it?” I asked.

  Matt breathed heavily into the phone. “Not yet,” he replied, taking a beat to catch his breath. “But there’s still about eight more boxes I haven’t looked at, and four boxes that aren’t labeled. Should I bring in the ones that aren’t labeled?”

  “No,” I replied quickly. “I don’t want Laurel knowing about this until she absolutely has to. Just set aside any boxes that aren’t labeled. I’ll look through them later.”

  “Right on,” he replied.

  “Finish up in there as quickly as possible. I need you watching over the house. This information I’m looking for is in relation to some new leads on the case, and… let’s just say I’m really fucking glad I decided to hire you guys when I did. If you see anyone on the property you don’t recognize, anyone at all, don’t hesitate to take action.”

  “Got it.”

  As we ended the call, I contemplated how to get Laurel out of the house for a while so I could look through those boxes. Maybe I should suggest that she and Dylan go out for dinner or drinks. Maybe even tell her to invite Drea to really draw the night out.

  But I didn’t like the idea of sending Laurel out in public. Even with Ace by her side, I didn’t want to consider the possibility that I might be putting her in harm’s way.

  I thought of asking Matt and Ace to discreetly load up the trunk of the SUV with the boxes. Then, I could pretend I needed to go to the office for a while. But I didn’t want to leave Laurel here alone, though not necessarily because of the recent threats.

  Laurel had been talking in her sleep a few nights ago. I’d almost forgotten she had this habit because we hadn’t been sleeping together much for the past seven or eight months. But these last couple of weeks, I became reacquainted with her nighttime terrors and occasional sleep-talking.

  It was rare that I could understand the words she mumbled in her sleep. When I did catch something resembling a word, it was usually “Junior” or “Mom” or “no.” The other night, I clearly heard her say the name “Isaac.”

  I leaned back in the desk chair as I considered asking Ace to keep a watch over Laurel in my absence, to make sure she didn’t get too close to Isaac. But that wasn’t Ace’s job.

  And I trusted Laurel. I had to trust her or our marriage was already over. Besides, I highly doubted she would do anything with Dylan around.

  It was clear to me that Dylan was a way for her to exercise her maternal instincts. She wouldn’t want Dylan to think poorly of her.

  I closed my laptop and took a deep breath as I pondered Laurel and her maternal instincts. She was so smart. She was intellectually and sexually my equal, through and through. No one could fuck or fight dirtier than Laurel. But when it came to her need to have a baby, she lost all sense of rationality.

  It made me sick that I had exploited her one weakness in order to get her to come home. Her need to replace Junior and prove she could be as great as her dead mother was heartbreaking and also infuriating.

  Junior could not be replaced. And Beth wasn’t the saint Laurel had turned her into posthumously.

  Yes, Beth was awesome, and just as smart and beautiful as Laurel. But she was also as stubborn and lost in her own world. Laurel’s father would never win Father of the Year, but sometimes, I didn’t blame him for divorcing Beth and moving halfway across the country.

  She was funny and a great conversationalist, but underneath the sharp-witted, nurturing grandma façade, she could be pretty fucking icy.

  I would never forget how she refused to come to the hospital when Laurel first went into labor. I was aware that grandmothers weren’t always in the delivery room, and the hospital in Hood River was more than an hour’s drive away from Beth, but Laurel had asked for her. Beth didn’t leave for the hospital until I texted her to let her know Laurel was having an emergency C-section.

  Laurel was crazy if she thought I was seriously going to entertain the idea of having another baby right now. Neither of us were ready for that.

  Nevertheless, I loved my pixie more than life itself, even if she couldn’t seem to get her neighbor out of her thoughts. But I couldn’t keep having sex with her and hoping she wouldn’t get pregnant. It was too risky.

  As soon as Laurel returned tonight, I was going to come clean about not being ready for another baby. It would be an excellent way to test her, to see if she would open up and tell me the whole truth about Isaac, if there was anything more to tell.

  This was either going to blow up in my face, or it would be the communication breakthrough we needed.


  27

  Isaac

  As I pulled out of the parking lot at Sunny’s, I couldn’t contain my grin. I shouldn’t be so happy that Dylan quit his job, or that Vera was so upset. But I had faith that they would work out their differences. I was grinning because I knew how happy this would make Laurel.

  She expressed to me her concern about Dylan not being true to himself. Next time she dropped by to work on the garden, I’d have to tell her what Vera just told me. And I hoped she dropped by soon or I’d have to take care of the pruning and mowing for her.

  As I drove home from Sunny’s, I thought of this morning’s appointment with Harold Erickson, my VA worker. Harold had a bunch of paperwork for me to fill out. He also had a list of things I needed to bring with me to my next appointment, to prove that the event — referred to as an in-service stressor — that caused my PTSD happened during my service. I would have to bring my discharge papers, my medals, records of my unit assignments, an official diagnosis from a physician, and written statements from fellow veterans.

  The diagnosis was made by a VA physician, so that would be simple enough. I kept my medals in a box in the attic. I hadn’t been up there since I put them away a couple of years ago, but they would be easy to find.

  Getting copies of my discharge and unit assignment records should not be a problem. But getting written statements from my fellow vets was not something I was looking forward to. I was certain that most of us wanted to forget those “in-service stressors.”

  But without the statements, the VA couldn’t establish the nexus — the link between my PTSD and my service. Without the nexus, I couldn’t take part in the prolonged exposure therapy program starting at the VA in January.

  I didn’t want the damn disability compensation. If they made me take it, I would just donate it. All I wanted was to take part in that program.