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THURSDAY MORNING, MORGAN watched Austin fasten his tie. “You do that like a pro.”
He shrugged. “Momma said I had to wear one for church, so I learned when I was a little kid.”
“She’d be very proud of you.” Morgan made a final adjustment to his suit jacket lapels, the suit she’d bought him before they’d left Pine Hills. No twelve-year-old should have to buy a black suit, she’d thought then, and seeing him wear it, so solemn and brave, had her thinking the same thing now.
“You ready?” she asked.
He nodded.
She double-checked her purse for her packet of tissues.
When they approached the church, the pastor greeted them at the door, his grave expression mellowing into a gentle smile for Austin.
“Austin, I’m so glad you could be here.” He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Hi, Pastor Nick. This is Miss Tate. She’s been helping with my piano and taking care of everything after Momma ... you know.”
Leaving his hand on Austin’s shoulder, the pastor turned to Morgan. “Call me Nick. Thank you so much for being there for Austin. He’s a special member of my flock.”
“He’s special to me, too,” she said.
The pews held a scattering of people, fifteen or twenty, Morgan estimated, as she and Austin followed an usher to the front row. Heads turned, and a few people offered soft, sympathetic greetings to Austin. Morgan sensed the curiosity in their glances as she and Austin made their way to their seats. She hadn’t thought about it, but it made sense that the congregation would be predominantly black. There were a couple of Latinos, one other white, and two Asians seated together near the rear.
As if he sensed her unspoken question, Austin said, “Those people are from Momma’s job.”
Morgan marveled at how much effort Pastor Nick must have expended to put this service together so quickly. The organist, the flowers, the choir. She lifted her gaze, and her breath caught at the flower-draped casket in front of the altar.
Austin must have noticed it, too, because he gripped her hand. “Is Momma in there?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
His grip tightened. “Are they going to open it up? Do I hafta look at her?”
“No.” After a discussion with Pastor Nick, Morgan had requested a closed casket.
The music swelled, then faded. Pastor Nick strode to the altar and stood behind the pulpit. “We’re here to honor the life of Hannah Jackson.”
~
INSIDE THE HOTEL ROOM, Morgan kicked off her shoes and sat on the bed. Austin, his expression blank, tugged at his tie.
“Funerals are rough,” Morgan said, “I think your momma would be glad you came and be proud of the way you were so strong.”
Most of the mourners had come only for the church service, so it was a mere handful of people at the gravesite. Austin had shed a few tears, clutched her hand in a death grip, but held his head high. She’d suggested he think of a music playlist for his mother’s memory, and he seemed lost in his thoughts as they lowered the casket into the ground.
“Would a hug help?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he whispered.
She got up and embraced him, massaged the back of his neck.
Austin rested his head against her chest, his breathing steady. After a moment, he pulled away.
Morgan changed into more travel-friendly clothes, and Austin did the same, picking up the remote and running back and forth through the channels, stopping on a Power Rangers show.
They’d returned the borrowed suitcases, so she packed everything into her carry-on. As she rearranged her purse, she realized her phone had been off all day. Had the deliveries come through on schedule? What about the fence? The repairs? How was Bailey?
She pressed the power button and waited for the phone to come to life. A new message from Cole.
She opened the thread. Two new ones. Only two? The first, which had come through this morning while they were at the church.
AOK here Bailey fine Austin OK?
He’d actually used a question mark. And capital letters. His doing, or had he accepted the phone’s suggestions? She couldn’t keep from smiling.
The second message was a picture of her half-finished fence, sent an hour ago, accompanied by a thumbs up.
She texted back.
Funeral was good closure for Austin. Maybe good news on custody. Will text from Portland and shoved the phone into the side pocket of her purse.
“Fifteen minutes,” she told Austin. “We have to return the rental car and I don’t want to take any chances on missing the flight, or we’ll be sleeping at the airport tonight.”
Austin punched the remote, and the set went dark. “I’ve seen it before. We can go whenever you say.”
Morgan had wondered what she’d do if Austin wanted to live in Dublin. Apparently, he didn’t feel any ties to this community. Or were the memories of his mother making him want to sever any ties he had? She recalled how she’d felt after her parents had died. She’d been older chronologically. Emotionally, not so much. She’d wanted a new life, although that had been triggered by her failed carpal tunnel surgery, not a true desire to give up what she’d had.
Look through the windshield, not the rearview mirror.
The travel gods were on their side, and they touched down in Portland twenty minutes early.
“Can we stop to eat somewhere?” Austin asked. “I’m hungry. Peanuts and two little cookies don’t count as dinner.”
Morgan agreed. The flight attendant hadn’t offered her both cookies and peanuts. “We’ll stop at Burger Hut, okay?”
~~~
COLE READ MORGAN’S text, looking for hidden meanings. Seemed straightforward. No hints that she was angry because he hadn’t made more of an effort to keep in touch. His efforts had all been directed at not keeping her updated. She had enough to deal with and didn’t need to worry about what finding a skeleton on her property entailed.
Guess what. We found human bones under the porch and we’re a little behind schedule.
Even a message saying the bones had been removed and taken to the state lab for analysis wouldn’t have made her feel better. Not to mention the questions it would have generated, questions better answered in person, not while she was dealing with a funeral and a twelve-year-old kid who’d lost his mother.
Bailey had seemed disappointed that the crew excavating the site didn’t share the bones, but with a new fenced in yard, chasing balls made an acceptable substitute.
Now that the Webster case was a Pine Hills investigation, Detweiler and Kovak had hit the ground running, looking for teachers at the middle and high schools who’d known Kirk, and more importantly, any classmates who might have been giving him a hard time. If they’d found anything, they hadn’t kept Cole in the loop.
Kovak did share that Kirk’s parents had been located—his father had died three years ago, but his mother lived in Connecticut. After they’d moved out of the Elm Street house, they’d gone back east, claiming no knowledge of any harassment. And—Cole’s stomach twisted as he’d read the detectives’ reports—had no idea their son might have been gay.
Cole promised himself he’d visit his sister as soon as he finished working on Morgan’s house.
“He said he wanted to take a year off before starting college, see the world, take a break from the academic life,” Kirk’s mother had said, according to the reports Kovak had discovered. “He wanted to go where the roads took him, not have an itinerary or schedule. Of course we worried, but Kirk had always been mature for his age. When we didn’t hear from him for over two weeks, we hired an investigator, with no luck. To be honest, Kirk had never seemed happy at home. I hoped he’d found whatever he was seeking. I still pray it’s Kirk every time the phone rings, or I check my email, or go to the mailbox.”
The Websters’ private investigator had entered Kirk’s information into NamUs, and with a name, Kovak was following up. NamUs had collected Kirk’s DNA, so it would be in CODIS. If the skeleton belonged to Kirk, they’d be able to confirm it.
Cole didn’t know which he’d prefer. Finding out Kirk had been buried under the porch, or finding out he’d been responsible for whoever’s body it turned out to be.
He went back to painting.
They’d finished the upstairs bedrooms while the techs excavated the bones, and Cole had taken special care with the wall where the graffiti had been. The room, now a welcoming shade of creamy yellow, bore no traces of what Morgan had found the day she’d arrived.
The nightstands and dressers had been put in the bedrooms. He wasn’t sure about the dinette set, so for now it was in the kitchen. Maybe Morgan ordered a fancier set for the dining room.
Aside from setting the microwave on the counter, Cole didn’t want to put things where he thought they should go, because he’d bet she’d want them somewhere else. Plus, there were still cabinets to reface, kitchen drawers to repair, all of which were easier done empty.
Morgan’s text that they’d landed in Portland came through as he was finishing the last section of the living room. He cleaned up the painting materials. Should he wait for her? He still had one more day off, and he’d be here working tomorrow. Bailey would be fine for an hour, so there was really no reason to stay.
The bones. Duh. Better Morgan got the story from Cole.
Once the scene had been released, Cole had made sure there were no bits and pieces of crime scene tape to alarm Morgan. The porch landing was installed, but the steps were temporary, and there were still holes where the techs had been digging.
Cole gathered the drop cloths, collected his things, and made sure the house was clean and neat—as clean and neat as a house could be while undergoing renovations.
His stomach reminded him that he’d skipped lunch. He’d grab dinner from Burger Hut, be back in plenty of time to break the latest news about Kirk Webster. And the excavation in her front yard.
He closed the windows, made sure Bailey had water, then headed to the restaurant.
He walked inside to place his takeout order, and a wave of tension flooded his system. The hairs on the back of Cole’s neck stood like an uncut lawn.
The hostess’s eyes telegraphed fear.