Page 4 of Whispers Left Behind
After setting aside nine cinnamon sticks, she took her time fastening the silver lid. A part of her hoped Lily would return inside and drag her uncle out to the backyard. Kinsley could ladle the apple cider out of the crockpot and into the mugs herself.
She preferred to do a lot of things by herself lately.
“It’s been a year, Kinsley.”
She gritted her teeth in response to Dylan’s statement.
Shoving the mason jar back into place, she made sure the glass container was evenly lined with the others. Her mother had spent a great deal of time decorating her kitchen after the extensive remodel. She had miraculously managed to maintain its rustic charm, and Kinsley wouldn’t be the one responsible for any untidiness.
Her parents had purchased the old farmhouse the same year Kinsley had been born. Their one prerequisite had been for their home to have enough bedrooms to accommodate a large family. They had not only succeeded, but they had also accomplished some major renovations over the past few decades. The most recent project had been her mother’s dream kitchen, with state-of-the-art appliances, grey granite countertops, and plenty of storage space.
The perfect home for an imperfect family.
“And yet it still feels like yesterday,” Kinsley murmured honestly. If Dylan wanted to have this conversation, so be it. She was tired of walking on eggshells. She turned around and leaned against the L side of the counter. “Dad used me to acquit a man who murdered two women. Two women who were bornand raised in this town, Dylan. I’m still lucky to be a homicide detective.”
“You and I both know that you’re damn good at your job,” Dylan replied, doing his best to back up the conversation. He didn’t get to have his way this time. “It wasn’t even your fault. That crime tech—”
“My scene. My case. My responsibility.”
Kinsley could still hear the gavel hit the sound block. She suffered from nightmares every single night. Flashes of the shocking newspaper headlines, the intense trial, and the damning testimony that had allowed a killer to walk free would forever be imprinted in her mind. There wasn’t a second from those trying days that didn’t still haunt her.
“A forensics technician allowed a freelance journalist access to the crime scene for five hundred dollars.” Dylan crossed his ankle over the other. Again, it was as if he believed this discussion would last a while. “You did your job to the best of your ability. Dad was just doing his, Kin.”
Kinsley could have remained in the kitchen arguing with her brother. She could have brought up for the thousandth time that her dad had used information that he had obtained from a phone conversation. A private discussion she had been having with her partner on the back patio during a Thursday night family dinner. She had foolishly believed at the time that such boundaries between professions were respected.
Kinsley and her father understood early on that their careers would cross paths—or at least, that was what she believed at the time. After all, he was a local defense attorney, and she was a homicide detective for the Fallbrook Police Department.
“I have one question for you, Dylan—do you believe Calvin Gantz brutally murdered those two women?”
Dylan was saved from answering when Kinsley’s phone gave off a muffled ring from inside her purse. He sighed audibly andtilted his head back in resignation. He agreed with her about Gantz’s guilt, but they had been raised in a family who respected the justice system.
Everyone deserved a defense—even the guilty.
Pushing off the counter, she made her way to the foyer. She should have worn a jacket, but she hated anything bulky. Her purse was hanging from one of the wrought-iron hooks. It took her more than a few seconds to retrieve her phone, but she managed to answer before her partner disconnected the call.
“Perfect timing.” Kinsley had greeted Alex Lanen after catching sight of his name on the lighted display. She lowered her voice so Dylan wouldn’t overhear her side of the conversation. She’d been there, done that, and had promised herself never to let it happen again. “Even if you’re only calling to say that you’re going to be late tomorrow, I’m telling my family that we have a case.”
Each division within the police station had a Fantasy Football league. Though North Dakota didn’t have their own NFL team, most everyone in homicide supported the Minnesota Vikings. Seeing as they were playing the Chicago Bears tonight, it wouldn’t come as a shock to anyone if most of the detectives came strolling into work late tomorrow morning.
Unfortunately, the silence on the other end of the line suggested that Alex wasn’t calling about the football game. By the time he began to speak, Dylan had opened one of the cupboards. Even with the distance between them, the clinking of the mugs he had collected for the hot apple cider drowned out her partner’s words.
“Alex, you’ll have to repeat that,” Kinsley replied cautiously as she dug her keys out from the depths of her purse.
She had to have been mistaken about the information he had provided, and she chalked up her misunderstanding due to her unsolicited conversation with Dylan. She revisited her pastevery night in her nightmares. There was no need to discuss her transgressions in the present, and she shouldn’t have allowed it to happen in the first place.
“Where am I meeting you, Alex?”
Kinsley’s pumpkin would have to be carved another time. She palmed her keys and settled her purse strap over her shoulder. Dylan was already ladling the apple cider into the mugs. He raised a hand to indicate that he would let the others know she had caught a case.
“Old man Cooper’s farm.” There was another long pause before Alex repeated his earlier statement. Bile hit the back of her throat. “Did you hear me before, Kin? It’s bad. Real bad. I think…well, everything points toward Gantz being back in town.”
Kinsley wasn’t sure how she made it out the front door of her parents’ house without losing her stomach contents. Fortunately, the crisp air helped her to contain the unwanted physical response. She managed to disconnect the call without Alex any the wiser, but she found she couldn’t make it to her Jeep.
She lowered herself slowly until she was sitting on the porch's top step.
Each breath seemed to take more effort than the last, and it had nothing to do with the thick smoke from the burning firewood out back. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her knees tight to control her breathing. No amount of meditation could keep the memories from flooding her mind.
The media had dubbed Calvin Gantz the Fallbrook Killer.
