Sirens wailed and the dog lifted his head from the water bowl. He barked and turned toward me.
“It’s okay. Just the police.” I took hold of his collar and tugged him toward me. Out of treats, all I could do was scratch him between the ears.
The back privacy fence gate opened, and two officers appeared. Their guns weren’t drawn, but each had a hand on their sidearm, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.
“Ms. Grayson,” the first officer said.
“That’s right.” I moved to stand, but he motioned me to sit.
“Stay where you are. Keep your hands in sight.”
“Sure. Fletcher is in his home office. It’s on the main floor beyond the den. Door is on the right. I went through the sliding glass door.”
“Thanks,” the officer said. The second officer disappeared into the house.
“How do you know Brian Fletcher?” the officer asked.
“I’m writing an article. I interviewed him a few days ago.”
“You’re poking into the Mountain Music Festival.”
Small towns were efficient with news. “That’s right.”
“Fletcher’s daughter was one of the victims.”
“That’s right. And so was my mother.”
“Did he appear upset to you the other day?”
“Sure. All the families I’ve spoken to were upset. He missed his daughter. His life was never the same.”
“Did you get the impression he wanted to hurt himself?”
“I didn’t,” I said. But maybe if I hadn’t tracked down Susan, he’d still be alive. I considered telling the officer about Susan but decided to save that for later.
“You need to wait here for now,” the officer said.
“Dog and I are going to sit in the shade in the backyard.”
“That your dog?”
“Mr. Fletcher’s dog.”
The officer rubbed the dog and then glanced at his collar. “His name is Cody.”
“Right.”
“Stay in the backyard.”
“Sure.”
Cody and I found a shaded spot and sat on the lush, thick grass. The dog lay down beside me, but he kept a close eye on the people moving in and out of his house.
“It’s crazy. But it’ll be okay.” That was a lie. Cody’s life would change. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re okay.”
As more personnel arrived, we moved to a lawn chair under the shade of a tree. We were forgotten for the moment. Any communication I made to Susan could be traced through my phone records. That would prove I knew of her existence, and I’d become an accessory to something.
I opened my phone and texted,Your father died by suicide. I don’t know what the police will find, but I’ve said nothing about you.My thumb hovered over the send button before I pressed it.
