Watching Trin by Freya Barker
Chapter 25
Trin
I’m humming softly as I wait for the coffee to brew.
Upstairs the water turns off, which means Bodhi is done his shower. I pop the bagel down in the toaster. I know he’s probably going to have a big breakfast at the firehouse, but in case they get called out right away I want to make sure he has something in his stomach.
I’m nesting and I know it. Waking up to Bodhi kissing his way down my body for the second morning in a row has given me a taste of what domestic bliss might be like. Not that I have a lot of experience with relationships that involve sharing a bed with someone for more than a single night, but I could handle waking up like this every morning.
Yesterday had started the same way, with Bodhi making love to me in the early morning dawn with the rest of the house still asleep. I’d been mellow the entire day. Too mellow, probably. Bodhi had come to the conclusion that what furniture he had in his apartment wouldn’t even make a dent in what he’d need for the new house. He wanted to make use of his day off to hit up the limited furniture stores Durango has to offer. First on his list was a king-sized bed. I guess the bed upstairs spoiled him and since his apartment only fit a queen, he wanted an upgrade. When he asked me to come I agreed without hesitation, which caused Vic to nearly choke on her coffee. Needless to say, I didn’t get much work done at all, other than fire off a quick column that came easier than last time. Nothing on my investigative piece though, but that would change today.
As soon as Bodhi and Vic get out of here and I get Tuck sorted for school, I’m confining myself to the study. Other than picking up the new wireless headphones for my kid’s birthday, I am devoting myself to the story.
Upstairs I can hear water running again. Probably Vic getting her shower in. Luckily the master has its own en suite, otherwise we’d be having problems with everyone getting ready at the same time.
The toaster pops at the same time I hear footsteps in the hallway upstairs. I grab the cream cheese from the fridge and slather it on thick. My back is turned when Bodhi walks up behind me, brushing my hair out of the way to get to that tender spot behind my ear.
“Good morning,” he mumbles with his lips against my skin.
“Yes, it is.”
His soft chuckle warms me and I turn to press a kiss to his clean-shaven jaw. By this afternoon the five-o’clock shadow would be back, which would turn into the delicious stubble I can still feel between my legs.
“Here, start on your bagel, I’ll grab coffee for you.”
I shove the small plate at him and he gives me a smile.
“You know you don’t have to do this, right? I can grab something at the station.”
Still, he picks up half of the bagel and takes a massive bite as he leans a hip against the counter.
I grab a travel mug from the cupboard and fill it with coffee, but before I can hand it to him it’s snatched out of my hand.
“Thanks,” Vic says, taking a sip before reaching around me and snatching the other half of the bagel off Bodhi’s plate.
“Hey! I didn’t make that for you, get your own damn breakfast.”
She grins at me with a mouthful of partially masticated bagel—gross—before turning to Bodhi.
“Who knew there’d be perks to having you here?”
Tuck is just stumbling down the stairs when I push a second travel mug in Bodhi’s hand and lift my face for a kiss goodbye.
Half an hour later, I watch my son walk to the corner and wave at the biker who showed up to accompany him. I make a mental note to do something nice to repay these guys as I close the door. Not that I’d know what to get a group of bikers, but I figure food would always be good. They’re guys after all. Maybe I’ll bake cookies or a few pies.
After a quick shower myself, I top up my coffee and head for the study. First thing on the agenda is giving Detective VanDyken a call. I’m hoping they might have DNA results, but I’ve also been thinking maybe I should tell him about the incident in the City Market parking lot the other day. Perhaps I’m barking up the wrong tree, it could’ve been unintentional, but what if the whole near-hit-and-run thing is connected to those threats? I mean, he didn’t actually hit either of us, and maybe he just meant to scare me. The witness said it looked like a young guy, what if it’s a kid at Tucker’s school?
I jot down a few notes on my pad before pulling his number up. I get three rings before I’m bumped to voicemail.
“Hi, it’s Katrina Paige calling. Trin,” I add for clarification. I suck at leaving messages. “I’m calling about something that happened over the weekend. A little incident, nothing serious, but I thought it might be worth mentioning,” I ramble at increasing speed because I just know I’ll be cut off mid-sentence. Still, I add unnecessarily, “I was wondering if it may be connected to the notes. The incident, that is. Anyway, it was a hit and run. Or almost. Call me.”
I manage to get the last in—at least I hope I did—before the beep announces I’ve reached my limit. Then I drop my head down to the desktop, groaning at my garbled ineptitude. One of these days I’ll learn to write myself a little script, or maybe I should just stick to a request for a call back.
Luckily some of the message must’ve gotten to him because five minutes later he calls back.
“Officer Conley told me what happened,” Jay barges right in when I answer the phone. “I was gonna call you about that. It wasn’t that hard to track down the truck, and we charged the kid with reckless driving, which was about all we could do. It depends on the DA if those charges are going to stand.”
It wouldn’t surprise me if the charges were dropped. The DA’s office has better things to spend their time on than a kid going too fast in a parking lot. There is no evidence he intended to hit me, but the journalist in me wants to cross the T’s and dot the I’s.
“By chance is he a student at Durango High?”
There’s a moment of quiet on the other side before he responds with a question.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Oh, just a thought. On the off chance the incident had been intentional, or at least to put a scare into me, whether it could’ve been connected to those notes we got. Those were pretty primitive, like something a kid might’ve come up with.” He hums, letting me know he’s listening. “I told you my son had some issues at school and it occurred to me maybe one of the kids there was intent on scaring us off.”
“I guess it would be possible, except for the fact Jacob is a student at Fort Lewis College. And in case this is your next question, he doesn’t have younger siblings at Durango High either. He’s an only child, according to his parents a good kid, who works part time in a restaurant and spends most of his free time at football practice.”
It’s clear VanDyken isn’t buying into my hypothesis, and to be honest, it does sound like I’m barking up the wrong tree. Back to the drawing board.
“I did have some other news for you,” Jay continues. “DNA results came back, confirming the body from the river is Wapi’s sister, Cherry Danvers.”
“Oh no, does he know yet?”
I know it probably wouldn’t have been a huge surprise for him, but it still must’ve been a blow.
“Was on the phone with him when you left a message. I’m heading out to meet with him now. I’m hoping this knowledge will make it easier to track down whoever killed her.”
That would be great, but in the meantime I’d love to talk to Wapi too, find out if he recalls exactly when he saw his sister last. Whether it coincided with that party at Bodhi’s house.
I’m already jotting down names of people who might’ve seen her that night. Most of the football team would’ve been there. I’m not going to disturb Bodhi at work, but can check if Anika was home that night and if she remembers any names.
But there’s one other person I know for a fact was there—JD Hawkins—so maybe I’ll start with him.
The moment I get off the phone with the detective, I dial the number for the college and ask to speak with Hawkins. When I’m patched through to his line, a woman answers the phone.
“Athletic office.”
“Hi, is Mr. Hawkins available?”
“I’m sorry, he’s not in the office right now.”
“Is there a better time to reach him?”
“I’m not sure what time he’ll be back. It probably won’t be until later this afternoon. He’ll be here for the game.”
“The game?”
“Yes, the football team plays at home today. Game starts at seven.”
I wonder if Tuck would like to go see a football game with me. I might be able catch two birds with one stone. A few questions for JD Hawkins if I can corner him, and a look at the Jacob kid VanDyken was talking about.
“Thanks so much. You’ve been very helpful,” I tell the woman before ending the call.
I immediately flip open my laptop and pull up the website for Fort Lewis College. It takes me five minutes to find the name Jacob Kendrick on the roster. He’s listed on tonight’s lineup for the Skyhawks. Number thirty-two.
* * *
I don’t think I’ve been at a football game since I was in high school.
Back then it had been purely to ogle the hot guys in tight pants, sitting in the stands with my friends, giggling as we’d speculate about the size of their equipment. Of course, back then, I didn’t stand a chance in hell of drawing the attention of any of the jocks, or even members of the nerd squad for that matter. Freckles, braces, puppy fat, and the glasses I had to wear until I could afford Lasik surgery made sure of that.
Still, I remember sitting there imagining my crush, Philip Traynor, suddenly developing an interest in me. Inspired, I’d go home and write out an entire romantic scene in my journal where the hot football player falls hopelessly in love with the overweight, buck-toothed, and bespectacled redhead and lived happily ever after.
Things have changed a little since then, or at least I have. I’m a little more comfortable in my skin and a lot more confident.
“Want something to drink from the concession stand?” I ask Tuck, who appears to be checking out a group of giggling girls a few rows below us.
Apparently, some things haven’t changed that much.
“Coke and a couple of hot dogs.”
“Are you serious? Hot dogs? You just scarfed down two plates of pasta.”
My kid—the bottomless pit—shrugs and replies, “I’m hungry.”
I grumble a little under my breath as I start climbing down the bleachers. On the field the teams start heading for the sideline after their warm-ups. My eyes zoom in on number thirty-two, a tall boy-man with dark hair and wide shoulders. I keep my attention on him as I make my way down and start walking in the direction of the concession stand. He’s talking to a few teammates when suddenly his head comes up.
I can tell the exact moment he spots me; he appears to freeze, his eyes wide. He looks scared. For a moment we just look at each other, then he quickly ducks his head and turns to the bench.
If there was any doubt in my mind the incident in the parking lot was intentional, it’s gone now. Jacob Kendrick knows exactly who I am.
A bit rattled, I turn toward the modest line waiting for refreshments and fish my wallet from my bag. There really is no reason for this kid to know me, but he clearly does. So how? Why? Part of me wants to march onto the field and grill him for answers, but I’m pretty sure that would be frowned upon. Maybe I can intercept him after the game, although I suspect now he knows I’m here, he’ll do his best to avoid me.
When it’s my turn I place my order, which is loaded into a cardboard tray. I pay the exorbitant amount the girl behind the counter quotes me, take my tray, and head back for the stands. I’m almost halfway there when I notice two men walking toward me deep in conversation. One of them is JD Hawkins.
Last time I spoke with him he ended the conversation quite abruptly—I had the sense he didn’t quite buy into my ‘old friends’ story—so it’s safe to assume he won’t welcome a repeat. Besides, if he had anything to do with what happened to Cherry, and perhaps set up one of his players to mow me down in a parking lot, he’ll do his best to avoid me. It means I have to get a bit creative.
Pretending to look off to the side at something on the field, I hold my tray in both hands and fake a stumble, falling right into him. Hands grab to steady me.
“Son of a bitch!”
The tray landed upside down on the ground, one hot dog with condiments covering one of his shoes while the contents of Tuck’s Coke and my coffee drip down his pants. Some landed on me too and my hands are covered in the hot beverage. Twenty-three bucks down the toilet and I burned myself in the process.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
I lift my head and meet his eyes, which immediately narrow.
“You.” To the man he’d been in conversation with he says, “You go ahead, I’ll catch up later.”
“Again, I’m terribly sorry,” I apologize, not at all contrite and judging by the dubious look on his face he’s not convinced either. “What a mess.”
He looks around him before he reaches for my arm.
“Come with me. You need cold water on those.”
It’s probably not the smartest move to let him lead me to the back of the building housing the concession stand, but I can hardly call myself an investigative journalist if I’m not willing to take a risk. It’s not like we’re alone in some back alley amid a civil unrest, we’re at Fort Lewis College and there are plenty of people milling about. Also, my hands hurt like fuck, so some cold water would be welcome.
He opens a door and pushes me into what looks like a storage room leading into a small commercial kitchen. Someone is doing food prep and looks up when we pass the door opening. Hawkins steers me toward a large utility sink on the far side of the storage room and turns on the faucet, shoving my hands under the stream. Then he wets a towel hanging on a hook and starts dabbing at his pant legs.
“What are you doing here, Ms. Paige?”
“Watching the game, of course.”
He briefly glances up at me before returning his attention to the stains on his pants.
“I know you called the office looking for me.”
Busted.
“I also know you’re a reporter. I looked you up.”
Aside from the interesting fact he did some digging on me, I guess there’s no need for subterfuge anymore. I do better with the straightforward approach anyway.
“Fine, I was hoping to bump into you,” I admit.
“No need to do it quite so literally next time,” he grumbles.
I grin despite myself.
“I heard some disturbing news today I wanted to get your take on. Based on the information you gave me last time I was able to track down Jordan Danvers.” More like he tracked me down, but the result was the same. “DNA he was able to provide indicates his sister, Cherry Danvers, was the body found in a car they retrieved from the Animas River recently.”
That certainly got his attention. The shock on his face looks genuine, or he could simply be a talented actor.
“Wow. She’s dead? Drowned?”
“Actually, no. Police are convinced it was foul play. She never went missing, she was in the river the whole time,” I add, observing his reaction. “And the kicker is, the last reported sighting of her was at a party celebrating the team winning the regionals. Do you recall that, by chance?”
He glares at me, maybe hoping to intimidate, but I don’t even blink as I stare him down.
“Clearly you already know I was there or you wouldn’t be here asking questions,” he finally bites off.
“You two had a fight that night,” I prompt. “She was upset with you.”
“She overreacted. I was celebrating,” he says defensively.
“With your tongue down another girl’s throat,” I point out.
Noting he’s not going to get any sympathy from me, he changes tracks.
“We were at Jones’s house, Bodhi Jones. Why don’t you go ask him? He’s the one who drove her home.”
I get the distinct impression he looked into me more in-depth than I’d thought.
“And dropped her off around the corner from her house.”
Now I’m the one sounding defensive.
With abrupt movements he turns off the faucet just as the national anthem starts blaring over the sound system. Then he dips his head down until he’s only inches from mine.
“Whatever happened to Cherry, I had nothing to do with it,” he says in a low voice before straightening up and heading for the door.
“So you’re suggesting it’s a coincidence?” I call after him and he stops and turns back. “That one of the kids on your team tried to run me down this weekend?”
He apparently doesn’t have an answer for that as he disappears through the door. By the time I get outside there’s no sign of him.
Another twenty-three bucks poorer, I find Tucker in the stands. He snatches one of the hot dogs off the tray and shoves half of it in his mouth before I can even sit down.
“Took you long enough,” he complains, spraying me with crumbs.
Fucking kids.