Page 10 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

GWEN

I jump out of my chair and start down the hallway toward my bedroom. “What? Kez! Why didn’t you call me earlier? I’m on my way.”

She laughs, but it comes out strained. “No, it’s just prodromal labor, which is a thing no one warned me about.

It’s like real labor, except nothing happens.

Javi, of course, panicked and took me to the ER where they informed me that, according to my cervix, I’m not even close to having this baby, and the contractions should go away ‘at some point’ on their own, which may be anywhere from an hour to several days. I’m in hell.”

Her frustration and discomfort are evident over the phone.

I hate that I’m not there to help her, especially since the only family she has nearby is her elderly father.

He’s a wonderful man but perhaps not the most helpful when it comes to supporting her through labor.

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help? ” I ask her.

“Tell Javi to stop hovering. He’s terrified the doctors are wrong and that at any minute he’s going to be catching this baby. I’m not sure he totally understands how long labor usually takes. Especially the first time around.”

I smile. Knowing Javi, I’m not at all surprised he’s so concerned. He adores Kez and will make an amazing father. “Tell him you’re craving ice cream. Pick some sort of ridiculous flavor that will be difficult to find. It will give him something to do and make him feel useful.”

“Ooh! Good idea.” I hear her muffle the phone and convey the order to Javi.

There’s a bit of a back-and-forth before she’s back on the line.

“You are a genius. He’s off to town to get a pint of Earl Grey honeycomb, which they only carry at that specialty shop on Main Street.

Not only will I have some time for myself, but I’ll also get ice cream at the end of it. ”

“How is the little bean doing? Have you picked a name yet?”

She groans. “We’ve picked out several. The issue is settling on one. We keep changing our minds. I’m hoping we’ll just know which one is right when we meet them for the first time.”

I smile as I remember Lanny’s birth. She’d come out red-faced and squalling until the minute they placed her on my chest. Her eyes had been dark and she’d stared up at me with the fiercest frown. I’d known right then I would do anything to protect her.

“You’ll know,” I tell her. “You’ll be surprised how everything just tends to fall into place.”

My voice catches slightly, and I clear my throat. “And, of course, you can always change your mind later. My kids have had several names.” I try to keep my tone light, but the ache is still there. Yet another thing Melvin stole from us.

Kez hesitates, and I can feel her weighing how to respond.

“It will all work out,” I tell her. “I promise.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Every time one of these contractions hits, I ask myself what the hell I signed up for. Then I remember that this baby has to come out of me one way or another.” She laughs. “But as much as I love telling you my woes, I’m guessing that’s not why you called. What’s up?”

“It’s nothing,” I tell her. “I was hoping you might be able to give me some insight on a case, but there’s no way I’m asking a thing of you right now.”

“Oh, come on. It’s called false labor for a reason! I can’t go in to work, and I’ve been bored out of my mind sitting here all day. I would love nothing more than a project to take my mind off all this. So, what have you got?”

“Kez, you’re going to have a baby soon. You should be focused on nesting.”

She snorts. “When have you ever known me to be into anything as domestic as nesting? I’d rather be out in the field serving a search warrant than washing another batch of baby clothes. You called for my help. Please, let me help.”

I hesitate for another moment before letting out a breath. “It really only involves making some phone calls, and if at any point, you’re not feeling like doing?—”

“Gwen, seriously. Stop treating me like I’m fragile. I get enough of that from Javi. I’m a whole grown-ass woman and I’m absolutely capable of saying no when I need to. I’m not saying it now.”

One of the things I’ve always loved about Kez is that she’s a woman who isn’t afraid to speak her mind. “Okay, then. Here’s what I’ve got.” I tell her about the FBI visit this morning and Cooper Kuntz’s murder.

She’s just as horrified as I am. “What kind of person would do something like that? Go through all that effort to dig up Melvin’s body and then use his bones as…what? Some kind of weapon? And what does it have to do with you? They can’t possibly think you had anything to do with it.”

“They asked for my alibi,” I inform her. “Sam’s as well.”

“Seriously? Just because this Cooper Kuntz guy once sent you threatening emails doesn’t mean you had anything to do with his murder.”

“That’s the thing. It wasn’t just Cooper Kuntz.

” I tell her about going through my files and what I discovered about several of the other guys who’d sent threatening emails.

“Something about it doesn’t sit right with me.

On the surface, their deaths aren’t necessarily that suspicious and there’s nothing tying them together. ”

“Except for you,” Kez points out.

I let out a breath. “Except for me,” I echo. “It has to be a coincidence, right? I mean, a drug deal gone wrong in Louisiana and a missing person in Nevada—those are two different deaths with different MOs.”

“Your gut is telling you there’s something there. You should listen to it.”

She’s right. I’ve had a love-hate relationship with my gut over the past year. I used to rely on it without second thought, but my confidence got shaken after my interaction with Jonathan Watson at Salah Point. It has taken me a while to get used to listening to it again.

“I tried calling the investigating officer for one of the cases, hoping to learn more so I could see if the deaths are related at all. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t interested in sharing any information. I was hoping that as a detective you might be able to get farther than I could if you asked?”

“I can give it a try. I’ve had success with that in the past when we were trying to track down Sheryl Lansdowne after she drowned her two kids. Email me the list of names and any other information you’ve got, and I’ll start making calls. Worst thing they can do is tell me no.”

I still feel a moment of hesitation. She’s so close to her due date. The last thing I need to do is involve her in my problems. “Are you sure, Kez? ”

“Do you like it when other people tell you what you can and can’t do?” she asks with an edge to her voice.

She has a point. “You’re right.”

“I know I am.” I hear her grin through the phone.

I think about how long it’s been since I’ve seen her—almost four months. With Lanny’s school and Connor’s equine therapy, I haven’t had the time to leave town for a visit. I realize now that’s a terrible excuse. Sam is more than capable of handling the kids on his own.

Kez was there when I needed her the most, even risking her life to save mine in the lighthouse at Salah Point. I owe her everything. “Are you sure you don’t need me to come up there? Even for a day? I can take over laundry duty.”

“I appreciate the offer. I really do,” Kez says. “But save your time off for when the baby comes. Laundry, I know how to handle. A newborn will be trickier. It will be nice to have another mom around to help and answer questions. Deal?”

“Absolutely,” I tell her.

“I’ll start making these calls while Javi’s at work tomorrow and let you know what I find. We’ll get this figured out.”

I let out a relieved breath. “Thanks, Kez. I’m sorry my past keeps rearing its ugly head.”

“No apologies,” she says, cutting me off. “If it weren’t for your past, you’d never have moved to Stillhouse Lake, and we’d wouldn’t have become friends. It’s because of your past that I get to have you in my life. And for that, I’m grateful.”

My eyes burn as tears threaten. Kez isn’t one to wear her emotions on her sleeves, which makes her words even more meaningful. “You’re the best.”

She clears her throat. “Stupid pregnancy hormones, making me tear up all the damn time,” she grumbles. “I’ll be glad when that’s no longer an issue.”

I laugh. “Postpartum hormones are even worse. ”

She groans. “I don’t want to hear about that,” she says. “Hanging up now. Bye.”

I smile as the call disconnects. Even so, I still feel unsettled. I check the location app on my phone: Lanny’s at school, Connor is at the library, and Sam is offline, which probably means he’s flying since he tends to turn his phone off before takeoff.

A familiar anxiety sits heavily in my stomach.

I try to determine the source of it: the podcast, the FBI visit, spending so much time focused on Sicko Patrol.

Sure, all of those things are contributors, but the feeling in my gut is more than that.

It makes me antsy, like there’s something I should be doing that I forgot.

I rack my brain, scrolling back through my emails to figure out if maybe I scheduled an appointment and forgot to put it on my calendar.

There’s nothing. It’s maddening, because if I can’t figure out the source of my unease, then I can’t address it.

It just sits there, churning and weighing down my thoughts.

I decide to distract myself with laundry.

I’ve often found that I get some of my best thinking done during the most mundane tasks.

I’m sorting through my dirty clothes when I realize I haven’t seen my favorite Ramones T-shirt in a while.

Which means it has once again fallen into the black hole of Lanny’s room.

I go hunt for it, and while I’m there, I figure I might as well start on her laundry as well. I’m excavating a trove of old clothes from under her bed when I come across a shoebox. It gets hooked on the hem of a Blondie T-shirt—also mine—and accidentally tips over, spilling its contents.