Page 16 of The Sister's Curse

“And the boys?”

“They were such arrogant little shits, honestly. My theory was that they picked her up, maybe she saw them doing something they weren’t supposed to, and then they killed her to keep herfrom talking. Dana didn’t come from a rich family, and they didn’t think they would fight back.”

I frowned. “Jeff has an alibi for Mason’s drowning. He was out with his wife. And the guy may be a total shit, but it’s rare for even a total shit to drown his own kid.”

“Well, maybe someone had it in for Jeff,” Chief suggested. “Like you said, he’s a big fish in a small fishbowl. Maybe other fish don’t like him. And you might get some ideas looking at the file for Dana Carson’s disappearance.”

“Will do.”

“I mean, this drowning might just be an accident, but I’m all for giving it the scrutiny it deserves. Look into it until you’re satisfied.”

I took his advice and headed to the departmental archives. To my disappointment, I found that the archives had been moved to provide space for one of the sheriff’s remodeling projects: a new conference room.

Gritting my teeth in irritation, I found myself in a dank subbasement, with boxes stacked haphazardly. After two hours of climbing ladders and sneezing dust, I located a banker’s box with Dana Carson’s name on it.

It always broke my heart a little to see a box from an unsolved case. It felt like failure, like grief that wasn’t given closure. It was an open wound, festering in the dark. But I believed that Chief was eager to have me follow up and try to close that wound.

I put the box on a beat-up metal table and opened it.

It was like excavating the history of a life, an archaeological dig. Dana had been reported missing by her mother on the evening of the Fourth of July almost twenty-five years ago. She was seen on camera at the gas station, but then she seemed to evaporate into thin air.

I found a picture of Dana Carson, a high school yearbook photo. She had long, dark hair and dark eyes. I learned from the yearbook, with curled Post-it notes stuck in the pages, that she was an artist and hoped to go to art school. In her candid pictures in the yearbook, she had a goth look—she dressed in black, with silver jewelry—but her smile was brilliant.

I scanned the yearbook photos of the suspects. A younger version of Jeff Sumner bore more hair and less weight. His friend Quentin Sims appeared in a high school journalism photo, looking academic and pensive. They were often shown with a third guy: Mark Lister, an athletic-looking teen who ran track.

I sat back and chewed on my lip. It was almost twenty-five years since Dana vanished. Why would anyone hold a grudge for twenty-five years and not act on it sooner? It seemed implausible to me…until I thought of the skull, with the number ten scrawled on it. There were nine days until July fourth…ten days since I found the skull…

What was that? A countdown? What would happen on the Fourth of July?

I gathered my notes, then put the lid on the box. I carried the paper files out to my car, for further examination later.

I met Monica in the parking lot and filled her in.

Monica nodded and narrowed her eyes. “I took a spin past the hospital. Drema was there with Mason. I mentioned the skull to her. Turns out, she had a stalker in college, a Mike Renfelter. The cops weren’t much help, but when she met Jeff, Jeff apparently beat the shit out of the guy.”

“Yikes. I guess that explains her lack of social media.”

“Jeff’s persuasion apparently worked, because Mike backed off. Drema suspected he was back when fish were dumped in their driveway, but there wasn’t any clear evidence.”

“Did she say anything about the scratches on Mason?”

“She claims the scratches and bruises weren’t there when they left. Initially, the intensivist at the hospital thought about snapping turtles. Concerned about having to treat the kid for salmonella, he called a herpetologist friend at the university. The herpetologist thinks the scratches on the kid’s body aren’t consistent with snapping turtle beaks. There would’ve been severed fingers and blood in the water.”

“Damn. Sounds like someone really intended that kid harm.” Statistically, when someone hurt a kid, it was most likely to be someone in the same household. Leah hadn’t mentioned that Mason had been hurt when she was sitting for him, but…

Monica continued. “The hospital intensivist raised the possibility of child abuse, and Drema’s really beside herself. I don’t think she’s faking that. Drema said she and Jeff got married because she got pregnant. She lost that baby, and she seems super protective of Mason now.”

I exhaled. “She seemed genuinely upset last night. That tracks. But I still have a feeling someone isn’t being honest with us.”

“I was headed out to interview Leah again. Wanna follow me over?”

“Yeah.” I wanted to see Leah in the clear light of day. I suspected there was more to her story than we got last night.

5

Pearls

“We pray for God’s will to be carried out, for us to be vessels of his will. May God use us as his submissive instruments in bringing heaven to earth…”