Page 141 of What She Saw

“It is. Negotiating all the groups is tricky, from what I hear.”

“People just want respect and attention.” His head cocked. “How do you think that pastor is faring?”

“I’m sure he’s made new friends.”

His laugh was so natural and easy. “I’ve always built alliances. Never burned a bridge.” His words were softened with a self-deprecating vibe.

“That’s what I’ve heard about Patty. Positive, I mean. I don’t remember her.”

“She always had a kind word and a smile on her face.” He leaned forward. “She wanted out of Dawson. Odds are against girls like her, but she was going places.”

Girls like her.Outcasts. The ones no one remembers. “Tell me about her.” My curiosity was genuine.

“You look so much like her. The dark hair. The shape of your face.” He leaned closer. “But your eyes are different.”

My eyes were the same color as Patty’s. A bright blue. Sara had said that enough times. But I understood what Colton was saying. When I looked at the few pictures of Patty, I could see they were always bursting with emotion.She wore her heart on her sleeve,Sara used to say. Patty could never hide her love, fear, or laughter.

Yeah, I had the same color eyes as my mother, but my eyes never reflected true feeling. I would stare in the mirror for hours, trying to mimic those emotions. I never managed it. My version of happy or sad always looked like a cheap knockoff.

“But you know that, don’t you?” he asked. “You know you’re different than her.” He sighed. “She never could have written the articles you have. The facts of those horrific cases would’ve crushed her. That’s the downside of feelings. They can cloud judgment and weigh you down.”

“You should be a writer. You’ve spun an interesting story around my eyes.”

He didn’t laugh this time. “It’s been a long time since I stared into the eyes of a young woman. Most of my visitors are grizzled cops. They try to hide their anger toward me, but they’ve never managed it. Like I said, feelings can be a burden.”

This intellectual exercise/discussion was not productive. “Tristan Fletcher’s father died early this morning.” Susan had not called me since I’d texted her. And she was missing. The local police had contacted Lannie, and they’d asked her about her father’s mental health. She had been crying by the time the call ended.

“Tristan.” No hints of remorse softened his sharp eyes. “The dancer.”

“You remember her?”

“I remember the stories I’ve read about her. She was one of the Festival Four. I read all I could about her and the others.” The cuffs on his wrists shifted as he flexed his fingers. “There wasn’t much to find about Patty. Your grandmother, Sara, gave a couple of interviews in the beginning.”

I steered us back to the topic at hand. “Are you going to ask how Brian Fletcher died?”

“Does it matter? Or do you want this to be a guessing game?” He grinned. “I’m open to anything.”

“No games today. His death looks like suicide, but the medical examiner has not issued a ruling.” Murder, suicide, undetermined. Theundeterminedalways caught my attention. Shouldn’t the medical examiner know how someone died? Turned out, it wasn’t always so clear cut. Even natural deaths couldn’t always be nailed down.

“After all this time?” Colton said. “And he decides to end it. Seems a little foolish.” An amused brow lifted. “Say what you want about me, but I’m no quitter.”

“Cops are saying you put a lifetime of burdens on the man’s shoulders. They say, if Tristan was still in his life, he wouldn’t have shot himself.”

“Shot? He meant business, didn’t he? No false attempts to stir up drama from that old boy.”

When I didn’t respond, he added, “Try living in a max prison for thirty years. There are lots of reasons to give up here. But I never once considered it. Not once. You can’t let those kernels of doubt in your mind, or they root and sprout.”

“Positivity, right?”

“Exactly.” He leaned forward a fraction. “I’m curious. Why did Brian buckle now? Was he sick?”

“There’s a new witness.”

“For the Festival Four case?” He looked expectant. “Was it your mother? Did she decide to reappear in her baby girl’s life?”

“Not Patty. She’s still MIA.”

“That’s too bad for you. Little girls need their moms.”