Page 37 of What She Saw

“We all make mistakes. He’d gotten on with his life. And he was nice to me. Didn’t look down on me like some of those reporters looking for a reason to discredit me. I wasn’t Laurie’s mama, and I’d had a child that had died. Some tried to link all that to Laurie’s death.” She shook her head. “I can’t even say if my girl is dead or not. Without a body to bury, I can’t even grieve for her.”

I understood the irritation of unanswered questions. When I was a kid, I’d pretended that my mother wasn’t dead.She was traveling. She was making movies in Hollywood.Those lies came back to bite me, so I fabricated better ones.Yes,I’d admit,my mother was dead, but it had been a terrible car accident when I was a baby. She was buried in a distant city.By the time I was fifteen, I didn’t mix with my peers very much, which meant fewer questions to deal with. I’d also stopped wonderingif she’d show up at the mall, school, or my doorstep. I knew she was dead. But my grandmother never gave up hope. Until the day Sara died, whenever she drank too much, which was often, she insisted that my mother was alive. I found it annoying. We’d argue. She died two days after my eighteenth birthday. My first thought was that she was with Patty. Sara was at peace. And so was I. For a little while.

“Did you go to the trial?” I asked.

“I couldn’t afford the time off from work, and I didn’t want to see Rafe Colton. I worried that I’d shoot him where he sat.”

Courtroom sketches portrayed a smiling, relaxed defendant sitting next to his attorneys. “Was Laurie dating anyone?”

“She had a few guys that followed her like puppy dogs but nothing serious.”

“You have any names?”

“David Green was the most attached to her. He still lives near Dawson. He’s married and has three grown kids.” She shook her head. “He’s been married longer than Laurie was alive. Hell, she’d be fifty now.”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you doing all this? And don’t tell me because you want people to remember.” She shook her head. “People have the memory spans of gnats.”

A quiet rage rubbed against the underside of my chest. “My mother was Patty Reed. I want to know where he put them in the ground.”

Monica studied me. “You think you can find them? The police had no luck.”

“Time can loosen up facts once held close. And cops follow the rules. I don’t.”

A slight smile tipped the old woman’s lips. “Do me a favor and break every fucking rule. Smash them all to bits.”

“That’s what I do best.”

Chapter Thirteen

Sloane

Saturday, August 16, 2025, 5:00 p.m.

When I left Monica Carr’s house, stress pounded in my head. I wanted to feel sadness or even anger, but I didn’t. However, my body sensed something was off. A knot was wound so tight in me that I thought the cord would snap.

Whenever one of my articles dropped, a big switch tripped like a breaker. And then the pressure hissed away. There was no better feeling than when the spotlight shifted to a killer who’d thought he’d gotten away with murder.

I loved watching their stages of grief. Denial when the cops arrested them. Anger in the interview phase. Bargaining with their attorney. A few accepted their fate, but many never did. I hoped depression overtook them all when the cell door closed behind them.

But until an article was finished, I was dangerous. And this article wasn’t even close to complete.

The pressure inside my head was growing, and I needed to find a release. I’d promised myself that I’d avoid any risk-taking misadventures. No stealing, no breaking and entering, no high-speed driving. If Grantwere around, we’d have sex. But with no Grant, I had to find a way to walk the straight and narrow. No missteps. No misdeeds.

I reached for my cell and dialed a familiar number. Grant picked up on the third ring, making me wonder what had taken him so long.

“Sloane. This is a surprise.” A door closed.

“Thought I’d touch base.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You aren’t the type to call and chat.”

“Nothing’s really wrong.”