The Suspect List--Chapter Two

A surprise encounter in the forest, and a peek at the list

Read Chapter One Here

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

When my shift is over I change into workout tights and drive up the road a few miles to the San Juan National Forest.

I lock the truck, slip my keys into the pocket on the leg of my tights and wrap the strap of my bear spray around my wrist. It’s not just for bears. It could also come in handy for taking down creepy dudes. I did come across one of those once while hiking alone but managed to scare him off with words rather than wasting my spray on him.

There’s a slight breeze, a few wispy, non -threatening clouds scattered across the sky, and the temperature is perfect—only a light sweatshirt required. After a pause to enjoy the view of the mountains– the trees in full bloom, so bright and green– and breathe in the clean air, I head down into the canyon.

I’m thinking about Zane Brooks when I reach the bottom, round a curve, and there he is— sitting on a log, holding a notebook on his knee. “I didn’t follow you, I swear. I’m here every day. Well, three times a week actually. It’s a good workout.” 

Zane gives me a subtle up and down look that makes me glad I’m wearing my good tights and not the ones that are nearly worn through in places.

“Sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have gotten JB all wound up, and made your job harder than it already is.”

I shrug like it’s no big deal. I’m close enough to see the open page in his notebook and the title: Possible Suspects, in large neat printing. There are three names: Blake, Jolene, and Rev. “Are you doing some kind of an investigation?”

“No.” Zane closes the notebook.

“Then why do you have a list of suspects?”

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“But I did, so now you have to tell me about it.” I smile broadly as I sit down on a wide, semi-flat rock across from his log. “What’s the case? I read about a murder in Durango last month. Dude found with his throat slashed on the sofa in his own house.”

“They think it was his roommate. He owed the guy rent money.”

“Seriously? He killed his roommate for a few hundred bucks?”

Zane shrugs. “The roommate was a meth head. Police assume that’s what he needed the money for, not rent.”

“Ah. So what’s this list about?”

Zane taps his pen on the cover of his notebook, a gesture that reminds me of JB and his damned spoon. “Seeing the photo of Abigail Olsen got me thinking about her again. She disappeared that same summer.”

“Like as in kidnapped?”

“Maybe. Or possibly a runaway, but she’s still listed as a missing person all these years later. This could just mean that no one bothered looking for her after she turned eighteen. I did some research a few years ago, thinking it would make a good story, but I didn’t get far so I kind of gave up.”

“What was she like?”

“I was a kid, so I didn’t really know her, but I have a few memories of seeing her at The Ranch. I thought JB might remember something useful about her. I should have known better.”

“You mean him calling her a slut and a whore wasn’t helpful?”

“Not helpful, and not true.” He flips the pen faster. “Abigail was sweet and sort of innocent, but also not that at all.”

“Huh?”

“She had different sides to her.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Yes, but…” He stares into the trees for a moment. “She’s hard to explain.”

“Sounds like you had a bit of a crush on her.”

Zane smiles. “Me and every other guy in town, but like I said, I was just a kid.”

I wonder if calling her a slut and a whore was JB’s way of saying he too had a crush on the girl—sick old perv that he is. I think better of asking Zane this. As my mother frequently points out, my bluntness is not always appreciated. “What do you think happened to Abigail?”

“Something sinister, I suspect.”

“Sinister? You mean like kidnapped, sold into the sex trade, or raped and murdered, maybe?”

The pen flies from Zane’s fingers. I barely manage to catch it before it hits me in the face.

“Sorry,” Zane says.

“No worries.” I stand up to hand him back his pen.

He stands too, not meeting my gaze as he takes the pen and shoves it, and the notebook into the backpack at his feet. “I should let you get back to your workout.”

I glance up the hill that I descended only minutes ago, my workout suddenly seeming less important than spending a little more time with Zane. He’s the first guy I’ve been even mildly interested in in months. “Actually, I’m getting hungry. I think I’ll head back up, if you don’t mind me walking with you?”

“I don’t mind.”

When his blue eyes connect with my hazel ones I feel a zinger of attraction that I’d be willing to bet my meager paycheck is not one-sided. 

At the top of the hill, we stand around in the muddy parking area making small talk, both of us shuffling from one foot to the other, arms crossing and uncrossing, gazes locking then darting away in a familiar, slightly nervous, get to know each other dance. 

I make a comment about there being more to do in Durango than in Mannon and Zane says, “There’s going to be music at the brewery tonight. A band called A Fork in the Road. I’ve heard they’re good.”

“They suck,” I say without thinking.

“Do they?”

“Yeah. Old people doing covers of boring songs from the sixties and seventies.”

“Well, that makes sense then.” Zane smiles. “It was my mom who told me they were good.”

I smile back, unsurprised that Sherry likes the band.

“I prefer the burgers at the Main Street Grill over brewery food anyway,” Zane says.

“The grill does have good burgers and it’s only a few blocks from my apartment so I go there a lot.” This last part isn’t quite true— I can’t afford to eat out ‘a lot’ but I have been there a few times.

“Do you want to uh, meet there?”

“Sure. I’ll go home first, change and walk over.”

“Where do you live?”

I’ve found that the best way to deal with this question is to make a joke out of it. “The infamous Goodenough Apartments. Cheapest rent in the whole county and as an added bonus the paper thin walls provide many hours of free entertainment.”

“Entertainment?”

“There’s the kid who practices the trumpet every evening for an hour, and the couple who argue endlessly over whether or not his porn habit is considered cheating, and the preschoolers who hold races in the hallway–they usually end in disagreements over who won, punches being thrown, and their mothers screaming at them to behave.”

“But the place is affordable?”

With my income, nothing is truly affordable.

“It would be if only my roommates would pay their share of the rent.”

He frowns. “If they don’t pay rent why don’t you kick them out?”

“I’ve tried, but the sneaky little bastards have figured out how to eat the cheese without getting caught in the traps.”

Zane laughs. “My mom said you were funny.”

She did?

“I wish I was joking.”

We smile stupidly at each other before getting into our cars.

I’m still smiling as I drive out of the forest because I have a dinner date with a good looking guy, and that hasn’t happened in a while.

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