Not A Sound

He doesn’t say that he will or won’t, but simply says goodbye and disconnects.

As I heat the kettle for tea, I toss a few pieces of kindling into the wood-burning stove. I have electric heat, but rarely have to turn it on. Twice a year I call an old friend of my dad’s and he brings me enough wood to warm my home through the longest of winters. He stacks it behind the house and even covers it with a tarp to keep it dry. I settle into my mink-brown wide-wale corduroy–covered love seat and without invitation, Stitch squeezes in next to me and lays his whiskered chin on my lap. I leave my steaming mug of tea untouched on the side table next to me. I don’t want to take the chance of spilling the scalding liquid on Stitch’s head. Instead, I run my hand across his flank, my fingers catching on the burrs that have entwined themselves in his coat. Later, I will gently remove each, being extra careful not to yank the hair in the sensitive area around his scar. It wasn’t until Stitch lived with me for a full year before he would fully expose his belly to me.

To the left of me, through another of my many windows, I have a clear line of sight to the four-wheeler I parked outside Evan Okada’s outfitters. He must not have returned yet and I wonder if the officer has found any more articles of clothing that could possibly belong to Gwen.

I don’t worry about missing the phone call from Dr. Huntley. I know the moment it rings, Stitch will alert me, as he has been trained to do. There is a narrow crack in the clouds that I know won’t last long. I close my eyes, and the sun floods through the window so that instead of darkness behind my eyelids I see a warm amber glow and I can sleep.

4 (#u69a603ba-3f92-530e-a628-d4b25c96beeb)

Stitch wakes me with a poke and I immediately sit up and look to the telephone, but see no red flashing light to let me know it’s ringing. Disoriented, I try to get my bearings. In the time I’ve been sleeping the sky has cleared and the sun has lowered but not quite dipped below the horizon, turning the sky a melancholy shade of blue. It must be nearing five o’clock. I’ve been asleep for hours. From the floor Stitch watches expectantly and when he’s sure he has my attention he moves to the back door, and I startle when I see the hulking figure of a man standing there, hands shoved in his pockets. Right away I recognize that it is Jake, still dressed in his suit, and I blush, wondering how long he’s been standing there watching me sleep.

I switch on a lamp, and he smiles smugly at me through the glass as I bend down to remove the wooden rod, then slide open the door. He steps inside, pauses to pet Stitch and slips off his dress shoes, thick with mud.

With a grin, Jake points to me and makes the sign for tired and I self-consciously fluff up my sleep-flattened hair. I don’t know what it is about Jake but somehow I always revert back to that goofy kid who wants to impress her brother’s best friend. He cuffs me on the shoulder and looks me in the eye. “How are you doing, Earhart?” he says, using the nickname he gave me back when I was eight and he was twelve and making the sign for plane crash. A gesture that is strikingly similar to the sign for I love you. I dressed up one Halloween as Amelia Earhart, the famed and ill-fated pilot, and the nickname stuck.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m a nurse, Jake, I’ve seen dead people before.”

“Yeah, but they usually don’t pop up when you’re casually paddling by.”

“True,” I admit. “But I really am okay. Were you able to get ahold of Gwen’s husband?” I ask.

Jake’s face sobers and he shakes his head.

“Do you think he did it?” I ask.

“It’s usually the husband. So, yeah, chances are he did it, but we need to gather a hell of a lot more evidence before we settle on him.”

I pick up my now room-temperature cup of tea and move to the sink to dump it out. “Want some coffee or tea?” I ask.

“Anything with caffeine would be great,” he says when I turn back to face him. “I have a feeling I’m going to be up all night with this one.” He follows me to the kitchen area and leans against the counter while I make the coffee.

“Do you think the shoe Stitch found belongs to Gwen?” I ask. I start the coffeemaker, hoping that the answer is no. It’s bad enough knowing that Gwen died just a few miles away from me, but the thought that she might have been on the very trail that runs right up to my front door sends a chill through me. “It’s an odd place to find a shoe,” I say.

“It’s an odd place to find a body,” Jake says.

I tell him about seeing the beer bottle.

“Yeah, we saw that. We’ll see if we can find any fingerprints, but it was probably just left there by some kids.”

“What about footprints?” I ask. “I saw four sets. Mine, the DNR guy’s, Stitch’s paw prints and one more.”

Jake taps the countertop with his fingers. “It was a muddy mess up there. But we tried to get casts of the prints. We’ll see what comes of it. It could mean nothing. I guess whoever did this could have come by a different route.”

I shake my head. “I’ve been through that area a thousand times. It’d be tough to force someone or carry them a different way. It’s pretty rocky and woodsy.”

“What are you thinking?” Jake asks, giving me his full attention. This is another thing I think is both great and confusing about Jake. Every once in a while he forgets that I’m his best friend’s little sister and actually talks to me like I’m an intelligent human being. Other times he dismisses me as if I’m still an annoying kid.

“A motorboat was nearby just before Stitch found Gwen. The wake nearly knocked me off my board. Maybe he brought her there by boat and pushed her overboard there.” This is a terrifying thought. Probably 75 percent of the households in Mathias own some kind of boat, including Jake, David and my neighbor Evan Okada. I rummage through my cupboard in hopes of finding something to offer Jake to eat. I pull down a box of crackers and then go to the refrigerator and find a block of cheddar cheese. “I guess he could have dumped her anywhere and the current brought her to where I found her. Do you have an idea of how she died yet?”

He shakes his head. “We’ll have to wait for the autopsy.” I pull a knife from a drawer and begin to slice the cheese into bite-size pieces. He pops one into his mouth and chews and swallows before speaking again. “I have my suspicions. It wasn’t a peaceful death, that much I know.”

“Does the press know yet?” I think about how I told David to watch the news tonight.

“Yeah, vultures,” Jake says. I think of the turkey vultures flying overhead this morning. Had they already zeroed in on Gwen, ready to swoop in to pick away at her remains? “They must have heard it come over the scanner. By the time we transported the body to Mathias, the reporters were already at the dock waiting there with the ambulance.”

“You moved her by boat?” I ask in surprise. “I thought you were moving her by OHV.”

“Well, yeah,” he says. “It was the fastest way. Took her in the DNR boat. Once we got to the public dock we transferred her to the ambulance. She’s on her way to Des Moines for an autopsy as we speak. We should know more tomorrow afternoon.” Stitch sits at my feet and I know he’s waiting for me to toss him a cracker. I do, and he swallows it whole and waits for more.

“You shouldn’t feed him that crap,” Jake admonishes me. “It’s not good for him.”

“What? You never give Rookie treats?” I ask in mock disbelief. Rookie is Jake’s former partner, a ferocious-looking German shepherd that would tear your throat out if Jake gave him the command. Rookie retired two years ago at the ripe old age of seven and now spends his days in full-fledged pet mode.

Jake doesn’t bother answering. We both know that he only feeds Rookie the best. If a dog could be like a child to a person, Rookie’s that dog. Jake’s told me several times that Rookie saved his life more than once. The first was on the job when a suspect who had just robbed a pawnshop decided it was a good idea to start shooting. Jake, the second officer on the scene, arrived to find a veteran cop—Jake’s mentor—lying in the street with a gunshot wound to the abdomen and the suspect holding a gun to the shop owner’s head. Jake ducked behind his car, and was trying his damnedest to talk the man into giving up his weapon so he could get help to the injured cop. Instead, he started firing at Jake. Knowing that the officer was bleeding to death before his eyes, he ordered Rookie to stellen—to bite. Without hesitation, Rookie lunged toward the gunman, leaped through the air and latched onto the shooter’s arm and didn’t release until Jake commanded him to pust—let go.

The second time Rookie saved his life, Jake said, was after his wife, Sadie, committed suicide four years ago by leaping from the old train bridge into Five Mines. Though there was a witness who saw her jump they never found her body, just a splattering of blood from what was believed to be where she struck her head on the concrete piling below. She did leave a suicide note that Jake found lying on the kitchen counter later that night.

I’m sorry, Jake. I’m just so sad. Your life will be better without me. Love ~ Sadie

I’ve never seen Jake so distraught. My brother called and told me to go as fast as I could over to Jake’s, that he was afraid Jake was going to hurt himself and that he’d be on the first plane from Denver. When I arrived at Jake’s house I found him sitting on his back deck with his service revolver lying in his lap, Rookie at his feet. I remember the terror I felt when I saw the despondent look on his face—it was the face of someone who wanted to die. So different from the Jake I knew growing up. Jake was always the funny one who never let things get to him, could laugh at himself, defuse any tense situation.

I sat down in the chair next to him and put my hand over his. “Please don’t,” I whispered. He cried then. Great heaving sobs that I could never have imagined coming from the boy I once thought of as invincible. Rookie and I sat with him all night as he intermittently cried for, then raged against, the woman he loved. When he finally fell asleep, I eased the gun from his lap and hid it on a high shelf of the linen closet behind a stack of blankets. When I came back out to the deck, Rookie had squeezed into the spot next to Jake and nestled his head where the gun once lay.

Rookie gave Jake a reason to get up each morning and though it took a long time, about six months ago, glimmers of the Jake I used to know reappeared. He’s smiling more and thinking of something else besides work. I’ve started to wonder if he might have met someone, may actually be dating again. I have to admit I’m not sure how I feel about this. What is happiness for someone mixed with a little jealousy called?

“Well, I’d better go feed Stitch his real dinner,” I say. “Help yourself to the coffee.”

I go into the laundry room with Stitch at my heels and pull the bag of bargain brand dog food from a cupboard. I can’t afford the good stuff for Stitch but he doesn’t seem to mind and wags his tail while I scoop the kibble into his bowl. I can’t bring myself to take any money from David right now. So for the last eighteen months that I’ve been living on my own, I’ve been living off my savings. My lawyer thinks I’m an idiot. Though I’m not too proud to take advantage of David’s health insurance.

When I stand upright Jake is in the doorway, a serious look on his face, and for a moment I think it’s because of my choice in dog food. “I have to go,” he says, holding up his cell phone. “I just got the call. Someone was able to find Marty Locke.”

“So it really is Gwen?” I ask. A part of me was hoping I was mistaken, that the woman in the river just looked like my old friend.

Jake points to himself, makes a fist against his chest and rotates it in a clockwise motion. “I’m sorry, Earhart,” Jake says, coming to me and pulling me into a hug. And though I know it’s completely platonic, another human being hasn’t touched me this way in such a long time and the sensation seems foreign to me. His arms are strong and solid and all I want to do is to sink into his embrace but I know he has a job to do that could include telling a man that his wife isn’t ever coming home. Jake takes a step back so I can see his face. “I’ll call you when I can,” he promises. “And remember you need to come to the station for a follow-up interview. How about tomorrow morning around ten?”

I agree and return to the kitchen where I pour his coffee into a stainless steel travel mug and walk him to the door.

Evening has fully descended and the world outside is buried in shadows. There are no stars shining, no moon, no light from Evan Okada’s home. I wonder where he could be.

“Make sure you lock the door behind me,” Jake says, taking the mug from my hand.

“I will,” I assure him and watch as he strides purposefully to his car, unlocks the door, climbs in and turns the ignition. He lets the car idle for a moment and I realize he’s waiting for me to shut and lock the door before he’ll leave. I step back inside and slide the door shut. I make a point to waggle the broomstick in front of me and with great flourish place it in the door’s track. Jake waves and drives away.

Before Evan Okada moved in, I never worried about anyone being able to see inside my house at night. I had no problem wearing my pajamas or less because my house was the last one on this section of the river and the house on the bluff stood empty for so long. Now I have to be conscious of the kayakers and hikers that have since discovered this little known part of Five Mines. I make the rounds, pulling each curtain shut and lowering each blind until the outside world disappears. Stitch has finished eating and follows me around as I tidy up the kitchen. I hand wash the dishes, put away the cheese and crackers. I sweep the cracker crumbs littered across the counter into my hand and let Stitch lick them away.

I can’t stop thinking about Gwen.

I turn on the television and find a local channel. I rarely watch TV and when I do, it’s mainly to catch up on what’s happening beyond the walls of my house and practice my speech reading. I pull a pillow from the love seat, set it on the hardwood floor and sit as close to the television screen as I can. Stitch realizes that he gets the entire sofa to himself and climbs up and stretches his limbs across the cushions.