Instinct, Jason Hough [acx book reading TXT] 📗

see what it’s like. This perhaps clouded his judgment just enough.

Only there’d been no trace of alcohol in his system. No drugs, either. They’d run the tests twice just to be sure.

“Still,” I mutter, “can’t hurt to double check.”

I walk back out into the hall and, on a whim, decide to look through the other rooms. Maybe the kid had a stash in the back of the linen closet. It’s thin, but the more time I spend up here, the more Barbara will be reassured I did my best.

A wall of towels and bedsheets greets me. In the back I find a stash… of more towels. I close the door and move on to the guest room. Perfectly made bed. Unadorned dresser. Neither looks like they’ve been used in five years. I poke around a bit but there’s nothing here, either.

Master bedroom? I wonder if Barbara will be pleased or insulted if I check there. But she’s downstairs and hasn’t made a peep so, okay, might as well be thorough.

I think back to Greg’s report. He’d gone through this room after the body was found, and then again after the Rogerses returned from Paris. In the report Greg’s focus was entirely on the wet bar Buck keeps in the corner. The father had verified all the bottles appeared to be at their proper levels. “So sure?” I’d asked Greg. He told me patiently that Buck had spent six months aboard the International Space Station. “The man knows how to keep track of supplies.” Hard to argue that.

I decide to look through it all the same, even if it’s a waste of time. No, I remind myself. I’m giving Barbara some peace of mind, and that’s no waste. And who knows, some extra effort might pay dividends. Maybe she won’t sound so disappointed the next time she calls the station and I answer instead of Greg. A woman can hope.

In the master bedroom I’m struck again by the exactness of it all. The flawlessly made bed, decorative pillow perfectly centered. The dresser with an elegant lamp and a bottle of perfume spaced evenly across its gleaming surface. Barb, Buck, or both run a tight ship here.

Everything’s where it should be, clean and tidy.

My mouth twitches at this thought. This happens to me sometimes. On the verge of an important idea it’s like my cheek muscle knows before my brain does. I feel the quirk and wait for the thought, but for now it remains out of reach.

I check the master bathroom. It’s spotless, too. I pry open the medicine cabinet. The Rogerses are in their early fifties and reasonably healthy. Not much here but ibuprofen and cold remedies. A bottle of prescription medicine called Donepezil, prescribed by Dr. Ryan for Buck. I’m not familiar with it, and quickly google the name on my phone. In reading the results I get that little twitch again. The drug can improve mental function in people with Alzheimer’s.

I didn’t know Buck had the disease, and can’t help but wonder if there perhaps had been some changes here in this household that drove Johnny to go out that night.

As theories go this one is utterly dire, and completely unfounded. I close the cabinet door a little too hard in frustration.

Back downstairs I tell Mrs. Rogers that I didn’t uncover anything new.

She takes the news with nothing more than a tightening of the mouth.

I ask, “Did Johnny have a playroom or a man-cave type of space? Somewhere to hang out other than his bedroom?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll tell you what. Now that I’ve seen your house firsthand, I’ll take another look at the file when I get back to the station. Compare the two. Who knows, maybe we missed something.”

Her eyes glisten, but still no tears fall. Holding back the grief until I leave, I assume. Such a change from the wailing wreck she’d been a week before. “Thank you for stopping by,” she says after a moment.

I think she means it. Hard to tell. All the vibrancy has gone out of Barbara Rogers and I’m starting to wonder if it will ever return.

Halfway back to town my phone rings. It’s Kyle. Bartender, co-owner of the Bait & Tackle, Mad Max Jeep driver, and my lover as of three nights ago. “Hey there,” I say. “Did they come and collect the body?”

“Yeah, all set there.”

“Where are you now?”

“Still up here. Figured I should follow those tracks as far as they’ll go and see if I can find anything.”

“Want me to join you?”

“Already finished.”

“What’d you find?”

“Jack squat,” he says. “Found some fur that confirms it was a black bear, which is what I figured. Plenty of them in the area even if sightings are rare. Attacks even more so, but I guess not totally unheard of. Anyway, the tracks cross the stream, then up over the eastern ridge. Rocky terrain. I lost the trail there. That bear’s long gone, Mary.”

“Good. What the heck was it doing here in the first place?”

“I dunno, global warming? Strange weather screwing with its instincts. Or something.”

This is a new one. Leave it to Silvertown to turn climate change into a conspiracy for bear attacks.

“When’s the last time an animal like that was even spotted around here?” I can’t recall anyone mentioning a bear, but I’ve only been here a few months. Kyle is born and bred.

“Kenny claims he saw one up at Two-Shits about four years back. It just ran off, though.”

“Claims, huh?”

“Yeah, well, this is my brother we’re talking about. No tale too tall for that guy. He says he saw Big Foot once—like, legit saw Big Foot—so take it with a grain.” Kyle shifts the phone around and lowers his voice. “How you holdin’ up, babe?”

Wow. Already I’m “babe”? Not sure I’m into that.

“I’ve had better days,” I tell him.

“Want some company later?”

I consider it. My cheeks get warm at the memory of our first night together. Urgency and sweat. His teeth on my earlobe, my fingernails