Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
The Josephine Wattses of the world (of which I knew there were very few) didn’t fit in with anyone.
CHAPTER TEN
“Just a preliminary guess, but I don’t think this is a homicide case, Detective Mosley,” I say without glancing up from the body on my table, ignoring the few students crowded around me.
“The victim’s mom swears on her life that it wasn’t suicide,” he says.
“Bereaved mothers don’t want to believe their children are capable of suicide, of hanging themselves. It takes premeditation. Preparation. Even a little practice to get the right type of knot, secure the … extension cord in this case … to something that won’t break or collapse under their weight, and execute it without fail. But … his face was paler than his torso which means the blood supply was cut off to his head, and therefore it’s likely that within seconds he lost consciousness which means he didn’t suffer that long. It doesn’t always go that way.”
When Colten doesn’t respond with a single word, I meet his fixed gaze.
Shit.
His dad hanged himself.
“I’ll talk to the family,” I say.
Still, he doesn’t move.
“Detective Mosley?”
Nothing.
“Colten?”
His head jerks, eyes on me.
“I’ll talk to the family. Is that all you needed?”
In another delayed response, he nods slowly.
When we finish up with the sixteen-year-old boy who made an impulsive, irrevocable decision to take his life, I strip out of my PPE, complete some paperwork, and take my lunch break outside in my usual spot. Two bites into my sandwich, I slip in my earbuds and call Colten.
“Detective Mosley,” he answers in a clipped tone. Either he didn’t look at his screen closely or I’m not saved under his contacts.
“It’s Josie. I uh … just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Earlier, I said more than needed to be said because I was in work mode, talking through things aloud for the students, and I completely spaced on your dad. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I shouldn’t worry about it because it was an honest mistake, and I don’t owe Colten special treatment seventeen years after he made me feel anything but special. We’ve exchanged so many barbs over the years, they should no longer break the skin. We should be calloused to them. But I didn’t mean to cut him, not with the tragedy of his father’s suicide. Even I know there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed. Sometimes I just … don’t see them.
“Is Reagan with your mom?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good. I’ll … let you go. Just wanted to make sure—”
“I’m fine, Josie. He was a fucking selfish asshole for as long as I can remember. I shouldn’t have expected his death to be any different than his life. Did you talk to the family?”
I pick at the crust to my sandwich. “I will this afternoon.”
“You should come to dinner tonight. I’m picking up pizza on the way home. Then we’re watching a princess movie.”
“I’m not a big princess movie person.”
“But you love pizza.”
“I used to love pizza.”
He chuckles and I let the sound of it not irritate me this time because I need to know I didn’t unearth too many memories of his dad’s suicide. “Josie, there are a few things in life that you love forever no matter what. Pizza is one of them.”
And the boy next door …
“Popcorn too. I’ll even see if I can scrounge some deer jerky to go with it.”
“Shut up.” I chuckle.
“She’s perfect, Josie.” His voice softens. The chattering in the background disappears. He’s moved away from the people around him. “I look at her and I can’t believe she’s part of me. She’s just too perfect.”
Leaning my head back and closing my eyes against the sun, I try to imagine what a little female version of Colten would look like … or act like. “No onions.”
He laughs. “Cheese. She’s five. It’s just cheese. I’ll text you my address. Six work?”
I nod to myself and smile. “Yeah.”
Colten’s unfairly using his daughter and his mom to get me to spend time with him outside of work. And for whatever reason, I’m letting him. It’s nothing more than curiosity. His having a daughter who lives primarily with her mom has my curiosity piqued.
“Josie! Come in, honey. Colten isn’t home yet, but he’s on his way.”
“Daddy!” A little girl comes barreling down the stairs, long, flowing dark hair pulled partially away from her face and secured with a red bow.
“No, sweetie. It’s not your daddy.”
Reagan hugs Becca’s legs and peeks up at me with rich brownish-gold eyes and long lashes. Those are Colten’s eyes and his full lips that seem to smile a little crooked on one side.
“Reagan, this is your daddy’s friend, Josie. She met your daddy when they were just a few years older than you.”
“Hi, Reagan.” This is awkward. I’m a little intimidated by a five-year-old because I work with adults and dead people, and I have no children of my own. I used to be better with kids when I had to babysit my little brother. That was a long time ago.