Page 9 of Nowhere Good

A knock at the door, and Pereira slipped into the room.

“Hey, we’re all finished up at Brad’s house. I tracked down some of the people who were there, but no one saw Eliza. They didn’t run together after all.”

“Any of them explain why they had a big party at his place, then didn’t even think to even check on him for days after?”

Pereira wore a pensive look. “Not a lot on that, but we still don’t know everyone who was there. Chief Wells doesn’t think we should bother with a further investigation, with it being an OD and all. Thing is, we’d be waiting a while for a forensics team anyway. State can only send them quick if there’s a homicide. Otherwise, get in line, you know?”

Seth sighed in irritation. “Right.”

“I’m gonna keep fighting for it, see what I can find out.”

He linked his fingers behind his head, growing tired. He hadn’t eaten anything all day, and it didn’t occur to him until just now. He still had to go check into the town’s only motel—he could worry about food then.

Pereira came over and peeked at his screen. “Didn’t take you for a Facebook guy.”

Snapping out of it, Seth reassumed his position over his laptop, using the wireless mouse to scroll through Eliza’s profile. “Social media always tells us something. I couldn’t find Dillon at the bar, but Claire said he didn’t know Eliza. Felt like she was holding something back.”

He clicked past another photo, checking the likes. Nothing. Then another. But when he clicked the next, one name on the list stared back at him, practically in red flashing letters.

Dillon Beamish.

“And here we go,” Seth said. “They didn’t know each other, but here’s Dillon Beamish liking one of Eliza’s posts from ten years ago.”

“Huh, would you look at that?” Pereira said.

Vindicated, Seth scrolled back even further. Eliza’s life shuttered by in reverse. It wasn’t long before she couldn’t be much older than twelve in the photos. Playgrounds and classrooms started to appear as the backdrops.

And in one, Eliza stood next to a jungle gym, making bunny ears behind a boy’s head. The boy was scrawny with a grumpy face, short brown hair and eyes to match. A young Dillon Beamish.

It was posted by Eliza herself. The caption: that’s my pickle!

“They were close enough for nicknames,” Seth muttered.

“Childhood friends,” Pereira agreed. “Hell, I had no idea. I only moved here a few years ago, so I’m pretty rusty on my Fairview history myself.”

He stood, his heart beating louder, that feeling he always got when he sensed he was onto something—that he’d found critical evidence. He had a long way to go yet, but this was a start.

“I’m gonna get these printed off and pay Claire and Dillon another visit.”

“It’s nearly five p.m. on a Sunday,” Pereira said. “If I were you, I’d try their place. Let me grab you the address.”

“Thanks. This time, Dillon better show up.”

Seth parked his car, an unmarked Chevrolet Caprice that was older than him, outside unit thirty-six in Sunny Stone Trailer Park. Among the rows of mobile homes that had seen better days, this one was nicer—sky blue with a garden struggling to survive in the summer heat, a few decals of birds with their wings spread on the paneling. Windchimes tinkled through the breeze as he got out, along with the distant smell of a campfire.

To his left, on the property next door, an elderly woman in a hot pink tracksuit watered her garden, glowering at him. He held up a hand to wave. Her unfriendly demeanor immediately fell off.

“Evenin’, good-lookin’!” She dropped her watering can and limped toward the picket fence dividing the properties. “You must be that new detective I’ve been hearin’ about. You can call me Glenda, or just Glen.”

Huh. Word did travel fast here.

“Yes, ma’am. Detective Winslow.”

She gave him a coy smile, revealing a mesh net of wrinkles on her cheeks. “Sure are a cute one.”

He’d rather she didn’t do that, but he offered a smile anyway to be polite. “That’s very nice of you, ma’am. Do you know the couple who lives here?”

“Dillon and Claire? ’Course I do! What kinda neighbor would I be if I didn’t know the lovebirds next door? I keep waitin’ for the day that pretty young Claire comes ’round with a ring on her finger. Young love, right, darlin’? I’m sure you know all about it.” Her milky eyes searched his left hand for a ring she wouldn’t find.