“No. Not just that, anyway. I’m actually calling to apologize. I think I may have given you the wrong impression, and I was hoping you’d be willing to come down to the station on Monday. I told you that we’re taking another look at the Murphy case, and I think you could provide some clarity on a few things.”
Maybe Juniper was imagining it, but there seemed to be an edge in his voice. Did he know that she had seen his incident room? It had struck her as personal—and unprofessional—at the time. If “we” were taking another look at the Murphy case, why had Everett’s home office been turned into the staging ground? Still, this particular invitation seemed official if she was expected at the tiny Jericho Police Station. She knew the place. It was the old post office, a square brick building on the opposite end of Main Street as the library. People would see her going in and coming out. But there was no way to refuse him without making him question why.
“Sure,” Juniper said. “I took the day off to drive down to Des Moines today, so I definitely can’t leave Cora high and dry on Monday. How about over lunch? Does noon work?”
“You bet. I’ll plan on seeing you then. Thanks for helping us out, Juniper.”
“I live to give,” Juniper muttered after they had said their goodbyes and she’d clicked off the phone. She was decidedly unsure about what to think of Everett. Why did he care so much about their small-town tragedy? The rest of Jericho was perfectly content to leave the past behind.
Pulling her computer onto her lap, Juniper flipped it open and connected to the hotspot on her phone. She felt a jolt of anticipation when she typed “Everett Stokes” into a search engine and hit enter. There was something uniquely satisfying about starting a new hunt for information. Juniper was hardly a private detective, but over time she had learned how to follow the breadcrumbs of even the faintest trail. The internet was layered and complex, a hash-marked map to nowhere and everywhere that she could navigate with an agility that surprised her. If Everett was hiding something, she’d find it.
Juniper’s first search didn’t turn up much. A couple of Facebook profiles （none of which were linked to the Everett that Juniper knew）， a few obituaries, and the web page for a pediatric dentist in New Orleans. It was time to refine. Flipping to a new page in her general-purpose Moleskine, Juniper began to outline her plan. She’d vary search engines, try different keywords, and focus in on specific regions. A detailed log would help her keep track of which combinations produced results and which ones proved to be dead ends.
She was just jotting down some targeted keywords （police, officer, Jericho, Iowa） when there was a scuffle and the sound of muted words outside her front door. Juniper barely had time to look up from her notebook before the handle turned and Willa surged into the bungalow, dusting snow across the faded hardwood floor and trailing a blond girl in Dutch braids that Juniper had never met.
“She’s home!” Willa shouted over her shoulder.
Juniper froze for a moment, then realized that her unusual fixation was on full display for the girls, who were studying her from the doorway. She snapped her laptop shut and lunged to gather up the journals. They made a fat stack that she tried to cram into her backpack with a casual air. It wasn’t working.
“Willa!” Juniper smiled, standing. “I thought I was supposed to pick you up in”—she glanced at her watch—“fifteen minutes. And I thought you were with…”
“Katie,” Willa offered with a look of mild disdain. “Mandy’s older sister’s name is Katie. I was there for supper, but Zoe and I are working on a science fair project together, so I went to her house after we ate. Katie was supposed to text you.”
“Oh.” Juniper hadn’t picked up her phone since she’d tossed it on the far side of the couch after Everett’s unsettling call. But she remembered those quick trades, the back-and-forth free flow of junior high and high school. Willa and Zoe were exchanging a knowing look, and that was familiar too. “Hi, Zoe.” Juniper took a few steps and stuck out her hand, wondering too late if it was weird to shake hands with her teenager’s best friend.
But Zoe grinned, a sweet, gap-toothed smile that told Juniper her parents weren’t concerned about orthodontics, and curled her fingers around Juniper’s. “It’s really nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Baker.”
There were so many things wrong with Mrs. Baker that Juniper wasn’t sure where to begin. Instead of bothering, she just said: “Call me Juniper.”