“So,” I ask, “you really think his death was an accident?”
She shrugs. “I would reason that if Sheriff Manes or Dr. Peed, the Mills County Coroner, had any reason to believe otherwise, they would have pursued it.”
“I can’t find any particulars on his injuries. Were there any? Did he have broken bones? Was there medication in his system? Did he have an undetected medical issue?”
Mom stands straighter. “This is our last conversation about Craig Gilbert.”
“You don’t think that any of those details are relevant?”
“I think the man has passed and speaking poorly of the deceased is wrong.”
Blue Gil etiquette.
Turning, I search for where I placed my purse. “I think I should go.”
“Each time it will be easier,” she repeats. “Church and dinner tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure of anything right now.”
“Service starts at ten thirty.”
I walk to the sofa and pick up my purse.
“The offer to stay here is still open,” she says.
Really?
“I think the Iverson cottage is a good place to get some work done.”
“You’re not the only one staying out there, renting a cottage,” Mom clarifies.
“I know. Becky told me that one of the cottages was rented. I saw a blue truck. I think it’s a man.”
“He is. His name is Keith. I spoke with him yesterday.”
“Okay,” I say casually. “Now I know his name. Is he from around here?” Before Mom replies, I answer my own question. “No, if he was, he wouldn’t need to rent a cottage.”
“He’s not from around here. He lives in Marquette.”
“Michigan? In the UP?”
“Yes,” she says. “He’s Craig’s brother.”
Chapter
Nine
Ifight the tears as I pull away from my parents’ home. “I didn’t come back to dig up old ghosts,” I remind myself. “I’m also not trying to create problems.”
I repeat those phrases in my head as I pull onto Main Street.
Heading toward the Walleye Tavern, I turn north. With lunch consisting of a few bites of chicken salad, I decide to get out of this village. The walls feel as if they’re closing in on me. I do what I always do—I run. This time my purpose is to go to a town with more options.
Reading the sign telling me I’ve left the incorporated village of Blue Gil lifts my spirits. Nevertheless, Craig Gilbert is in my thoughts.
An accident.
None of my cable series would close a case with such a vague conclusion. Then again, maybethat’s fiction. Inhaling, I follow Maple Road as it turns into County Road 62. It’s the long route to Lawton, but driving the hills reminds me of bike rides Liv and I used to take in the summertime.
