“Yeah, but I heard he now has some big job inventing something.”
I grin. “I hope he’s happy. Last I heard he was up around Grand Rapids.”
Annabelle’s expression morphs to business. “Ever since the state police got involved in” —she motions around— “all of this, they’ve tied our hands. They’re the ones who blocked off the McKenna land.” She shakes her head. “And since half the town met with the sheriff at the pond Sunday morning, that area is useless—contaminated. They’re questioning the sheriff’s motives. But, Jillian, you know, most of us assumed the girls were simply sleeping it off?”
Instead of responding, I ask, “What about the gardener’s shed?”
“Ain’t no one getting within one hundred feet. The county and state both sent forensic teams to run tests. One is supposed to substantiate the other’s findings.”
“How far back is the shed?”
Annabelle purses her lips as she considers. “It’s a far piece. Prior to the sheriff finding Julie there, I didn’t know it existed. You know, this isprivate property.”
I nod. “Private property hasn’t been a big deterrent in the past.”
Her gaze goes to the blockade and back. “Seems like that’s changed.”
“Now that you know where the shed is, how do you think someone would be able to get the girls there or Marty away from there?”
“It would have to be a big guy to carry them both. Unless...”
“Unless what?” I ask.
“Northeast of here, there’s an access road. Not really a road anymore. It was the driveway to the house before it was torn down—mostly overgrown. What’s left of that road gets within half an acre of the shed.”
“How do I access that?”
She shakes her head. “You don’t. It’s blocked off.”
“From what road?”
“Jillian, you can’t be on the property.”
I let out a long breath. “I’m just trying to make sense of this.”
“Curry Lane.”
I try to think back. “I don’t know that street.”
“Mostly because it isn’t much of a street. It’s only about two miles long, running perpendicular to West 85th, just west of Culver Lake.”
“I know Culver Lake.”
“Don’t go out there. That area is being guarded by state troopers.”
“I won’t. Thanks for the information. I’ll check out Google Earth.”
“How’s Julie?” Annabelle asks.
“Coming home today.”
“Your poor momma.”
“Yeah, it’s been rough,” I admit. I look at the gearshift and back up at her. “I better let you get back to what you’re doing.”
Annabelle reaches out and places her hand on the top of the car door. “I heard from Hank Sanders that you’re staying out at the Iverson place.”
News travels via unconventional ways in Blue Gil. “Yes.”
