Again, I hear the tapping.
The door to the bedroom I’m using is closed, and while I can’t recall closing it, I also can’t say for certain I left it open. I’m considering going back to the kitchen for the wine opener and push away the notion. Twisting the doorknob, I hold my breath as I push the door inward. I immediately spot the culprit.
The windows facing the lake are both slightly raised as are the blinds. A gentle breeze off the lake is tossing about the wood tassel at the end of the cord. With no rhythm, that small piece of wood is colliding against the knotty pine paneling. With a shake of my head, I lower and lock each of the windows.
I remember opening them earlier when I was dressing before Keith’s and my adventure to recover my car.
Just for shits and giggles, I make myself go around the entire cottage, checking each window. One by one, I push them down and secure the levers to the locked position.
Once I’m done, I wrestle with my thoughts.
I’ve spent five nights in this cottage and was not frightened during any one of them. Okay, I’ll admit the rainstorm the first night had the trees creaking and the cottage moaning, but my fear wasn’t of a giant man who can carry full-grown women to a shed or again to his car.
It hits me.
If Keith is right, the killer transported Marty after she was dead. That transportation happened in a vehicle. What kind of vehicle is best for transporting a body?
That’s a trick question.
Make or model isn’t as important as size.
Of course, many cars have large trunks. Still, my first thought is a truck.
Fortunately, or not, Blue Gil does not have a shortage of trucks. From working a farm, to four-wheeling, to hunting, to simply preferring a truck, I would conservatively guess that sixty percent of all households in Mills County own at least one truck.
My dad has a truck. It’s at Ollie’s, but still there is a truck. Matt has a truck. Hank drove a truck over here yesterday. And Keith drives a truck—a blue one.
Was Keith’s truck here Saturday night?
I refuse to fall victim to Theo’s concerns about Keith.
However, that doesn’t mean I’m not curious.
Hunger wins over curiosity as I make myself a turkey sandwich, add a handful of potato chips and a small cup of fruit. Then, I pour myself iced tea. With my dinner at hand, I sit at the breakfast counter and turn on my computer. Before checking out Theo’s lead in Marquette, I open the email from the Mills County Medical Examiner.
My eyes widen as I read their response.
There is the normal disclaimer regarding anonymity and confidentiality. I check the appropriate boxes and tell them I’m not a robot. A few seconds later a passcode comes through in a separate email.
Entering the passcode, a zip file opens. My attention goes to the attached jpegs.
I’ve opened hundreds of these emails from cases all over our country and yet, for this one, my mouth is dry and my hands are beginning to tremble. I take another drink of tea and stand from the stool. With a cleansing breath, I walk to the front of the living room and peer out the windows.
The sun glistens on the lake like diamonds. Taking control of my own actions, I chastise myself for letting the warnings of others overshadow what I know firsthand. Refusing to be a prisoner inside this cottage, I open the glass front door, allowing the fresh air to sweep through the screen door. The normal sounds of lake life infiltrate my thoughts, washing away my anxiety.
Going back to the computer, I click on the first picture.
Craig’s face is obscured, which is common practice for this kind of information share. His corpse is laid out on a long metal table.
I stare for a moment at what used to be a man, lover, husband, father, son, and brother.
I focus on the picture. Craig was also a teacher and coach, a colleague and friend. A man who was so many things to so many people is now a corpse.
That’s what he is and will forever be.
Time changes perspectives.
From here and now, I can say that Craig Gilbert wasn’t a good man. By his own brother’s account, he made mistakes with serious consequences. I have direct knowledge. And yet, he wasn’t all bad. Today I learnedthat he helped Austin secure a scholarship to a college that otherwise Austin may not have been able to attend.
