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“Okay.” With a heavy heart, I collected the eggs, cracked them into a bowl, and handed Brandy a fork so she could stir.
She took the fork from me and actually did a decent job of following my instructions.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
She laughed. “Yes, I’m a good cook. I always help Mommy.”
My heart broke all over again. Brandy was a real sweetheart. Now she’d have to grow up without a mom, just like Cheryl and I had. Was her father up to the task of raising her alone?
I supposed he’d have help from my father, although my dad didn’t look so good. Eventually, I’d have to ask about his prognosis, but that was a conversation for another day.
“Do you know what Mommy says?” Brandy gave the eggs one last vigorous stir before tossing the fork into the sink and pushing the bowl toward me. “Mommy says I’m the best cook in the whole world.”
Telling myself not to cry, I slipped an arm across my precious niece’s shoulders and squeezed her tight. Brandy giggled and reciprocated by hugging me with both arms.
* * *
By the timemy father came home late that morning, Brandy and I had finished breakfast, played with Cheryl’s old dolls, and read three books.
“Grandpa!” Brandy raced across the living room and launched herself at my father. He patted the top of her head but didn’t pick her up this time.
“Did you find him?” I asked, desperate to hear that the murderer had been caught.
My father shook his head. “The sheriff wants you to come down to the station and look through the photo book. You can take my car.”
“Oh, okay.” I pushed away the fear threatening to consume me. I didn’t want to leave the safety of the house and go to the police station by myself. Yet, how could I ask my father to drive me? He’d been up all night and looked exhausted.
“Eddie is coming to get Brandy. As soon as he arrives, I’m going to bed.”
“Daddy’s coming?” Brandy pressed her hands together against her heart. “He’s coming home from hunting?”
My father nodded. “Yes. He’ll be here soon.”
“Yeah! I want to show him my picture.” Brandy skipped into the kitchen to collect her drawing.
My dad handed me his keys. “You better get going. The sooner you can make a positive identification, the better.”
* * *
At the police station,I sat at a wobbly table in a windowless room with Detective Gonzales. In front of us was a large three-ring binder, containing hundreds of mug shots. “I know it’s overwhelming,” he said, “so take as much time as you need. There’s no rush. We’ll start at the beginning and go page by page. I’ll make a note of anybody who looks familiar.”
“Okay.” I wiped my hands on my jeans and leaned closer to the binder. Understanding the gravity of my task, I carefully studied each photograph. Despite my need for justice, I didn’t want to accuse the wrong man.
Nevertheless, paging through the book was so much harder than I imagined. After several minutes, I shook my head, discouraged. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t see him.”
“It’s okay. We’ll keep looking.”
The detective turned the page, and I continued my search. Just when I was about to give up, my stomach dropped. “That’s him.”
“Which one?” Sheriff Enquist bolted into the room as if he’d been waiting in the hall this whole time. Perhaps he’d stayed back, knowing I needed space to make an accurate identification.
My hand shaking, I tapped the photo of the man I’d seen last night. “Him. This one. This is the guy.”
“Are you sure?” the detective asked.
I nodded. “Yes. I’m positive.”
