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Phoebe bit her lip. She supposed his response made sense on the surface, but something still didn't sit right with her.
"Where are the autopsy photographs?"
Chief Bennett was already shaking his head at her question, his lips compressed to the point that they couldn't be seen underneath his mustache.
"No."
"Yes," Phoebe pressed, confident that the sediment hadn't come from the pond. "How much sediment are we talking about? Are we talking traces or more?"
Chief Bennett was clearly ready to take a stand, so Phoebe took a different tactic before he could give a definitive response.
"If you want me to agree with your assessment, then you'll show me photographs. I need to see what Jenna's nails looked like that day."
The way Chief Bennett's gaze drifted to the side caused adrenaline to surge through Phoebe's system. She pressed even harder, knowing that she might have just found enough evidence to support her theory.
"The sediment was more than just a trace, wasn't it?"
"You're purposefully looking for something to rationalize your decision to reopen old wounds, Phoebe. Yes, there was dirt underneath your sister’s nails. She could have fallen after you returned home for the thermos of hot chocolate. Jenna could have dropped the skates and her nails caught some dirt from the ground as she was picking them up. All evidence gathered that day points to Jenna falling through the ice and not being able to make her way to the surface."
"Not all the evidence, Chief,” Phoebe stated matter-of-factly.
She was startled at the sudden loud thud behind her. She spun around while keeping ahold of the file in her hand to find Neal Hanson emerging from the restroom. She hadn't seen him since Jenna's funeral. His worn leather computer bag was on the floor, and he mumbled an apology as he knelt to retrieve it.
Phoebe would have greeted him, but Neal hadn't given her a chance. He continued to quickly walk toward the exit in one smooth motion after he slung the bag onto his right shoulder.
Neal had been in Jenna's senior class. He had always been a bit of a loner, keeping to himself. It didn't appear as if he had changed at all over the years.
Had Neal overheard part of Phoebe's conversation with the chief?
"That boy always did have his head in the clouds," Chief Bennett muttered with a dismissive shake of his head. His tone made it clear he didn't think much of Neal or his clumsiness. "Listen, if you want your sister's autopsy photos, I won't keep them from you. I've said my peace."
She didn't doubt that Chief Bennett cared about her family and likely had their best interests at heart. Still, she couldn't ignore her own nagging doubts.
"And I appreciate your concern, Chief. I do, but I have to do this for my own peace of mind."
"Sometimes digging up the past does more harm than good." Chief Bennett held up his hands in surrender after she arched her brow. He then reached for his coffee cup, no doubt to put in the black bucket on top of the square trash bin. "Drop by the station. I'll make sure there are copies in a folder for you at the front desk."
"Thank you, Chief," Phoebe said sincerely. Seeing as she didn't want to get stuck talking to her mother's friends, she stood from the table at the same time. “I’ll walk out with you.”
Phoebe picked up her tea and kept ahold of the file as the chief set his mug in the dirty dish bucket. She quickly downed at least half her tea before doing the same. He then grabbed his jacket before nodding to her to lead the way.
Phoebe purposefully pasted a smile on her face as she walked past those monitoring her exit. The chief took time to bid them a good day. The only one who might have overheard their conversation was Neal Hanson. It was doubtful that he would go around telling people about her suspicions before this evening.
Phoebe had been so scared that she wouldn't find anything in the chief's report. Now that there was a small thread on which she could tug, the next step was going to be the most difficult—telling her parents that she had been lying to them for the past eleven years.
Chapter Four
Phoebe
The setting sun cast long shadows across the gravel driveway as Phoebe's SUV crunched the rocks on the familiar path. There were still weeks of bitter Maine winter to be had, and the bare trees stood stark against the darkening sky. A crust of old snow still lined the driveway, and it wouldn't surprise her if they received one more major stormfront as some sort of farewell tribute.
The two-story colonial farmhouse where Phoebe and Jenna had grown up came into view. The large windows cast a warm golden glow onto the wrap-around porch. Tendrils of smoke curled from the brick chimney, evidence of the nightly fire her father preferred to sit in front of during the evening hours. The house was just as Phoebe remembered—stately and welcoming, painted a soft blue with stark white shutters to match the porch.
After she parked and then stepped out into the cold evening air, memories came flooding back. She and Jenna used to race from the car to the front door almost every day after school, wanting to be the one to control the channel on the television. In the summer, they would spend their evenings catching lightning bugs and putting them in jars to place on the steps of the porch. Jenna always made sure to put some grass inside before letting them go after being told it was bedtime.
So many of Phoebe’s childhood joys were wrapped up in this place.
Her gaze was drawn to the partially obscured woods to the east of the property. The bare tree branches reached up toward the twilight sky. Each one resembled a gnarled hand with contorted fingers, and she suppressed a shiver of unease as the wind whistled through them. She stood in front of her SUV until the headlights turned off, shrouding the driveway in semi-darkness.
