Where the Blame Lies

“What can I do to help?”

“You can put napkins and silverware on the table if you want,” Zach said. “This is done. Just needs to be dished up.” Zach drained the pasta and went about dishing up two plates as Josie put out napkins, silverware, and poured them both glasses of water. Zach wished to God there was alcohol in the house. He could use a beer or two like nobody’s business. But there wasn’t any, and he wasn’t going to leave Josie to run into town for alcohol.

They sat down and dished up salad and were both quiet as they started eating. “This is great,” Josie said around a bite of pasta. “I didn’t ask how your interview went this morning.”

Zach finished chewing. “Weird.” He told her about Deanna’s mother, how Deanna had been mixed up with drugs, disappeared, but never been reported missing.

Josie’s eyes widened. “How does that even happen? No one reported her just . . . gone?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how parents just write their child off like that, but that’s what happened. The trouble is, there’s no way to know if her disappearance had to do with her drug habit, or if something more nefarious happened to her.”

She shook her head, her expression sad. “So not a big break in the case.”

“No, but I convinced her mother to fill out a missing person report. The police here will start looking into it.”

She nodded, and they both ate in silence for another moment. Zach regarded her pensive expression. “How are you, Josie?”

She tilted her head, watching her fork as she spun spaghetti around it, but didn’t bring it to her mouth. “I’m good. Thank you”—she glanced at him briefly—“for earlier. I . . . haven’t been held in a long time. I didn’t know how much I needed it.” Her cheeks flushed but she met his eyes, her chest rising and falling as she took in a deep breath.

His heart twisted. “I’m glad it helped,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She put the bite of spaghetti in her mouth and looked thoughtful as she chewed. Once she’d swallowed, she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and said, “I’ve been thinking about what Jimmy mentioned, about considering the possibility that it wasn’t Marshall Landish under that mask.”

“I thought you said you believed it wasn’t possible.”

“I did. I do.” But her expression registered conflict. She frowned. “But, Jimmy’s right. It’s worth exploring all avenues, and that’s what I’ve been doing.”

“And it’s hurting,” he said, “going back through your time spent with him.”

Something that looked like relief came into her expression. At being understood? “Yes. Very much. But, it’s good too. It’s been a form of healing I didn’t know I needed. And maybe I wouldn’t have forced myself to go there again in my mind if not for this situation. Whenever I’ve started thinking about it in the past, it’s been my MO to push it away, you know? Self-preservation. And that was okay, before, because I didn’t believe there was a good reason to relive the details. But . . . I can’t do that anymore. Not now. Not if something I remember might help some of the families grieving for their murdered daughters find closure. And not if something I remember might help catch this guy.”

Zach’s admiration for her swelled, making his chest feel full. “You’re incredible. You really are.”

She shook her head, denying his words, but the small, shy smile on her face told him his compliment had pleased her.

“Have you remembered anything that feels important?”

She took a deep breath, her expression going serious. “Nothing momentous, but”—Josie set her fork down, meeting his eyes—“small things. Marshall spoke with a stutter. But sometimes, when he got upset, or agitated, he didn’t.”

Zach frowned. “Could be the nature of his speech impediment. Maybe high emotions caused an increased speed of speech and sort of ‘fixed’ his stutter temporarily?”

She nodded. “Could be. Again, none of the things that I recollected about him yesterday or today are groundbreaking. I’m just trying to bring forth things that either help prove or disprove Jimmy’s theory.” She tapped her plate lightly with her fork. “I want to help, Zach. I want to make sure what happen

ed to me and the other victims, doesn’t happen to any other woman.”

They both ate in silence for a few minutes, the music providing low background noise. “I didn’t peg you for a country music fan,” Josie said, nodding to the radio sitting on the counter.

Zach laughed. “No? What’d you have me pegged as?”

She looked up at him and grinned and for a second, his heart nearly stopped. Fuck fuck fuck. She shrugged. “Definitely rock. Something loud and intense, but also deep and . . . poetic.”

Zach grinned as he got up, taking his empty plate and nodding to hers. She pushed it toward him. “I’m going to take that as a compliment. And I can go for some rock,” he said, placing their plates in the sink as Josie picked up their glasses and brought those to the sink as well. “But I gotta admit, some of this country is damn catchy.” He turned, catching her off guard and taking her in his arms as he spun her around, and she laughed in surprise.

God, that sound was so good. So damn welcome. Especially after her earlier sadness, the tears that had flowed so freely as he’d held her in his arms on the riverbank.

She tipped her head back and laughed again. “On second thought, maybe I was wrong.” Her expression sobered slightly and she raised a brow. “There’s some cowboy in you after all, isn’t there, Detective?”

“I’ve been known to wrangle a bad player or two.” He grimaced and gave his head a shake as though his own cheesy line had offended him.