Emily Kenyon 01 - A Cold Dark Place

detective’s dream-a puzzler that required both wits and work, but she was short on both just then. Her litany of reasons to hate her life was topped off with the deep hurt she felt that Jenna had called David instead of her.
    She had been a good mother. She was sure of it. She thought she and Jenna had been exceptionally close, a kind of personification of the old Helen Reddy chestnut, “You and Me Against the World” She wondered how she could be so wrong with her assessment. So blind. What had been going on between them? How could she have missed any warning signs that things were awry? She remembered all the times she’d passed by Jenna’s bedroom and saw her typing away on her Mac. Emily had thought Jenna was doing her homework. Was she chatting with Batboy? Why hadn’t Jenna told her about him?
    She wrote on the pad in front of her: school, friends, teachers, neighbors. Who held the key? Who knew?
    There was nothing in Nick Martin’s background to indicate he’d be capable of killing his entire family. As Emily now worked her way through the rest of the rather thin green school district file, a reasonably positive picture of the missing teenager came into focus. His grade in Speech Communications was his lowest, a C+. He’d had mostly As and Bs. There were no teacher comments, but to Emily’s way of thinking, Nick Martin was probably shy, uncomfortable in front of a group. Most kids were. As Jenna had told her, Nick was artistic; high marks in four different art classes bore witness to the idea that he was one of those creative types that are often ostracized in the high school culture that praised athletes over artists. In fact, nowhere on his transcript could she find that he’d been involved in sports. He wasn’t a Columbine kid-one of those disenfranchised malcontents that stormed around the high school campus in a black trench coat bemoaning the world that had kicked him to the curb.
    Emily’s stomach growled and she pressed the palm of her hand against her abdomen to stifle a noise she was sure Kip could hear in the office down the hall. She’d had nothing but coffee all day. She thought of what Peg Martin’s sister, Marina, had said about the problems that had seemed to be brewing between father and son. What was going on at home that caused both Nick and Mark Martin to leave school and work? Had a confrontation between father and son escalated to such a degree that escalated into a bloodbath that wiped out the entire family?
    Except one. Except Nicholas Martin, the missing.
    The only thing that kept Emily from sinking into the floor in utter despair as she worked on the threadbare case was the phone call Jenna had made to David. That alone allowed her to sharpen her focus after Kip had suggested she drop the case because of “personal” reasons. Emily understood where the sheriff was coming from, but Kip had underestimated her-or what she wanted to be. Indeed, what she had been before returning to Cherrystone.
    They talked after Marina Wilbur left the office to complete funeral arrangements for her sister, nephew, and brotherin-law.
    “Look,” he said, folding his big mitts on her desk, “I don’t think Jason’s ready for this by a long shot, but I don’t know that you can take on what needs to be done here. I might need to, you know, elevate his role here.”
    “Jason?” Emily could scarcely believe her ears. “He’s only a deputy and he’s barely out of diapers,” she shot back, knowing at once that she’d been on the borderline of insubordination. It was more of an overreaction to demonstrate as clearly as possible that she was capable of doing her job. It was the one thing about which she felt confident at that moment, now that “wife” and “mother” seemed no longer in play.
    “I’ve thought about turning it over to Spokane for an assist,” he said. “We’re not staffed for this kind of event here”
    Kind of event? He was talking media-speak and it irritated her that much more. Her face grew hot.
    “How can you say that? I have more experience than any of those grandstanders from Spokane. You know that. Jesus”
    “Chill. Deep breath, Emily. Can’t you acknowledge that you’re under an inordinate degree of stress? Maybe so much that you really can’t perform your duties?”
    Emily bit her lip. What she wanted to say right then could get her fired and she knew it. She counted to three.
    “Brian,” she said, using his first name, a technique she