Emily Kenyon 01 - A Cold Dark Place

maroon and black vinyl booth at Pietro’s, the only place in Cherrystone that made pizza that didn’t taste like it came from the frozenfood section of the Food Giant. Emily was grateful that Jenna had outgrown the “cheese-only” topping option for something a little more adventurous pepperoni and black olives. Emily ordered a beer and Jenna nursed a soda.
    “You know, you don’t need to order diet cola, honey.”
    Jenna swirled the crushed ice with a pair of reed-thin plastic straws. “You mean I’m not fat? Yeah, I know. But I’m hedging my bets. I’ve seen the future. Look at Grandma Anna”
    “Jenna! That’s not nice.” Emily tried to act indignant, but Grandma Anna was her ex-husband’s mother and it was true that she had thick thighs. “Besides, your body shape is more from my side of the family.”
    Jenna drew on her straws and nodded. “Thank God”
    The pair sat and ate their pizza, but their mood shifted when the conversation turned to the storm. “We are lucky. All of us. The tornado ravaged those homes on Hawes, but no one was killed.” Emily swallowed the last of her beer, regarding the foamy residue coating the rim of the schooner. “I don’t use the word lightly, you know, but it was a bit of a miracle, really.”
    “I know. Shali and I were talking about that,” Jenna said. “Now you know that Jude Law Timberlake is not real. Nice fantasy, though”
    Emily managed a faint smile. “I’ll say.”
    Emily Kenyon was a homicide detective, not an emergency responder, but Ferry County was so small that when the storm hit she immediately reported to work to do what she could. She had to do something. Anything. She’d grown up in Cherrystone and it was her town. Always would be. The house on Orchard Avenue had been her childhood home. Her parents, who died in a tragic car accident, had left the family home to Emily and her brother. Since only one could live there, Emily bought out Kevin with savings and took a small mortgage. The house, with its bay windows and highpitched roofline, was the reason she returned to Cherrystone. Not the only reason. Her divorce from David, a surgeon with a quick wit and an even faster fuse, was the other. The divorce made him mad. Emily made him mad. The world was against him. Cherrystone was about as far away as she could go for the safety net of feeling like she belonged somewhere. Leaving a detective’s position in Seattle wasn’t easy, but the move was never in doubt. It had been the right thing.
    Of course, in the middle of it all was Jenna. She loved both her parents, but felt her mother needed her more than her father. At sixteen, the courts allowed her to schedule her own visitation with her father. She saw him once a month, usually in nearby Spokane. And that, she was sure, was enough.
    Emily asked for a pizza box to take home the remainder of the pie.
    “We can have it for breakfast,” she said.
    “Only if it lasts that long.”
    Emily’s cell phone rang, its dorky ring tone of Elvis Costello’s “Watching the Detectives” chiming from her purse. The number on the LED was dispatch-the sheriff was calling.
    “Kenyon,” she said.
    Her mother’s hands full, Jenna picked up the flat carton and they walked toward the door. With her free hand, she fished some Italian ice peppermints from a bowl by the hostess lectern and offered one to her mother.
    Emily shook her head, her ear pressed tightly to her flip phone as they walked to the car.
    “I see,” she said. Her tone was flat, like someone checking a list for which there was no need. “All right. Okay. Got it. I can take a drive out there tomorrow, first thing.”
    Emily looked irritated as she put away her phone.
    “Do you know Nicholas Martin?” she asked.
    “Sure. Who doesn’t? He’s a senior and besides, he’s kind of a freak”
    Emily turned the ignition and the Accord started. She put it into drive.
    “Freak? In what way?”
    “You know, one of those country kids who didn’t get the memo that the Goth look was so last millennium.”
    “Black clothes? White face?”
    “And eyeliner, Mom, even eyeliner. But what about him?”
    Emily sighed, glad she didn’t have a son to deal with.
    “Did you see him at school today?”
    “I don’t know. Although, if I did see him, I’d probably remember. He’s the memorable type. What’s up, Mom?”
    “Probably nothing. His aunt in Illinois has called the office a couple times. She’s panicking because she hasn’t been able