Blood in the Ozarks

7. A Strawberry Kitchen

Gravel churned roughly under my tires as I drove up to a weathered home on the outskirts of town. Somehow I had talked myself into getting up, taking a shower, and grabbing a coffee from the lobby on my way out the door. I attempted to smooth my hair back into a sleek ponytail before leaving my room, but the humidity in the air had other ideas.

Ortega's bike was parked outside the home as promised. I glanced at the time on my phone—9:46am.

There was also a text notification from Cian on my lock screen that I knew was asking me to call him when I had the chance. I wasn't sure if it was about the case, or something more personal. Along with checking in on my investigation, Cian had also been bugging me about a date—or even a season—for the wedding. The random texts of 'marry me today?' were cute, but became a little off putting while I was about to talk to a family about their deceased daughter.

I pocketed the phone without answering him.

With a deep breath, I took one last sip of coffee and then got out of the car. Meeting the family of a victim was not something anyone looked forward to. There was so much grief and so many variables, you never knew what you were walking into. They could be anything from weepy to in a rage—sometimes toward no one, sometimes toward you. Or worse they could be completely apathetic or ambivalent. Those were usually cause for more alarm than any emotion. I always tried to brace myself for all of the above.

The house once painted a brilliant white was now cracked, peeling, and faded. The floorboards squeaked under my boots as I stepped up to the front door. A screen door with a rip in the bottom probably from a pet or a stray let me see straight into the living room. The heavy storm door was open, and Ortega was already sitting across from who I assumed was the grieving mother when his heavy brown eyes caught mine. He said something to the mother, then got up to meet me at the door.

The screen gave a slight squeak as he opened the door. "Ross, nice of you to make it." His hushed tone created a deep vibrato in his voice.

"Fuck off, Ortega," I murmured back as I stepped past him into the living room.

Despite the home being a bit old and run down, the family inside clearly took great pride in their space. Every corner was clean, every knickknack dusted, and there was the faint scent of lemon disinfectant in the air.

"Dionne Jackson, this is Agent Ellery Ross. Agent Ross has been assigned to your daughter's case at the federal level."

A slight woman with weary eyes and unkempt, graying hair rose from the couch and leaned over the coffee table to shake my hand. "Thank you so much for coming. Please, have a seat." Ms. Jackson motioned toward a lone chair as she and Ortega resumed their places on the threadbare couch.

"I was just explaining to Ms. Jackson here how we need to know more about Hannah's life." He looked at her with soft, understanding eyes. "Odds are this was a wild animal attack, but we have some evidence that could prove a human was involved and we want to make absolutely sure she wasn't targeted for some reason."

"Now," he continued with a gentle tone. "Anyone you know who may have wanted to hurt your daughter? Or even any confrontations she was having with someone? Maybe at school?"

Ms. Jackson grabbed a tissue from a box on the coffee table with a shaking hand. "She's never had any problems with anyone. We've lived in this town her whole life, and Hannah..." The grieving mother choked on the name, but quickly gathered herself. "Hannah was very loved by everyone around her. She was nothin' but kind and caring. She...she was a wonderful daughter."

Ortega handed another tissue to Ms. Jackson, and she accepted as tears began to flow down her flushed cheeks.

"I know this is hard," I started. Hard was an understatement. But what could you say to someone who's pain you could not even imagine? "But even something small could help. Any fights with friends or strange behavior?"