Fate of the Fathers

The last thing Jenna wanted was another discussion about her parents. It had taken her ten years to be able to function—not well, but she managed. Chase was threatening every pretense of control she had over the accident and subsident trauma she had endured.

“I don’t want any part of this case,” she said, jaw tender from clenching it. “You can find a fucking news article to tell you what you need to know. You don’t need me.”

Instead of replying, Chase tossed a small stack of papers into her lap.

“What’s this?” She pretended to leaf through the top documents.

“Photocopies of a supposed journal that belonged to your father—except no one has found the original. There’s talk that it burned up in a fire that occurred around the time that he died. Maybe it did . . . Fuck, I don’t know.”

Jenna looked at the text and pictures, an ache forming in her chest at the sight of the familiar handwriting. Her father had often used the whiteboard on the fridge to leave little quirky messages for Jenna and her mom.

“I don’t have it,” she said, handing the papers back to Chase. “It’s just a stupid journal anyways, why do you need it?”

“Because I believe he was working on something big before he died. Whatever it was. . . it might have been worth murdering him over. Both he and your mother.”

The breath lurched from Jenna’s lungs. She had never considered murder. It had been an accident. A terrible, tragic accident that had ripped out a part of her soul that she would never find again.

“Why do you say that?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Chase seemed to hesitate before replying. “We have a confidential informant who has brought some damning evidence to light. One of those things involved the event that you and your family were driving too that night being a setup.”

“That’s hardly enough to prove it was murder.”

“You’re right, most of it is circumstantial, but that’s why I need your help. In return, I’ll make sure you get the help you need as a shifter, so you have options—including living with your aunt and uncle, if you choose—without fear of hurting them, “Chase said.

Jenna knew as much as she wanted to fight him on this, she couldn’t stop seeing the images of curling claws extending from the beds of her nails. She had felt so much anger. Uncontrollable and raging anger. She hadn’t felt that since. . .

No, she wouldn’t let her mind go there.

It was from a place of desperation, to save those closest to her, when she said, “What do I need to do?”

“We can talk about that in the morning,” Chase said, gently. “Make a plan to return to Lincoln City.”

“I—I can’t go back there.”

Chase seemed to pause. “You asked what you needed to do. I believe your father has left clues behind, but he didn’t exactly leave a trail of breadcrumbs ten years ago. That’s why I need you.”

Jenna fought against the rising internal panic. He didn’t know what he was asking her to do. Didn’t know the years of pain and loss that she dealt with every day. That place—that house—she knew would destroy her if she ever went back there again.

“I said, I can’t.” She didn’t hesitate this time when she jumped from the truck.

As she slammed the door shut, Chase said, “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. I can help—”

His voice muddled as Jenna stormed to her house.

She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. It was nearly one in the morning and June and Dwayne had long since gone to bed.

As she made her way to the kitchen on autopilot, her thoughts roiled.

Her parents may have been murdered.

It didn’t matter if it was ten years ago. It was a fucking bombshell that she didn’t feel mentally equipped to handle.

She grabbed a yogurt from the fridge then leaned against the kitchen counter as she ate. Her brain was a mess.

A hot, gods-damned mess right now.

Her eyes focused on the mantel over the fireplace—to the two urns sitting there. Adorned in blue and silver, they shimmered in the low lamp light. Ten years might have been a long time, but even time hadn’t been enough to cut through the pain in Jenna’s gut when she thought of the beach house.

Of that night.

Those memories were best kept locked up and stashed in the deepest recesses of her mind.

She tossed the yogurt container in the trash, and moved to turn away, but an opened letter sitting on the counter caught her attention. She held it up to the dim light and saw the title and sender.

It might have only been a warning letter about a missed house payment, but Jenna felt sick with the thought that her grief and pain were creating undue hardship for her aunt and uncle. She should sell the beach house. Maybe it would ease some of the pain—no longer having to think about it. It would also help her aunt and uncle financially.

Jenna thought of the doctor’s appointment and the issues with June’s insurance. This could be the answer. Sandra told June just that day, that someone was inquiring about the house. It might sell quickly, and then she would never have to think about it again.

Maybe she would be able to finally move on with her life, without the house hanging over her head.

Sighing, she let the letter drop back onto the counter. Her feet hurt. Her ankle hurt. Her head hurt. She needed to go to bed.

Back in her room, she slid her tee-shirt off, and then shorts. As she did so, something fell out of one of the pockets.

Chase’s business card, she realized, sitting on her bed. She flipped the card between her fingers, thinking.

Maybe there was a simple solution to all of the problems at hand. She could go with Chase, back to the coast. Though it had been unoccupied, nothing had been touched since the accident. There would be cleaning and packing to do before she could sell it.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the truth about her parents’ death—especially if it had been murder, but she owed it to them to find out.

And she owed it to herself to get help, so she would never hurt Uncle Dwayne and Aunt June. Chase might be a lunatic, but he seemed to sense the darkness inside of her. He had stopped her tonight when she hadn’t been able to do it herself.

Picking up her phone, Jenna dialed the number on the business card. When Chase answered, she said, “I’ll do it. I’ll help you with the investigation.”