Page 4 of Breathe Me In

“Jaminson,” I answered as I walked back in the direction of my old Chevy truck. Having a truck to use in the city was one of the perks of the job that I really appreciated. It allowed me to head off in any direction when parents got a lead on where their child might be.

“Hey, Bree, it’s Robert.” His voice made me sharpen my focus as I wondered why my childhood friend, now the Sheffield police captain, was calling me.

“Hey, Captain, how are ya?” I held up a hand as I jaywalked through the slow-moving traffic.

“Truth, I need your help.”

“Gimme a sec.” I pulled out my keys and raced down to the parking garage, hoping my reception wouldn’t fail. I hopped inside and started the engine.

“You’ve got my attention.” I used my teeth to pull the cap off a pen and got out my notebook, ready to take notes.

He wasted no time. “It’s been a few years since we’ve had a murder in Sheffield, and this past month, we’ve had two.” I spat the cap out and sat straighter. “I’ve got people breathing down my neck who want answers, but my hands are tied.” He paused. “I know you worked with Detective Monroe at the NYPD a few times as a consultant, and when I reached out to him, he said you have a real eye for detail and don’t cut any corners with research. You’re one of the best PIs I know, and frankly, I could really use you here.”

“You need me there?” I repeated as I glanced quickly at the number he’d used to contact me. “Is that why you’re not calling from the station? Why is it a different number?”

“Yeah, we’ll go with that.” He made a noise that told me there was a lot more to this whole thing than he was saying. “Our detectives are stretched thin, and . . .”

“And you need someone not bound by the law to dig?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that.” He went silent for a moment. “I need you, Bree. It’s no secret that you have a way with people, and like I’ve said before, if you ever decide to wear the badge, you just let me know. Anyone in their right mind would hire you. Look”—he sighed heavily—“I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll bring you on as a consultant, and I would never ask you to relive what you—”

I cut him off. “I know.” If he was calling me in, it was for something big. A strange tightening in my chest brought a displaced feeling. Years might have passed, but I wasn’t ready to see him. “Is Detective Stone still working there?” I managed to speak in spite of a dry mouth.

“He’s over in Rochester,” he answered, and I nodded like he could see me. Okay, yeah, I can handle that.

“When do you need me?”

“Last week.” He attempted to laugh, but there was a heaviness to his voice. “Look, at the risk of crossing a line, I’m going to say this one time, and you can take or leave it.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll give you everything that our department has from that day.”

A coldness spread through my bones, and I felt the blood drain from my face. I had so many questions that still haunted my thoughts, and Robert knew that. Questions I knew could possibly be answered if I could get access to those dusty boxes in their basement.

“We both would get something from this deal.” He was right, and he knew it.

“Send me what you can on the case, and I’ll be there tomorrow.” I squeezed my eyes shut as I admitted to myself that this couldn’t have come at a better time.

Sheffield, New York

I leaned over the steering wheel and stared up at the pounded metal sign. Cedar Creek Ranch. The afternoon sun shone through the cutouts in the sign and cast a cedar-tree shadow onto the hood of my ’76 Silverado.

I closed my eyes for a moment as I gave myself a mental pep talk, then slipped the truck into drive and followed the tree-covered driveway. I had been home only three times since I packed my bags after high school graduation, and I hadn’t looked back. A lot had happened in that time period, and I wondered where I’d have ended up if I’d stuck with my original plan. I pressed my hands into the steering wheel and pushed that curiosity down deep. You can’t go back in time. What’s done is done.

Five years into my hiatus, my dad made a trip to New York City and shamed me into a trip home, as my mom needed hip surgery. Thankfully, she bounced back quickly, and I’d tried my hardest to visit ever since. But was it my hardest? Because I only visited two more times in less than ten years and knew it was a pretty shitty thing to do to them. But this time was different. I eyed the pile of suitcases that I’d slung into the back of my truck and made a face. My nerves were frayed enough.

I downed my coffee as I refocused my head.

October was my favorite time of the year. A zillion different oranges, yellows, and reds framed the beaten road with the promise that the humidity would go back into hiding as the months grew cooler.

I wrinkled my nose at a new sign that read slow down for horses and fought the string of curse words that wanted to flow. So much had changed, but did I have any right to question it?

I rounded the corner and felt my stomach coil into a ball as I spotted my childhood home. It was breathtaking. The eight-bedroom log cabin had been featured several times in Country Living magazine. My parents had worked hard to keep our slice of paradise up and running as a functioning cattle ranch, but when the economy tanked and then Mom was out of commission for a bit, my sister and her husband took over with a new idea to bring in much-needed cash flow. A dude ranch for those who wanted a taste of country life. I tried not to shudder.

I parked behind Dad’s truck, slipped off my sneakers, and replaced them with boots.

My phone vibrated on the dash, and I swiped it up.