Chapter 6: Alder Lane

"You know her," Ross said.

It wasn't a question.

I set the coffeepot down on the burner.

"I know the coat."

"Whose coat?"

"The woman who pried the trap off Nash's leg."

Ross sat back on his stool.

"The one who carried him home. The hero."

"She wore it that night. Red wool. Gloves. She took the gloves off in my kitchen and put them in her pocket before anybody could look at them."

"What's her name?"

I looked at the printout.

The bent head. The long hair.

If I said Delaney's name, he would drive up to Cold Creek in a state truck and knock on doors.

And nobody in Cold Creek would open them.

And somebody might come down off the ridge one night and find him alone.

"I'll tell you," I said. "Not today."

"Jolene."

"I need to get my things out of the house first. Before they take everything."

"Before who takes everything?"

"His family."

Ross folded the printout and put it back in his jacket.

"When?"

"Wednesday. It's my night off."

"I'll drive you."

"You don't have to."

"I'm going up there anyway." He finally picked up his fork. "Seven more traps out there somewhere. I like to keep a schedule."

On Wednesday he picked me up at the motel at eight in the morning.

The heater in his truck only worked on high.

We drove north with the windows cracked and the radio on a country station neither of us changed.

Halfway there, he handed me a paper bag with two egg sandwiches in it.

"I didn't know if you ate breakfast," he said.

"I serve it."

"That's not the same."

I ate both.

Cold Creek looked exactly the same.

That was the strange part.

The same water tower. The same church. The same pawnshop with the bat behind the counter.

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