Chapters (57)
- Books by Gregg Olsen
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Hear More from Gregg
- Books by Gregg Olsen
- A Letter from Gregg
- Acknowledgements
Murder Mystery in the Woods of Snow Creek
A woman’s body was found by two Bigfoot hunters in the vicinity of the abandoned Puget Logging tract north of Snow Creek.
She has been identified as Ida Wheaton, 40, of Snow Creek Rd. Ms. Wheaton was reported missing by a relative earlier this week, according to sources.
Her husband, Merritt Wheaton, 53, is missing.
The couple left Snow Creek more than a month ago to volunteer at an orphanage in Mexico. They told their two children that they would be gone several weeks, taking time to drive down the West Coast.
A search was made of the Wheaton family farm and property earlier today. Several items were seized as possible evidence.
Bernadine Chesterfield, Jefferson County victim’s advocate, spoke on behalf of the family tonight.
“These kids have been traumatized,” Chesterfield said. “They are dealing with an unimaginable amount of pain. Please respect their privacy as they conduct a memorial service tomorrow afternoon.”
I roll my eyes upward. Of course, Bernadine is the source. She’s always on the edge of violating county privacy rules. I don’t even have to call her to find out what tactic she employed to get in the news, so she could send the link to her Coast Guard son and candlemaker daughter.
“The kids wanted me to let the community know of their loss and memorial service. You know how misleading social media can be.”
She’s always thinking of others.
Twenty-Five
I take the tape recorder with the next tape to bed. I’m too tired to sit at the kitchen table. Its proximity to my room-temp wine hasn’t been helping matters. I undress and put on my Portland State University T-shirt. I haven’t donned it for quite some time, and I wonder if my subconscious is working on everything I do.
Portland State University is where I was treated by Dr. Albright, of course. The shirt is pulling me back there in its own way.
I don’t make friends because I was trained not to trust people.
I don’t cook because my mother used me like a slave.
I don’t even own a TV because, when I did, certain things triggered me a little. All right, a lot. Hair dye, for one. A KitKat candy bar commercial. It’s the little things that add up. Those things treat my body like a voodoo doll, poking me until I cry out.
Silently, of course.
I know the work that I do is a kind of life-long atonement for the sum of what I did. Who I really am.
The poison that circulates in my blood.