Day 47/366

"Sheriff, any idea why someone would do this to your little girl?"

Shelly peered through bloodshot eyes at the deputy standing over her.  She had no memory of leaving her kitchen and going outside.  The concrete ledge that ran the length of the driveway was cold and gritty.
"Please stop calling me that," she whispered.

"Pardon, ma'am?"  The deputy used the end of his pen to move the brim of his hat a little higher.  "I didn't quite catch what you said."

"So you moved your stupid hat to hear me better?" she snapped, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand.  "Oh, Deputy Fisher, I'm so sorry...I"

He smiled slightly, bending down to one knee.  "Shel, I get it.  No apology, okay?"  He waited for her to calm down, then asked again, "Any idea why, or who?"

Shelly shook her head.  "I know everyone says it, but everyone really did love Carly."

The deputy made a notation in his book, then continued.  "Any sign of drug abuse?"  He watched the flush build in Shelly's cheeks and put his hand on her arm.  "Shel, I have to ask."

"No, you didn't!" She pulled away and tried to stand up, but her legs wouldn't hold her.  Back on the ground, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

"You've seen the reports coming in, Sher--Shelly.  Huffing is on the rise here, and there's evidence in the plastic over--" Fisher had to pause.  Carly was family.  "Coroner talked about a chemical smell when he removed it."

Shelly didn't want to be here, like this, doing this, by herself.  "Where's my husband, Fish?"

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.