Searching for Justice by Tonya Burrows #TonyaBurrows #RedwoodCoastRescue

chapter one

“So, I’ve been thinking…”

Elbow deep in suds, Rose Galasso lifted her gaze from the sink where she had been washing beer steins and watched her slightly tipsy aunt slide onto one of the bar stools. Rainbow Rodriguez met her girlfriends for drinks at the Mad Dog Pub every Tuesday night, and she always drank too much, then hung out until her partner, Rose’s chef, Marcel Dupont, closed the kitchen. But the kitchen had closed an hour ago, and Marcel had left alone, so the pair were either fighting or Rainbow was up to something.

Going by her speculative tone, it was the latter. “Scheming is more like it.”

“Me, scheme? Never!” Rainbow was as colorful as her name suggested, with big dark eyes and an explosion of dyed red hair that spiraled out from her head in tight corkscrews. She often adorned her curls with beads and feathers and wore so many bracelets it was impossible for her to move quietly.

And, yes, Rainbow was her given name. They were from a long line of proud granola-crunching hippies, and while Rose had shied away from that lifestyle as a teenager, both her aunt and mom had embraced it. It was how she ended up with a name like Ambrosia Wildflower Galasso. She’d always hated it and, as soon as she entered middle school, started insisting she be called simply Rose.

She dried her hands and turned to face the woman who had raised her through those awful, angsty teenage years. “You’re always scheming, Auntie. It’s one thing I love about you.”

“Well, not this time.” Rainbow propped her elbows on the bar, her many bracelets clinking as she leaned over. “I’ve just had this thought that won’t leave my head. What if that Jane Doe uncovered by the wildfire last fall is your mom? You should go to the sheriff’s office and offer a DNA sample for comparison. I could go do it, but I read the results are more accurate with a sample from a child than a sibling.”

Rose sighed. She supposed she should’ve seen this coming. Since the discovery of the unknown woman’s remains, the town’s rumor mill had been churning double-time about her identity. Some people said she must have been a lost hiker, while others claimed her death was drug-related because she was found on Murder Mountain. The conspiracy theorists posited she was a victim of The Shadow Stalker—the urban legend serial killer that children had been scaring each other with for decades, who was about as real as the Hookman or Sasquatch.

But whoever the woman was, Rose doubted she was Harmony Galasso.

“The sheriff won’t reopen Mom’s case. As far as the state of California is concerned, they got her killer: my dad.”

Her aunt’s cupid-bow lips dipped into a frown. “Have you seen him recently?”

“It’s been a couple of weeks. The pub was slammed last week, and I couldn’t get away to visit, but he called yesterday. I plan to go out tomorrow.”

“How’s he doing?”

She raised a shoulder. “You know, it’s prison. Same old, same old. They do have him working in the library, though, which means he’s in his happy place. Surrounded by books.”

Rainbow exhaled a pent-up breath. “Oh, I should go visit.”

“He’d like that.”

“I know, but it just … it makes me so sad to see Pete in there. He loved your mother, despite all of her many faults. He would’ve killed himself a thousand times over before harming a hair on her head. But they convicted him without a body, so if we can prove the Jane Doe is Harmony, Sheriff Rawlings will have no choice but to reopen the case, and maybe your dad will win an appeal.”

Rose shook her head. “Even if we proved it, there’s no guarantee the sheriff will listen. And even if he does, the chances of Dad getting an appeal are slim to none. He’s been in there for thirteen years.”

Rainbow’s expression softened. “I know it’s a long shot, but we have to try. We can’t just give up on finding out what happened to Harmony or getting justice for Pete.”

“I just don’t know if I can handle the disappointment if it doesn’t pan out again.”

“Hey, I understand,” Rainbow said, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “And you need to focus on taking care of yourself. You’ve been so caught up in work, you’re neglecting your own well-being. This place doesn’t have to be your life.”

Rose scanned her pub with its eclectic mix of booths and high-top tables. Vintage dog posters decorated the walls, along with framed photos of many of her patrons’ dogs. The brick fireplace was quiet and cold now but had been crackling merrily earlier in the evening to ward off the damp February chill. She’d made some updates since taking over five years ago, but the deep burgundy upholstery on the chairs was showing wear from there many years of use. She couldn’t bear to change them, though. Her dad had chosen those chairs back when he owned the pub. Back when her mom was alive, and their lives were still perfect.