At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(24)

“Possibly. Probably.”

Thoughts came and went in Addie’s eyes. Evan could almost hear sparks flying as she ran through myriad possibilities of what this meant—a poem shared by two dead men.

But all she said was, “Let’s take another look.”

“Don’t I get a pass, since I already found a prize?”

“No.”

They switched sides, and reluctantly Evan plunged once more into the reeds. Half an hour later—they both went more slowly this time, zigzagging along the shore—they regrouped with Deputy Templeton on the far side. The only thing they’d gained was more scratches.

“Nothing, huh?” Templeton asked.

Addie opened the bag and showed him the bone. “We need your men to reopen this area as a crime scene. We’re looking for bone or wood that’s carved like this.”

The deputy whistled. “Those little marks . . . are they some kind of message from the killer?”

“Possibly. Can you get some people on it?”

“Sure.”

“And widen the search. Start with”—she turned in place—“a quarter-mile radius.”

“Can do. So what do those marks mean?”

“We’re working on that.”

“We also need to talk to the kid who found the body,” Evan said. “Tommy Snow.”

“Yeah?” The deputy ran a finger along his upper lip. “Good luck with that.”

Addie was sealing the paper bag with tape. “Was he pretty upset over finding the body?”

“Snow?” He shook his head. “He was more excited than distressed. He’s a weird one.”

“You keep saying that. What do you mean?”

“Other than the fact that he’s not much for hanging around people? He’s . . . well . . . you’ll see when you meet him. Tommy Snow likes dead things.”





CHAPTER 10


Evan stood next to Addie on the porch of the Snow residence, thinking about dead things while Addie rang the bell.

Inside, a television set fell silent. A moment later, the door opened, and a frazzled-looking fortysomething woman in jeans and a sweater stared out at them through the screen.

Addie said, “Mrs. Snow?”

“Yes?”

Addie held up her badge. “I’m Detective Bisset with the Chicago police, and this is our consultant Dr. Wilding. Is Tommy home?”

The woman’s pale eyes went wide. “Is Tommy in some sort of trouble?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Snow,” Addie said, sliding her badge back into her purse. “We just have a few questions for him.”

“Is this about that dead man he found?”

Addie gave an almost imperceptible sigh. She shifted her weight, bouncing on her toes. Evan watched as she resettled her features into a friendly expression.

Patience was not one of Addie’s virtues.

“If we could speak with him, that would be helpful.” Addie widened her smile. Evan, at least, found her irresistible. “Is he home?”

Mrs. Snow’s eyes toggled back and forth between Addie and a space over Evan’s head while her hand twitched on the door handle like a bird ready to take flight. Her nails were polished, her strawberry-blond hair cut in a fashionable bob. Diamond studs twinkled in her earlobes.

But her makeup couldn’t hide the shadows around her eyes.

What Evan could see of the newish cookie-cutter house beyond her was clean and tidy—a living room decorated in a soothing palette of blues and mauves. There was a gilt-framed mirror and an artful display of magazines. On a side table, a basket overflowed with artificial gourds and pine cones surrounding a wooden turkey—a nod toward the approaching Thanksgiving holiday. A bookmarked paperback novel lay on the sofa seat. The cover showed a woman swooning in the arms of a half-naked man.

It all added up to a woman for whom appearances mattered and who perhaps needed external organization to manage inward stress. She also liked a little escapism.

At least some of this no doubt related to her son.

Addie had parked down the street and run a background check on Tommy before they approached the house. Thomas Kevin Snow was nineteen. He’d graduated from James Madison High School the previous spring and lived at home with his mother while he attended a nearby community college. A glance through Madison High’s online yearbook and a quick study of Snow’s meager social media presence suggested he had few hobbies and fewer friends.

A photo of the offices of the Wellness Recovery Center on his Facebook account alluded to difficulties Tommy might be suffering. The center promised medication-driven treatment for a variety of disorders.

Evan, in his capacity as a Chicago PD consultant, had leaned an elbow on the console and read along with Addie. Then, while she’d moved to a closer parking spot, he’d stared at the house for a moment before tapping quickly into his phone. When Addie asked him what he was doing, he said, “Research.”

Now he gave Mrs. Snow a beatific smile. He considered his smile his best feature. After the thick curls of Wilding hair. And his emerald-bright eyes.

You had to run with what you had.

“Mrs. Snow, I noticed a dovecote in your side yard as we approached. I’m confident I saw a Luzon bleeding-heart among the ring-necked doves. Are those Tommy’s birds? The bleeding-hearts can be difficult to raise.”