The Naturalist (The Naturalist #1)(45)

“Look for something that didn’t happen?”

Amber makes a cross face. “You said you believed me.”

“I’ll say anything to get laid.”

“Asshole.” She stomps away. “That’s the problem around here, everyone is full of shit.”

It’s getting darker, and I’m beginning to think I should call it before things get too tense. Part of me is still afraid that this is all for show and I’m being set up for something. After my beating, the world looks a little different to me.

“Can’t you do some science shit?” Amber asks.

“It’s not like a magic power,” Devon sneers. “Maybe he’s got one of those CSI methane probes in his truck. Do you?”

“Not quite. I’m not a forensic technician . . .” My voice trails off as I think about what he just said.

I was looking for signs of Chelsea—clothing, a possession. Maybe hair on a branch or something from the killer.

The thought of looking for Chelsea herself never struck me.

I keep thinking it would be like Juniper’s murder scene, where she was found lying on the ground. What if Chelsea’s killer had a little more time to prepare or to clean things up?

If he didn’t take her with him and he didn’t leave her for dead, that would mean she’s buried somewhere around here.

There’s acres and acres of potential ground to cover and no way to search it in my lifetime.

But what if I do use some of my science powers?

“Are you okay?” Amber asks.

“He’s thinking,” Devon says. “Or getting ready to flip out and kill you.”

“Shut up.”

It hits me. “I know where to look.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX


BIODIVERSITY

“You’ve never been here before,” says Devon. “Or have you?” His hand goes toward his gun.

I get the sense he’s a very scared and jumpy kid trying to cover it up with this false bravado. “Relax. No. I just thought up some science shit. See that?” I point my flashlight at a leafy green plant with small white flowers. “That’s mallow-leaf ninebark. And that’s western meadow rue. Those are the droopy ones.”

“Do they grow over graves or something?” asks Amber.

“They grow over a lot of things.”

Devon is now interested and starts looking around with his light. “Here’s some ninebark.” He points to a patch of the plant. “Over here, too.”

“I found some, too,” says Amber.

I walk over to inspect what they’ve found. “Good. Good.”

“What do you want us to do?” asks Devon.

“Keep looking.”

After a few minutes he points out, “It’s everywhere.”

“The meadow rue, too,” adds Amber.

“I know. We’re doing a survey. You can tell the difference? Right?”

They both agree.

“Okay. We’re going to add another one.” I point to a white grass with tiny white flowers. “This is bear grass. Any time you see one of these, call out the name. Got it?”

“Is there going to be a prize?” Devon jokes.

“We’ll see. It’s only a guess.”

We spend the next half hour calling out the different plants as we spot them.

“Ninebark, bear grass,” Amber shouts.

I walk over to where she’s standing. It’s by the thick roots of a tree. “Keep going.”

I move us down the hill toward the small valley between the ridge on the side farthest from the road.

We keep within sight of one another. The calls are a little less frequent. I decide to give it a little longer.

“Ninebark, bear grass, and meadow rue. I hit the trifecta,” Devon exclaims. “Neat trick. Was this to keep our eyes on the ground?”

I rush over to him. “No. This was to see if we could find the three of them together.”

Sure enough, all the wild plants are represented here. He’s standing in a small flat area at the base of a steep incline. The hill is bare, with loose rocks poking through the soil.

It’s a great spot. Lots of erosion from uphill. Something buried here would only get deeper and deeper underground every time it rained.

Amber walks over to us. “Is one of these something that grows over dead people?” She doesn’t hide the dread in her voice.

“I couldn’t tell you what a dead body would cause to grow. Except maybe more of something if it was decaying quickly and fertilizing the plants near the surface.

“If it’s down deep, then I doubt it. This really is outside my area.”

Devon kicks at the plants with his foot. “So what are you looking for?”

“A sign that someone was here. That someone was digging in the dirt.”

“These plants are everywhere.” Devon pulls at some bear grass.

“Yes. But in how many other spots were all three here?”

“None.”

“Why?” I scan the ground for anything unusual. “Or rather, why aren’t they growing together elsewhere?”

“Because they don’t like each other,” Amber answers.

“Exactly. The plants create their own herbicides that kill off rival species. But it takes a while for one to win out.