River Bodies (Northampton County #1)
Karen Katchur
CHAPTER ONE
He was watching her.
Becca didn’t always have to see him to know that he was there. Sometimes she could just sense him, feel the weight of his stare, aware his eyes were on her as she ran the narrow trail along the river.
He knew her morning routine, timing it right to catch her as she passed by. Under ordinary circumstances, Becca would’ve found it creepy, if not alarming.
But she knew him. He was family. Although he was older than her by more than fifteen years, he’d been a part of her childhood, her adolescence, someone who had always been in the background of her life, as much a part of the scenery as the mountains and river.
This morning as she stopped to catch her breath, she spied him through the autumn trees. He was standing on the other side of the Delaware River, on what had also once been her side, the Pennsylvania side, where she had grown up in the small town of Portland. Now, she lived on the Jersey side, which on most days felt like a whole other country rather than a mere state away, a simple cast across the river.
She placed both hands on her hips, stared at him. He stood motionless a few feet from the rushing rapids. He didn’t attempt to communicate, not even so much as a raised hand. On any other day, she might’ve glanced in his direction, never slowing her pace, taking the path away from the river, cutting deeper into the woods, forgetting about him altogether. On this particular morning, she couldn’t say why she chose to stop and stare.
But she did.
She couldn’t look away.
It was as though there were some outside force at work pulling her toward him. She didn’t believe in coincidences, but rather she believed all things were tied together for one reason or another. And whether Becca liked it or not, she was tied to him.
She stepped closer, stopping two feet from the edge of the riverbank. Romy, her German shepherd, was alert, ears perked, the tips of her paws nearly touching the icy water. The river roared past, the sound of its raging rapids a constant white noise. Across the river the Blue Ridge Mountains loomed, the trees hemorrhaging red and orange leaves.
Becca took another step closer. Her sneakers sank in the mud. There was something in his hand, something small. She was mistaken. There was something on his hand, some kind of glove. He was wearing camouflage shirt and pants, the pants soaked to midthigh from wading in the water. But he didn’t fish. She knew this about him. No, he was a hunter. Her heart ricocheted inside her chest.
“I see you,” she called, but the river’s rapids drowned her voice.
He didn’t move. He continued watching her. Then, without warning, he turned and walked up the bank, disappeared behind the trees.
Becca lingered, an uneasy feeling working its way up her spine. It was getting late, and she had another two miles of trail to run before she would be home. She had to hurry if she was going to make her first appointment, with a golden retriever that she suspected had swallowed a large piece of a tennis ball. Still, she hesitated for a few seconds more. When she was certain he was gone, that he wasn’t coming back, she patted Romy’s head.
“Come on,” she said to the dog and took off for the trail once again.
She wound her way over the rocky terrain, careful to watch her step for fear of turning an ankle. She concentrated on her pace, finding rhythm in her legs, matching it with her breathing. The fury of the river’s rapids slowed to a hushed whisper. It wasn’t until she reached the pedestrian bridge, the one that crossed the Delaware River, that she stopped for a second time.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something floating in the water, something with mass. She looked around one of the cement columns, searching the now-calm water, so unlike the white water rapids tumbling over the rocks that made up the riverbed farther up the trail. She didn’t see anything, but something had been there. The uneasy feeling returned. If she walked out on the bridge, she was sure she could find out what it was. But Becca couldn’t bring herself to set one foot on the cement walk, nor could she place a single hand on the green metal rail. The thought of crossing over sent her pulse racing.
Whatever she thought she had seen made her anxious and uncomfortable. She talked herself down, telling herself she was being paranoid. It could’ve been a floating log, a thick, hefty branch. Maybe it was nothing more than a shadow playing tricks on her.
The sun was climbing higher in the sky. It was going to be a beautiful autumn day. She stretched her legs and raced toward home, Romy at her side. With each step, she told herself to forget all about it.
She had other concerns waiting for her.
Becca’s muscles loosened on the last mile home, and the displaced feeling, the disquiet she’d experienced, all but evaporated when she saw Matt’s sedan parked in the driveway. He was home. And wherever he had been the night before didn’t matter, or so she kept telling herself. His business often kept him in New York City long after the sun went down. Matt was a patent attorney, a litigator, a job that required more than a forty-hour workweek, and nagging him about the long hours he kept only pushed him further away.
She stepped through the door of their condo and kicked off her muddy sneakers. Romy darted for her water dish. The shower was running in the master bathroom.
Matt’s cat, Lucky, greeted her from the top of the kitchen counter. “You’re not supposed to be up here,” Becca said and scooped the cat into her arms, kissing the top of its furry head. Romy glanced at the two of them, then returned to drinking, too thirsty to compete for Becca’s attention.