River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(33)

“Hell of a night,” her father said, which meant her mother was awake too. “The state police were all over my ass today. That’s why I’m so late getting home.”

Becca sat up, straining to hear.

Her mother didn’t respond.

“You know,” he said, “I always thought Russell and I were so different, that the only thing we shared was a mother. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe we’re more alike than I ever wanted to believe.”

“He’s in a motorcycle gang. You’re chief of police,” her mother said. “You couldn’t be more different.”

“I suppose,” he said. The mattress squeaked. It sounded as though her father had sat on the bed to take off his boots, get undressed. “But I did something today I thought I’d never do as chief.”

“What is it, Clint?” her mother asked. “What did you do?” Becca didn’t believe her mother was asking about his job or Russell or what the state police had wanted from him, but rather her mother was asking about the other woman she’d smelled in their bed.

“I can’t tell you. But if there’s any trouble, I mean if anything happens to me, I want you to know I did what I had to do. They left me no choice.”

“What are you talking about? Who left you no choice? What could happen to you? I don’t understand.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I can’t undo it. What’s done is done.” The new sheets rustled, clean and crisp and washed hours after her mother had yanked off the old ones in a fury.

In the next minute, her mother said, “Don’t touch me.”

Silence stretched. It continued to stretch far and long.

Becca’s eyelids grew heavy. She struggled to keep them open. It wasn’t until sometime later that she woke to the sound of her father’s pleas drifting down the hall.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Please,” he begged. “I promise it will never happen again.”

Her mother didn’t say anything, and Becca wondered if her mother believed him, or if she also knew that he was lying.





CHAPTER NINETEEN

Becca pulled her Jeep alongside Parker’s cabin and cut the lights. The sun lurked behind the horizon, not yet high enough in the sky to make an appearance. The more sensible people were tucked soundly in their beds with another hour or two of luxurious sleep ahead. Even Romy was curled in a ball on the floor in Becca’s room. But this was typical Parker, waking before the rest of the world, hoping to catch a big fat fish.

It was nice to know some things about him hadn’t changed. She hoped she would discover that a lot more about him had stayed the same, because what little she had seen of cop Parker she didn’t much like.

She stepped into the cool autumn air, followed the stone path that led to Parker’s front door. The cabin itself was covered in cedar shingles. Dark-green shutters framed the windows. His place looked to be straight from a fairy tale, warm and inviting. She stepped onto a recently swept porch, the broom propped against one of the two rocking chairs. The cushion on the chair closest to the door looked worn and used. The other cushion looked brand new, as though no one had ever sat on it. It was a sign Parker didn’t get much company. The thought made her sad and strangely happy. Maybe it meant he didn’t have anyone special in his life, or maybe it meant he didn’t invite a lot of people to visit him. He liked being alone almost as much as Becca did. And they both knew how to be alone, unlike most people Becca came into contact with. It was something they had in common.

Matt happened to be one of those people who preferred company. He sought out crowds, looked for reasons to be on display. He thrived on attention. She imagined it was another aspect of his personality that made him such a good litigator. She shuddered at the thought of standing in front of a courtroom and having everyone’s eyes and ears on her. The idea was terrifying. She pushed it away.

She knocked on the front door. She stood there waiting for what seemed like a long time. After another minute when he didn’t answer, she peeked in one of the windows, seeing only shadows of furniture in the dark. She knocked on the door again, but when there wasn’t an answer a second time, she made her way around to the back.

She stepped onto the deck. Wooden stairs led down the bank to the river. At the bottom of the steps, Parker stood on a large dock. His movements were fluid and relaxed as he cast his line and slowly reeled it in. He paused as though he was listening for something. He must’ve sensed he was being watched, turned to catch her looking down at him. For a moment neither one of them moved. When he raised his hand and waved, she skipped down the stairs to greet him.

“Where’s your pole?” He kept his eyes on the water as he cast the line a second time.

“I don’t have one.”

He raised an eyebrow. “There’s an extra one on the deck. Help yourself.”

She walked back up the stairs and found the fishing pole outside the back door, a chugger already tied to the line. It was a top water popper Parker used for catching largemouth bass. So bass it was.

Parker continued casting the line and reeling it in. Twice he had a bite but failed to hook the fish. He was using a chugger similar to the one he’d tied to the fishing line on her pole. They fished for a while in companionable silence.

The river was quiet, spreading out in front of them like a calm lake. Farther upstream the rapids crashed over the rocks at Dead Man’s Curve. But Parker’s cabin was far enough away from the noise and the fast-moving white water, making his home a prime piece of real estate.