River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(35)

Parker looked stunned. “Jeez, Becca, when did you become so paranoid?”

It was her turn to feel stunned. Was she being paranoid? Had living with Matt all these years made her suspicious of everyone? Or had that been her father’s doing?

Parker stood and grabbed his fishing pole. “I have to get to work,” he said. “You can stay here as long as you want. The view is spectacular, if I do say so myself. Or not. It’s up to you.” He turned and scaled the stairs with his long, strong legs, leaving her alone on the dock.





CHAPTER TWENTY

John drove his motorcycle alongside Hap’s hog. The bikes’ engines were thunderous in the quiet hours of the early morning, but John wasn’t concerned about waking the people in town. The locals were accustomed to the sound of their bikes. He imagined most would sleep through the noise; others might stir only to roll over, forget what they’d heard.

They continued on Delaware Drive, turning left onto Turkey Ridge Road. The sun was peeking over the mountain, casting long shadows on the macadam. They were headed to Saddle Creek Road at the northern end of town, passing a smattering of houses along the way, a mix of stately homes with long elaborate driveways tucked deep into the woods, paired with the odd couplings of trailers stacked on cinder blocks, most abandoned, some that were not.

They rode up and over a one-lane bridge. John’s stomach lifted and dropped as though he were riding on one of the small roller coasters at the town fair where his mother had taken him when he’d been a boy. He hadn’t thought about his mother in a long time. She’d been a good mom as far as he could tell, making sure he’d been bathed and fed, buying him ice cream, taking him on rides. But she had her moments when she’d been sharp and hard, a tough love kind of woman.

Then again, the same could be said for most of the old ladies in the club. You had to have a thick skin, a roughness about you to withstand the kind of hard-core lifestyle the members adhered to. The club had rules, some of them unfavorable to a woman’s point of view, like the strippers and sweeties made available to all members whether the members were married or not. Rules were followed or punishment was fierce. There were no exceptions.

John leaned with the bike, taking a sharp curve before turning into the driveway of a two-story home. The white siding was faded and the shutters in need of repair. The paint on the picket fence was cracked and chipped. John supposed the police chief’s salary wasn’t all that much, considering.

He pulled his motorcycle next to Hap’s hog and cut the engine. Immediately, John missed the vibration, the rumble, the power of the engine between his legs. He got off his bike reluctantly and removed his helmet before following Hap onto the front porch. Hap knocked twice on the screen door. He turned to John and said, “He had to hear us pull up.”

John had an image of Toby answering with a rifle aimed at their chests. He grabbed Hap’s arm, pulled him out of harm’s way.

Hap shook him off, knocked again.

A shuffling sound came from inside, and in the next second, the door flew open. Toby stood behind the screen, wearing an old pair of work pants, the fly and button undone. He was shirtless. His chest sagged and looked like what some of the girls at the club had described as man boobs. His cropped hair stood up in the back of his head.

“What can I do for you boys?” Toby asked.

John sensed fear in Toby. He was no Chief Clint Kingsley, that was for sure. John wondered if Toby had it in him to do what they were about to ask of him.

“We need a favor,” Hap said.

Toby’s wife walked into the room behind him. She was short and round and wearing a dingy yellow robe. “Toby, honey, who is it?” She pulled the collar of the robe tight around her neck.

Toby turned his head and said, “Go on back to bed, Mary. It’s nothing for you to be concerned about.” He stepped onto the porch, closed the front door behind him.

John leaned against the railing. Hap stood next to him, a little more hunched over than usual. The old man looked tired, the stress of the last few days weighing on him and the club. Toby crossed his arms and looked back and forth between them. He was short for a cop, for a chief, John thought. Short and shaped like a doughnut. He wasn’t exactly emanating a position of authority. The zipper and button of his pants hanging open wasn’t helping the image. John felt another pinch of doubt rising up in him, his confidence that Toby would be up to the task slipping away as each second passed.

“I don’t like you coming to my home,” Toby said, puffing up his flabby chest. “Whatever this is about can be handled down at the station.”

“No,” Hap said. “I’m afraid it can’t. Walls have ears. And you don’t want anyone to hear what we have to say. Zip up, man.” He pointed below Toby’s waistline.

Toby looked down, embarrassed. He quickly zipped and buttoned his pants. “What’s this about? I don’t want to hear it has anything to do with that guy we pulled from the river.”

“I’m afraid it might,” Hap said.

Toby took a small step backward. “Shit,” he said and ran his hand down his face.

“What do you know about it?” Hap asked.

“Not much. The staties took it over the second they heard about it.”

“Why? What did they find?” Hap asked.

Toby snorted. “You want me to tell you what evidence they have?” He was shaking his head. “They don’t tell me much, that’s for sure. Once they take over, I’m out of the loop. And Parker—Detective Reed, that is—he might be one of us.” He meant a local. “But that’s not going to matter much. These kids today aren’t like us, loyal to our own town, if you know what I mean.”