River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(38)

At the thought of bears and wolves, Becca searched the wild grass, the weeds, all yellowing from the cool autumn air. A section looked to be stomped down, walked over repeatedly by several large animals.

She’d never been afraid of being alone in the woods before, but she sensed something strange in the air, something charged and not quite right. She listened for any sound. Other than the rushing rapids, all was quiet. A chill flitted across the back of her neck, making the hairs rise.

Romy was preoccupied with the scent of whatever or whoever trampled the ground. The dog lifted her head into the faint breeze, sniffed the air. Not far from where Romy stood, Becca spied a piece of yellow police tape dangling from the trunk of an oak tree.

She’d stumbled onto what was left of a crime scene. She took several cautious steps forward, approached the riverbank. Her thighs strained to keep her balance and control her forward momentum downhill. She came to a stop at the bottom near the water’s edge.

The rapids thundered by, the noise drowning out the sound of her own breathing, of Romy’s panting. She hesitated, not wanting to look but looking anyway, across the river to the Jersey side. She recognized the path she and Romy ran every morning, the path that curved toward the river where she would catch John watching her.

She was standing where he’d stood.

“Becca.”

She jumped, spun around. Parker was half walking, half sliding down the bank toward her. He was wearing his gray detective suit. The bottoms of his pants were dusty and dirty. His jacket flapped open, exposing his sidearm.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a loud, scolding tone.

“Romy and I were walking.” She had to shout to be heard over the rapids.

Parker shook his head as though he couldn’t believe the shit he had to deal with. “You have to go,” he shouted. “You can’t be here.”

“Why?” She batted a mosquito away from her ear.

“Because you can’t.”

She glanced across the river at the path she ran every morning.

“This is a crime scene, Becca. You and your dog have to leave.”

“It doesn’t look like a crime scene anymore.” The police tape hanging from the tree had been cut and no longer blocked off the area.

“Well, it is. It’s ongoing.” He rubbed his eyes. She’d been with him not three hours ago, and already she could see the wear of the day on his shoulders and in his face.

“What happened here? What’s going on?” She took a step closer to him.

He shook his head, refusing to answer her. He looked around, craned his neck as though he was listening for something.

“What’s going on?” she asked again.

“I told you before I can’t talk about the case.” He took her by the elbow. Romy danced around them as though she wanted in on their game. “You have to go now. I’ve got a team coming. They’ll be here any minute.”

“What team?”

“We’re dragging the river.” He tried to lead her back up the riverbank.

She pulled her arm away. They stared at one another. Becca saw concern in Parker’s eyes, worry, and something more, a dogged determination. Romy stopped jumping around their feet.

“What are you dragging the river for?” she asked.

The sound of voices drifted through the woods before drowning in the rapids.

“Just go home, Becca,” Parker said and walked away, making his way back up the bank.

She backed up slowly, taking hold of Romy’s collar and pulling the dog with her. She took off running. Romy raced ahead, thinking they were playing some kind of new game.

Becca ran upstream away from Parker, the police, and the spot along the river where John had stood. Her feet sank in the soft earth where the water met the shore. John was a Scion. She’d always known he was Scion. And she’d seen him by the river the day before the body had washed up against one of the bridge’s columns.

She raced on. Her legs and hips absorbed the pounding of her feet, her body taking in the shock. When it became too rocky at the water’s edge, she had to slow her pace so as not to fall. She turned and ran up the riverbank and into the woods. Romy ran several feet ahead of her, leaping over small shrubs, graceful and strong.

Fear chased Becca. Adrenaline pushed her forward. He’d been wearing nitrile gloves, hunting gear. The body in the river had been shot and gutted. Parker had to be searching the river for the murder weapon—a gun, a knife.

She darted around trees, jumping over roots and fallen limbs. She didn’t stop until she reached the path alongside the stream, the path to home. Romy slowed to a trot, panting. Becca’s cell phone went off in her pocket. She recognized the clinic’s ringtone.

“Hello,” she said, out of breath, her head buzzing from the exertion. Romy drank from the trickle of water at her feet.

“It’s Vicky. I wanted to let you know Maggie went home today.”

“That’s great.” Becca wiped her brow. The clinic. The golden retriever. Matt. Her thoughts were muddied. Parker. The crime scene. Her father. All of it tangled together in her mind. Nothing was clear. “That’s great,” she said again.

“Are you okay?” Vicky asked.

The trees tilted to the right. The ground swayed left. “I’m good,” she said. Her words echoed in her ears. “Thanks for letting me know about Maggie.” Romy lifted her head. Water dripped from her jowls. Becca’s vision blurred.