River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(62)

She followed Route 611 and River Road to Parker’s cabin. Romy stuck her head out the open window, tongue hanging out and tail wagging, breathing in the fresh air, excited to be taking a road trip, although it was a short one. Becca took her time on the drive, unsure what she would say to Parker once she got there.

“What am I going to do, Romy?” She reached over to scratch the dog’s back. Romy swung her head inside the Jeep, licked Becca’s arm, before sticking her head back out the window.

Becca turned into Parker’s driveway. His car was gone, but she got out anyway. Romy sniffed the ground all along the path to Parker’s front door. Becca knocked and listened for any sound coming from inside, but all she heard was the occasional bird and the slow-moving river. She was hesitant to leave. Instead, she walked around back and headed down the steps to the dock. Romy raced in front of her, no doubt wanting to jump into the calm water below. Becca told her to stay.

“You can swim another day,” she said and remembered Parker had mentioned going to the farmers market in town every Wednesday and Saturday. She might be able to find him there. She folded her arms against the chill coming off the water. The sun was up, but the air was cool—a perfect autumn day. She wished she could just stay there forever, forget her troubles, for the world to go away.

She took a deep breath, then turned toward the stairs.



Delaware Drive was a bustle of activity. Tents lined the sidewalk, displaying all the usual suspects of autumn’s harvest. There were baskets of apples from the local orchard. A woman was handing out free samples of apple cider. Pumpkins and gourds were set on top of haystacks. Cornstalks were tied to signposts. A family of tourists dressed in jeans and white shirts made their way to the pedestrian bridge to have their picture taken with the river and mountains.

Becca pulled her Jeep in the first parking spot she could find in front of an old abandoned railroad car sitting alongside the tracks. She clipped the leash to Romy’s collar. Fallen leaves blew across the street along with pieces of straw. Everything about the market was exactly how Becca remembered it, and as she walked through the crowd, she stopped every few seconds to look around, to take it all in.

Two Harley-Davidson motorcycles were parked not far from the bridge. More motorcycles were parked farther down the street, closer to the alley that led to Sweeney’s. A couple of Scions stopped at the apple stand. One of the men, the one with a skull-and-devil’s-horns tattoo on his forearm, put a jug of apple cider on the sidewalk at his feet. The guy who sold him the cider said something. The Scion laughed. “I got that bear good,” he said and raised his arms as though he were holding a rifle. “Boom.” He lowered his arms, picked up the cider. “It won’t be eating anyone’s trash anymore, that’s for sure.”

A small boy tugged on Becca’s shirt sleeve. “Can I pet your dog?”

“Of course you can,” she said, a little distracted, searching the crowd for Parker. “She’s superfriendly.”

Romy licked the boy’s hand and face. The boy’s mother came over and asked Becca about Romy, saying they were thinking about getting a dog. Becca talked to the woman and her son for a few minutes, happy to answer their questions. While they were talking, she became aware of how much she missed the clinic and her job, how much easier her life always seemed to be when she was surrounded by animals.

When the woman and her son had moved on, Becca continued walking up the street. She made sure to keep a safe distance between herself and the Scions. They’d since moved to the soup stand, stopping to talk with the people waiting in line for pumpkin soup. It was as though they’d stepped out to mingle, a public relations effort to remind the townspeople they were there but they weren’t a threat, at least not to them.

Farther up the street, Parker was standing in front of a wagon full of pumpkins. He held a large oval pumpkin in his hands, turning it over as though he was inspecting it for flaws. Becca weaved through the crowd, Romy at her side.

“Hey,” she said, allowing enough slack in Romy’s leash to let her sniff Parker’s jeans. The dog nudged his leg with her nose for attention.

He glanced at Becca, keeping the pumpkin raised, then continued turning it around in his hands. “I’ll take this one,” he said to the attendant. “But hang on, I’m not done.” He put the pumpkin off to the side and petted Romy for a moment. Then he picked up another pumpkin, this one short and fat and round.

“You can’t ignore me forever.”

“Yes, I can,” he said, looking at the attendant. “I’ll take this one too.” He set it down and walked around the wagon.

She followed him. “I would’ve told you about Matt earlier.”

He turned toward her. “Then why didn’t you?” He crossed his arms in a defensive stance, squaring his shoulders and puffing out his chest. He used to stand in the same position along the sidelines of the football field. It was his game stance, his attempt at showing the other team how tough he was. She wasn’t sure it had ever worked.

“It never seemed like the right time.”

“You could’ve said something the other night.” He grabbed another pumpkin, harder than he should have, and knocked over several smaller pumpkins. “You let me go on and on, spilling my guts to you. Why didn’t you stop me and tell me then? Why did you let it go as far as it did? You made a fool out of me.”