River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(9)

But what John missed most about his wife was the easy rhythm of their days. Since she’d gone, he couldn’t settle his thoughts or find a routine. It was as though he was constantly wandering, searching for something, not realizing he was the one who was lost.

He was still thinking about Beth and watching the leaves burn when the sound of a motorcycle’s engine rumbled. In another moment Hap walked up behind him.

“Getting rid of the evidence?” Hap motioned toward the fire pit and smiled. Nothing amused Hap more than pulling one over on law enforcement.

“Nothing but ash now,” John said. Buried deep in the burning leaves was the sack with the young buck’s clothes.

“Your dad taught you well,” Hap said, put his hand on John’s shoulder. “He would’ve been proud of you. Damn proud.”

John nodded. He’d taken an oath to the club, the Scions, twenty years ago, and if there was one rule he lived by, the rule his old man, Russell, had drilled into him ever since he was a small boy, it was that he put the club before himself, always, even if it meant giving his life.

“How long do you think it will take before they connect this one with the other one?” John asked.

“Don’t worry. We’re covered,” Hap said, then added, “The boys are unloading a shipment as we speak.”

“Where?”

“Frank Lars’s place.”

John nodded.

They both stared at the fire pit, watched as wisps of smoke curled through the air, until nothing was left of the leaves or the clothes but ash.



John leaned against the side of Frank Lars’s farmhouse. A pickup truck was backed up to the front door. The guys were carrying duffel bags in, stomping through the kitchen to the trapdoor that led to the root cellar.

Hap and Frank stepped onto the porch. Hap pulled a large stack of hundred-dollar bills from his pocket, handed it to Frank.

“How long do you need to store them here?” Frank asked. He smelled like manure and a little bit of body odor, having spent the day working his dairy farm. In the barn, the cows fussed, mooed.

“A couple days,” Hap said. “Now that our little problem is solved, it shouldn’t be too long.”

A car approached, the headlights shining on the house, the porch, the men. It was a marked cruiser. One of Chief Toby Bryant’s captains stepped out, put his hat on as he made his way over to them.

“Everything okay here, Frank?” the captain asked.

“Everything’s just fine,” Frank said.

John stayed tucked in the shadows on the side of the house, not moving from his original position, as though he were unfazed by the captain’s presence. Underneath the leather cut, he could feel himself sweating.

“What can we help you with?” Hap asked.

“I was wondering if anybody here has seen a black bear hanging around the last few days?” the captain asked. “We think it’s coming down off the mountain. Some folks in town are complaining about trash cans being knocked over, rummaged through, that sort of thing.”

The guys standing behind the truck shook their heads. A couple of them muttered that they hadn’t seen it, barely pausing as they lifted more bags, carried them inside.

“Okay, well, give me a holler if you do,” the captain said.

Chitter pulled a rifle from a bag, one with a bump stock. He aimed it at the field. “Why don’t you let us take care of that bear for you.”

“That would be good of you.” The captain looked around, stared in John’s direction, paused. “Okay,” he said. “Let me know when you get it.” He tipped his hat, turned to go.

After the captain had gone and the last of the guns had been unloaded, Hap said, “How about a drink?”

John got on his bike, Hap on his hog. The men headed to Sweeney’s Bar.

If there was one thing John could use, it was a drink.





CHAPTER FIVE

Becca sat on the hardwood chair next to her father’s bed. The room was ripe with a medicinal smell. The heat was cranked up to the point of stifling. Romy lay just outside the door in the hall, her head resting on her paws.

Becca couldn’t bring herself to think about the reason she’d been summoned. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the shrunken man underneath the sheets and blankets. Instead, she looked at the white dresser her mother had picked out nearly two decades ago. The corners were scuffed where the vacuum cleaner had brushed against it. The knob on the lower drawer was missing. Overall, it wasn’t in bad shape, but to Becca there was something sad about it. The dresser faced the bed, a constant witness to the people who slept here, but Becca didn’t want to think about that either. She turned her head toward the window where the curtains drooped in the stagnant air.

Her father’s raspy breath came and went in spurts. The clock ticked off each painful second at a time. She stared at the water stain in the corner ceiling and a dangling paint chip that was certain to fall if there were the slightest breeze.

Her father’s lady friend, the label he’d given to all the women who’d come after Becca’s mother, was downstairs. Jackie had been his lady friend for a little less than two years, and she was fumbling around in what used to be Becca’s mother’s kitchen a long time ago, but not so long in Becca’s mind.

Becca rubbed the tops of her legs, smoothing the wrinkles on her jeans. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement under the sheets. She was pretty sure her father had moved his arm. He was waking up. Look at him, she told herself. Look at him, and stop being a coward.