The Last Thing She Ever Did(68)

Liz was in a storm of her own making, and she knew it.

And there was the road. She pulled off the highway and followed the paved portion to the section of gravel, slowing down near the stand of junipers. Even though the sun beat down and covered the field with flat, even light, she was absolutely sure that she was in the right place. She parked.

Charlie’s body was a magnet. It was drawing her close. She could almost imagine that he was calling out to her, not in anger, but in the hope that she’d come to him.

That she’d bring him home.

Liz turned off the ignition, swung the car door open, and breathed in the air. It was rugged and scenic, and as far as a final resting place could be imagined, it was beautiful. She looked up and down the road. She was alone. She supported herself on the RAV4’s hood. Owen would kill her if he knew she was there. She started this. She’d set it all in motion. She had to know why the boy’s body had not been found. She couldn’t wait for things to just happen. She couldn’t stand another second of looking into Carole’s hopeful eyes when she knew that Charlie was dead. There was wrong and there was immoral. And beyond that? That’s where Liz had wandered. The path she was on was so dark and twisted she’d never be able to find her way out. A million lies could never cover the blackness of her heart.

She started down the incline toward the junipers.

“Hey, you!” a man’s voice called out.

Liz spun around, the air leaving her lungs in a gasp.

A man on horseback was approaching her. He had bright blue eyes, white hair, and a mustache. If he were heavier and had a beard, he’d be a department store Santa. If he were younger, a tobacco-company cowboy.

“What are you doing on my land, lady?” he said.

“Arrowheads, sir.” Her grandfather had taken her and Jimmy out to hunt arrowheads in the high desert one time, and the memory had snapped to the front of her mind. “I thought I’d look around.”

The rancher got off his horse. “Thought you were one of those damn geocachers. They come out here like they own the place. Which they don’t. I do. Land’s been picked over for arrowheads. Doubt you’d find any even if I gave you permission to hunt here. Which I’m not. Seeing how you didn’t ask me anyway.”

If Liz had had an arrowhead, she would have stabbed herself in the heart with it.

“Sorry,” she said. “I was just driving home and, I don’t know, I just thought about it. Something my family did years ago.”

He nodded slightly at that, looked around them, and showed the first hint of a smile. “Mine too.”

Then he drew up and scowled. “Shit,” he said. He was looking over at the grove of junipers. “Looks like someone’s been camping here.”

Liz’s heart hit the parched ground. She’d only wanted to know if animals had scattered Charlie’s remains. Now she was there with a man on a horse, and his curiosity was drawing him to a place he might not have visited for a very long time. Now she was going to have to react. She would need to explain why she was there in the first place. Hunting arrowheads would never work. She knew the victim. He had lived next door. It would take the world’s worst detective about ten seconds to turn a purported coincidence into an accusation.

She stood immobile as the rancher went to where Owen had placed Charlie.

“Damn those kids,” the man said. “Come out here to drink and think nothing of leaving a big mess. Out here because there’s no house for miles and they think no one gives a crap. But I tell you, we folks out here do.”

He bent down and tugged at something.

“Oh, God,” Liz cried out. “What is it? What did you find?”

The man with the white hair and the wizened face glanced over his shoulder. “Simmer down, girl. Just some trash. Empty beer carton.” He looked around and made a funny face. “Strange that there’s no bottles or food wrappers.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Nope,” he said. “Just trash.”

Liz turned away from the man. She felt dizzy. She needed water.

“I’m sorry about looking for arrowheads without asking,” she said, still unable to meet his gaze.

“No problem,” he said.

As Liz got into her car, he called over to her.

“Hey, you can come by and hunt anytime,” he said.



Liz sat in the living room drinking more wine than she should while she waited for Owen to get home. Carole had come and gone throughout the day. Home. To the police station. To check to see if posters were still up.

Liz stared at her phone, waiting without much hope for him to respond to her innocuous text.

Liz: Looking forward to tonight!

She didn’t know what else to say. He’d told her to be careful, and she was doing just that. Yet she’d done exactly what he would have never wanted her to do. She’d returned to the dump site. She thought of Poe’s story “The Tell-Tale Heart” and was certain that she’d fallen victim to her own paranoia. She’d literally returned to the scene of the crime. Even criminals on the most stupid reality shows knew better.

The front door swung open, and Owen, wearing a new suit and tie, came inside. She hadn’t seen him leave in the morning. She didn’t even know he had a new suit or why he’d wear one in the first place.