The Wrong Bones (Widow's Island #10)(2)

A three-quarter moon shone from the clear sky. As she walked, she listened for sounds beneath the usual buzzing of insects. A gravel lane divided the cemetery into sections and provided access for hearses and heavy equipment. Headstones, monuments, and benches decorated each area.

As she neared the center, she paused and strained her ears. She sensed motion ahead and heard the scrape of a shovel through dirt.

Any doubt she’d had about the kids’ story evaporated. Tessa eased around an obelisk. Three rows of headstones separated her from a dark-clothed figure that stood a few feet below the earth. A grave robber in Widow’s? That was a first.

The intruder wore dark, baggy clothes and a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. He—or she—inserted the shovel into the ground and flung dirt out of the grave. Tessa eased forward, trying to get closer before the grave robber saw her. Her boot crunched on gravel. The figure stiffened and turned. With the hood raised, Tessa could see only blackness where the face should have been. The effect was eerie. No wonder the kids had been scared.

Tessa aimed her flashlight, clicked it on, and shouted, “Freeze! Sheriff’s department!”

Instead of freezing, the figure spun away from the light, leaped out of the grave like a gazelle, and bolted between two tall headstones. They snatched a rectangular object, maybe a box, from the grass and raced away with it clutched in their arms.

Tessa was armed but wouldn’t open fire unless she was faced with a life-or-death situation. She did not see a weapon on the fleeing person, which meant she had only one option: give chase. As much as she loved hiking, running sucked.

Damn.

Tessa sprinted after the figure. Her hand went to her cell phone. She speed-dialed Logan. “I’m in pursuit of suspect, on foot, traveling north toward the back entrance of Bishop State Park.”

“I’m on my way,” Logan responded, his voice tense. “ETA four minutes.”

Tessa ended the call and saved her breath for running. Darting between a giant angel and a stone bench, she caught a quick glimpse of the suspect racing between two statues. She increased her speed. With the suspect carrying what appeared to be a box, Tessa knew she should be able to catch up.

She dug the balls of her feet into the earth to run faster. The toe of her boot caught, sending her sprawling face first. She flung out her hands to break her fall and landed on her belly, the air whooshing from her lungs. Her chin scraped on the ground, her teeth snapped together, and her knees struck something unforgiving: the flat grave marker she’d tripped over.

After clambering to her feet, she started running again. Her quarry had gained ground and was nearing the four-foot-tall black fence that surrounded the cemetery. Tessa ran faster, ignoring her screaming lungs and burning thigh muscles, closing the gap between them. She could still catch up. The suspect would not be able to climb the fence while carrying a box. As if reading Tessa’s mind, the suspect glanced over their shoulder.

Tessa pumped her arms. She was only thirty or so feet behind now.

The suspect dropped the box, took two additional long strides, and vaulted over the low fence. Tessa wasn’t tall enough to clear the fence in a vault. She stopped and scrambled over, then broke into a run across the grass. But the suspect had drawn away. Regular hiking kept her fit, but her suspect was faster. Deep woods sat on the other side of a meadow the size of a football field.

By the time Tessa arrived at the edge of the trees, there was no sign of her suspect. She slowed to a stop. Bending at the waist, she rested her hands on her thighs and gasped for air. She swept the beam of her flashlight across the ground. No footprints.

Where would they go? She conjured up a mental map of the area. If the suspect turned left, they’d emerge from the woods near Orcas Road. If they continued straight, they’d run into Bishop State Park.

Headlights swept across the meadow, and Tessa recognized Logan’s battered Range Rover. It bounced across the ground and stopped next to her. Logan, still in his dark-green Washington State Forest Ranger uniform, stepped out of the SUV. “Which way did he go?”

She waved toward the woods.

Logan scanned the ground with his own flashlight. “The ground is too dry here for footprints.”

“Yes,” Tessa agreed.

In the near distance, a high-pitched engine started up.

Logan’s head cocked. “Dirt bike or quad.”

“Shit.” Tessa stared into the darkness of the forest. They didn’t stand a chance of catching the culprit tonight.

Logan sighed. “Tomorrow, I’ll hike into the forest and look for tracks.”

“I’ll go with you.” She gave him a rundown of the chase. “The suspect dropped the box near the fence.”

Logan shone his light at her uniform. Tessa glanced down. Grass stains streaked her uniform.

He frowned. “You’re okay?”

She brushed dirt off her sleeve. “I’m fine.”

He shook his head. “Let’s go see what was in the box.” He gave her a ride back to the cemetery fence.

Tired, she hoisted herself back over the fence with far less grace than the first adrenaline-fueled climb. Tall and still army ranger fit, Logan hopped the fence with little effort. Tessa used her flashlight to search the weeds for the box the suspect had dropped.

She spotted a cardboard box in the shadow of a neighboring headstone. Tessa walked to it. Crouching, she opened the flap and shone the beam of her flashlight inside. A human skull stared back at her.