Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(58)

“And yet after all that, you’re still in River Rock,” Aria reminded her.

“Yeah, I’m still here. Once I get the details from Chief Schneider and talk to a few more people, I’ll have no choice but to wrap this up and come home.”

“The sooner the better,” Aria said.

Sawyer sensed something in her sister’s voice. “Are you okay?”

“You have so much going on that I shouldn’t bother you with this, but Harper has been acting strange, and I’m worried about her.”

“Strange in what way?”

“You know how she always cleans, eats right, and makes time for yoga and meditation?”

“Yes. Go on.”

“She’s been leaving the house at odd times. Her yoga mat hasn’t moved from the basket in the family room. There’s never fresh fruit or anything to eat. When she is home, she looks exhausted, like she doesn’t sleep anymore. This morning I went over there, and the kitchen sink was piled high with dishes. That’s a first.”

Sawyer couldn’t help but smile. She’d only been gone a few days. “I’m sure Harper is fine.”

“Damn! I have more to tell you, but I have another call coming in from work. I’ve got to go.”

After she hung up, Sawyer got out of the car and walked toward the tree. Isabella Estrada.

Why had she been out here in the middle of nowhere?

Sawyer walked back to the area where she’d gone to last time. She’d completely forgotten about the tiny bit of fabric she’d found until now. She stuck her fingers into the back pocket of her jeans and remembered she’d been wearing her nicer slacks for the funeral. She’d have to search for it later.

Twigs crunched beneath her sneakers, and light struggled to reach the forest floor, instead tossing shadows all around her, making her nervous. The flattened area was still there. Nothing had changed.

Continuing on, shrubs and trees wherever she looked, she noticed one shrub that had distinctly broken branches. She walked that way. There were footprints, hardly any fallen leaves. Someone had been in this exact spot for a while. Maybe hours. Waiting. Watching. She crouched down until she could see right through a hole that had been made through the brush. She stared, tried to figure out what someone might have been looking at or for. Past a grouping of trees, she saw what looked like a path. She jumped back to her feet and slowly headed that way, taking note of broken branches and flattened earth where someone had stepped. Her heart hammered against her chest. She was following Isabella’s attacker’s same path. She was sure of it. She stopped when she reached a narrow trail. She knelt down where both sides of the trail had obviously been disturbed. There were divots in the earth where Sawyer imagined Isabella had tried to crawl away, grasping for a hold and finding none.

Who did this?

On her feet again, Sawyer decided to follow the path. She could go left, which would take her back toward the crime scene, or she could go right.

She went right.

Walking at a good, clipped pace, she kept her gaze on the meandering footpath ahead, looking for anything abnormal. The earth below her feet was damp and devoid of leaves. She’d been walking for at least five minutes when she heard the snap of a branch.

She stopped and listened.

A woodpecker sounded in the distance. A flutter of leaves fell to the ground to her left. Twigs and forest debris crunched nearby. She held her breath as she turned toward the sound and reached into her front pocket for her pepper spray. “Who’s there?”

Nothing.

She couldn’t stand there forever, so she took another three steps. This time when she heard the crunch of leaves somewhere behind her, she kept walking, quickened her pace, her thumb on the nozzle of pepper spray. Her heart raced. The footfalls became loud and pronounced, gaining ground. She stopped and turned around in time to see someone dart off and disappear behind a row of tall pines.

What the hell?

Something brushed up against her.

She screamed.

Shit! It was a dog. A golden retriever with floppy ears and a wagging tail. She was trying to read the tags when a line of people appeared on the trail ahead. She recognized the man in front as the gentleman who had spoken at Gramma’s funeral, the guy in the plaid suit who had talked about aging and how important it was to get moving.

She knelt down and gave the dog a proper greeting, rubbing the fur on his back and neck. “Good dog.”

“We heard a scream,” the leader of the pack said as he approached. “Did Frodo scare you?”

“It wasn’t the dog’s fault,” Sawyer said. “I was feeling a little skittish.”

“Understandable.” He looked around as the four men and women behind him came to a stop. “You probably shouldn’t be out here alone, especially after what happened to that young girl.”

“You’re right. If you don’t mind, I’ll follow you back toward my car,” she said, pointing. “It’s parked back that way in the direction you’re headed.”

He nodded.

She gestured toward the path behind him and his friends. “Does the path lead to the park?”

“Yessiree. Next time you want to go for a walk, come with us. We meet in front of the bear statue at nine thirty every day.”

“Ten thirty a.m. on Sundays,” someone in the group corrected.