Whisper of Bones (Widow's Island #3)(4)

The mystery around Sam’s disappearance might have been decades old, but Tessa was just as determined to unravel it as she was to find Jason McCoy’s killer.





2


Later that afternoon, Logan stared through the passenger window of Tessa’s county-issued SUV.

“The body should be at the medical examiner’s office by now,” Tessa said.

The sheriff’s boat had transferred the body to Widow’s Island. Then the funeral home’s hearse handled transport to the medical examiner’s office on the mainland.

Tessa parked in front of Sarah McCoy’s mother’s little white house on the outskirts of the town of North Sound. The cottage faded from Logan’s vision. The corpse on the beach had brought back his time in Afghanistan. In his mind, all he could see were countless bloody bodies.

Including the child.

When he’d left the military a few months before, all he’d wanted was to come home to Widow’s Island and find peace—to forget the horrors he’d witnessed in the Middle East. But it seemed violence had followed him. There was no escape from the ugliness of the world, not even in the pristine wilderness of the state parks where he worked. If anything, his nightmares were worsening.

He blinked the memories away and glanced at Tessa in the driver’s seat, and a sense of calm settled over him.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe peace wasn’t found in a place. Maybe it was a person.

Maybe it’s Tessa.

She was his sister’s best friend. He’d known her his whole life, but he felt as if he hadn’t truly seen her until a few weeks ago.

She turned off the engine and reached for her vehicle door handle, her mouth set in a grim line that cracked his heart. Logan reached for her hand. Capturing it, he then gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.

The corners of her mouth turned up in a sad smile. “Death notifications are rough, especially in a suspicious death, where the person you’re notifying could also be the killer.”

“The cliché is true? The spouse is always the number one suspect?”

“Unfortunately.” She returned the squeeze of his fingers. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“You’re welcome. The body washed up in my jurisdiction. I feel like it’s my responsibility.” He also liked working with her. Watching her investigate a crime reminded Logan how smart and strong she was.

“Still.” Her eyes softened as they met his. “Thank you.”

Logan released her hand. The relationship developing between them had surprised him at first. But when he thought about it, their connection made sense in every possible way. Neither of them had had an easy life. His father had died when he was small, and his mother had eventually left Widow’s Island, leaving Logan and Cate to be raised by their grandmother. Thankfully, that grandmother was Jane Sutton. He couldn’t have asked for a better guardian, but Logan had still felt abandoned.

Sam’s disappearance and her mother’s illness had forced Tessa to mature at a young age too. A three-time widow, Tessa’s mother had been unstable long before she’d been diagnosed with dementia. Tessa had been raised with daily doses of harsh reality like other kids had been fed chewable vitamins. Her feet were planted firmly on the ground. He doubted she’d ever dreamed of moonlight and roses. They had so much in common. He could talk to her.

Tessa took a deep breath and opened her vehicle door. “Let’s go. I’m hoping Sarah hasn’t heard about her husband’s death through the grapevine yet.”

“Miracles happen.” Logan got out of the SUV and joined her on the driveway.

They walked to the door and knocked. A blonde woman in her late fifties opened the door. If she was trying to hide her age, she was doing the direct opposite. Heavy makeup caked in her crow’s-feet, and her bright-red lipstick highlighted the wrinkles that surrounded her mouth. She wore slim black pants, a sweater, and heels. Gold jewelry flashed on her fingers and wrists. Her eyes widened as she took in Tessa’s uniform. Then her gaze found Logan and raked over him like long fingernails. “Well, hello there.”

Logan nodded. “Ma’am.”

Tessa introduced herself and Logan. “Are you Mrs. McCoy?”

“No. I’m Tammi King.” Ms. King’s gaze shifted back to Tessa. “Sarah McCoy is my daughter. I’ll get her. Come on in.” She left the door open and turned away. “Sarah?” Her voice rose. “A deputy is here to see you.”

The house smelled of stale cigarette smoke. Unzipping his jacket, Logan followed Tessa into the small living room. The decor was circa 1990, heavy on the pickled oak furniture. Ms. King motioned toward a dark-pink sofa and overstuffed chair arranged in an L formation.

A woman in her early thirties entered the room. Like her mother, she was blonde and wore plenty of makeup and jewelry. “Can I help you?”

“Sarah McCoy?” Tessa asked.

At Sarah’s nod, Tessa moved toward the couch. “Why don’t we sit down?”

But Sarah didn’t move. Her gaze flickered between Tessa and Logan. “What’s wrong?”

She was either an excellent actress, or she hadn’t heard about her husband’s death.

Tessa didn’t drag it out. “Your husband is dead. I’m sorry for your loss.” Her voice was soft and full of sympathy, but her eyes were fixed intently on Sarah’s face as she waited for her reaction.