by Mary Lindsey
Rain shook his head and swallowed the lump in his throat. It felt like he’d stepped into a horror movie as he moved farther in, the wind and his rasping breaths the only sounds.
Maybe he should wait until morning when the light was better. The dirt bike headlight wasn’t right for what he was doing.
Which was what, exactly? Turning the boat over. That’s all he needed to do. Gerald had said, Under the boat. And, Follow the body.
Body.
Surely there wasn’t a body under the boat. He took another step and shoved his phone in his pocket. Hans Burkhart’s body had been taken to a funeral home, according to the file Gerald had made available.
He took a deep breath through his nose. There’d probably still be an odor…unless the body had been buried in the dirt floor.
Wind lashed the shed, causing the corrugated panels to rattle and groan, and his heart rate skyrocketed.
Back in the city, he’d done a lot scarier shit than this, but he understood the city. This was different. Something about this town—these people—wasn’t right. The unknown was far more terrifying than the familiar. He wiped his hands on his jeans. He was tougher than this. Nut up, Ryland.
He shoved one of the rolling tool chests to the side, then cleared some boxes stacked around the boat to the edge of the space, making room to tip over the boat.
Whatever was under that boat wasn’t nearly as horrible as what Freddie was going through not knowing what happened to her dad, what might happen to her. And he liked her. Really liked her in a way that surprised him and caused him to do creepy shit like look for bodies in sheds at night.
With a deep breath, he leaned down and slipped his fingers under the edge of the boat, wind still moaning through the shed walls. With a grunt, he lifted, and…
Bam!
He fell to all fours reflexively in the pitch darkness, as he would if gunfire had broken out in his old neighborhood. His mind registered that the wind had simply slammed the door shut, but his body reacted as if he were under attack. More than once, his instincts had saved his life when his mind had found ways to explain away the situation, so he remained low to the ground for a moment.
Wind rattled the metal sheeting, and the door groaned, then slammed back open. He squinted in the headlight glow.
“Only the wind,” he said. This time, thank God, his body had been wrong.
Last time he was here, Ruby had propped the door with the cinderblock that hid the key, so he did the same, sliding it into place, then checking out the storage yard for good measure. It was a fenced lot in the middle of fields off a dirt road. As safe as safe could be. No gangs. No thugs casing it out. Nobody coming to jack him up. Just grass and wind and moonlight—and that unmistakable sensation of being watched.
“Hello?”
Only the wind answered. This place was screwing with his head.
“Whatever.”
He needed to just get on with it and get out. Now. Right now. Like ten minutes ago, now.
Just for good measure, he pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight.
The boat was wooden with chipped blue paint. Ruby was hand-painted in sloppy red letters.
“Ruby,” he read out loud. Maybe it was his aunt’s boat. No. People labeled gym clothes, not boats. This was the boat’s name. His aunt had said this was his dad’s stuff. Why would he name his boat “Ruby”?
He set the phone on a rolling tool chest, the light shining on the cobwebs clinging to the wood frame supporting the metal sheets that made up the roof overhead. “The shed. The boat. Follow the body,” he said in an almost chant, like it had run though his head since Gerald had first said it.
Again, he reached under the edge of the boat, breaths shallow, and lifted, rolling the boat over and upright with a crash. It rocked side to side twice, then stilled. For a moment, he stared at the bald dirt where it had rested, then he picked up the flashlight to see if there was evidence of digging. Nothing. Flat, smooth dirt. Nothing else.
He turned off his phone light. “Dammit!” he yelled. “Nothing.”
Nothing at all—which was better than a rotting body, he supposed. Still, he’d lied to Ruby about the test for nothing and was no closer to helping Freddie. Gerald had sent him on a goose chase. The asshole.
His phone rang, causing him to jump back and bang his elbow on a tool chest. It was his aunt.
He rubbed his elbow. Dammit. This was the last thing he needed. “Hey.” Gritting his teeth, he waited for the onslaught.
“You okay?”
No anger. No grilling. No “Where are you?” Nothing but concern in her voice.
And for some reason, that made his eyes burn and his throat itch. His whole life he’d bluffed and covered, and with two words, this woman cut to his heart. “Yeah. I, uh…” His mind raced through credible excuses for why he’d snuck out, ranging from: he needed to get the study guide from a kid in class to he was studying with a friend. Instead, he told the truth, which surprised him. “I’m at the shed. I needed to check something out.” He scrambled to figure out what he’d tell her he was checking out because looking for a body was not an over-the-phone topic.
“Okay. Just making sure you’re all right. See you when you get home.”
The call disconnected. No questions. He shook his head in disbelief. She trusted him. An adult. A cop. Trusted him.
A scratching sound, like a mouse or rat would make, came from the corner of the shed, and he turned on his flashlight again. As he swung the light toward the corner, something in the upturned boat caught his eye. Duct-taped to the bench seat in the boat was an envelope—the big brown kind like his school had put his records in every time he transferred. He hadn’t noticed it before because he had looked under the boat, not in it. The tape made an unnerving rip, pulling chunks of blue paint with it as he yanked it loose from the wood.
He shined the light on the front of the envelope. It was preprinted with the New Wurzburg Police Department logo. This must be what Gerald wanted him to find.
More scratching from the corner. He’d had enough of the creepy shed. His phone battery was running low anyway.
After rolling the boat over, he tucked the envelope under his arm and put the shed contents back like he’d found them, then locked up. Again, that feeling like he wasn’t alone oozed through him in a prickly wave. A scan of the lot and fields revealed nothing out of the ordinary.
He pulled the envelope from under his arm and held it in front of his headlight. He knew he should probably wait until he got home in good lighting and out of this creepy lot in the middle of nowhere, but his curiosity was out of control.
It was sealed with only a simple metal brad, which was good, because his heart raced and fingers shook. Again, he glanced around to check he was alone.
Large glossy photos were inside but nothing else. He held the small stack of photos up to the headlight. On top was a picture of a field of plants…vines strung on wires and what looked like someone leaning against them a few yards in the distance.
The second photograph revealed it wasn’t someone leaning against the vines in the first photo, it was someone tied to them. The shot was from the back, and the man’s head slumped down and over his right shoulder. His wrists were bound with zip ties to the thick wire supporting the vines, reminding Rain of the crucifix Ms. Gill had behind her desk at the shelter. Facing the guy tied to the wires were Chief Richter, a huge guy with gray hair, and Mrs. Ericksen.
“What the hell?” His breaths came in quick puffs as he realized these were probably pictures of Freddie’s dad. If so, she was right; he’d been murdered. The guy couldn’t have tied himself up like that.
Fingers trembling, he shifted the third and fourth photo to the top of the pile and tilted it to the light.
“Holy shit.” Holy, holy shit. Dropping the photos in the dirt, he backed away a few steps, mouth covered. Rain had seen some freaky shit in his day—bodies in dumpsters, the results of local gang blood-ins—but never, ever had
he seen anything like this. Shuffling a few steps farther from the picture, which thank God had landed facedown, he lowered his hand and took several huge gulps of air, but it wasn’t enough. Grabbing his knees, he leaned over and vomited on the dirt drive, wishing to hell he hadn’t opened that envelope. Hoping to heaven Freddie never saw it.
What if the killer does that to Freddie next?
He retched again, trying to push the image from his mind.
He couldn’t let her see those photos. Too much. Maybe that’s why they had kept it from her. Nobody deserved to see their dad like that. To see anyone like that. God.
Soon, his breathing and heart rate slowed.
What was he supposed to do with this information? Follow the body, Gerald had said. The body had been taken to a funeral home. Perhaps that’s where he’d start.
That niggling, eyes-on-him feeling was back, and he spun around to find no one. Time to listen to his instincts and get the hell out of here.
Without looking at them, he shoved the photos back in the envelope, stuffed it in his waistband, and pulled his shirt down over it, then got on his bike. The rev of the motor drowned out his hammering pulse. As he took the turn out of the lot, he shot a look back at the shed. Then stopped, feet hitting the gravel road with a crunch on either side of the bike.
From the far end of the building, a large brown dog with patches of missing fur stared back for a moment then disappeared into the brush.
He placed his hand over the envelope he’d shoved in the front of his shirt. “Whatever.”
Fifteen
Bleary-eyed, Rain shuffled down the stairs at the end of the school hallway. He hadn’t slept a minute last night, and the combination of exhaustion and horror had taken its toll. He’d gone back and forth between showing Freddie the photos and not telling her about them at least a hundred times. Hell, she might be a no-show again, and all the worry would be for nothing.
He rounded the corner to the math wing and stopped short. There she was, tilting her head as Grant whispered in her ear. Her cousins appeared furious, their faces grim and fists clenched. She pulled back and pointed a finger at the classroom. The boys reluctantly followed her direction, slinking away to class. Then she turned back to Grant, who was leaning against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the world. He crooked his finger, and she moved closer. Rain’s heart hammered when Grant reached for her, circling her neck beneath her hair. Rain’s body tensed, and it took all his restraint not to interrupt the embrace.
Grant pulled his hands away and put something in his shirt pocket, then removed a small box from his front pants pocket. He opened it, and she looked inside with no change of expression. Rain bit back a curse when Grant placed a gold chain from the box around her neck. Her reaction wasn’t typical for a girl receiving a gift. She simply walked away from him without a word, face expressionless, and went to class.
As if Grant could feel Rain’s stare, he turned to him, smiled, and gave him a thumbs-up.
That motherfu—
“Mr. Ryland. You’re going to be tardy,” Mr. Pratt said, tapping him on the shoulder as he passed.
Rain entered the classroom expecting Freddie to acknowledge him in some way or at least act guilty, but she didn’t even look up from her phone, so he walked the longer route to his chair, across the front of the room, stopping at her desk.
She remained focused on her screen. He cleared his throat.
“Keep walking,” was all she said, her voice flat and toneless.
He fought back a wince and took a deep breath, eyes locked on the gold chain of the necklace where it disappeared into her cleavage under her V-neck Death Eater T-shirt.
From several rows back, Thomas snickered.
Bad move, asshole. He met the guy’s gaze directly, and the snicker died out. At this point, Rain was itching for a fight. Exhausted and pissy, he’d been played, and he didn’t like it. She should have told him she was with Grant before she kissed him like that. Not that he’d take it back. No way. He just wouldn’t have gotten his hopes up for more. And then there was the issue of her dad. He shuddered at the memory of the photos.
“We need to talk,” he said.
She didn’t react, just moved colorful squares around on her screen. Merrick shifted uncomfortably in the desk next to hers while she acted like Rain didn’t exist.
He slid into his desk and spent the rest of the class period in turmoil. Maybe he should just turn the envelope over to her and let her find her father’s killer with Grant. No. Grant’s mom had been in that photo. She knew the man had been murdered, yet at the book club, she’d said it was a harvester accident. Rain fought back the urge to throw up again. Gerald had been right. That was no accident.
And Freddie had accepted a necklace from Grant, which got under Rain’s skin a lot more than it should have. But honestly, he had no right to be pissed. He’d asked about Thomas, not Grant. He’d never once asked if she was dating anyone else. Nor had she asked him.
She said going to his room had been a mistake—that it couldn’t happen again. Maybe because there was something brewing with Grant. Fine. Shit happens. He’d just do what he always did—wait and see. He needed to focus on what was important: Freddie’s safety and her father’s murder. He’d promised to help her, and he would. He could handle just being friends and not kissing again.
Yeah.
Right.
No way in hell…
The bell rang, and Freddie and her cousins headed straight for the door. No hassling or mooing at girls this time. Rain gave them a brief head start, hoping he could catch her at the lockers, and he did. Only Grant arrived first. Before he got close enough to hear what was said, Thomas charged Grant, who was not as big, but strong, as Rain knew from the bench workout. With a quick sidestep and little other effort, Grant pinned Thomas to the locker by the throat.
Rain expected Freddie to jump into the fray in her usual style, but she didn’t. She stood aside, expressionless, as Thomas’s face turned red, then purple.
“Stop,” Merrick said. “Please, Grant.”
He pulled his hand away, and Thomas slid down the lockers to a heap on the floor, clutching his throat and gasping.
“The agreement. The promise,” Thomas wheezed.
“Was among yourselves. We weren’t a part of it. The book overrides. You know that.” Grant took a deep breath, and his shoulders relaxed. “I’m sorry, Thomas. It would be a lot easier your way. There’s just no chance it’ll happen, even if Friederike wanted it.”
“She does.”
Freddie didn’t react, arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t seem herself. It was like she was zoned out or something.
“You’re delusional, dude.” Grant picked up his backpack. “So’s your old man. Don’t let him screw you over, Thomas. Things are changing fast. Keep up or you’re out.”
He turned his attention to Freddie. “It’ll be okay. The test won’t be for a while. I have a really good feeling about this one.” He touched her cheek with his fingertips, and she shook her head, as if to clear it.
“It’s cool, Freddie. We’re here,” Merrick said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Stay cool.”
Grant patted her head and strolled off toward the gym. Thomas struggled to his feet, studying her face, like Kurt and Merrick.
She shook her head again, then covered her face. “Go,” she ordered, lowering her hands. “Leave me alone. Go, all of you.”
And they did. The bell rang, and she didn’t move other than to pull the necklace out of her shirt and rub it.
“Hey.” Rain kept his voice soft, barely loud enough for her to hear.
She snapped her head in his direction, eyes brimming with tears. He recognized the hopeless, haunted look on her face because he’d worn it so many times himself. This girl was trapped by something or someone and needed help.
She held up a palm like a traffic cop. “Stay away from me.”
Of course, he did just the opposite, moving within inches
so that she had no option other than to deal with him.
“So…Grant?”
She looked to the side, then after a few deep breaths said, “Stay away from him, too.”
“I work for Ericksen Hardware. That’s going to be hard.”
“You do?”
He nodded.
“You need to quit.”
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Just….” Her breath was ragged. “Please go.”
“Let me help you.”
She laughed then. Threw her head back and laughed, almost maniacally. “I’m not the one who needs help, Aaron Ryland. You are.”
“Okay, then you help me.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do. Why can’t you let it go? Stay away from the Ericksens and stay away from me. Just do the safe thing and walk away.”
“Freddie, I’ve never been safe a single day in my life until I came here, and now you’re telling me I’m not, which just makes things status quo. Big fucking deal.” He hadn’t meant to raise his voice. He took a deep breath, then dropped his backpack and unzipped it. He ripped out a piece of paper, and, using a pencil he dug out of the bottom of the pack, scribbled his phone number. “I have information about your dad’s death. I’m not going to talk about it here and now.” He handed her the paper. “If you want to hear about it, call or shoot me a text, and we can meet up.”
He zipped his backpack and stood. “I’m not quitting my job, and I’m not going away.” He slung the pack over his shoulder. “I’m here to stay.” He gestured to the paper she clutched. “Use that number.”
He headed toward the gym but hit the back door instead. No way in hell was he going to track. He was likely to do something stupid to Grant, and the last thing he wanted right now was to draw attention to himself. Something was up with Freddie, and until he figured out what it was, he was going to lay low.
He was almost home when the text came: NW corner Haven. 9:00. It was the first time he’d smiled all day.