Bleeding Through
A Rachel Goddard Mystery
Sandra Parshall
www.SandraParshall.com
Poisoned Pen Press
Copyright © 2012 by Sandra Parshall
First E-book Edition 2012
ISBN: 9781615954124 epub
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
The historical characters and events portrayed in this book are inventions of the author or used fictitiously.
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Contents
Bleeding Through
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
More from this Author
Contact Us
Dedication
For the Essential Four:
Carol Baier, Cathrine Dubie, Jerry Parshall
and Emma
Acknowledgements
My thanks, as always, to my indefatigable critique partners, Carol Baier and Cat Dubie, for their honesty, insights, and encouragement.
My husband, Jerry Parshall, serves as a first reader and editor, but he is also an essential part of the planning and plotting process with every book. Sometimes I think his mind is even more twisted than my own. He also restores my confidence when I reach that inevitable point where I’m convinced the whole thing is hopeless and deserves a swift burial in an unmarked grave.
My editor, Barbara Peters, is quite simply brilliant. Thank you, Barbara, for pushing me to make every book the best it can be. I’m also grateful to the wonderful staff at Poisoned Pen Press for making publishing feel like a family project.
Dr. D.P. (Doug) Lyle, as always, has been a great source of information on any crime-related topic. I recommend his Writer’s Forensic Blog to anyone who aspires to write mysteries.
Thanks to the readers who let me use their pets in this book: Carolyn J. Rose (Max), Brenda Williamson (Lucky), and Mimi Stevens (Loki). I hope you’ll enjoy your little ones’ cameo roles.
I am grateful every day for my friends in Sisters in Crime, especially the Guppies and the Chessie Chapter. I love you all, and appreciate every pat on the back and every word of encouragement.
Hearing from readers and meeting them in person is always a pleasure, and often a rotten day is salvaged by a nice e-mail from a stranger who has just finished one of my books and wants to tell me she or he enjoyed it. Thank you for reading this book, and please let me know if you like it.
Epigraph
…when the wind begins to roar
It’s like a lion at your door
And when the door begins to crack
It’s like a stick across your back
And when your back begins to smart
It’s like a penknife in your heart
And when your heart begins to bleed
Then you are dead, and dead indeed.
—Old nursery rhyme
Chapter One
Two dozen teenagers tumbled out of the school bus and charged after Tom Bridger along the shoulder of the road, brandishing their litter spikes like warriors’ spears.
Rachel Goddard parked her Range Rover behind the bus and walked up to wait for the last student to emerge. A blast of chilly wind whipped her auburn hair across her eyes and prompted her to zip her fleece jacket and tug the collar around her neck. They’d started three hours ago with a perfect April morning, but now clouds towered overhead, dragging their dark shadows across the mountain that rose on one side of the road.
The silver-haired bus driver gestured to hurry his tardy passenger. After a moment, seventeen-year-old Megan Beecher emerged from the bus. Clutching a plastic trash bag in one hand, she dangled her litter spike from the other so that it banged against the steps as she descended. While the other kids disturbed the peace with a chorus of some abominable rap song, Megan’s pale face remained expressionless, her blue eyes blank.
“Are you okay?” Rachel laid a hand on her shoulder. Megan was a slight girl, several inches shorter than Rachel, and she’d lost so much weight in the last month that Rachel could feel her bones through her sweater. “I’ll drive you home right now if you’re ready to quit.”
Megan shook her head without meeting Rachel’s gaze. A long blond strand had worked loose from her hair band and fallen forward over one eye, but she seemed not to notice. Rachel almost raised a hand to tuck it back into place but caught herself in time to suppress the urge.
Why had she pushed the girl to join the litter cleanup? Megan, who planned to become a veterinarian, wanted to go to her Saturday morning job at Rachel’s animal hospital as usual, but Rachel had insisted that she get outdoors and take part in the annual civics project with other Mason County High School students. She’d seemed okay when they started, but she’d been fading all morning. Now, at their third stop, she had retreated so far into herself that she barely seemed aware of her surroundings.
As Rachel and Megan caught up, Tom halted and faced the group. Even when he was out of his deputy sheriff’s uniform and dressed in old jeans and a worn denim jacket, he looked like a cop, confident and authoritative. The boys treated him with respect. The girls, though…Rachel hadn’t missed the way they ran their eyes over Tom’s six-feet-plus of lean muscle, his strong features and olive skin, his thick black hair. He was trying so damned hard to ignore their flirtatious looks and smiles that Rachel didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. If he had the vanity to match his looks, she thought, he would be impossible to live with.
Tom waved a hand at the trash-strewn ravine that dropped down from the road. “Let’s see who can fill up a bag first before the rain starts. The winner gets a free burger for lunch.”
“What, no fries?” a gangly, freckle-faced boy as
ked. He flapped his trash bag until it caught the breeze and inflated like a balloon. “And how about something to drink?”
Tom laughed. “Negotiated like the son of a lawyer, Ansel. Okay, a free burger with fries and the drink of your choice.”
All the kids except Megan swarmed down the slope, whooping and yelling as they slid and stumbled, alternately using their poles for balance and for spearing trash they spotted on the way.
“Don’t they ever get tired?” Rachel said to Tom. She’d begun to think longingly of lunch and a place to sit down while she ate. “I hope all this exercise counteracts the cholesterol overload they’re headed for at lunchtime.”
“What, you don’t think they’d be eating junk without my encouragement?” They both watched Megan begin a slow descent, placing her feet with care and using her spike to steady herself. “Poor kid,” Tom said. “I thought this outing might do her some good.”
“I should have left her alone and let her go to work today. At least she enjoys that.” Rachel shook her head. “I can’t even imagine what it’s like for that family. Not knowing must be torture.”
“It’s been a month. They know.” Tom patted her back as if she were the one who needed consoling. “But without any proof, it’s hard to move on.”
The Beechers needed a body to bury, Rachel thought. They needed certainty, and a way to say goodbye to Megan’s older sister. A beautiful young woman, her adult life just beginning. Vanished.
A single raindrop landed on Rachel’s forehead and ran down her nose. Swiping it away, she said, “We’d better get busy.”
She and Tom pulled disposable gloves from their jacket pockets and tugged them on as they set off down the slope.
Rachel joined Megan and deposited the trash she picked up in Megan’s bag. The girl kept her distance from the other kids, who spread out under the darkening sky to harvest the bonanza of litter, racing each other to stab debris on the ground and tug plastic shopping bags from among the fresh new leaves on tree branches. They stomped on beer and soft drink cans and bottles to flatten them before tossing them into bags. Birds in the surrounding trees, silenced by the students’ noisy arrival, soon accepted their presence and resumed a spring chorus of chirps and whistles. A pair of large pileated woodpeckers swooped past the group at eye level, startling the teenagers into a very uncool fit of giggles. All except Megan, who didn’t bother to look up to see what caused the reaction.
A tall, skinny boy named Jarrett stood a few yards from Megan and Rachel, poking an old mattress with his spike. “Hey, Dr. Goddard,” he said with a grin, “want to help me wrestle this into my bag?”
Rachel shook her head in disgust. “Why on earth would anybody throw a mattress off the side of the road?”
“So they don’t have to pay at the landfill,” Jarrett said, as if pointing out what should be obvious. He frowned when something caught his attention. He leaned down for a closer look.
“Leave it alone,” Rachel told him. “It’s filthy. The guys on the county truck can pick it up when they come to collect our trash bags.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance and a few drops of rain struck her hair and shoulders. They would have to wrap it up soon. For now, she went back to work, plucking trash out of the leaf litter and tangled vines on the floor of the ravine.
“Oh, Captain Bridger,” one of the girls called out.
Her teasing tone made Rachel look around. A pretty girl with curly brown hair held up a campaign sign that read Tom Bridger for Sheriff. She smiled at Tom, twenty feet away. “Is this trash too?”
The kids nearby laughed.
“I guess my competition’s been down this road,” Tom said. “Now I know where all my signs are disappearing to.”
“Why don’t you take it home with you,” a smirking boy said to the girl, “and hang it on the wall next to your bed?”
“Well, I just might do that.”
The boys snickered. Rachel saw Tom roll his eyes in exasperation before he bent to pick up a couple of beer bottles.
Suppressing a smile, Rachel told the girl, “I’m sure we can give you a new one that hasn’t been lying out—”
“Dr. Goddard?” Jarrett called, his voice rising to an urgent pitch. “Captain?”
Rachel and Tom spun around. Using his litter pole, Jarrett had levered one edge of the mattress several inches off the ground. “There’s something real weird under there.”
Rachel and Tom exchanged a glance. Teenagers and drama. “What?” Rachel said. “Another dead possum?” The last one they’d stumbled across had set the girls to shrieking as if they’d come face to face with E.T. You’d think these kids, growing up in a rural mountain community, would be used to seeing the rotting carcasses of wild animals.
“I don’t think so.” Jarrett pushed the mattress up a couple more inches. “Oh, man. What is that? It’s too big to be an animal. And it’s got plastic around it.”
That brought the other boys running. Most of the girls followed, converging around the mattress.
Rachel edged through the clump of kids, expecting to find a dead pet or farm animal somebody had dumped out here. She crouched to examine the partially exposed object.
For a moment her mind went blank, refusing to register what lay before her. Then with a shock she realized what she was seeing. Her throat tightened with nausea and she felt the blood drain from her head. She wobbled and had to brace herself with a hand flat on the ground. Unable to look away, she called out, “Tom? Where are you?”
“I’m right here.” He’d moved close enough to startle her.
Rachel rose and stumbled back as Tom peered under the mattress. Jarrett still held it up, but his pole trembled in his hands.
“Jesus Christ.” Tom caught the side of the mattress and shoved it off to reveal a body wrapped in plastic sheeting.
Gasps and strangled cries escaped from the gathered teenagers.
Fat raindrops splattered the plastic.
Oh my god, no, Rachel thought. She couldn’t let Megan see this. She jerked her head around, searching for the girl.
“Okay, you’re done here,” Tom told the teenagers. “Get back up to the road.”
Nobody moved. Riveted by the scene in front of them, the kids didn’t seem to hear a word he said.
“Go,” Tom said. “Now.” He stepped forward, gesturing, forcing them to shuffle away.
When Megan Beecher slipped past the retreating students, Rachel grabbed her. “No, Megan, don’t. Stay back.”
Megan strained against Rachel’s grip, her eyes pinned on the thing lying at their feet. Her hands curled into fists. Her cry began as a low moan, torn from deep inside her, and it rose and swelled into a wail that echoed through the ravine. The other teens froze, their faces contorted by fear and horror at what they were witnessing.
Megan sagged into Rachel’s arms, gulped and burst into sobs. “Shelley,” she gasped. “It’s Shelley. It’s my sister.”
Chapter Two
When they heard Shelley’s name, the students crowded around again, mouths agape. Suddenly half a dozen were holding cell phones aloft as they jostled each other to get the best angles for pictures of the body in its plastic cocoon.
Tom swore under his breath. “Get back up to the road and on your bus,” he ordered. “I need this area cleared. No pictures, for god’s sake.”
Megan sobbed in Rachel’s arms. Some of the other girls began crying, their litter spikes abandoned on the ground.
“It’s really her, isn’t it?” Jarrett stared, pale-faced, at what he’d uncovered. “She must have been murdered, right?”
“What’s she doing here?” the freckle-faced son of a lawyer asked. “I mean, she disappeared in Fairfax County, didn’t she? Do you think—”
“What I think is that you need to show a little consideration for Megan,” Tom said.
The boy glanced at Megan and ducked his head. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Now go on,” Tom said. “All of you.”
They
moved off reluctantly, glancing back over their shoulders as they climbed the slope. When thunder cracked directly overhead and the sparse raindrops turned to a steady drizzle, they picked up speed and scrambled for the shelter of the bus.
“I need to go up to the road to call in,” Tom told Rachel. “I can’t get a cell signal down here. I’ll have to wait for backup before I can take Megan home and talk to her parents. Why don’t the two of you get out of the rain?” All he needed was a storm, washing away trace evidence, reducing the crime scene to a muddy mess.
“Come on,” Rachel said to Megan. “Let’s go wait for Tom in my car.” Rachel looked shaken, but she kept her voice steady and Tom knew he could count on her to stay calm for the girl’s sake.
“No!” Megan tried to squirm free. “I can’t leave Shelley down here all by herself.”
Rachel held on, both arms around Megan. “We have to let the police do their job. And we have to take you home to your mom and dad. You need to be with them now.”
Tom helped Rachel get the girl up the slope. One on each side, they kept her on her feet when she stumbled over rocks and roots and tugged her forward when she tried to turn back to her sister.
The students had boarded the bus, but half of them clustered on the side overlooking the ravine, some sticking their cell phones through open windows to snap more pictures. The driver stood in the doorway, looking confused. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked when he spotted Tom.
“Get them out of here.” Tom was sure they were spreading news of the discovery by text and e-mail, and he was afraid Shelley’s parents would find out through gossip before he was able to talk to them face to face.
“Settle down, you guys!” the driver yelled at the students. He slammed the door shut, slid behind the wheel and revved the engine.
While Rachel guided Megan into the back seat of her Range Rover, Tom dug his cell phone out of his shirt pocket. He ordered dispatch to call in all off-duty deputies. He made a second call to Sergeant Dennis Murray, asking him to pick up Daniel Beecher from his job at the McKendrick horse farm and drive him home. Next Tom phoned Dr. Gretchen Lauter, the county’s medical examiner, and finally the State Police, to request a crime scene investigator.
Bleeding Through: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) Page 1