River Bodies (Northampton County Book 1)

by Karen Katchur

  The person her father had interviewed hadn’t wanted to be identified, and maybe that had been the reason why her father had buried the interview. But Becca believed there had been another reason, a more threatening concern that had been much closer to home. The shadows that had been lurking, swirling around in the dark corners of her memory, became crisper, clearer, in the form of a blood-stained blue hooded sweatshirt in a barn at the killer’s feet.

  “Becca,” Matt called from the top of the basement stairs.

  She jumped. Her hand flew to her chest where her heart raced. “I’ll be up in a minute.” She folded the sheet of paper with her father’s sloppy handwriting into a small square and shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans.

  Matt started down the steps.

  “I’m coming. I’ll be right there.” She stuffed the other papers, marriage certificate and divorce papers, truck title and house deed, back into the lockbox and pushed it under the desk, making sure to put the box of girly magazines in front of it. She stood and spun around as Matt reached the bottom step.

  “Holy shit,” he said, looking around at the inventory of lawn-care chemicals and supplies. “Your dad wasn’t messing around.”

  “He took his grass very seriously,” she said and wound her way to the steps, stopped in front of him.

  “Did something happen?” he asked. “You look upset.”

  “No, it’s . . . I’m fine. It was a spider. It startled me.”

  “Do you want me to kill it?” He looked over her shoulder.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said. She had to get the focus away from her, put it on him. “I saw you on the mower. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to be helpful.” He smiled his perfect smile. “Although I did have an ulterior motive.” He pushed her short hair across her forehead. “I thought if I could make myself useful, you’d want me to stick around. But it appears my good intentions have been wasted. I got another call from the office.” He hesitated, and she noticed he couldn’t meet her eye. “It doesn’t matter, except that my client isn’t happy, and I have to go.”

  “Oh.” It was all she could think to say. He had to go, and she had one less thing to deal with.

  He took her hands in his. “I’m sorry. I really wanted to stay, but I have to handle this. Promise me you’ll come home soon.”

  “Hey, you two.” Jackie was standing at the top of the stairs with the phone still in her hand. “Could you come up here?”

  There was something in Jackie’s voice that had Becca racing up the steps.

  Jackie held the phone to her chest, covering the receiver, when Becca and Matt came up from the basement. She said to Becca, “Could you check on your dad? He’s been awfully quiet up there, and I’m worried. I’m finally making some headway with the insurance company, and I don’t want to have to hang up on them now.”

  Becca motioned to the pile of medical bills. “Is there a problem?”

  Jackie shook her head, and at the same time she said, “Yes, I’m still here,” to whoever was on the other end of the phone. She motioned for Becca to head upstairs to her father’s bedroom.

  Becca walked out of the kitchen. Matt followed her.

  “Do you need my help?” he asked.

  “No, I can handle it.”

  “But shouldn’t I come with you? Don’t you think it’s about time I meet him?”

  “Not now,” she said.

  “Then when? It’s not like we have a whole lot of time here.”

  “That was insensitive.”

  “I didn’t mean it to be.”

  “Look, I have to get upstairs to my dad. Can we talk about this later? And besides, I thought you had to leave?”

  “I do have to go. I’ve got a car service coming to my place in an hour. Our place,” he corrected.

  Right, our place, she thought. How strange it sounded, but she couldn’t think about that now. He leaned in to kiss her. She turned her head, and his lips landed on her cheek instead. He looked surprised, but he turned to go without saying a word about it.

  Becca made her way to her father’s bedroom, touching the folded sheet of paper in her back pocket before opening the door.

  He wasn’t moving, but it wouldn’t be so unusual if he were sleeping. She approached his bed one small step at a time. Don’t leave me now, she said silently. He opened his eyes when she reached his side. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’m checking in on you.” She pulled a blanket up around his shoulders. “Do you need anything?”

  He grimaced and writhed. It must be time for his pain medication. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since Jackie had given him anything.

  “I’ll check if it’s time for your meds,” she said and turned to go but stopped. She pulled the folded sheet of paper from her pocket. She had to ask him about it. Matt was right about one thing: she was running out of time. She unfolded the paper and held it up for her father to see. “I found this.”

  His eyes opened wide.

  “I know what it is,” she said. “I think I know why you didn’t want me to say anything.”

  He twisted and turned, pulling at the blanket and sheets, agitated and wincing in pain.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Please. “We’ll talk later. I’ll go get Jackie. I’ll get your meds.” She folded the sheet of paper and shoved it back into her pocket as she hurried out of the room. She paused in the hallway, her hand at her throat. She hadn’t meant to upset him. But how was she supposed to find out the truth?

  Becca rushed into the kitchen as Jackie hung up the phone. “What’s wrong?” Jackie asked.

  “He’s in a lot of pain.”

  A loud thump came from upstairs. Both Jackie and Becca stared at each other before running for the stairs. Becca was the first to reach her father’s room, finding him on the floor at the foot of the bed. Jackie ran in behind her and gasped.

  They crouched on either side of him.

  “How in the world did that happen?” Jackie asked. The hospital bed’s rails were up.

  They tried lifting him to his feet. He made a moaning sound.

  “Can you stand?” Jackie asked and then mumbled, “That was a stupid question.” To Becca she said, “Put the rail down. Then grab his legs. We’re going to have to lift him.”

  Becca did as she was told and put the bed rail down before lifting his legs while Jackie slipped her hands underneath his arms. He was heavy, considering he was all bones. They were lifting dead weight, Becca thought, then pushed it out of her mind.

  “Easy. Easy.” Perspiration covered Jackie’s upper lip.

  Becca’s father continued moaning, a deep, guttural sound that had a frightening effect on both women. They got him onto the bed a little crooked, but he was on far enough that Becca could put the rail back up. Jackie wiped her upper lip with the back of her arm.

  Becca’s father curled into a fetal position. He looked small and childlike. His body position seemed to say he was ashamed for turning into this frail, dying man. He continued to moan as Jackie administered the morphine.

  Becca touched his shoulder as a way to comfort him because she didn’t know what else to do.

  Both Becca and Jackie stood by his bed, listening to his moans weaken as the medication massaged the pain. After some time had passed, the terrible sound he’d been making stopped, and her father slipped into a drug-induced sleep.

  “I need a drink,” Jackie said. “How about you?”

  Once they were in the kitchen, Jackie poured each of them a straight shot of whiskey. They drank it down. The alcohol burned Becca’s throat, heating her insides and searing her stomach. She set the glass on the countertop.

  “What the hell was that about anyway?” Jackie poured herself another shot, tipped the bottle toward Becca’s glass.

  Becca held up her hand to stop her. “I’m good.” She didn’t mention to Jackie what she believed had made her father get out of bed. It was the sheet of paper Becca had shown h
im. He was coming after the sheet of paper.

  Becca grabbed the whiskey bottle. “On second thought,” she said, “I think I will have another.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Jackie had been up and down throughout the night, trying to stay on top of the pain, giving Becca’s father morphine every few hours. Becca would wake, shuffle down the hall in her bare feet, ask if there was anything she could do.

  “Go back to bed,” Jackie would say each time. “One of us should get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

  The last time Becca heard Jackie get up was four o’clock. Becca closed her bedroom door, unable to fall back asleep. She hadn’t been able to talk with her father again about the sheet of paper she’d found in his lockbox, not after she’d believed it had been the reason he’d fallen out of bed in the first place. Now, she pulled her laptop out and searched the local newspapers online. There were two articles about the recent body they’d found in the river. The first article offered little information. It didn’t even mention Paul, the owner of the antique store who had found the body originally. Becca remembered the television broadcast, how Paul had tried to shield his face and his grandson from the camera. People were afraid. No one had wanted to come forward with information. No one had wanted to get involved.

  The second article she read was more about the victim. She looked at the grainy mug shot. His eyes were small, and his jaw was big and square. He looked like something out of a cartoon. She continued reading about his previous run-ins with the law. The article was slanted, in her opinion, taking the focus away from the killer and shifting the blame to the victim. She had no doubt this was what the local reporter had intended, helping the townspeople in Portland sleep a little easier at night.

  But she wasn’t able to shake the fact that the victim had been somebody’s son. He’d had a mother and father, maybe a brother or sister, maybe even a wife and kids. Somewhere someone was missing him, mourning his death.

  Becca shut off the power and closed the laptop. A weight as heavy as an anchor sat on her chest, the kind of steel anchor that Parker had used to toss over the side of the boat to keep them from drifting. Only now, instead of being in the boat, she was sinking to the river bottom like a mudhook.

  The sun was coming up when Becca peeked into her father’s room. She checked the rise and fall of his chest. His breathing was ragged. But he was breathing, she reminded herself. He was breathing. Jackie was still in bed, finally able to get some rest after the long night.

  Since both her father and Jackie were sleeping, Becca decided now was a good time to leave the house and find Parker. She had to at least try to explain Matt to him. But what about John? If she told Parker about John, about what she’d seen, would he think she’d deliberately kept something else from him? Would he ever trust her again? How could she tell him she was scared, when there was still so much she didn’t understand?

  She followed Route 611 and River Road to Parker’s cabin. Romy stuck her head out the open window, tongue hanging out and tail wagging, breathing in the fresh air, excited to be taking a road trip, although it was a short one. Becca took her time on the drive, unsure what she would say to Parker once she got there.

  “What am I going to do, Romy?” She reached over to scratch the dog’s back. Romy swung her head inside the Jeep, licked Becca’s arm, before sticking her head back out the window.

  Becca turned into Parker’s driveway. His car was gone, but she got out anyway. Romy sniffed the ground all along the path to Parker’s front door. Becca knocked and listened for any sound coming from inside, but all she heard was the occasional bird and the slow-moving river. She was hesitant to leave. Instead, she walked around back and headed down the steps to the dock. Romy raced in front of her, no doubt wanting to jump into the calm water below. Becca told her to stay.

  “You can swim another day,” she said and remembered Parker had mentioned going to the farmers market in town every Wednesday and Saturday. She might be able to find him there. She folded her arms against the chill coming off the water. The sun was up, but the air was cool—a perfect autumn day. She wished she could just stay there forever, forget her troubles, for the world to go away.

  She took a deep breath, then turned toward the stairs.

  Delaware Drive was a bustle of activity. Tents lined the sidewalk, displaying all the usual suspects of autumn’s harvest. There were baskets of apples from the local orchard. A woman was handing out free samples of apple cider. Pumpkins and gourds were set on top of haystacks. Cornstalks were tied to signposts. A family of tourists dressed in jeans and white shirts made their way to the pedestrian bridge to have their picture taken with the river and mountains.

  Becca pulled her Jeep in the first parking spot she could find in front of an old abandoned railroad car sitting alongside the tracks. She clipped the leash to Romy’s collar. Fallen leaves blew across the street along with pieces of straw. Everything about the market was exactly how Becca remembered it, and as she walked through the crowd, she stopped every few seconds to look around, to take it all in.

  Two Harley-Davidson motorcycles were parked not far from the bridge. More motorcycles were parked farther down the street, closer to the alley that led to Sweeney’s. A couple of Scions stopped at the apple stand. One of the men, the one with a skull-and-devil’s-horns tattoo on his forearm, put a jug of apple cider on the sidewalk at his feet. The guy who sold him the cider said something. The Scion laughed. “I got that bear good,” he said and raised his arms as though he were holding a rifle. “Boom.” He lowered his arms, picked up the cider. “It won’t be eating anyone’s trash anymore, that’s for sure.”

  A small boy tugged on Becca’s shirt sleeve. “Can I pet your dog?”

  “Of course you can,” she said, a little distracted, searching the crowd for Parker. “She’s superfriendly.”

  Romy licked the boy’s hand and face. The boy’s mother came over and asked Becca about Romy, saying they were thinking about getting a dog. Becca talked to the woman and her son for a few minutes, happy to answer their questions. While they were talking, she became aware of how much she missed the clinic and her job, how much easier her life always seemed to be when she was surrounded by animals.

  When the woman and her son had moved on, Becca continued walking up the street. She made sure to keep a safe distance between herself and the Scions. They’d since moved to the soup stand, stopping to talk with the people waiting in line for pumpkin soup. It was as though they’d stepped out to mingle, a public relations effort to remind the townspeople they were there but they weren’t a threat, at least not to them.

  Farther up the street, Parker was standing in front of a wagon full of pumpkins. He held a large oval pumpkin in his hands, turning it over as though he was inspecting it for flaws. Becca weaved through the crowd, Romy at her side.

  “Hey,” she said, allowing enough slack in Romy’s leash to let her sniff Parker’s jeans. The dog nudged his leg with her nose for attention.

  He glanced at Becca, keeping the pumpkin raised, then continued turning it around in his hands. “I’ll take this one,” he said to the attendant. “But hang on, I’m not done.” He put the pumpkin off to the side and petted Romy for a moment. Then he picked up another pumpkin, this one short and fat and round.

  “You can’t ignore me forever.”

  “Yes, I can,” he said, looking at the attendant. “I’ll take this one too.” He set it down and walked around the wagon.

  She followed him. “I would’ve told you about Matt earlier.”

  He turned toward her. “Then why didn’t you?” He crossed his arms in a defensive stance, squaring his shoulders and puffing out his chest. He used to stand in the same position along the sidelines of the football field. It was his game stance, his attempt at showing the other team how tough he was. She wasn’t sure it had ever worked.

  “It never seemed like the right time.”

  “You could’ve said something the other ni
ght.” He grabbed another pumpkin, harder than he should have, and knocked over several smaller pumpkins. “You let me go on and on, spilling my guts to you. Why didn’t you stop me and tell me then? Why did you let it go as far as it did? You made a fool out of me.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” she said. She was frustrated. Nothing was coming out right, at least not the way she’d intended. “You’re not a fool.” She reached for him, but he pulled his arm away.

  He strode to the attendant with another fat pumpkin. “How much for these three?” he asked and pulled cash from the wallet he carried in the back pocket of his jeans. He paid for the pumpkins and picked all three up in his arms with ease. He brushed past her. She grabbed his bicep.

  “Matt cheated on me,” she blurted. “And I think he’s been cheating on me all along.” She hadn’t expected to admit this to him, but she was surprised at how good it felt to say the words out loud, to put it out there and not carry it inside any longer.

  Parker frowned, and his eyebrows pulled together in a knot. “Is that why you slept with me? To even the score?”

  “No,” she said. “How could you think that?”

  He stared at her. She could see the anger in his eyes, heard it in his words, but she could also see how much he was hurting.

  “It’s the real reason why I came home,” she said. “It wasn’t to see my dad, although that was part of it. I know how horrible it sounds, but it’s the truth. And in a twisted, mixed-up way, no matter what my original intentions were, I’m glad I came home before . . . before it became too late.” All these years the child inside of her had been so angry at her father for sending her away, for his betrayal that had cut her so deeply. And then after she’d left, after college and veterinary school, she’d ended up right back where she’d started, living with Matt, a man who had been just like him.