He moved away from the Kilroy tree to stretch his legs, keep the blood flowing in his cold limbs. Technically, neither of them needed to be on the mountain at this point. Much of the evidence had been bagged and sent to the lab. Although the victim hadn’t been identified officially, based on the age of the bones and missing persons data, they had a good idea of who he might be.
But Parker wanted to be here. The best way for him to understand the victim and what had happened was to spend time in the space where they’d taken their last breath and left their final clues. Photographs couldn’t capture the same gut feelings he’d come to expect from his presence at the scene, but he wasn’t going to tell Karla that.
Geena must have had her own reasons for climbing the mountain, none of which she’d shared with him. Whatever. They’d get to know each other soon enough. It was the nature of the job.
“Hey, I got something,” the pretty tech said. “A last-minute find,” she added and held a small object in her gloved hand.
Geena was on her feet. She had to be close to six feet tall, standing almost shoulder to shoulder with Parker.
The tech continued. “It’s a lighter, plastic—nothing special. Looks like the original color might’ve been pink.”
Cheryl made her way over, peered at the object. “Bag it. They can run some tests, see if it means anything.”
Geena sat back down on the rock. Parker leaned against the Kilroy tree.
And so the process went.
Outside of recovering the bones, forensics had collected and bagged a broken whiskey bottle, pieces of rubber that could’ve come from sneakers or boots, and a shred of threadbare fabric found near the skull. They would have to run tests, but there was a good chance the victim had been wearing a hat. Who knew—maybe they’d get lucky and find hair tangled in the material. They could learn a lot from hair, like whether it belonged to the victim or someone else. The soil had preserved the bones all these years, so anything was possible. It had something to do with pH components: the particular acidity or lack thereof found in the earth in this particular oversize dirt mound. Then add in the frigid temperature of the soil if the body had been buried deep enough, which appeared to have been the case. It was clear whoever had done this hadn’t wanted him found. But they hadn’t counted on erosion bringing the bones closer to the surface, or the black lab, Lincoln, coming along and digging them out.
Another thirty minutes passed before the team started the process of disassembling the grid. A couple of techs packed up their gear.
Something about the grid, the search area, nagged Parker. He stepped away from the tree, stood over the site where the last of the bones had been removed on that first day. He turned over everything he knew up to this point about the case, which wasn’t much at all, when he really thought about it. If the victim had been struck in the head and dropped to the ground in this spot, or close to this spot, what would the person who’d struck him do next? Were they carrying a shovel with them, or did they leave and come back? Or maybe they’d hit him with a shovel and then used it to bury him with afterward? Parker made a swinging motion with his arms and then turned, staring at a spot on the other side of the grid, closer to the trail.
“What is it?” Geena asked.
“I think we need to extend the search a little farther out.”
Some of the techs groaned. No one wanted to spend any more time on the mountain than was absolutely necessary.
“Why? What are you hoping to find?” Cheryl asked.
“I’m not sure, but whoever did this would’ve eventually headed back in the direction of the trail. Maybe they dropped something along the way.”
“Joe,” Cheryl called. “Do me a favor and drag a rake over here.”
Joe did as he was told. He was followed by two more techs.
Karla appeared with her camera out and ready.
Another two hours passed as the team processed the new search area. Parker shook off the sideways glances he got from some of the techs. They were all cold and tired. He bet they hoped their next assignment would be someplace warmer.
“Cheryl,” Joe said. “You’re going to want to see this.”
Cheryl moved to where Joe squatted on the ground. She bent down, gently brushed a thin layer of debris away with her gloved hand.
Parker maneuvered his way around the perimeter of the site. “What is it?” he asked. Geena followed him.
Cheryl straightened. Her cheeks were pink from the frigid air. “Well, I know what it is, but the question is whether or not it’s relevant.” She bent over it again, cleared more debris. She continued. “It looks like it’s been here a good long time.” She talked more to herself than to anyone else when she said, “It could definitely crack a skull.”
Parker and Geena came to stand next to Cheryl. They stared at what was a partially buried aluminum baseball bat in the ground at their feet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JULY 1979
An hour after meeting the new girl, Trisha, Dannie jumped on her bike, excited about their plans for a friendship club. There was something worldly about Trisha, exotic even, with her sleek dark hair and porcelain skin. They didn’t get many families from outside the state moving to their small town. Most people couldn’t find it on a map. But Trisha’s family had found it, bringing with them a change to the neighborhood.
Dannie pedaled across the street to Trisha’s house. They were going to meet at Carlyn’s with their bikes and bathing suits. She stopped pedaling when Trisha’s stepfather stepped from behind the moving truck and into her path.
“That is one fine-looking bike you have there,” he said, resting his hand on the back of the banana seat where she was sitting.
“My dad bought it for me,” she said. It was a pink Huffy, complete with a basket and streamers dangling from the handlebars. Her father had bought her the bike three weeks ago, right before he’d moved out. She loved the bike and took special care of it, and not because it was the nicest bike on Second Street but because it was the last gift she knew she’d ever get from him.
“Well, you must be a special girl for him to give you such a special bike.”
“I guess,” she said and gave him a weak smile.
Trisha came around the side of the house with her bicycle.
“Come on, Dannie—let’s go.” She pulled on Dannie’s arm harder than she should, turning the handlebars on Dannie’s Huffy, almost knocking her over.
“Careful now,” Lester said.
“Let’s go,” Trisha said, urging Dannie to follow her. Carlyn was waiting for them in front of her house. Dannie pedaled down the sidewalk after Trisha.
They rode their bikes to the path that led to the slate quarry. Dannie breathed a little heavier than the other two girls, feeling out of shape. Her chubby legs struggled to keep up. When they reached the path, they stopped and climbed off their bikes. She checked to see if the bag with the snacks she’d packed was still in the front basket. Next to the snacks was a cheap transistor radio that she’d purchased at the five and dime at the start of summer.
Trisha leaned over and peeked inside Dannie’s basket. Then she smiled at Dannie, and something inside of Dannie seemed to shift.
“This way,” Carlyn said, pulling at her T-shirt with the rainbow iron-on.
They walked their bikes onto the path. Dannie trailed a step behind. The sun burned the top of her head through her thin blonde hair. Brush and weeds crunched under her feet. They hadn’t had rain in over two weeks.
“Did everyone bring something?” Carlyn asked, stashing her bike next to a small dogwood tree.
Trisha dropped her bike next to Carlyn’s. Dannie reached in her basket and grabbed the brown paper bag and radio before carefully laying the Huffy on the ground with the others.
“Where should we do this?” Trisha stepped toward the edge of the quarry.
Carlyn joined Trisha at the rim. Dannie stood on the other side of Carlyn. Flat gray rocks surrounded them. Some of the edges lo
oked sharp, dangerous. Others peeled in layers, exposing lighter, breakable slivers of rock.
Dannie had been afraid of the quarry after hearing a boy had drowned last summer. He’d jumped off a rock pile, hit his head on a chunk of slate hidden beneath the water. Rumors circulated about others drowning, about kids not jumping out far enough, striking the sides of the slate before sinking to their deaths. She didn’t know if the stories were true, but she never jumped. Instead, she would slide on her bottom into the cold, metallic-tasting liquid.
She stepped back from the ledge. “We should have the friendship ceremony before we swim.” Underneath her terry-cloth shorts, she picked at the elastic band of her bathing suit that had been wedged between her cheeks ever since she’d gotten off her bike.
“This is where you swim?” Trisha asked.
“There’s a park pool at the top of the hill, but this is kind of our spot,” Carlyn said. “Come on—there’s a flat rock over here we can sit on.” She walked up a small path, crawled onto a slab of slate overlooking the water, tucked her long legs underneath her.
“Where does that go?” Trisha pointed to another path farther up the hill.
“That takes you to the Appalachian Trail,” Dannie said and sat next to Carlyn.
“Get out!” Trisha said. “I read about that in school. Isn’t it some kind of old Indian trail?”
“It goes from Georgia to Maine,” Carlyn said. “Two thousand one hundred and sixty miles. It follows the oldest mountain range in the United States . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Dannie jumped in. “Carlyn knows all kinds of facts about stuff. She’s smart like that, reading all the time.” She wanted Trisha to know how smart Carlyn was. She wanted Trisha to like her, to think they both were worth hanging out with.
They sat in a circle with their paper bags in front of them. Dannie fiddled with the transistor radio. Through the static, the Knack crooned about a girl named Sharona. The sun beat down on the slate rock, making it hot to touch. A red-tailed hawk soared high in the sky.
“I’ll start. Friends forever.” Carlyn stuck her hand in the center of their circle. Dannie and Trisha followed, covering each other’s hands, their arms outstretched like the spokes of a wheel.
“Friends forever,” they said before dropping their arms.
Trisha dumped a cigarette and a pack of matches onto the slate tabletop. “We take a drag of the cigarette, hold our breath until we’ve all inhaled, and then exhale together. Like we’re one spirit breathing out the same drag.”
“I’ve never smoked before.” Dannie stared at the cigarette. She was afraid she wouldn’t like the taste or she’d cough before the others were ready to exhale. “I better go last in case I can’t hold the smoke in.”
“You ever smoke a cigarette?” Trisha asked Carlyn.
“I’ve tried it once.”
“I steal them from my mom all the time.” Trisha put the cigarette between her lips, lit it with a match. She inhaled and then passed it to Carlyn.
Carlyn took it between her pointer and middle finger, inhaled, passed it to Dannie.
Dannie held the cigarette like Carlyn had, between her pointer and middle finger, but it felt awkward. She dropped it.
Keeping her lips pressed together, Trisha urged from her throat, “Come on.”
Dannie picked up the cigarette. This time she put it between her lips and inhaled. The smoke filled her mouth, burned her throat. She willed herself not to cough.
Trisha held up her hand and counted with her fingers, one, two, three. They exhaled. Dannie coughed. She covered her throat with her hand, feeling as though she had swallowed a fistful of fire ants. Carlyn patted her on the back.
“First time’s rough.” Trisha took the cigarette from Dannie and continued smoking. “What did you bring?” she asked her.
Dannie swallowed, tried to soothe the sting with spit. “Tastykakes. I couldn’t think of anything else.” She handed Carlyn and Trisha the cupcake packs. “I did think of a name for our club.” She looked around at the mountains of slate. “Slate Sisters, no question,” she said and took a big bite of her cream-filled chocolate cupcake.
“It’s perfect,” Carlyn said.
Trisha motioned to the path near their bikes. “Who’s that?” she asked.
Carlyn and Dannie turned as two boys from their class approached. Dannie quickly ducked behind Carlyn, said a silent prayer, Please, God, make them go away.
The girls grabbed their cupcake wrappers and stood. The radio had gotten knocked over in their haste; static crackled from the tiny speaker. Carlyn scooped it up and turned it off.
“What’s this?” Jeff, the meaner of the two, grabbed the paper bag Dannie had brought the cupcakes in. He blew air into it before smacking it between his hands, popping it. He stepped toward Dannie. Her heart leaped to her throat. Wearing a big toothy grin, he grabbed her boob and twisted. “Titty twister.”
She threw her arms over her chest. “Stop it!” Tears filled her eyes almost instantly from the pain of her stinging nipple.
Trisha jumped in front of Dannie and pushed Jeff hard enough for him to stumble backward. “Leave her alone.”
“What?” Jeff laughed and charged at Dannie again.
Trisha shoved him harder, sending him flying backward into a pile of slate.
He pulled himself up, brushed the grit from his shorts. “Come on—we all know she likes it.”
“Don’t ever touch her again,” Trisha said and went to hit Jeff, but Scott, who had done nothing but watch up to this point, stepped into the scuffle, putting his arm out to separate them. “You new around here?” he asked Trisha.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Trisha said.
Dannie hid behind Carlyn. Trisha and Scott continued to stare each other down. The lines were drawn. They were at a standoff. Dannie’s armpits began to sweat, and she worried Jeff would see her pit stains, giving him another reason to pick on her.
Finally, Scott said to Jeff, “Leave her alone.”
“Wuss,” Jeff said under his breath, but he took a step backward, retreating.
Dannie stepped out from behind Carlyn. She stared at Trisha, in awe of this rough new girl taking on two boys by herself. But the longer she stared, the more she began to see something else in Trisha, a kind of vulnerability hidden beneath her tough exterior, something she carried deep inside that, unless a person looked closely, they wouldn’t see.
Jeff pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it to the ground. “Later, losers.” He got a running start before jumping and yelling, “Cannonball,” hitting the water with a thwump.
Scott lifted his shirt over his head. His chest was golden brown. He already had the makings of bulging biceps, a washboard stomach. He stared at Trisha.
“What are you looking at?” Trisha asked.
“You.” He turned and dove headfirst into the quarry. Dannie held her breath until he surfaced.
The boys splashed around under the hot sun. The water looked inviting. Trisha twisted the hem of her shirt, possibly contemplating taking it off and jumping in. Dannie shrunk behind Carlyn again. No way she’d ever take her shirt off now.
Jeff floated on his back, pointed at Dannie, made like he was holding two melons.
“Come on.” Carlyn tugged Dannie’s arm. “Let’s go.”
They walked down the path to their bikes. Dannie kept her eyes straight ahead, embarrassed by her chubby body, the small mounds protruding underneath her bathing suit. The other girls were thin and didn’t have breasts yet.
Her body had changed over the last few months. Blondish hair had sprouted under her arms and between her legs. But it was her breasts the boys noticed, and because of this she stuck out, becoming a favorite target for creeps like Jeff. She wiped her eyes as she pedaled toward home, hating Jeff, but most of all, hating the way she felt in her body.
Once they were a safe distance from the quarry, Carlyn and Trisha stopped and got off their bikes. Dannie, the least athletic of
the three now, caught up and hopped off her bike too. They pushed their bicycles on the sidewalk as they walked.
“Are you hurt?” Carlyn asked her.
“No.” She whimpered a little, but she stopped herself from crying. She didn’t want to sound like a baby. “Thanks for sticking up for me back there,” she said.
Trisha nodded and wiped the sweat from her brow, tucked her black hair behind her ear. “Where is that park pool you were talking about?”
“At the top of Bangor’s hill. Let’s drop our bikes off first,” Carlyn said. “Who has money?”
“How much does it cost?” Trisha asked.
Carlyn stopped pushing her bike. Trisha and Dannie stopped too. After a moment, realizing none of them had money for the public pool, they continued pushing their bikes another three blocks, walking in silence.
Dannie dragged her feet, wishing Jeff and Scott hadn’t shown up and spoiled their plans. Although swimming in the quarry made her nervous, at least they’d had someplace to go. Now it felt like the entire day had been ruined.
They reached Trisha’s house first. The moving truck was empty. Lester was leaning on the bumper drinking a beer.
“There you are,” he said. “Your mom’s been looking for you. She needs help unpacking.”
“Okay.” Trisha laid her bike in the yard. “I’ll catch you guys later,” she said.
Dannie watched Trisha walk into the house with him. There was a closeness between them in the way he put his hand on the small of Trisha’s back. The sight of them together created an ache inside of Dannie, a longing for her own father.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Trisha opened her eyes. She didn’t recognize the water stain in the corner of the ceiling. She panicked and scrambled from the twisted sheets, put her back against the wall. She covered her hammering heart. Her pajamas were damp with perspiration. Slowly it came back to her: how she’d gotten on a plane, flown home for Evelyn’s funeral, how she’d come to be lying on the mattress in her old bedroom in her mother’s house.
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