Then I could just waltz out of these woods like nothing out of the ordinary had happened today. Unfortunately, there was the guilt factor. Somewhere, the dead guy had people who loved him, perhaps a wife and kids that would wonder why Daddy didn’t come home tonight.
And if it were my father lying there, I’d want someone to get help right away and give him the respect he deserved for simply having lived, if not for having lived right.
I sighed and turned back toward the lodge, wishing I’d brought my cell phone along. When I left it on my bedside table this morning, I had been thinking how nice it was to be unreachable. It had never occurred to me that I might be the one in need of reaching out.
I kicked at a moss-covered log as I walked past. Dead bodies sure went out of their way to complicate my life.
The roof of the lodge poked through the trees just ahead. I neared the edge of the woods, peering through safe cover before venturing the rest of the way home. Joel’s car was parked out front along with my own. And next to it was Brad’s hulking silver SUV. A jolt shot through me. I took in a breath of air. Now I had to deal with Brad in addition to the dead body. I plopped to the ground. Last year’s leaves crunched beneath my weight. Moisture soaked through the back end of my jeans. The wetness expanded to meet my drenched pant leg. I stared at a slug making its way across the slimy ground.
All my efforts to avoid reality only brought more reality crashing down on me. I wasn’t sure how much I could take. How could I survive a rerun of my life in Rawlings, with its creepy corpse and jail jaunt? I’d come to the Silvan Peninsula for a break. But it seemed there was no escape.
A moan broke the silence. Was that me? I keeled to my side, landing almost eye to eye with my slug buddy. Who cared anyway? The forest could consume me, morsel by morsel, and that would be an improvement over my present prospects.
I must have been blubbering pretty intently because I never heard the footsteps approaching until the size 12 Nikes were directly in front of me.
“Tish.”
I sat up and wiped my tears off with muddy fingers. By now I must have looked like Rambo. A final swipe of my nose with my sleeve, then I spoke. “Hi, Brad. I heard you might be coming up for a visit.”
He reached his hand toward me. “Come on. Let’s go inside and get cleaned up.”
I stared at him, unable to move. Unable to breathe. His blue jeans looked sexy as ever, snug across muscular thighs, then relaxed to his tennis shoes. His black T-shirt stretched over his chest, several feet above me. And his face . . . More handsome than I remembered, he gazed at me with deep brown eyes that somehow shot out rays of light. His corner crinkles were in full action with a smile that made me want to run and hide from its unmerited favor.
I fell back onto my side and curled into a ball. “Go away.”
“Hey. What’s wrong?” His hand touched my shoulder, giving it a gentle shake.
“You’re not supposed to see me like this.”
“If you want the truth, you look beautiful.”
“It’s not how I look, it’s how I feel.”
“What’s going on?” His voice took on a note of apprehension.
“Today’s not going so great. I just want to die.”
“Hey, now. I don’t like hearing you talk like that.”
“Well, it’s the truth. I don’t think I can face life today.”
“Come on. We’ll face it together.” He reached down. Warm hands gently gripped my arm and back. With a nudge of encouragement, he helped me to my feet.
I made a halfhearted attempt to brush the mud from the back of my pants. He swatted at a clump of leaves stuck to my knee. I caught a whiff of his shampoo or deodorant or aftershave as he bent in front of me. I nearly swooned.
“You okay?” He grabbed my shoulders.
“I hadn’t planned on seeing you today. I was going to wait in the bushes until you left. How’d you know I was here?” I barely heard him answer. His face was so close. His body so warm, so strong, so . . . manly.
“The white letters on your sweatshirt stand out pretty good against the trees,” those lips were explaining.
I looked down. Property of MSU Athletic Department, the letters boasted. I hadn’t even read the thing when I’d picked it up at Goodwill. The deep green fabric had seemed in good condition. That’s all I’d cared about. But now the words reminded me that I’d failed to finish college. Another domino in the long line perched to push me over the edge.
“And we’re on full alert at the lodge today,” Brad was saying. “Not only has Sam’s ex been spotted up and down the peninsula, but Drake Belmont was released from jail yesterday afternoon.” He pulled me toward him in a partial embrace. “It’s been foolish of you to be out on your own, you know.” His voice was low and rumbly.
I nodded, my eyes glued to the line of his jaw, the sweep of his cheek, the arch of his brow. With the grip of his hands, the flurry in my brain calmed, replaced by clarity—or was it the return of sanity?
“I missed you, Tish.” The words were nothing more than a whisper in my ear. Then came the warm trail of his lips against my neck.
I reached up my arms and clung to him, breathing him in, soaking him in, afraid to let go. He lifted me against himself, until only my toes touched the ground. His lips nudged around until they found mine. And he kissed me. I kissed him back with long hungry gulps, lost in the moment. I shoved every thought out of my brain, determined that nothing would drag me back to reality.
But it was no use.
“Brad.” I pulled my face away.
“Yes?” He gazed into my eyes, searching, ready to resume his affections at my command.
“I . . .”
“Yes?” His face took on an eager look.
“I . . . have something to tell you.”
He hugged me close, his lips buried in my ear. “Tell me, Tish.”
He refused to relinquish my body, so I was forced to say the news at close range. “Umm, when I was out walking this morning, I found a dead man.”
He stiffened around me. Then he pushed me to arm’s length. “What? Are you serious?”
I nodded.
He dropped his hands and turned his back to me, his fingers running along the back of his neck.
He pivoted in my direction and sighed. “Well, show me.”
32
I looked at Brad. “Shouldn’t we call 9-1-1 or something?” I asked.
Doubt clouded his eyes. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with, then we’ll put in the call.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?” My shoulders sagged. Nothing had changed between us. It was just like last time. He hadn’t trusted me when I told him about the body in the cistern. Then, when he actually found a body in the cistern, he hadn’t believed me when I swore I hadn’t put it there.
He started walking. “I believe you.”
I passed in front of him in a straight line to Cupid’s Creek. A little while later I spotted my marsh marigolds and the clump of bushes, still beeping.
Brad paused and perused the rows of black bags that filled the clearing. “Nice,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.
He stared down through the top of the shrub at the victim’s face. “Do you know the guy?”
I shook my head. “Never saw him before.”
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. I crouched by the babbling creek, not caring what he said or to whom he spoke. A few minutes passed. He joined me creekside, sitting close enough for our
