papers that she’d promised to return this coming week. Most of the kids in her classes were average at best at writing, but a couple showed real promise, she’d discovered. There was a gutsiness to their writing that impressed her.
As she stuffed the finished papers into her tote bag, thinking about Monday morning, Duncan Shaw crossed her mind unexpectedly. She’d been so preoccupied with Lily’s disappearance that she’d forgotten about the awkward encounter last night. She wondered if he was ticked at her. Picturing him, she realized how much more attractive she’d found him without the professorial beard and mustache. But it didn’t matter anyway. The last thing she wanted to do was become entangled in a campus romance.
From there, her mind flew to Lily once again. Maybe the mess Lily had alluded to was actually related to a romantic entanglement and
She woke the next morning at around seven, and after a quick breakfast, loaded her bike in the trunk of her car. She drove through town toward a small park along the river, which spread out from either side of the old steel bridge at the base of Bridge Street. A bike path shot off from the north end of the park and ran for miles along the river, and though it wasn’t scenic near the town, farther north Phoebe had discovered some beautiful secluded areas and several stunning vistas across the muddy brown Winamac. Her weekend bike rides had become one of the few pleasures she’d found in Lyle.
Phoebe stopped her car in the parking lot near the park and tugged her bike from the trunk. According to the weather report she’d checked earlier, it was going to be overcast most of the day, but right now there were only a few scattered clouds scuttling across a bright blue sky.
As she walked her bike toward the path, Phoebe glanced around the empty park with its weathered benches and granite war memorial. Across the street was a row of shabby buildings—an old barbershop, a hardware store, and the two grungy tavern-style bars that Glenda hated. One was Cat Tails, where Lily Mack had last been seen the night she vanished.
Phoebe mounted her bike and began to pedal. Even this early on a Sunday she usually passed other people —mostly gray-haired walkers and other bikers—but today she seemed to have the path to herself. Soon she’d gone a mile, and the malaise she’d been feeling began to dissipate. The air was crisp and cool, woodsy scented and almost intoxicating to breathe. And the trees here were brilliantly colored—no fiery reds like you saw on the sugar maples in her home state, Massachusetts, but bright yellows and oranges and burnt sienna. For the first time in ages she felt a surge of something like joy.
After she’d ridden for about forty minutes, she stopped for a drink of water. She was on one of the most isolated parts of the bike path now—dense thickets of trees lay between the path and the two-lane highway that ran parallel—and there wasn’t a soul in sight. In fact, she had yet to pass a single person during her ride. She found the isolation suddenly disconcerting. I’ll go just a little farther, she thought, and then turn back.
As soon as she climbed back on her bike, an older couple in tracksuits emerged on foot through a cut in the trees, walking a husky. Phoebe relaxed at the sight of them. A short time later she heard bikers coming up behind her, and soon three men whizzed by, suited in full spandex. Okay, no need to worry, Phoebe told herself. A few minutes later a man approached on a bike from the opposite direction. He was in his forties, probably, dressed casually in athletic shorts and a T-shirt. As he passed, she saw him furtively check her out. Give me a break, she thought.
Suddenly the air grew cooler, and Phoebe glanced up. The promised blanket of clouds had finally begun to unfold across the sky, instantly dulling the colors of the leaves around her. It seemed like a good time to turn back. Rather than stop her bike, Phoebe slowed down and made a U-turn in the path.
She’d gone only a short distance when she spotted another biker approaching her from the front. To her surprise, it was the same guy she’d passed five minutes ago. After he’d shot by, she turned; simultaneously he snapped his head back in her direction.
Maybe the guy was only retracing his route, like she was doing herself. Maybe he was trying to pick her up. Regardless, she felt uncomfortable. She began to pedal faster, anxious to reach town. She checked behind her again. There was no sign of the guy. She was relieved when she glimpsed the tip of a church spire through the trees, indicating that the town of Lyle lay just ahead. I’m probably just being silly, Phoebe thought, letting my city fears affect me here.
As she neared the park, she suddenly heard noises ahead—the murmur of voices and also the hum of running motors. She quickened her pace, curious. Emerging from the path into the park, she was stunned see a fire truck, an ambulance, and two police cars parked haphazardly along the street. Yellow police tape had been used to cordon off a large section of the park closest to the river, and about thirty people gathered alongside it.
She dismounted and raced ahead, her bike rattling. She could now see that there were several boats bobbing in the river, black Zodiacs filled with cops and men in wet suits. But the real action was on the bank of the river. One Zodiac had already pulled up there, and several cops hovered around it. Oh, God, Phoebe thought. They had found Lily Mack.
4
One of the men stepped back from the body, and suddenly Phoebe could see the upper half. Her heart lurched. The face appeared bloated and partially covered with strands of matted long blond hair, but Phoebe knew that it had to be Lily. A photographer began to move around the body, snapping pictures.
Phoebe needed to call Glenda, but she could barely drag her eyes from the scene. She watched for another minute—until the police formed a human barrier around the body, blocking it from view. Leaning her bike against her hip, she quickly dug her phone from her jacket pocket.
“I just heard,” Glenda said after Phoebe had blurted out the news. “I’m headed down there now. Is the body still in the river?”
“No, they’ve brought it to that little park by the bridge.”
“Do you think it’s definitely her?”
“It must be. I can’t really see the face, but she’s got long blond hair.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Phoebe turned her attention back to the grim scene in the park. A woman with a black bag—most likely the coroner—approached the body and crouched down next to it. The crowd was growing, and people strained their necks for a better view. Phoebe felt gripped by an overwhelming sadness. The smart, pretty girl who wanted to be a writer and had waited in the rain to talk to her was dead, her lifeless, bloated body on display for a crowd of strangers. There would be no fresh start now.
While the coroner busied herself with the body, two EMTs rolled a trolley toward the body and stopped, waiting. Phoebe wondered where Lily’s parents were. It would be horrible for them to come upon this scene.
Phoebe glanced back at the people who had gathered around her. Many of them seemed to live in the apartments above the shops and bars across the street or in some of the small old houses that climbed up from the river. There were also a few people in jogging clothes, who, like her, must have come off the river path. At the very fringe of the crowd were four guys in jeans and saggy sweatshirts who Phoebe thought must be Lyle College students. Two of them were talking animatedly on cell phones. It would be only minutes, Phoebe thought, before the entire campus was on fire with the news.
