“No. Only a warning.” She replied.
“Copy. Clear.”
I locked the truck and began the walk down the steps to the plaza. I was too pissed to be afraid anymore. I was over this shift. The only thing keeping me half-way sane was the memory of the spine-numbing kiss I’d just had.
“Anyone down here? The park is closing.” I shined my flashlight down the shoreline just as I heard an engine rev from behind me in the parking lot.
The silver car’s engine hummed, it’s lights flashed on, and it tore out of the parking lot.
In the dark, I couldn’t make out the license plate number. Now if they came back and were late again, I’d couldn’t issue them a citation. Dammit.
I made my way back to the ranger truck, cleared the rest of the lots, and went to park entrance to close up.
“Ranger Fourteen, Ranger Fifteen,” I called out on the radio after closing the main gate.
Shayla didn’t answer.
“Ranger Fourteen, Ranger Fifteen,” I called again. Why wasn’t she answering? She always responded on the first call.
What if Boy Boy or . . .
No.
I’m sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Deep breaths in and out.
She had her radio turned down or she was talking to someone and lost track of time. Or maybe she had decided to issue a citation after all.
“Ranger Fourteen, Ranger Fifteen. Status?” I asked.
Come on. Respond.
I turned the truck around and headed down the path to the back gates.
“Ranger Fifteen.” Her voice was quiet. Distant.
“What is your status?” I said into the radio.
“I’m by gate three,” her small voice came back. “I need . . . help.”
I floored it. “Are you hurt? Do I need to call an ambulance?”
“It—it’s too late—” her mic cut out.
I’d never driven so fast on the path but knowing there weren’t any bikers or joggers made it more like a NASCAR road course than a bike path. Regardless of my speed, it seemed to take forever to get to Shayla. I rounded the last corner and spotted Shayla’s truck right next to gate three.
My truck had barely come to a stop when I threw it in park and jumped out.
“Shayla?” I called out.
“Over here,” I heard her squeak from the tall grass next to the gate.
I ran, pepper spray in hand. But when Shayla’s blonde ringlets came into view, I knew I didn’t need to protect myself.
Shayla crouched in front of what appeared to be a partially decomposed body, sans head. I put a hand on Shayla’s shoulder, and she turned to look up at me. Tears streaked down her face.
“Come on, let’s call Luke,” I said.
9
Luke arrived within a matter of minutes. He wrapped Shayla up in a big hug as I stood to the side watching his partner Jerry take photos of the body and the crime scene.
“What is it with you and finding dead bodies?” Jerry said in his toad-like voice.
“I didn’t find it. Shayla did.”
“Still. You was here.” He picked up a black hair ribbon and placed it in a Ziploc evidence bag. “Looks like you’re a shit magnet.”
I’d give my left arm for everyone to stop calling me that.
“This lady was having a bad day,” Jerry said. “How’d you find her?”
Shayla glanced up from Luke’s chest, and I tried to tamp down the utterly unwarranted twinge of jealousy. “I thought I heard something so I walked over and—”
The rest of her sentence was cut off by her heaving up the regurgitated mud-like Salisbury steak all over Luke’s chest. It looked and smelled about the same as it had before she ate it.
Luke patted her on the head, his gaze averted.
“Uh, you should probably clean yourself up,” I said to Luke as I rubbed Shayla’s back. “I’ll take care of her.”
Every cop I knew had a weak stomach. Let the firefighter—ex-firefighter—handle the job.
“It’s okay. Get it all out,” I said.
Shayla wretched again.
“That’s disgusting,” Jerry yelled. “You’re screwing up the crime scene.”
I gently pulled Shayla away while glaring at Jerry. “It’s okay, don’t listen to him.”
“It was a cat,” Shayla said between sobs. “The noise. It was a cat. Meowing and . . . eating.” she gagged.
“Yuck. Don’t finish that sentence,” I said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you or answer quickly.” She stood from her hunched position. “I saw her and I—I froze. Some police officer I’ll be.”
“It’s your first dead body, and a gross one at that.” I glanced over to where the body still lay, taking a closer look. It had been a woman around five foot with sky-high red stilettos and a pink mini skirt. The severed neck was disgusting enough but seeing a cat eating it would turn anyone’s stomach.
“She’s been here a while. Probably a week or so.” Jerry walked over to us.
Luke had removed his soiled shirt and stood at the trunk of his car bare-chested. His muscles were more prominent than they had been in high school. His abs looked like they’d been chiseled by a sculptor. I looked away but not quickly enough. Luke had already caught me staring.
“You all right, Shay?” he asked.
“Better.” She nodded. The color in her cheeks hadn’t returned, but at least she wasn’t throwing up anymore. “Do you think—was it Boy Boy?”
“No way to know at this point,” Jerry said. “Heck, we don’t even know for sure the last one was Boy Boy’s vic. Might’ve just been a coinkidink.”
“We might be here a while.” Luke pulled on a Prairie City PD hoodie. “You should probably call a supervisor.”
Duh. Why hadn’t I thought of that?
“Antonio lives the closest,” Shayla said without meeting my eye.
“Can you call him?” I asked.
“I think I’m going to be sick again.” She gave me a sly smile. “You better do it.”
It was my turn to feel nauseous.
“I’m glad you called me,” Antonio said when he arrived. He drove his black CTS-V—a total contrast from the sweatpants and Denver Broncos hoodie he wore.
“It was Shayla’s idea,” I mumbled. I’d kept the phone call short and sweet—another dead body . . . I know, shit magnet . . . Need a supervisor . . . Bye.
“Luke, it’s nice to see
