Raven could hear Chelsey forming a lie.
“I’m pretty sure it was something I ate. My stomach is a mess, and my head is killing me.”
Checking the time, Raven grabbed her keys off the desk.
“I’m coming over to check on you.”
“No!” Chelsey snapped awake, the grogginess replaced by anger and desperation. “You don’t need to parent me. I ate something I shouldn’t have, and I’ll deal with it.”
“Just like you’re dealing with Wolf Lake Consulting? This is your business, Chelsey. Your desk is overflowing with cases, you’re never here, and you still haven’t hired a third investigator.”
“Just give me twenty-four hours to kick this sickness. I’ll take care of everything, I swear.”
Raven buried her face in her hand. She hadn’t meant to corner Chelsey. But the pressure kept building. Either Chelsey turned away clients, or she showed up for work and stopped dropping the load on Raven’s shoulders.
“Maybe you should see a doctor.”
“For what? So he can tell me to buy Tylenol and Pepto Bismol? I’m better off resting at home.”
“I picked up another client at the state park yesterday. If I don’t hear from you tomorrow, I won’t have any choice but to turn away new clients.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll be in at nine.”
“Okay, Chelsey. Please call me if you need help. And swear to me you’ll visit the doctor if your sickness worsens.”
“I will.”
Raven didn’t believe her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tuesday, August 10th
10:15 a.m.
Thomas hadn’t prepared for the circus that awaited him outside the coroner’s office. The moment he stopped the cruiser along the curb, three reporters flanked by men with broadcast video cameras on their shoulders rushed across the sidewalk. He lowered his head and made a beeline for the entrance doors. But they ran beside him and blocked his path, shoving microphones in front of his face. A middle-aged man with gleaming, white teeth and a thick mustache jostled his way to the front.
“What do you know about the body found in the state park? Is it Skye Feron?”
A woman in high heels shouldered the man aside.
“Is there another serial killer in Wolf Lake? Should people be afraid?”
They fired questions as he pushed toward the doors. Once inside, they wouldn’t be allowed to follow. When he lowered his head, a baritone-voiced reporter yelled from behind.
“Are you fit to serve as interim Sheriff? How can someone on the autism spectrum protect Nightshade County?”
The question stung. He wanted to wheel around and shout the man down. But that’s what the reporter wanted—the new sheriff’s face plastered on every television screen in the county, screaming like a lunatic.
He released his breath when the doors closed behind him. Their fists pounded the glass. The yelling blended together into an indecipherable cacophony.
Virgil and Claire waited outside the examination room. The medical examiner raised a hand and motioned Thomas to follow. Shiny metal tables stood in neat rows. Dr. Stone was here with her female graduate assistant.
“So glad you joined us this morning,” Dr. Stone said.
Thomas caught the impatience in her voice.
“What can you tell me about the victim?”
Dr. Stone swept her arm over the table. Together with her team, she’d cleaned the bones and rebuilt the skeleton. Thomas was impressed.
“After reconstructing the skull from seventy pieces, I can say with certainty the victim is female. Note the smooth skull and wide pelvis, also the jaw structure.”
“Age?”
“Molar eruption suggests late teens to middle twenties.”
Thomas groaned. This had to be Skye Feron.
“Do we know how she died, or how long she was in the ground?”
“Bones decay slower beneath the soil than organic material. Judging by the amount of degradation, I’d guess this woman died between five and ten years ago. We’re fortunate animals didn’t compromise the remains.”
Virgil stepped forward and noted a hole cutting through the skull. At first glance, Thomas mistook the hole as missing bone fragments. Closer inspection told him this was an entry wound.
“The victim received a sharp blow to the head, indicating perimortem injury. It punctured the skull and killed her.”
“So a bullet wound.”
Virgil glanced at Claire and Dr. Stone. The doctor shook her head.
“A bullet would have caused further damage to the skull. This was a sharp object capable of puncturing bone.”
Thomas scratched his chin.
“What kind of weapon am I looking for?”
The doctor’s mouth pulled tight as she reached into the bag of field tools.
“Something like this.”
Stone held up a pickax.
* * *
Darren propped his feet on an ottoman and relaxed on the couch. Through the windows outside his cabin, the trees swayed as the wind gusted off the hills. An hour ago, the campgrounds had been alive with the voices of children and parents eager to hike the many trails weaving through Wolf Lake State Park. Now it was tranquil, and Darren felt thankful for the opportunity to relax.
He twisted the cap off his water bottle as he chewed on the peanut butter protein bar—Raven’s personal recipe for building muscle and cutting fat. It was better than he expected, and he craved a second bar with lunch. A horn honked as a camper pulled out of the lot, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Soon the busy season would end. He’d be lucky to host a camper once the snow flew in November.
Darren had spent the morning trimming brush along the ridge trail. Since the forensic anthropologist left, he’d avoided Lucifer Falls and the creek. The scenic terrain was tainted now, and would remain so until they caught the killer. He set the water aside. With Raven working at Wolf Lake Consulting today, his schedule was open until she left work. He looked forward to spending the rest of the day with her—dinner with Serena at Raven’s house, then back to the cabin for a little private time. Glancing around the cabin, he realized the interior could use cleaning.
As he straightened the couch cover, footsteps stopped outside his window. Years spent as a beat cop in Syracuse heightened his senses. This didn’t sound like a mischievous kid peeking inside the ranger’s cabin. The
