Mason and his deputy arrived minutes after Fay’s body was discovered, and they immediately secured the scene. Kade left to report to headquarters. Bree studied the rocky ground as high up the side of the cliff as she could see. From here there didn’t seem to be any pitons in the rock face, but it was getting too dark to see. Moving closer caused bile to rise in her throat. No matter how many times she came face-to-face with death, it never failed to shock her. The strobe of the searchers’ lights cast a strange glow over the tragic picture. Something about Fay’s posture struck a wrong chord in Bree, but it was probably just the surreal experience of seeing Fay lying there when she’d been so alive this morning.
Bree kept her eyes downcast. What had Kade Matthews been doing out here? She told herself not to be ridiculous. This wasn’t murder; Fay had just slipped. And even if there were more to it than that, Kade wouldn’t have had anything to do with it. The sight of Fay’s sprawled body was enough to bring gruesome thoughts to anyone’s mind.
“Anything?” Naomi came up behind her. Both dogs trotted at her side.
“Not that I can see. I’m sure Mason will come back in the morning and look around when there’s more light. Not that I expect him to find anything. Fay evidently just slipped. I don’t see her backpack though.”
“Maybe wild animals dragged it off.”
Bree nodded then laid a hand on Samson’s head. “We should play with the dogs for a few minutes before we go back. They seem a little depressed.”
Naomi nodded. “You want to hide, or you want me to?”
“I will.” Bree gave Samson a final pat and hurried away to the path that led through the woods to the road. She hadn’t always played hide-and-seek with her dogs after a tragic ending to a search, but she found that Samson grew depressed if he lacked the feeling that he had succeeded. Now she or Naomi would hide a few times and let the dogs think they had found and rescued a live victim. Too bad such tricks couldn’t help Bree’s own growing sense of failure.
There were never guarantees at the end of any search, only hope. And too often that hope became twisted like a ship in the grip of a nor’easter until it broke apart in the waves of self-incriminating failure. But Bree determinedly clung to the hope of finding Davy’s body, having the peace of knowing he was not alone in the wilderness.
Spying a clump of thick brush near the road, she hurried over to hide in it. The dogs would find her soon, but that was the point. Once they were happy again, they could go home. Maybe she could watch some TV or read a book—something to forget the failure that mentally flogged her.
She heard the dogs scramble along the path, and only a few minutes later, both dogs began to bark and lick her face. Bree laughed and threw her arms around Samson’s neck.
“Good dog! You saved me.” But who would save her from herself? Anu and Naomi would say God, but that was a vain hope.
Naomi reached her and held out a hand to help Bree to her feet. Bree stood and brushed away the bits of twigs and mud clinging to her pants’ leg. “I’m beat. Let’s head for home. The dogs seem fine, and the sheriff can take care of everything else.”
Naomi nodded. “Popcorn and TV in front of the fire sound good to me. I’m freezing. You want to come over?”
Bree shook her head. “I wouldn’t be fit company. Besides, Lily and Palmer are keeping dinner warm for me.”
Naomi studied her face. “This isn’t your fault or responsibility, Bree. God will carry Steve through this.”
There it was, Naomi’s answer to every problem—a too-simple answer for Bree. If He cared so much, why was there war and death and deadly disease? Why did children like Davy die?
Bree hunched her shoulders and turned away. “Let’s go. I’m freezing.”
“Bree—” Naomi began.
Both dogs began to howl, then they slunk toward the road. Bree’s head came up, and she wheeled to look. This didn’t sound good. She ran after her dog. Samson neared the pavement then veered to the right. Giving a stiff-legged jump, he began to howl then crouched in the leaves. Bree’s breath came fast. The full moon illuminated the clearing a bit, and she hurried to join her dog. Charley was piddling on the leaves again too, his head down.
“What is it, boy?” Bree put a calming hand on the dog’s head, but Samson continued to howl, a mournful sound in the cold air. There was a death scent here too, but Fay lay clear over by the cliffs. How was this possible? The moon glimmered around her, and she noticed the dim light reflected on a large rock. Was that something wet? Kneeling beside Samson, she touched the patch of moisture. It was sticky. Raising her fingers closer to her face, she peered at the substance clinging to her fingertips. The coppery odor told her it was blood.
“What is it?” Naomi knelt beside her.
Bree wordlessly held out her hand. Naomi stared then sucked in her breath. She stood and went to the bottom of the cliff. “Sheriff! Over here!”
Bree frowned. Opening her ready-pack, she dug out a flashlight and flicked it on. The powerful beam probed the darkness, and she focused the light on the rock. Her frown deepened. Was that hair? She started to touch it but drew back. The sheriff would have her hide if she mucked up the investigation.
“You find something?” Huffing from his run, Mason hurried toward them.
Bree pointed to the rock. “Looks like hair and blood. And both dogs gave a death response.”
Mason’s mouth gaped, then he shut it with a snap. “A death response? What’s that mean?”
“This is Fay’s hair and blood. Her dead body lay here at some time.”
The sheriff’s professionalism slipped into place. “Back away from the site.” He turned and cupped his hand to his mouth. “Montgomery, come here. And bring Rollo with you.” He shone his flashlight on the rock. “Focus your beam here too, Bree. I want to get a good look at this. We can’t be going off half-cocked. Let’s think about this a minute, eh?”
She aimed her flashlight beam at the rock. Naomi did the same. It sure looked like hair and blood to her. She looked away. Samson was still distressed, whining and fidgeting to get away. He had begun to eat grass as well, and Bree knew he was nauseated.
Doug Montgomery, one of Rock Harbor’s deputies, came lumbering up the trail. He was a big man, though he wore his weight well, and most people stepped out of the way when he approached. Rollo Wilson, the county coroner, followed him. About forty, Rollo always wore an expression of perpetual surprise, as though life was not what he’d expected. But he was good at his job.
Rollo grunted. “Looks like hair and blood,” he said.
“Bree says the dogs gave a death response here.”
Rollo’s eyebrows went even higher. “What’s that mean?”
“The dogs say this evidence was left by Fay’s dead body.”
A ghost of a grin crossed Rollo’s face. “I didn’t know they could talk.”
Bree didn’t laugh. “They can talk, all right. Just look at them.” She gestured toward Samson and Charley. The muzzles of both dogs drooped nearly to the ground, and they were still whimpering with their tails tucked between their hind legs.
Rollo snorted. “I think we’ll see what science has to say before we accept such nonsense.” He took a plastic bag from his coat pocket and tweezed off some hair then applied the blood to glass slides. “My lab will tell the real story.”
Bree gritted her teeth. Rollo was just ignorant of how sensitive these dogs were. She turned to Mason. “This makes no sense.”
“Something sure doesn’t smell right,” Mason admitted.
The silence between them stretched out. There was only one answer, but Bree didn’t want to be the first to voice it. She shuddered.
Rollo sat back then stood. “Explain this to me, Bree. Tell me how these dogs work.”
Bree’s gaze wandered to the dark woods. “Every human scent is different. The skin gives off dead skin cells called rafts. We each shed about forty thousand of them per minute. Every tiny raft has its own bacteria and releases its own vapor that makes up the unique scent each of us carries. When the body is dead, the scent is the same, but it has the scent of decay mixed in. That’s what the dogs smell. They can’t lie; they just report what they smell. Fay lay here dead at some point.”
Rollo snorted again. “This hair and blood could very well be that of a deer or some other animal.” He gathered up the evidence and walked toward the parking lot. “I’ll have some results in a few days. In the meantime, I would suggest you don’t go running around town talking about some murderer loose on the streets of Rock Harbor. We don’t want a panic.”
He was right about that, even if he was wrong about the hair and blood. The dogs wouldn’t react like this to an animal’s remains. Samson didn’t know how to lie, and Bree trusted her dog’s nose. He was reacting to the search scent, not a dead animal.
They all trooped single-file down the path. Fay’s body had been removed, and the parking lot held only their cars—and Fay’s. The sheriff’s bubble-gum lights were still flashing, and Bree was glad for that bit of light. There was a murderer out there, no matter what the coroner said. What was Kade doing out here? Bree wondered again. He was a ranger, after all. What was so suspicious about him being in the woods? Still, it seemed too coincidental for him to appear just before they found the body.
She put her hand on Mason’s arm. “Um, just so you know, Kade Matthews was here poking around in the bush when we arrived. He is a ranger and all, so that shouldn’t make him an automatic suspect, but I thought you should know.”
Mason’s gaze grew thoughtful. “I see. I’ve known Kade a long time. I can’t see him doing something like this. Besides, let’s not jump to conclusions. It’s probably a climbing accident.”
Bree knew it was hard for others to trust the dogs as she did. She didn’t try to argue with him. Dropping her arm, she started to get in her Jeep.
Mason stopped her. “I could use some help telling the family,” he said.
Bree put up a hand and leaned against the Cherokee. “I’m no good at that, Mason. I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end. Take Naomi.”
“That’s exactly why I’m asking you. You know what it’s like.”
He wasn’t giving her any options. Bree pressed her lips together to stop their quivering then nodded grudgingly and tossed her car keys to Naomi. “Can you feed Samson?”
“Sure.” Naomi’s brown eyes were wide with sympathy.
“I still say Naomi would be a better helper. She has the words to say to comfort him. I don’t have any answers.”
“There are no answers for a tragedy like this,” Naomi said. “Mason is right. You’ve been there and know what it feels like. You go ahead. I’ll take care of the dogs.”
Bree hunched her shoulders and followed Mason. He instructed Montgomery to finish helping Rollo with the investigation then headed toward his car. Now that Fay’s body had been discovered, it struck her as even odder that Steve had refused to come with them.
“Do you know where Steve is?” the sheriff asked, opening the squad car door for Bree.
“He told me he’d be at a dinner party at his boss’s. I think they live on Mulberry Drive.” She slid into the car and fastened her seat belt. “Like I told you, he asked me to look for her because she was late getting home for an important party.”
“Seems odd he didn’t go with you to search.”
“I thought the same thing. Do you suppose he could have killed her?”
“Let’s not be so quick to talk about murder. Fay was pregnant, and it might have affected her balance. She could have gotten dizzy.”
“That doesn’t explain her blood by the road.”
He sighed. “We don’t know for sure it is her blood, Bree.”
“I’m sure.”
Mason just shook his head. Bree wondered how her brother-in-law really felt about Hilary’s inability to conceive. Hilary’s words the night of the party came on the heels of that thought. I hate her. No, Hilary was no murderer. She was hotheaded and self-willed, but Fay’s death was not Hilary’s handiwork.
No matter how hard Bree tried to convince herself, the echo of Hilary’s words wouldn’t fade.
“I’d better call Lily and Palmer and tell them I won’t be able to stop by tonight.” Bree made the call then turned to stare out the window. As they drove to town, she struggled to think of what she could say to Steve. She couldn’t even remember exactly what Hilary and Mason had said to her when they had come to tell her Rob’s plane was missing. It was all a blur, a merciful blur.
But the hours leading up to that moment were burned into her memory.
The phone’s ring jarred Bree awake as she lay napping on the couch. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced at her watch. Rob and Davy would be heading home in a few hours.
She grabbed for the phone and punched the talk button. “Hello?”
“Bree Nicholls?” a woman’s husky voice asked.
Probably a sales call, Bree thought. The voice wasn’t familiar. “Yes?”
“You don’t know me, but my name is Lanna March, and I’m in love with your husband.”
Bree held the phone away from her ear and stared at it as though it had just grown fangs. She put it back to her ear. “What did you say?”
“I think you heard me. Rob and I are in love. If you want him to be happy, you’ll let him have a divorce.”
The line clicked, and Bree was left listening to a dead line, then the dial tone. Her thoughts spiraled, and she tried to make sense of what the woman had said. Rob, an affair? Impossible. But even as her heart frantically denied it, memories of late nights at work and his recent detachment flooded her mind.
Her hands shook as she dialed Rob’s cell phone. After what seemed an eternity, Rob answered.
“I know, you miss us.” There was a smile in his voice. “I suppose you want to talk to Davy.”
“Is he close by?” Bree managed to ask.
“He’s outside. I can call him.”
“No, wait! I wanted to talk to you.” Bree swallowed. “Who is Lanna?”
“Who?”
Rob’s voice sounded strained, Bree thought. “Lanna. Lanna March. She just called here and told me the two of you are in love.”
“What?” Rob’s voice sharpened. “What are you talking about? Are you accusing me of having an affair?”
“Are you?”
“You seem pretty certain of it. You’ve found me guilty and pronounced my sentence, all without a trial.” His voice was tight and clipped.
Bree ran a hand through her newly cut hair. Rob was going to have a fit when he saw how she’d hacked off her long tresses. She gave an exasperated sigh. “The woman called here, Rob. Do you hear me? She actually called here and told me if I loved you, I would give you a divorce.”
“That’s ludicrous! Are you making this up?”
Bree’s temper flared to an even higher pitch. “You can’t twist this and blame me. I’m not the one having an affair.”
“I’m not having an affair!”
“Well, you can have your divorce! But I’m not going to be the one to tell Davy his father is a faithless, conniving philanderer.” She slammed the phone into its cradle and burst into tears.
The phone rang, and she paced back and forth, refusing to give in to the urge to answer it. She knew it was Rob, and she couldn’t listen to his lies.
The afternoon inched by at a glacial speed. The phone rang periodically, and she finally took it off the hook.
Rob was due home by six. When he still wasn’t there by eight, she told herself she didn’t care. He was probably with his lover. The thought made her burst into tears again. At 8:15 the doorbell rang. She went to the door and found Mason and Hilary standing there, both of them in tears. Rob’s plane had gone down somewhere between Iron River and home.
Can I help you?”
Bree was jolted out of her painful memories by the harsh light spilling from the front door of the palatial home. Music echoed from the house as well. Bree recognized the blond woman who stood framed by the light from the room as Barbara McGovern, wife of the man who owned Rock Harbor Savings and Loan.
“We’d like to see Steve Asters,” Mason said.
Behind Barbara, Steve Asters stood talking to a curvaceous red-head who wore a tight black dress, slit up the side practically to her waist. He glanced up, and his gaze met Bree’s. His smile faded.
Barbara motioned to Steve, and he came slowly toward them. The fear in his expression heightened when he saw Mason standing behind her.
“Did you find Fay?” Steve directed his question to Bree. The color leached from his face, leaving him as pale as sand.
Bree gave an almost imperceptible nod. Suddenly, she wanted to be anywhere but in this stuffy room full of cigarette smoke and the scent of booze and perfume. The stress of the day bore down on her in an overwhelming rush of weariness.
Mason cleared his throat. “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
Steve glanced at Barbara with a question in his eyes. Barbara’s frown deepened, but she nodded. “Follow me.” She led them down the hall to a study lined with bookshelves. “I’ll be with my guests if you need me.” Closing the door behind her, she left them alone with Steve.
Steve ran a finger over the oak bookshelf nearest to him then thrust his hands in his pockets. “Is Fay all right?” Gazing at Mason, he seemed to be avoiding Bree’s eyes.
“No, sir, I’m afraid she’s not,” Mason said gravely.
Steve blanched. “Is she injured?”
Mason cleared his throat. “I’m afraid she’s dead, Steve. We found her at the base of Eagle Rock. Or I should say, the dogs found her.”
Steve’s gaze finally shifted to Bree, and she saw the shock and pain in his eyes. And something else as well. Was it guilt? She’d always heard murder was usually committed by someone close to the victim. Steve’s contact with the red-headed bombshell made him more suspicious.
Steve swayed on his feet, and Bree reached out a hand to steady him. He jerked away from her grasp and walked to the window. The blinds were open, but the window reflected the light, and it was impossible to look out. Still, Steve stood staring at the window. Was he trying to gain time to think? Bree exchanged a glance with Mason. The sheriff seemed as puzzled as she felt.
Steve turned around. His eyes were dry, and he nodded to them. “I appreciate you both coming to tell me in person. Where is her body? Do I need to identify her or anything?”
Mason nodded. “The ambulance took her to the coroner’s office. They’ll do an autopsy.”
Steve’s eyes widened. “Why? You said she fell. I told her a thousand times she was going to fall and break her neck one of these days.”
He was babbling. It sounded like guilt to her. She mentally shook her head. She’d watched too many episodes of Murder, She Wrote. This was Steve Asters, the man who had loaned her the money to buy her lighthouse, the respected manager of the bank, not some heartless murderer. Grief caused people to say and do strange things. She resolved to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Actually, there is some question as to the cause of death. Once we get some tests back from the lab, we’ll know if we’re dealing with an accident . . . or something else,” Mason said.
Steve’s face paled even more. “I don’t understand.” He swiped a shaking hand through his hair.
“It’s possible someone killed her and then put her body at the cliff base to make it look like an accident.”
“Murder?” Steve’s lips barely moved, and he swayed where he stood. He held his hands out in front of him, and Bree noticed the tremble in them. “Next you’ll be saying I did it! But I’ve been here all evening. Ask anyone.”
Mason nodded. “Shall we drive you to the morgue?”
Steve’s face flushed, and he raised his voice. “I know what you’re thinking! It’s always the husband. Well, I loved Fay!” He paced in front of the window as his voice rose.
“Steve, no one is accusing you of anything.” Mason followed him and touched his arm, but he jerked away.
Steve turned and stomped to the door. “If you want to talk to me, you can contact my attorney.” He slammed the door behind him, and an oil painting of the Porcupine Mountains fell to the floor with a crash.
Bree picked it up. One corner of the frame was chipped. She felt rather battered herself. This night had brought back too many memories.