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Bethenny had returned to Redwater for a break, to start over, but instead she had found herself pulled back into her work—the very thing that had cost her so much already.
She sighed, her eyes dropping to her phone. She had one bar of service.
She dialed the sheriff’s office.
“Mitch, it’s Bethenny. I’ve found something you need to look at. I need a full forensics team at the South Woods parking lot entrance. I’ll meet them there and lead them to the crime scene. Female, not yet decomposed,” she said.
“What? Geez, are you sure?” Mitch asked, sounding a little bewildered. Murder wasn’t commonplace in or near this small town.
“I’ll meet the team at the entrance,” she said before hanging up.
She’d grown up in this town and initially, when Bethenny had decided to return to Redwater, she’d been disappointed to learn the sheriff had retired a few years earlier. However, the new sheriff, Mitch, was adored by the locals and Bethenny remembered him well. They had gone to the same school but he’d been several years ahead of her. That had been a good twenty years ago now, but seeing him again brought back fond memories. It wasn’t lost on Bethenny that he looked nothing like the teenage schoolboy she’d seen last, but rather a young Brad Pitt, and she didn’t think it was lost on the other female residents either. More than that, though, he was a good guy, and Bethenny didn’t think there was a corrupt bone in his body.
She looked to the forest again, knowing most people would question why she’d go running in there alone, but Bethenny had grown up in these forests and they reminded her of happier times.
While she waited for the forensics team to arrive, Bethenny looked at the few photographs she’d hurriedly snapped. She couldn’t draw her eyes away from the one with the blue fingernail surfacing from the dirt. She didn’t know why; maybe it was the unusual placement—the victim would need to have her hands on her chest, upright, as if in prayer. Or, maybe the hand wasn’t attached to the body anymore and had simply been thrown in amongst the dirt. Bethenny chewed on her cheek, lost in thought as she continued flicking through the six photographs. She heard the distant rumble of the car tires and looked up to see four white vans arriving.
She tucked her phone into her pocket and waved them over.
“Hey, Mitch,” Bethenny said as the driver’s window lowered and his face became visible.
“You’re starting your day early,” he said with a strained laugh.
She nodded. “It seems so,” she said as she peered past him to the passenger seat. She didn’t recognize the man, but her breath caught in her throat for the briefest of moments. “Hi, I’m Detective Bethenny Monroe...” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to explain why she was new here—why she’d fled Los Angeles.
The corner of his lips turned up, revealing a small dimple, softening his square jaw. “Lachlan Taylor, lead homicide. I heard you’re in town,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows. She didn’t know if that was good news or salacious gossip.
“Your reputation precedes you. It’s a pleasure,” he said with a nod, opening the door and getting out. He walked toward her with confident, purposeful strides. She needed to tilt her chin up to look at him, his tall, built physique towering above her. He extended his hand and she shook it, noting his firm yet not hand-crushing handshake.
He held her gaze and it was only then, as the sun began to shine, that she noticed his almost gray eyes. For a moment she couldn’t stop looking at them. They were the most unusual color, and the most beautiful eyes she’d seen in a long time.
Bethenny realized she was still holding his hand. She withdrew it, quietly clearing her throat.
“The grave is about seven miles up that way, on foot. I have no idea if a vehicle can access it, but I assume it can’t. Do we have some maps to identify roads?” she asked, aiming the question at Mitch. She didn’t know if a standard GPS would have the forest roads marked. Bethenny looked over her shoulder, her confidence dropping as she looked at the desolate, partially overgrown path.
Mitch nodded, dipping his head to look at his phone.
Lachlan peered past her, rubbing his jaw. “You ran seven miles up, and seven down again?” he asked—with a hint of admiration, if she wasn’t mistaken.
She studied him a moment. “Yes, I love running through the forest. Well, unless I stumble across a grave.”
“How did you know it was a grave?” he asked, his eyes back on hers.
“The lack of overgrowth and the fact that the ground looked like it had been touched recently, unlike anything else around it. It’s a shallow grave, though. The killer either didn’t have enough time, or didn’t care to take much time burying her,” she said, looking over her shoulder once more. “I think the latter is most likely... there’s a path near the grave, but I don’t think it gets much traffic.”
His looked thoughtful as he stared at the path and the forest that spanned as far as the eye could see.
“Good news,” Mitch said. “There may be a road for the van... but to get to it I think we’ll need to drive a loop around here.” He traced his finger over the map displayed on his phone as he chewed his cheek. “Depending on how fast we can move, it’s going to take a few hours at least, maybe three. These roads are windy and steep. We’ll need to move slowly. The alternative is a helicopter, but we don’t have one in Redwater, so by the time we get one in I don’t think we’ll be any further ahead.”
“I can run it faster than you can drive it,” Bethenny said. “Give me a forensics kit and I can at least make a start before you and your crew arrive.” She was going to miss church today, much to her disappointment.
Lachlan raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to run another seven miles?”
Bethenny mentally felt her legs for a second. “Run and walk is probably more realistic. But even then I can make it in under three hours. You have a better idea?”
The corner of his lips turned up again. “No,” he said and turned away.
Bethenny’s eyes followed him as he moved toward the back of the van. He returned a minute later with two backpacks. He passed her one and swung the other onto his back. “Good thing I wore running shoes today.”
