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“No broken bones, no contusions,” I mutter. “No ligature marks on the neck. Any thoughts?”
Bowden hitches his belt. “Can’t say. We’ll need the coroner in on this.”
“Have Mallory call it in. I’m gonna take a look around.”
I straighten, pulling myself up—only for a shadow to fall across the dead girl, blocking the fading sunlight from the doorway.
Delilah stands behind us, her arms still tucked around her, her eyes clouded as she looks down at the girl’s body with her brows in a troubled line.
“Who is she?” she asks softly.
“I don’t know yet.”
It’s like the room goes quiet as the grave, the air somber, this nameless dead girl between us and a million questions I don’t have answers for. Underneath those midnight-blue eyes, there’s a searching need.
Almost like Delilah’s looking at that girl’s empty face and seeing herself.
Herself, or else every Jane Doe heartbreaker who ever died without anybody knowing her.
I shake my head, running a hand through my hair. “She’s not a local, I can tell you that much. There’s no sign she was assaulted or injured from any external trauma. It’s possible she had some kind of medical condition.”
“And that medical condition magically landed her in my house?” For just a second, Delilah’s voice cracks. A tiny break in that tough exterior. “You don’t think that’s a little weird?”
“It is,” I say carefully. “You’re a teacher, right? I bet you can think of a dozen reasons she’d wind up here if something happened and she wasn’t feeling right. People aren’t always thinking straight when their body goes haywire.”
Delilah’s mouth twists in a sour line, waiting for an explanation I can’t give her.
Shit.
I’ve got to watch my mouth. No need to disclose too many details.
Not even theories, and not just because if this is a murder, I can’t fuck up the investigation.
I definitely don’t want to start the small-town rumor mill spinning.
“Stranger coincidences have happened,” I say with a shrug.
“But I—” Delilah stops and turns, staring outside, her delicate face caught in profile with the light highlighting all her fragile edges. She’s like a cannon made of glass, frailty and fire. “I just thought...”
“What did you think?”
“I thought I saw someone when I pulled up. They were around the side of the house, gone before you could blink. Over the fence and then into the woods, I think.” She shakes her head. “I told myself it was a wild animal and I was just getting spooked too easily. But now...”
“Could be.”
Or it could be something else entirely.
Did someone dump this body here and run when Delilah caught them in the act?
Or was the body never meant to be found, and New York accidentally interrupted something worse?
I glance at the chief—but he’s moved to the side window looking out toward the fence, the forest. He’s just staring, chewing the inside of his cheek.
Goddammit.
He’s checked out again.
He hasn’t even made the call to dispatch like I asked.
I get that this job is pretty lazy ninety percent of the time, but this is the time when I’d expect any officer worth his salt to wake the hell up and pay attention.
Sighing, I step closer to Delilah. “Listen. Is there anyone you know who might want to hurt you?”
She stiffens and slowly looks up at me.
“Not here. I only arrived an hour ago. I don’t even know anyone in town. Lucia Arrendell hired me through a phone interview.”
Lucia damn Arrendell.
I have to hold back the urge to snarl at that name.
Keep it casual, Graves.
Still, I can’t help saying, “Odd way to hire somebody, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. Eccentric rich people, or whatever, right? And it sounds like you guys need new teachers bad.” She shakes her head, her inky hair falling against her bare shoulders, blending with that tattoo. “There’s this one guy, back in New York... But he wouldn’t know I was here. He couldn’t have followed me or gotten here ahead of me.”
My interest sharpens.
“You want to elaborate on 'one guy?'”
Her lips curl bitterly. “Creepy ex. Kind of stalker-y. Every girl’s got one, you know.” She glances past me at the dead girl on the floor. “Maybe she did, too.”
“That’s one possibility.” I glance at Bowden again, the back of his buzz-cut head, before gesturing to Delilah and taking another step closer. “Mind coming out to my car to talk for a bit? I’d like to get this guy’s name and information. Consider it due diligence.”
And I’m doing some more as my eyes rake over her, trying not to let myself get too smitten with her looks.
I don’t know her, and a pretty face doesn’t mean she’s just a witness.
Delilah resists for a moment, uncertainty clouding her face—there’s that alley cat look again—before she retreats, putting distance between us.
“You mean,” she whispers over her shoulder as she steps onto the lawn, “you want to get me away from the crime scene. Especially if I’m a potential suspect.”
