The Fog

by Amanda McKinney

  “Need help?” Agent Mackenzie squatted next to her.

  “Sure, thanks. If you can carefully lift here…”

  Mackenzie slowly lifted the pelvic bone. “What are you doing?”

  Gwen slid onto her stomach. “Soil samples.”

  Mackenzie watched her for a moment. “I’ve got to be honest with you. When they said they’d called in an entomologist, I was surprised. I thought the body had to be relatively fresh, riddled with insects and organisms to get an accurate time of death.”

  “That’s definitely optimal.” She scooped some soil into a vial. “But regardless of the state, you’d be surprised how much insects can tell us about a body.”

  “Even this body?”

  She nodded. “For time of death, I use one of two methods: insect succession and maggot development. For bodies longer than a month deceased, like this one, I use insect succession.”

  “Meaning… analyzing the stages of the bugs that inhibited the body, right?”

  “Exactly. Each stage of decomposition attracts and supports different species of insects.”

  “So you’re taking soil samples to find their shells or whatever.”

  “Exactly. Pupae and pupal cases.”

  “Flies?”

  “And beetles. In this particular scenario, I’m looking for beetles as much as fly cases.”

  “Beetles?”

  Gwen glanced up, a wicked smile on her face. “Ever heard of the bone beetle?”

  Mackenzie shook her head.

  “Google it… some interesting videos. They feed not only on larvae but flesh, too.”

  “Gross.”

  Gwen chuckled as she scooped the final sample into a vial. She pushed up and secured the vials in her bag. “Keep holding it up if you can; I’d like to take a quick look underneath.” She grabbed her flashlight and magnifying glass and slid back down.

  She frowned, cocked her head. “No way,” she muttered. She scooted closer, peering into the magnifying glass.

  “What do you see?” Mackenzie leaned down next to her.

  Keeping her eyes on the soil, Gwen reached back into her bag, felt around and grabbed tweezers and another vial.

  “Lift just a bit higher.” Carefully, she plucked the tiny bugs from the bottom corpse, and then sat up. “The bottom of this corpse is covered in drain flies.”

  Mackenzie cocked her head. “Drain flies?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay… you seem surprised?”

  “Yeah.” Eyebrows knitted in deep thought, she gazed up at the sky, then back at the agent. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised by a few… but this many…” She looked into the woods, her mind racing.

  “Why? Are you sure they’re drain flies? I thought blowflies…”

  Gwen shook her head. “No, these are drain flies.” She handed Mackenzie the vial and magnifying glass and shone the flashlight. “See? Look very closely.”

  “They look like moths… a tiny moth.”

  “Exactly. Adult drain flies look a lot like moths. They have a dark gray body and lightly colored wings, and are fuzzy in appearance, like a moth.”

  “Why does them being here surprise you?”

  “Drain flies aren’t uncommon, but hanging out under a dead body is surprising. Especially this amount. They typically live around drain systems, hence the name. They feed on raw, organic material. Standing water, mold, etcetera. They’re hell in homes. Common. But out here? In the mountains, around all this fresh, running water? This many?” She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t assume there would be this many in one place… aside from a sewage plant or something.”

  “Did you say sewage plant?” Stein asked.

  She turned to see Dr. Perez and Agent Stein, who had apparently been behind her the entire time. “Yes.” She looked back and forth between the two, who were staring at her with an expression that had her straightening. “Yes. A sewage plant.”

  The men exchanged a glance, and she looked back at Mackenzie, whose wide eyes shifted from the doctor, back to her, and then said, “The first nursing home where a woman went missing, two months ago… the janitor at the facility also works at the local sewage plant. We interviewed the entire staff, twice.”

  Gwen’s eyebrows shot up as Dr. Perez kneeled down and said, “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Gwyneth Reece.”

  He thrust out his hand. “You might’ve just solved this case for us.”

  CHAPTER 6

  With her cell phone clenched in her mouth, her bag and purse slung over her shoulder and a greasy sack of fast-food in one hand, Gwen kicked the door closed behind her. Feeling like her back was about to snap in half, she walked the three feet to the king-sized bed and dumped everything on the wool Navajo-print comforter. She blew out a breath and stretched her neck from side-to-side and then looked around the room that cost her two-hundred and fifty dollars.

  The Deer’s Den was a small, boutique hotel that reminded her more of a bed and breakfast. Quaint and cozy. Located in the small village of Mount Hood, Oregon, it was exactly what you’d expect from the name. A log-cabin themed hotel nestled in the foothills of the mountains, with a massive wood-burning fireplace in the lobby and deer heads mounted on the walls. She’d gotten the last room available, minutes after word had spread that another body had been found.

  She locked the door and glanced out the window where a small group had gathered in the parking lot, a few looking right into her room. Apparently, the locals had already pinned her as involved in the investigation. Media vans with cigarette smoke rolling out the windows filled the small parking lot. Eager, anxious reporters waiting for the next briefing.

  She drew the curtains as her phone beeped, alerting her to another voicemail.

  Another freaking voicemail.

  No reception at the crime scene meant peace and quiet, but when she’d made it back to civilization, she had seventeen missed calls and six voicemails. None of which she’d checked.

  The phone beeped again, and she glanced at the clock—11:51 p.m. She looked at the greasy bag of chicken fingers and after a quick battle in her head, decided not to pick up her phone… not until she got something in her stomach, at least.

  And a drink.

  She slid out of her muddy jacket, and a shiver caught her. Although it was fall, the Northwest evenings still dipped in the forties, nothing like the mild-to-warm temperatures back in Texas. She toe-heeled out of her hiking boots, which were also covered with mud, then padded across the room and yanked open the minibar. Her eyebrows tipped up at the selection.

  Nice job, Deer’s Den.

  She wiggled her fingertips across each bottle, carefully considering her selection, then decided on a beer. Nothing like an ice-cold beer to end the day with.

  She popped the top, took a long sip and sank onto the bed. Her feet ached, her back ached. Her whole body felt sore with exhaustion.

  You need a vacation, were the last words her mom said to her during their last conversation, and maybe she was right. Maybe she needed some time off. Everyone took vacations, so why the heck didn’t she?

  She took another sip and gazed at the files scattered over the bed. Sure, her job was demanding, and yeah, maybe it was true that she’d become a bit of a workaholic over the years but the truth was she loved it. She poured her heart and soul into her job and over the years she’d become one of the most highly sought-after forensic entomologists in the country. She loved a good mystery, the challenge of solving one, and at the end of the day, there was no greater feeling in the world than helping lock up a killer. Assisting in high-profile investigations made her tick, it was her passion.

  Gwen grew up in a small town west of Austin, Texas. Her father was a cop, her mother a teacher. “Little Gwenny,” as her mom had called her, was a juxtaposition of an introvert with a fiery hot attitude that put her in more timeouts than she could count. She was always into something, always investigating—taking apart a toy to see how it worked, creatin
g her own recipes and destroying the kitchen in the process, or experimenting with her father’s beard trimmers, shaving half her head at age seven. She’d given her parents a run for their money, but they loved her and supported her naturally inquisitive nature in any way they could… while locking up the trimmers, knives, razors, and guns, of course.

  From a very early age, Gwen’s two favorite things had been collecting bugs and listening to her father talk about working the beat. She was only a freshman in high school when she decided she wanted to be a forensic entomologist. And that was it. Gwen held onto her goal and spent most of her high school years locked away in her room studying, preparing for the career she’d already chosen. And because of that dedication, she graduated valedictorian and received a full-ride to college. She left home at age eighteen, earning a double bachelor’s degree in Biology and Chemistry and then received her master’s in Entomology.

  She’d started her career in forensic entomology assisting local medical examiners, gaining every bit of experience she could while making pennies on the dollar. She approached each job the same, with laser-focus and tireless dedication—regardless of the pay—and quickly earned a name for herself. Nine years and countless seventy-hour workweeks later, Gwen had become an expert in her field, called on frequently by federal agencies to assist in complex homicide investigations. She’d worked her ass off building a reputation for herself and wasn’t about to let anything get in the way of that.

  Not even a man.

  With long, dark hair, big, brown eyes and a tall, lean body, Gwen never had trouble getting a man’s attention. Her problem was keeping it. Her job was her number one priority and nothing, not even sex, could bump that out of first place.

  It had been six months since her last relationship ended.

  I’m sick of having a relationship with your cell phone… Are you ever going to want to settle down… Don’t you want to have kids, Ryan had said during their last argument. The kids comment was like a knife in the gut.

  She’d met Ryan Melbourne, esquire, during one of the cases she’d had to testify on in court. She despised going to court—the suits, formality, the pressure. She preferred to be in the shadows, in the dirt, not in a dress with a microphone in her face, all eyes on her. She didn’t even care for lawyers, really, and was surprised at herself when she accepted Ryan’s request for a date. But he was handsome, smart, and charismatic, true to the cliché of most lawyers, and she would've been crazy to say no. That first date had stretched into a two-year relationship.

  But, no more.

  It wasn’t just that he'd cheated on her, it wasn’t just that she’d invested two years of emotions and energy in something that failed; it was that she blamed herself. Maybe if she had made him a priority. Maybe if she’d taken on fewer cases. Maybe things would have been different.

  What the hell was wrong with her?

  Her mom told her she should work less… put more focus on her social life. Get married, is what she meant. Gwen refused to put that kind of pressure on herself. It would happen when it was supposed to.

  Right?

  She laid back on the bed, rested the beer on her navel and blew out a breath.

  Beep, beep.

  Dammit.

  She glanced at her phone and frowned. She recognized the number. It had called at least four times since she’d left the mountain and she was sure some of her unchecked voicemails belonged to it, too.

  She looked at the clock—midnight in Oregon, and even later across the country. Pretty damn late to be calling. Repeatedly.

  Beep, beep.

  She narrowed her eyes, fighting an internal battle.

  Dammit, dammit, dammit.

  “Gwyneth Reece.”

  “So your phone does work.”

  Her eyebrows tipped up.

  The arrogant caller continued, “You must be a very busy woman, so I’ll talk fast.”

  What the hell? Was that annoyance and… sarcasm in the man’s voice? Who the—

  “My name is Wesley Cross, and I’d like to hire you.”

  She caught a slight southern drawl in his deep voice and searched her memory. Wesley Cross. She’d never heard the name. No, she didn’t know a Wesley Cross and based on the last five seconds, she didn’t care to.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Cross, I’m not taking any—

  “I’ll pay double your fee.”

  Who the hell was this guy? “As I was saying, Mr. Cross—

  “Wes.”

  “Wes. I’m not taking any new cases at this moment.”

  “Triple. I’ll pay triple your fee. I hear you’re the best forensic entomologist around and that’s what I need.”

  She sat up, slightly stunned at this odd phone call. “What exactly do you need Mr… Wes?”

  “Mr. Wes, I like that. I’ll tell you everything when I see you tomorrow morning.”

  She snorted a laugh. This cocky cowboy was hilarious.

  He continued, “I’ve booked you the five-thirty flight out of PDX, direct flight to Northwest Arkansas and I’ve reserved a rental car. Full size. Only the best for you.”

  She could actually hear him smirk on the other end of the phone.

  “Wait a second. How do you know where I am?”

  “You’re working the Caregiver case in the Cascades.”

  “Stalking is illegal, you know.”

  “If I were stalking you, you’d know it.”

  “Four missed calls is stalking.”

  “Six missed calls, and for someone who works homicides, I’d assume you’d have a better idea of what real stalking is.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What do you do, Wes?”

  “Besides stalking?”

  “Besides being a pushy, presumptuous…”

  “I hire the best investigators to get me out of a jam. First class, triple your fee. What do you say, Miss Reece?”

  “I say you need to get your head checked, Mr. Cross.”

  “The travel details are in your email. I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Reece. Get some sleep. Sounds like you need it.”

  “Wait. How did you—

  Click.

  CHAPTER 7

  With a smirk, Wesley tossed his phone on the kitchen counter and picked up his drink. Jessica warned him that Gwyneth Reece ate guys like him for breakfast and based on the short conversation he’d just had with the forensic entomologist, Jessica was right. That was okay though, he never backed away from a challenge. Hell, if he could handle his sister, he could handle any attitude a woman could throw at him.

  She’d sounded younger than he’d imagined. Due to her reputation and accolades, he assumed she was an older woman with decades of experience under her belt. He’d assumed wrong, and the only thing he knew for certain that she had under her belt was one hell of an attitude.

  It hadn’t been hard to track her down. He’d had Dean call one of his FBI buddies. Within thirty minutes he’d gotten her email and cell number, and learned she was in Oregon working the Caregiver Killer case; a case that gave even him the chills. Working such a high profile case had been validation that she was exceptional at her job, and made him want her even more.

  He took a deep breath and picked up his drink. Good. The top entomologist in the country would be in Berry Springs tomorrow morning to help him clear his damn name.

  She’d better be, at least.

  He knocked back the last remaining sip, poured another two fingers and glanced at the clock—2:03 a.m. It was past midnight in Oregon. He’d been calling Gwyneth all afternoon, getting more and more desperate with each missed call.

  After his lunch with Dean and Willard at Donny’s Diner, he’d busied himself in his shop, getting grease on his hands and blaring good ol’ classic rock. He’d needed something to do to keep his mind busy and his thoughts on anything that didn’t involve why his ex-lover was brutally murdered in his house. After putting a good dent in his work, he’d dragged himself up to the kitchen, pulled off his sweaty, dirty T-shirt, poured s
ome whiskey and finally, finally, had gotten ahold of the attitudinal entomologist.

  Feeling a slight bit of relief now, he grabbed his drink, pushed out the back door and stepped onto the deck. It was a dark, moonless night. Not a star in the sky. A cool breeze carrying the scent of rain swept past his bare chest. The storms were coming.

  He walked to the edge of the deck, set his drink on the rail, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bracelet, speckled with blood.

  Leena’s bracelet. The bracelet he’d won for her at the local fair on their first date.

  He ran his fingers over the colorful beads and smiled. Damn thing probably cost three cents to make, but she didn’t care. She loved it.

  She was wearing it the day she was killed. He’d noticed it almost immediately, and he wasn’t sure why, but he’d taken it off her wrist before the cops showed up. It would’ve been something else to tie him to her. It was something else that showed how much she really had liked him. It was a stupid move to take it from the crime scene, he knew it, but it was done.

  Guilt twisted his stomach.

  Why hadn’t he given her a chance? If they’d been together, would she still be alive?

  A lump caught in his throat. He shook his head, dismissing his emotion and turned the bracelet over in his fingertips. The pool of light from the kitchen window twinkled against the multi-colored beads, and a sparkle of silver caught his eye.

  He frowned and peered closer.

  Between the beads hung a small, medieval-looking cross pendant with a tiny green gemstone in the center. The edges were worn, the intricate carving faded.

  What the hell?

  He was certain the pendant hadn’t been on the bracelet when he’d given it to Leena. He was sure because she’d showed him the beads closely, remarking that they reminded her of one of her grandmother’s dresses. He’d gotten a good look then, and no, a creepy-looking cross definitely was not on the bracelet.

  Where did it come from?

  Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  He held the small pendant between his fingers and looked closer, noticing it had been added with a thin string, loosely tied onto the hemp. Like someone had haphazardly done it.