River Bodies (Northampton County Book 1)

by Karen Katchur

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I can’t undo it. What’s done is done.” The new sheets rustled, clean and crisp and washed hours after her mother had yanked off the old ones in a fury.

  In the next minute, her mother said, “Don’t touch me.”

  Silence stretched. It continued to stretch far and long.

  Becca’s eyelids grew heavy. She struggled to keep them open. It wasn’t until sometime later that she woke to the sound of her father’s pleas drifting down the hall.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Please,” he begged. “I promise it will never happen again.”

  Her mother didn’t say anything, and Becca wondered if her mother believed him, or if she also knew that he was lying.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Becca pulled her Jeep alongside Parker’s cabin and cut the lights. The sun lurked behind the horizon, not yet high enough in the sky to make an appearance. The more sensible people were tucked soundly in their beds with another hour or two of luxurious sleep ahead. Even Romy was curled in a ball on the floor in Becca’s room. But this was typical Parker, waking before the rest of the world, hoping to catch a big fat fish.

  It was nice to know some things about him hadn’t changed. She hoped she would discover that a lot more about him had stayed the same, because what little she had seen of cop Parker she didn’t much like.

  She stepped into the cool autumn air, followed the stone path that led to Parker’s front door. The cabin itself was covered in cedar shingles. Dark-green shutters framed the windows. His place looked to be straight from a fairy tale, warm and inviting. She stepped onto a recently swept porch, the broom propped against one of the two rocking chairs. The cushion on the chair closest to the door looked worn and used. The other cushion looked brand new, as though no one had ever sat on it. It was a sign Parker didn’t get much company. The thought made her sad and strangely happy. Maybe it meant he didn’t have anyone special in his life, or maybe it meant he didn’t invite a lot of people to visit him. He liked being alone almost as much as Becca did. And they both knew how to be alone, unlike most people Becca came into contact with. It was something they had in common.

  Matt happened to be one of those people who preferred company. He sought out crowds, looked for reasons to be on display. He thrived on attention. She imagined it was another aspect of his personality that made him such a good litigator. She shuddered at the thought of standing in front of a courtroom and having everyone’s eyes and ears on her. The idea was terrifying. She pushed it away.

  She knocked on the front door. She stood there waiting for what seemed like a long time. After another minute when he didn’t answer, she peeked in one of the windows, seeing only shadows of furniture in the dark. She knocked on the door again, but when there wasn’t an answer a second time, she made her way around to the back.

  She stepped onto the deck. Wooden stairs led down the bank to the river. At the bottom of the steps, Parker stood on a large dock. His movements were fluid and relaxed as he cast his line and slowly reeled it in. He paused as though he was listening for something. He must’ve sensed he was being watched, turned to catch her looking down at him. For a moment neither one of them moved. When he raised his hand and waved, she skipped down the stairs to greet him.

  “Where’s your pole?” He kept his eyes on the water as he cast the line a second time.

  “I don’t have one.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “There’s an extra one on the deck. Help yourself.”

  She walked back up the stairs and found the fishing pole outside the back door, a chugger already tied to the line. It was a top water popper Parker used for catching largemouth bass. So bass it was.

  Parker continued casting the line and reeling it in. Twice he had a bite but failed to hook the fish. He was using a chugger similar to the one he’d tied to the fishing line on her pole. They fished for a while in companionable silence.

  The river was quiet, spreading out in front of them like a calm lake. Farther upstream the rapids crashed over the rocks at Dead Man’s Curve. But Parker’s cabin was far enough away from the noise and the fast-moving white water, making his home a prime piece of real estate.

  Every now and again, she would catch him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. Finally, he said, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  “Oh, come on. You know how much I used to love waking up before the sun to fish with you.”

  “I know how much you used to complain about it.”

  “But I always showed up, didn’t I?”

  “That you did,” he said, looking at her so intensely she had to look away.

  He recast the line, eyes back on the water.

  “How are your folks?” she asked.

  “They moved to Florida a couple of years ago. Dad loves the deep-sea fishing. Mom likes walking the beach. They’re happy. I try to get down and visit whenever I can.”

  “Tell them I asked about them the next time you talk to them. I think about your folks sometimes and how they always included me in everything, in all your family activities.”

  “I’ll tell them,” he said.

  They continued fishing, careful with one another in the conversation that followed. Parker caught her up on old classmates, how Chad worked for the local electric company and had married Krissy, his high school sweetheart. They had two kids, with another one on the way. Some of the other guys Parker had played football with had stayed local and lived in the Slate Belt area.

  He shrugged and said, “Nothing really newsworthy, I guess.”

  She wanted to ask him why he hadn’t married, whether there had ever been a girl in his last year of high school or later in college, whether there was a girl now, but she couldn’t work up the nerve. They were still feeling each other out, working out the distance, the awkwardness between them. Plus she didn’t want to talk about her relationship with Matt. She didn’t want Parker to know she’d been living with someone for the better part of five years. He would ask the same questions she’d asked herself more often than not. Why hadn’t they gotten married? Why hadn’t Matt asked her? Would she have said yes if he had? Why had she put up with his lies?

  The sun was beginning to rise, warming her face and chest through the windbreaker. Parker checked his watch. He put his pole down.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said and took the stairs two at a time, his strong thighs easily carrying him up the steep incline. He returned a few minutes later with a thermos and two mugs. He poured them each a cup of coffee. They sat across from each other on teakwood chairs.

  “Thank you.” She raised the mug before taking a sip.

  “You’re welcome.” He leaned back, his legs sprawling out in front of him and taking up much of the space between them. “So how’s your dad doing?”

  She gave it some thought before answering. “When I got here, it was like he was on his deathbed. Jackie, his nurse.” She looked down at the mug in her hand. “His nurse and lady friend,” she added. “She thought he had maybe a week, two at the most. But I don’t know. He seems a little better. Not great or anything, but it’s like he got a second wind.” She sipped the coffee. “I don’t know how else to explain it. He’s just not ready to let go.”

  “Maybe it’s because you came home.”

  She laughed a little bitterly. “I don’t think so. You give me too much credit.” She looked out at the calm water, thinking relationships were a lot like the river, sometimes tranquil and other times tumultuous. She and her father were more like the white water rapids tumbling over rocks, navigating bends, riding the currents, unable to stop as they barreled into Dead Man’s Curve.

  She continued. “My dad and I fought a lot. I’m not sure how much you knew about that.”

  “I suspected as much.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

  “When he sent me away, I was so angry. God, how I hated him for it.” She stared at the river, the myriad of red and orange leaves covering the trees along its banks. When s
he turned her gaze back to Parker, he was staring at her in that intense way he had. “What?” she asked.

  “Your dad. He knows a lot about this town and the people.”

  “I suppose. He knows a lot of the women, that’s for sure.”

  “Yes,” Parker said in a careful voice.

  “So?”

  “Do you think he’d be up to talk with me? He might be able to help me with something, answer some questions I have.”

  “Is this about the guy that was found in the river?” She sensed a change in Parker, a shift to the new Parker, the one she didn’t recognize.

  “It might have something to do with it,” he said, eying her over the rim of his mug.

  “I saw the news last night. They said the guy was from New Jersey. And bodies from the cities turn up in the river all the time.”

  “True.”

  “So what’s different about this guy?”

  “I can’t tell you,” he said.

  “Well, can you tell me what this has to do with my dad?”

  He shook his head. “Just tell your dad I’d like to talk with him.”

  She felt protective of her father suddenly for reasons that weren’t entirely clear. And she felt hurt, too, thinking Parker had an ulterior motive for asking her here.

  “Is that why you called the house? Hoping to talk with my dad? And then asked me here to get an in with him?”

  Parker looked stunned. “Jeez, Becca, when did you become so paranoid?”

  It was her turn to feel stunned. Was she being paranoid? Had living with Matt all these years made her suspicious of everyone? Or had that been her father’s doing?

  Parker stood and grabbed his fishing pole. “I have to get to work,” he said. “You can stay here as long as you want. The view is spectacular, if I do say so myself. Or not. It’s up to you.” He turned and scaled the stairs with his long, strong legs, leaving her alone on the dock.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  John drove his motorcycle alongside Hap’s hog. The bikes’ engines were thunderous in the quiet hours of the early morning, but John wasn’t concerned about waking the people in town. The locals were accustomed to the sound of their bikes. He imagined most would sleep through the noise; others might stir only to roll over, forget what they’d heard.

  They continued on Delaware Drive, turning left onto Turkey Ridge Road. The sun was peeking over the mountain, casting long shadows on the macadam. They were headed to Saddle Creek Road at the northern end of town, passing a smattering of houses along the way, a mix of stately homes with long elaborate driveways tucked deep into the woods, paired with the odd couplings of trailers stacked on cinder blocks, most abandoned, some that were not.

  They rode up and over a one-lane bridge. John’s stomach lifted and dropped as though he were riding on one of the small roller coasters at the town fair where his mother had taken him when he’d been a boy. He hadn’t thought about his mother in a long time. She’d been a good mom as far as he could tell, making sure he’d been bathed and fed, buying him ice cream, taking him on rides. But she had her moments when she’d been sharp and hard, a tough love kind of woman.

  Then again, the same could be said for most of the old ladies in the club. You had to have a thick skin, a roughness about you to withstand the kind of hard-core lifestyle the members adhered to. The club had rules, some of them unfavorable to a woman’s point of view, like the strippers and sweeties made available to all members whether the members were married or not. Rules were followed or punishment was fierce. There were no exceptions.

  John leaned with the bike, taking a sharp curve before turning into the driveway of a two-story home. The white siding was faded and the shutters in need of repair. The paint on the picket fence was cracked and chipped. John supposed the police chief’s salary wasn’t all that much, considering.

  He pulled his motorcycle next to Hap’s hog and cut the engine. Immediately, John missed the vibration, the rumble, the power of the engine between his legs. He got off his bike reluctantly and removed his helmet before following Hap onto the front porch. Hap knocked twice on the screen door. He turned to John and said, “He had to hear us pull up.”

  John had an image of Toby answering with a rifle aimed at their chests. He grabbed Hap’s arm, pulled him out of harm’s way.

  Hap shook him off, knocked again.

  A shuffling sound came from inside, and in the next second, the door flew open. Toby stood behind the screen, wearing an old pair of work pants, the fly and button undone. He was shirtless. His chest sagged and looked like what some of the girls at the club had described as man boobs. His cropped hair stood up in the back of his head.

  “What can I do for you boys?” Toby asked.

  John sensed fear in Toby. He was no Chief Clint Kingsley, that was for sure. John wondered if Toby had it in him to do what they were about to ask of him.

  “We need a favor,” Hap said.

  Toby’s wife walked into the room behind him. She was short and round and wearing a dingy yellow robe. “Toby, honey, who is it?” She pulled the collar of the robe tight around her neck.

  Toby turned his head and said, “Go on back to bed, Mary. It’s nothing for you to be concerned about.” He stepped onto the porch, closed the front door behind him.

  John leaned against the railing. Hap stood next to him, a little more hunched over than usual. The old man looked tired, the stress of the last few days weighing on him and the club. Toby crossed his arms and looked back and forth between them. He was short for a cop, for a chief, John thought. Short and shaped like a doughnut. He wasn’t exactly emanating a position of authority. The zipper and button of his pants hanging open wasn’t helping the image. John felt another pinch of doubt rising up in him, his confidence that Toby would be up to the task slipping away as each second passed.

  “I don’t like you coming to my home,” Toby said, puffing up his flabby chest. “Whatever this is about can be handled down at the station.”

  “No,” Hap said. “I’m afraid it can’t. Walls have ears. And you don’t want anyone to hear what we have to say. Zip up, man.” He pointed below Toby’s waistline.

  Toby looked down, embarrassed. He quickly zipped and buttoned his pants. “What’s this about? I don’t want to hear it has anything to do with that guy we pulled from the river.”

  “I’m afraid it might,” Hap said.

  Toby took a small step backward. “Shit,” he said and ran his hand down his face.

  “What do you know about it?” Hap asked.

  “Not much. The staties took it over the second they heard about it.”

  “Why? What did they find?” Hap asked.

  Toby snorted. “You want me to tell you what evidence they have?” He was shaking his head. “They don’t tell me much, that’s for sure. Once they take over, I’m out of the loop. And Parker—Detective Reed, that is—he might be one of us.” He meant a local. “But that’s not going to matter much. These kids today aren’t like us, loyal to our own town, if you know what I mean.”

  “Just tell us what you know,” John said, talking for the first time, irritated with Toby’s jabbering.

  Toby stared at him. After a second, he said, “Yesterday with the dogs. They found some of the guy’s blood. They know where he was shot and gutted and dumped into the river.”

  Hap leaned on the railing next to John. “Well, we might have a problem then,” he said. “But it could go away with your help.” He nodded at Toby. “Maybe you could fix it for us so it goes away.”

  Toby put up his hand to stop Hap from continuing. “I’m not doing anything illegal,” he said. “I’ve looked the other way on more than one occasion with the strippers and the gambling and whatnot. But this? Uh-uh.”

  “It’s a simple request,” Hap said. “It shouldn’t be too hard, even for you.”

  “No,” he said. “The state police are involved. It’s out of my hands. What do you expect me to do?” He rambled, whined. “I’ve got a wife. A kid.�
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  “All we need you to do is make sure John’s name is on that police report. You know the one I’m talking about. A couple of your men arrested some of our boys a few nights ago for partying in the streets. I believe they were charged with disturbing the peace.”

  “They didn’t leave my men any choice but to haul them in. There were too many witnesses, too many tourists around.”

  “I’ve got no problem with what your men did. They did exactly what I wanted them to do. And John was one of the boys they arrested. Isn’t that right?”

  Toby stared at Hap with a blank expression on his face. Then it slowly changed as he started to understand it had been the Scions’ intention all along to create a disturbance, to have a bunch of the members arrested, to lock them up for the night for disturbing the peace, to give John an alibi. “Shit,” he said again and dropped into the chair on the porch. “You set it up.”

  John remained quiet, watching Toby’s reaction carefully. He was more than a little uncomfortable putting his trust, his life, into Toby’s hands.

  “So what do you think? Do you think you can make John’s name appear on that police report?” Hap asked.

  Toby didn’t say anything for a long time. “Would you have asked Clint to do the same if he was still chief and not me?”

  John was starting to understand what he hadn’t before. It wasn’t that Toby had a problem with helping them per se, but rather he was struggling to overcome his captain status. It had been five years since he’d taken over Clint’s position and become chief. But people still treated him as though he wasn’t in charge, asked him for things Toby seemed convinced they wouldn’t have asked if it were Clint wearing the chief’s badge. But Toby’s thinking was wrong. His question showed how little he knew of Clint, his former boss and friend.

  “We would ask the same of Clint,” John said, his tone confident. At one time he’d asked so much more from Clint, more than Toby or the town could’ve possibly known.

  “And what do you think Clint would say?” Toby asked. “I’ll tell you what he would say. No, that’s what he would say. He’d wash his hands of the whole mess and let the staties take care of it like he did twenty years ago when that first body washed up on shore . . . ” His words trailed off.