16
Karl stabbed his shovel at the cold hard dirt. Maybe it had something to do with the massive pines surrounding him, but he felt small. Too small for the task ahead. He set his feet and struck the soil repeatedly, working up a sweat before he finally produced a dent. Once the dent widened to a crack, he wedged the spade inside and pushed down hard. His arms burned and his back ached, but with enough pressure, the soil budged.
Finally.
What a day to dig. Up till now, Traders had only died in the milder months. Digging graves was no picnic in any season, but today Karl struggled big time.
After a dozen scoops, he wiped his brow and glanced at the body bag lying behind him. The faint stench of death made his heart heavy. Things would only get worse once Mac’s family called to ask about him. Karl would have to stage a pretend search, follow pretend leads, and ask pretend questions. Fake, fake, fake. Nobody would find the body—not this deep in the woods—and he’d eventually declare Mac a missing person.
Then life would return to normal.
Normal.
Karl hated normal. Normal had worn him down for thirty years, and aside from Candace and the Downhill Diner’s great coffee, normal gave him little to look forward to. Normal meant keeping secrets, losing sleep, and rarely seeing his kids. Even now, with Trent and Ashlee both home for the first time in forever, here he was, separated from them. That’s normal for you.
As he shoveled, Karl wondered what would happen when he himself died. He might be discovered by a non-Trader, someone who’d be baffled by his vanished knees. More likely, though, a Trader would find him. Then someone would haul him out here, dig a grave, and dump him like a sack of potato skins.
No funeral, no blessing, no headstone.
The thought chilled him. He dropped the shovel. His hands shook as he reached for it.
He didn’t want to die in Hollow Hills. Not even with Candace at his side. He wanted out. Thirty years was enough. And while Candace was right that Snare’s offer was suspicious, Karl had a hunch that Snare wanted out as badly as he did.
A crunching noise alerted him. He spun in anxious circles, worried that Bill Werner—or whoever’d abducted Mac—was closing in.
The pines shook. Karl held still and listened to a rustling breeze.
Probably rodents, he told himself. Besides, what would Mac’s killer gain by being out here? The sooner I put Mac’s body in the ground, the better off the killer is.
Karl resumed digging, but at a slower pace.
The Traders were getting older, he realized, and there would soon be more burials. No telling how many more missing persons they could afford to report before somebody opened an investigation.
“Might be time to pack up and leave,” he said, glancing at the bag. “What do you say, Mac?”
Mac, of course, didn’t reply. A breeze crinkled the plastic, but Karl didn’t regard a flapping body bag as a special sign, just sad reality. He wished he’d stood up to Candace and sent Mac to the hospital. Maybe she was right about the man’s brain being fried beyond saving, but it still felt wrong.
More wrong than usual.
“Sorry, fella,” he said with a lump in his throat. “Should’ve called it in. Should’ve—”
That crunching sounded again. Louder this time.
Karl spun around, clutching his shovel.
Eyes wide, he crept through the woods. Every time he rounded the edge of a tree, his heart raced. Joggers never came out this far, so it had to be someone familiar with the Traders. Possibly someone who knew about Mac. Whoever it was should’ve announced themselves by now. The lingering silence was bothering him. Eating him. If he spotted a stranger, he would drop them with a smack to the head. No hesitation.
Assuming they didn’t see him first.
He kept his ears open. Every drip of melted snow turned his head. Suddenly a crunch sounded behind him. Over by the grave.
He lifted the shovel, ready to strike the unseen trespasser. He darted from behind a shaggy pine, gripped the handle with both hands, and chopped sideways, cutting through the air with a hiss. As his arms followed through, he recognized his target’s leather sleeve and the cast poking out from it.
He pulled short like an MLB slugger checking his swing. Thank God. He sighed, half-relieved and half-mortified at the sight of his daughter.
Ashlee turned from the grave to face him. “Thought I’d find you here.”
The last time she saw a body bag in these woods, she’d screamed at him, skipped town, and bunked with an ex-bandmate in Philly. He didn’t hear from her for ten years. Now, staring at Mac’s body bag, she seemed unmoved. Maybe it was maturity. Maybe she was desensitized. Most likely, though, she was behaving because she wanted something.
Karl cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
“Who’s in the bag?” she asked.
“John MacReady.” He checked between the pines, hoping nobody followed her. “Fella worked at the banquet hall. Candace found him dead in his car yesterday morning.”
“Dead from what?”
Karl met her eyes. “This stays between us, but Candace and me think somebody drove Mac outta the zone for his parts.”
“Ouch. What did he trade?”
“His kidneys.”
“Kidneys?” Ashlee’s jaw fell. “Dad, Snare requested them.”
“I know.” All that talk about Snare requesting parts made him both curious and uneasy. He hated thinking about it. “Listen, Ashlee. You should head back. Don’t want you getting caught out here.”
“I don’t want you getting caught out here,” she said. Her concern lifted his heart. “Seriously, Dad. How many more of these graves can you get away with?”
Good question. He’d been asking himself roughly the same thing minutes ago. He still didn’t have an answer.
“You can’t keep this up forever,” she said.
“Won’t argue there.”
It dawned on him that this passed for civil conversation. Big milestone for them. All it took was an unlawful burial to bring them together.
“You talk to Trent?” he asked.
“He said he’ll trade his leg only if his kid gets new eyes. By the way, what happened to the kid?”
“Long story.”
“Well, when I visit Snare, I’ll ask for extra eyes.” She paused, waiting for his reaction.
He swallowed hard. If they could somehow restore little Jake’s vision, that might be worth the gamble of trusting Snare. Plus, Trent and Ashlee could get new parts, and Karl himself could pound the gas pedal all the way home to Pittsburgh.
“I see.” He pried at the earth, rocking his shovel back and forth. He’d barely made progress. “Be careful.”
“Will you help me?”
“Help you?”
“Candace is ignoring my calls like a bitchy old diva. Could you convince her to shut down the cameras?”
He tossed a shovelful. Chewing his lip, he stared at the grave. “Best not to bother Candace.”
“Please, Dad. She’ll listen to you.”
“She won’t.” He set his shovel aside. “But that’s okay.”
Her eyebrow rose. “How so?”
“You don’t need her permission.” He grabbed his phone. “She’s not the only one with access to them cameras.”