That would be just like Bonnie, wanting to see where Claire will be laid to rest and make sure everything is in order.
I feel a slight pinch of worry, though. There’s a coyote roaming around. Would it ever come out in daytime? Gabe was supposed to mention my sighting to his father, but the news might not have made its way to Bonnie.
I press a finger to my lips, wondering if I should head to the stream myself and alert her. As I stand staring into space, something Jake said works its way back through my mind. Bonnie tidied up at the carriage house this morning. Though Marcus told her to skip the guest suite, she’s been taking care of the rest of us—swapping in fresh towels, emptying wastebaskets, stocking the fridges.
If Hannah used the kitchen in the carriage house to dry foxglove leaves for a tea, Bonnie might have noticed something without being aware of its significance. Maybe this is my opportunity to ask her without others around.
“If anyone’s looking for me, tell them I’ll be back shortly,” I call to Jake as I’m halfway out the back door. Once I’m off the patio, I break into a jog across the lawn. The sky’s even darker now, like it’s been smeared with soot, and the air feels damp. Rain’s coming at some point.
I reach the trellis-lined pathway, and cover it, still moving at a clip. Vines have threaded through the rustic slats at the top, shrouding the path in near darkness today, and I’m relieved when I finally emerge into the wildflower meadow. There’s only one easy route to the stream from here—through the two meadows—so surely I’ll run into Bonnie on her way back. I don’t spot her in this meadow, however, or the next one, either. A stitch has started in my side, and I slow my pace, grabbing a few extra breaths.
And then finally I hear footsteps. And someone panting, even gasping for air. I burst from the grass meadow to find Bonnie standing off to the left near the start of the woods, her eyes wide with what looks like fear.
“What’s wrong?” I call out as I race to her side. “Is it the coywolf?”
“No, no,” she says, shaking her head. She jabs her free arm in the direction of the stream. “There . . . near the water . . . omigod . . .”
“Show me what you mean,” I urge.
Grasping her arm, I pull her cautiously along the edge of the woods in the direction of the stream, less than a minute away.
Before long I see what’s scared her. Vultures. There’s a cluster of them parked on the peaked roof of the old, weathered bird blind. They’re huge, the size of toddlers, though they look primordial—brownish black-feathered bodies with wrinkly, blood-red heads.
“There must be a dead animal around—”
But then my gaze is drawn to the ground about fifteen or so yards ahead of me. There are three more vultures in the weeds along the stream—and a body lying stretched out beside them, facedown. The vultures are pecking at the base of the skull with their beaks, one with a claw clasped around the skull.
Bile surges up into my throat.
It’s a woman wearing one of the tan slickers that hang in the side corridor of the house. And jeans. Jeans that have been yanked down to her ankles, revealing the flesh of her calves.
My gaze flies back to the woman’s head. Her hair’s dark brown, and though the face isn’t visible, I can see a hand, poking out from the sleeve of the slicker. The fingernails are painted a glossy pink.
It’s Hannah, I realize. Lying dead by the stream.
21
I gasp, rooted in place.
Is she really dead? Maybe she’s only injured, but it looks like a devastating injury. And why else would the vultures have come? I drop Bonnie’s arm and force myself forward a few steps. The vultures stop pecking, but barely deterred, they hop back less than a foot.
It’s enough for me to have a better view, though, and the sight makes me recoil. Hannah’s hair is matted and wet with blood, especially near the base of her skull. There’s a hole there, and pieces of flesh stuck in the ooze surrounding it.
“We have to go,” I say to Bonnie in a hoarse whisper.
“Is it—?”
“Hannah? Yeah, it must be.”
“I tried to throw a rock—to make the birds go away, but . . .”
“Bonnie, I don’t think there’s anything you could have done. She must be dead.”
As Bonnie lets out a moan, I grab her arm again and haul her away from the stream. I try to run, the two of us entwined, but the best I manage is a slow jog, hampered by my panic. Someone brutally attacked Hannah, right here on my in-laws’ property. Every few steps I twist my neck and check behind us, making sure no one is following.
We reach the first meadow, where the higher grasses block our view, and each time we approach another curve in the serpentine path, my fear balloons further, as I wonder what’s on the other side. But we don’t see anyone, and finally burst into the flower meadow. At the end of it I check behind me yet again, almost tripping as I swing back around.
We’re halfway through the trellised path when Bonnie begs me to stop.
“I’ve got to rest for a sec,” she says.
“Of course,” I tell her. We halt and both lean forward at the waist, gasping for air. At least from here, we can see the house, up the slope and far across the lawn.
“I can’t believe this,” Bonnie says, a sob caught in her throat. She’s practically dripping with sweat, and in the contained space of the path, I pick up its sour smell. “Was she raped, do you think?”
“Maybe. Or someone intended that and when she tried to fight him off, he killed her.”
“Oh god, the poor girl. But who could have done it?”
So far, I’ve been too terrified to wonder, but now a thought takes shape. “Claire said something the other day about hunters coming onto the property.”
“Yes, more than once,” Bonnie says. “Mostly in the fall, during deer season, though I think she spotted one recently. You’re allowed to shoot groundhogs in summer but not on private property like this.”
I nod, trying to piece it together. “When did you last see Hannah today?”
“When she came by the kitchen for coffee—like I told you. And then I saw her from the window going across the lawn.”
“She . . . she might have walked down here right after.”
And stumbled onto her attacker. Was it really a hunter then, one who thought nothing of assaulting and killing her?
But then, unbidden, other names force their way into my brain, no matter how hard I try to keep them out.
Nick. Who’d quarreled with Hannah last night.
Marcus. Who seems to have been livid with Hannah, though I don’t know why. Perhaps because he couldn’t have her for himself.
No, it can’t be one of Gabe’s brothers. It can’t be.
Behind us, leaves rustle in the wind, startling me, but I turn to see there’s no one there.
“Can you start again?” I ask Bonnie, desperate to be back at the house.
“Yeah, I’m okay now.”
Linking arms, we cover the rest of the passageway and then scurry up and across the lawn. There’s no one outside the house, but as soon as we enter through the side door, I hear voices coming from the living room. We follow the sound to find Ash, Marcus, and Gabe standing in a circle, hands in their pants pockets, clearly having a discussion of some kind.