Connor put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed.
Cash pulled out his screen, tapped it. “It’s Cash,” he said to whoever answered. “We’re at the waterfall. And we’ve got a dead resident.”
* * *
* * *
“The security guards didn’t come back this far?” I asked when Alexei had joined us and we’d moved several yards from the crowd.
“I doubt it,” Connor said. “They’d have checked around the waterfall since that’s where the event was held, but not far beyond that.”
“Whoever left him here believed someone would find him.”
They both looked at me.
“What do you mean?” Connor asked.
“He wasn’t killed here,” I said. “He was left here for someone to find.”
“Psychic?” Alexei asked, just as Connor had.
“Observant,” Connor corrected, narrowing his gaze as he looked at me, considered. “What do you see?”
“He looks like he was attacked by a wild animal—something with teeth and claws—not a knife or a gun or fists. He’d have bled a lot, but there was no blood where he was placed. No smears of it on the ground, on the plants. He’s tall and in good shape, and presumably would have put up a fight, but the grass around him wasn’t trampled down. He wasn’t killed here.”
Connor nodded. “Wild animals certainly cache food, but we’d have seen evidence if they’d dragged something this large through the brush. And you’re right—there isn’t any evidence here.”
“Which means this wasn’t an attack by a wild animal,” Alexei said grimly. “Humans or Sups did this.”
“Which ones?” Connor asked. “And why leave him here for the rest of us to find?”
“Someone who wanted to ruin the initiation?” Alexei asked. “Or make a statement?”
“Could be either or both,” Connor said. “That’s what we’ll have to find out.”
* * *
* * *
The sheriff was younger than I’d expected, a sturdy man with suntanned skin, short brown hair, and brown eyes set beneath dark and angular brows. His jaw was square, his chin equally so, but with a dimple in the middle, his bottom lip a little fuller than the top. Handsome in a rugged way, and probably in his late thirties. And he definitely wasn’t a shifter.
He wore a wide-brimmed taupe hat in the same shade as the perfectly creased uniform.
“I’m surprised his first thought was calling a human sheriff,” I whispered.
“Clan’s doing what humans would do in this situation,” Connor whispered back. “Call the authorities and let them come in and handle it. It’s the cost of pretending to be human.”
Along with the cost of turning over control to humans, I thought. Was that worth it? Given the looks of displeasure on some of the younger shifters, they didn’t seem to think so.
The sheriff examined the scene, hands resting on his loaded belt as he scanned what remained of Loren. After a minute of review, he looked over the crowd, pausing when he reached me and Connor, then turning back to Cash.
“What was happening here?” he asked.
“Baptism at the cataracts,” Cash said solemnly.
As cover stories went, a baptism wasn’t terribly far from the truth.
“Not a very auspicious one,” the sheriff said.
“No, it isn’t.”
“You hear anything? See anything?”
“Nothing,” Cash said. “One of the kids was playing, found him, came back and told us.”
“Looks like he’s been mauled,” the sheriff said. “A man was killed by a bear in Boyd a couple of weeks ago. Blew a tire while driving down a fire road, was attacked while putting on the spare. His dashboard screen caught the whole thing.”
He scratched his jaw, the stubble making a scritch sound. “Looked a lot like this. Maybe he was taking a walk on the property, was attacked, taken down. I don’t see a weapon wound.”
“I don’t, either,” Cash said. “Just these scratches, the bites.”
As silence fell, I looked at Connor, wondering about all the things that hadn’t been said. Cash hadn’t mentioned the attack on Beth last night, and either the sheriff hadn’t noticed the fact that Loren had been placed there, or he’d decided not to mention it in front of us.
Connor shook his head just enough to give me the signal. We weren’t going to talk, either. Not now.
The sheriff turned away from Cash, settled his gaze on us again. It wasn’t difficult to guess that he’d done so because we were strangers. We were the odd men out.
He walked closer, pulled off his hat, ran a hand through his short hair.
“Ken Paulson,” he said, and didn’t extend a hand. “I don’t know you.”
“Connor Keene. Georgia’s my great-aunt. We’re here from Chicago for the baptism.”
“We?” the sheriff asked.
“Me and my girlfriend.” He reached out a hand for mine, and I took it, squeezed, offered a smile that I hoped skirted just between shy and sad.
The sheriff looked me over, but if he recognized our faces or biology, he didn’t mention it. “You see anything unusual?”
“Not until this,” Connor said, gesturing to the scene. “We were talking with the family when a child ran up, said she’d found a body. You’ve seen the rest.”
“I have.” He shifted his gaze to me.
I met it, worked to look sheepish. And being a vampire, and skilled at fooling humans, I apparently pulled it off, as he settled the hat back on his head, looked at Cash.
“He have family that needs to be notified?” Paulson asked.
“If you mean biologically, no. We’re his family as far as it matters. Which means I guess we’d better call the funeral home. Or do you have to call the medical examiner?”
“County doesn’t have an ME right now,” Paulson said. “We contract with Lake County, but it could take two, three days before they can get someone down here. And autopsies aren’t mandatory.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Cash said. “You mentioned that when Paisley was hit. I’d forgotten.” But the calculation in his eyes said that was a lie. He knew very well what the rules were.
“Your people are having a hard month,” Paulson said. “I don’t see any need to add to that by forcing a discretionary autopsy. Especially since this looks like a wild animal attack.”