smile, and waves. I return the gesture and quickly escape back into my room. Damn, I can’t stand that woman. Thinks she’s better than everyone else in the neighborhood just because she went to medical school and married a detective. How do they afford a home in this neighborhood on his salary?
“What happened?” I ask into the phone, clearing my throat to get rid of the morning rasp.
“I don’t know all the details.” Lora huffs, as if she’s walking fast. “And no one knows exactly what happened yet, but around seven this morning, Sarah was walking a couple dogs, and one of them came unleashed. She said it pulled and jerked free and headed straight toward a tree near the bluff.”
“Oh my God.” Taking a chance at being spotted again, I peek around the doorjamb as a news van pulls up and parks across the street. Behind the van, half a dozen police cruisers are parked, one after another. “You weren’t kidding. It’s madness.”
“You haven’t heard the worst of it,” Lora babbles on. “When Sarah finally caught up to her pup—remember, she’s still not up to full speed, not since her knee surgery—she discovered that he’d dug up a bone. A partially decomposed human femur. Sarah was totally grossed out, and showed it to Amanda, who called her husband and the sheriff right away.”
“Oh, how terrible! Look, here comes another news van. Where do they think they’re going to park? There’s no more room.”
“I bet they’re going to try to park in your driveway.”
“That’s not happening.” I race downstairs and press my face against the glass, watching as the second van squeezes between two police cars. “Do they know anything else?” How did I sleep through all this?
“Well, from what I hear, the police have already started interviewing people in the area. Really informal, you know, but Sarah overheard Don from the distillery saying it’s a woman, though you know how reliable he is. They’ve already started digging, and from what Sarah says, they’re going deep.”
“God, please stop.” Nausea cramps my stomach. “I can’t hear any more.”
“I have to take off. I’m already late for my massage. Rachael, all I know is this: if you ever wanted to be on television,” she goes on, and I can tell from her tone she’s smiling, “now’s your chance.”
“Exactly how shallow do you think I am?”
Nineteen minutes later, after I’m dressed in my cutest hoodie, a pair of black leggings, and my new Nikes, I set the security system and head out. For the first time in my life, I wish I had a dog, so this would look natural. As if I went out every day for a run with hyperactive Spot or floppy-eared Fudge. But when I step outside into the plumes of ocean mist and start stretching, my muscles scream in protest. I zigzag over puddles and weave around splotches of mud as if this is part of my normal routine. No way these Nikes are stamping my carpet again.
I’m not a runner. I don’t do this. But I’m itching to know what people are hearing and saying. Do the cops know who the victim is? I wish I’d spent more time with the people in this sleepy town. Wish I’d made more friends, or gone to more Bunco nights. That’d make it easy to walk up to any of the people gathering on the street and start asking questions. Although I see many familiar faces, I’m not comfortable enough with any of them to strike up a conversation.
And then I see her.
Colleen, talking with a bright-eyed news reporter near the start of the Bluff Trail, all dewy-faced and pretty in a tight maternity outfit. I recognize the woman she’s conversing with instantly: Melissa Mendes from the six o’clock news. I’ve watched her for years.
There’s my way in.
“Morning, Sunshine,” I say, jogging to Colleen’s side. I’m winded. My chest is tight, my legs screaming. But Colleen and Melissa Mendes turn my way and smile, oblivious to the fact that I haven’t run