that water?” Gretchen stopped and pointed. “On the other side of those trees?”
Josie studied the property line until she saw a few flashes of muddy water. “I think that’s the infamous moat.”
They took a few more steps toward the trees. “Look,” Gretchen said, pulling up short and barring Josie’s progress with an arm. Looking at her feet, Josie saw that the grass gave way to a large muddy patch filled with concrete chunks. A backward glance revealed that they were about halfway between the house and the line of trees. “There used to be a wall here,” Gretchen added. “This is where the yard ends.”
“The wall broke down,” Josie said. From where they stood, the neighboring houses were just visible. Each one had a solid barrier wall between their well-manicured lawns and the tree line which separated the properties from the moat.
Gretchen said, “What’s on the other side of the moat back here?”
“One of the still-active flood zones. One of the tributaries coming from the river runs through the neighborhood next to Quail Hollow on this side. When it flooded, it ran over into the moat, which made that flood. It’s all just one large flood zone now.”
“The barrier wall at the back of this house either wasn’t finished or it was too weak to withstand the moat overflowing, ’cause there’s nothing left of it,” Gretchen said. “There is no reason for Connie Prather or anyone else to be back here.”
“Something’s not right,” Josie said. “Do you hear that?”
They paused and listened. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees and voices floated up from the direction of the moat.
“Let’s go,” Josie said. “Be careful.”
As they began to negotiate the slippery, mud-covered field of uneven concrete pieces, Gretchen pointed to a series of footprints. Two sets, both mingled. “Step where they stepped. Maybe we won’t fall.”
Josie kept her arms outward for balance as she stepped from one block of misshapen stone to another. Gretchen put both hands on Josie’s shoulders for support and slowly followed. The voices grew louder. Finally, the stones gave way to mud, veined with tree roots. Josie saw the moat now, about thirty yards ahead, beyond the trees, its brackish water churning. Beyond it was just more water.
She and Gretchen followed the voices through the trees until they became clearer. The mud sucked at their feet, making it difficult to move quickly. Each time their sneakers made a small popping sound, Josie expected the voices to stop, but they didn’t. Finally, they came to the place where the trees ended. A narrow dirt ledge stood between the tree line and the moat. More tree roots reached their gnarled arms from the earth. There had obviously been a small landslide in the area at some point. Probably when the flooding overtook and destroyed the barrier wall above them. From where they stood, Josie estimated that it was a twelve-foot drop from the ledge into the water. They paused behind a large oak tree and craned their necks to find the source of the voices.
About twenty feet upstream, Josie saw Connie Prather first, standing close to the trees. Her tiny dog was clutched to her chest. Bright pink rubber boots adorned her feet. A matching raincoat completed the ensemble even though it was no longer raining. “Come back from the ledge, Mar. Really. You’re scaring me.”
Marisol stood about three feet away, as close to the ledge as she could get before the ground would just disintegrate beneath her. One of her black rubber boots nudged at a mud-covered tree root. When she said nothing, Connie continued, “I don’t know why we had to talk out here.”
Marisol laughed but kept her back to Connie. “Because you’re going to accuse me of something very bad, and I don’t want to take the chance of anyone hearing it.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m telling you that with everything that’s come out about Kurt, there seem to be some… irregularities with your involvement in our foundation. I talked to Tara and she—”
Marisol whirled on her, eyes flashing. The swelling in her face had gone down but her skin was still various shades of purple and yellow from the faded bruising. “You talked to Tara? Are you out of your mind?”
Connie hugged her dog closer to her body and took a step back. “Tara didn’t even want to hear it. She told me to go to the police.”
Marisol seemed to calm down. Gone was the momentary flash of rage Josie had seen.