Chapter Three
Beckett
The vacuum cleaner rattled as it picked up popcorn kernels in the couch cushions. I loved Amelia, but she could be a sloppy eater.
That wasn’t a fair statement actually because I’d been tickling her while she’d been holding the bowl of popcorn. No wonder a few kernels had made their way overboard.
Fortunately, that was the only cleanup I needed to do after babysitting Amelia last night. She’d been content with watching musicals and dancing around my living room so we hadn’t made a mess of the entire house.
I was tired though because my niece had unlimited energy. She never slowed down.
“Kick higher, Uncle Beckett!” she’d squealed as she’d led me in some crazy dance routine I was pretty sure she’d made up on the spot.
“I’m kicking as high as I can, Amelia!” And I was a limber guy. She should have been impressed. “I’ll bet your other uncles can’t kick this high.”
Amelia had paused in her own dancing to regard me as I front kicked like the best of the Rockettes.
“You might be tied with Uncle Logan,” she’d said. “And his kicks are bouncier.”
She’d gone back to her own kicking dance move, but I’d collapsed onto the couch.
“That’s because Uncle Logan is part kangaroo,” I’d said.
Amelia had erupted into a fit of giggles and she’d thrown herself atop me on the couch. She wiggled around for a few moments then looped her arms around my neck, her smile huge and her black curls a wild mess about her adorable face.
“I think you’re part robot!” Her laughter had echoed off the walls, making me laugh too.
“Bee-boop-beep.” I’d slid her to the cushion beside me and rose slowly, mechanically, to my feet. I’d moved my arms up and down like a robot would and marched back and forth in front of the couch. “Boop-boop-beeeep.”
Giggling, Amelia had joined me and we robot-danced around the living room until the song in the musical on the TV changed. She had then announced we needed to dance like giraffes.
Whatever that meant.
All in all, we’d had a fun night and I’d once again secured my title of Most Fun Babysitter.
Even if my kicks hadn’t been high enough.
Now I had a Sunday to face. I’d hoped to get back to Apocalypse Attack with my online buddies, but all three of them were busy today.
I actually was too. Some task always needed doing at Hartley’s Nest, and while I mostly handled the business stuff, being part of this family meant getting my hands dirty. Often.
Mom had mentioned needing help with something, but that wasn’t until later today so I had time to go for a run at Granite Cliff National Park this morning.
As soon as I got all these kernels out of the couch cushions.
Twenty minutes later, my sneakers hit the leaf-strewn Harper Trail at the park.
I took a few moments to stretch then started my run, treading carefully so as not to slip on the fallen leaves.
I found my rhythm easily, having run here regularly since my days on the high school track team.
A team my parents forced me to join initially because I was spending way too much time on video games in my childhood bedroom.
Something my dad wouldn’t take the blame for though he’d been the one to introduce me to video games.
I’d like to think I had a good balance going now between being active and sedentary, but I could admit to sometimes letting a video game suck up my movement time.
Hey, I could be addicted to something far more destructive, right?
The air outside today was crisp, but I was outfitted in my running pants and jacket so I was comfortable as I shifted into the higher gear of a steadier run. I passed a few other hikers and runners on the trail, giving them the neighborly head nod or wave but not slowing my pace.
The views from this trail were exquisite with morning sunshine pouring over the autumn woods and Greenridge’s closest two mountains—Mount Jeffries and Calico Mountain. The sky was cloudless today and a pure blue that promised a day full of exceptional weather.
I reached the part of Harper Trail that essentially made a giant U-turn for the return trip without breaking a real sweat.
My body was accustomed to this run and I used it more as a maintenance workout than a growth one.
It was the weekend after all so I could take it a little easy on myself because I’d done harder workouts throughout the week.
Like that abs one on Wednesday that had nearly busted my gut. Days later and my mid-section was still a little tender after that workout.
My legs, however, felt fantastic and I took that U-turn at a good clip, prepared to make the run back to my car.
Something off the trail in the meadow full of now-brown Queen Anne’s lace and dead milkweed caught my attention though.
It looked like . . .
It looked like a person.
A dead person.
The only thing that moved near the . . . the body was some tall grasses, blowing in the slight breeze.
I stepped off the trail and waded into the brush to get a closer look, my hand pulling my phone from the zippered pocket on my pants. I hadn’t planned on making a 9-1-1 call this morning, but I didn’t suppose anyone ever planned on doing that.
Why hadn’t any of the other people using the trail seen this body?
I was close enough now to see it was a woman.
A beautiful woman with bright red hair intertwining with the faded-green grass and crunchy brush around her.
She wore loose, flowy pants in a soft green color, a matching, fitted shirt, and a long, brown, cardigan-style jacket that had fallen open, the sides pooling fabric around her toned torso and legs.
Something about the fabric and the cut of the outfit made it seem different from what people who lived around here normally wore.
And this woman’s face was also something different. Good God, it was so peaceful and flawless and still.
Who would have killed such a lovely specimen of humankind?
Jimmy Slater immediately popped into my head, but I dismissed that notion because my mom wouldn’t be with a serial killer. She had that mom radar, right? The kind that could tell if a person was evil at their core. If she liked him, he had to be worthy of that.
And not someone who could harm a woman like the one lying dead at my feet.
Maybe she’d died of natural causes. That was more likely. Perhaps she’d been doing yoga or something up here alone off the trail and that was it. She had a heart attack and her time was up. That was sad, but it happened even to young people like her. My dad had died far too young as well.
I tapped my phone to call for help, but something made me kneel beside the woman first. Had she been scared when death came for her? Tragic that she’d been all alone as she’d left this world.
I took a few more moments to look at her, but I didn’t recognize her and I knew a ton of people in Greenridge. Maybe she’d been a tourist or new in town.
Something made me lean a little closer.
Then her eyes opened and we both screamed.
I stumbled back, my sneaker snagging on something in the brush and causing me to fall backward. I was now the one lying flat on his back.
“Oh!” The woman popped up to her feet, that long cardigan billowing out like a cape.
She rushed over to me, crouching by my side.
“I’m sorry to have startled you, sir.” She had a lovely accent, Irish-like yet slightly different.
It made her sound as if she was not only from a different place but a different time as well. “Are you injured?”
I propped myself up on my elbows and did a quick scan of my body. “I don’t think so.” I squinted up at her as the sunshine illuminated her from behind, making her look like an angel.
Was she an angel?
Had I only imagined her human body had risen from her lying position? Did an angel ascend from her instead and that was what was looking upon me now?
“Are you dead?” I asked.
Her eyebrows rose over stunning green eyes then her nose—one dusted with light freckles that dotted her cheeks as well—crinkled.
“Dead?” She patted her hands over her torso. “I don’t believe so. No.” She reached out a hand as if to touch my forehead then pulled her hand back before making contact.
Pity. I wanted her to touch me for some reason.
“Did you jostle your head too much when you fell?” she asked, concern on her truly perfect face.
Jostle? Didn’t hear that word much.
“No.” I sat up more fully, surprised to find my jacket sleeve covered in burdock burrs. I’d fallen right into the prickly seed heads. “Shit.”
“Are they poisonous?” the woman asked. “Are you in grave danger?”
A chuckle slipped out of me. “Grave danger? No, but it is a pain in the ass to pick these all off.” I began the task, grumbling as the Velcro-like burrs plucked at the fabric of my jacket.
The woman’s delicate fingers closed around one of the burrs near my elbow. She recoiled a bit as if shocked by the pinch the burrs caused, but then she committed more seriously to helping me remove them.
Oddly, we didn’t talk while we worked together, but I felt her gaze on me a few times, and she probably felt mine on her too. When she reached up toward my shoulders, a vision of kissing her popped into my head.
But she was only grabbing a burr on the collar of my jacket.
“You’re right,” she said after having one of the burrs stick to her thumb. “These are determined little pricks, aren’t they?”
Pricks! Ha! “The prickiest of pricks.”
She smiled and something warm flooded through me. Damn, she was absolutely spectacular. Like seriously. Had she fallen from the heavens or something?
“What were you doing lying in the brush out here?” I dislodged the final burr and tossed it aside.
“Meditating.” She held out her hand. “I’m Sadie Rodgers.”
“Nice to meet you.” I slid my hand along hers and yeah, that warmth inside me amplified by a thousand percent. “Beckett Hartley.”
“A pleasure.” She tightened her grip on my hand as she rose effortlessly to her feet. Giving a little tug, she helped me to standing. When she released my hand, she walked a circle around me. “I don’t see any more pricks on you.”
I laughed at her use of the word pricks again. “That’s a relief.”
“I do apologize for giving you a fright.” She waved a hand to the depression in the brush where she’d been lying. “But it was such a comfy spot to get grounded.”
Ah, so she was one of those crunchy, earthy types who balanced chakras and crap. I loved nature and all, but I wasn’t into that stuff. It seemed like a load of bullshit to me.
“Do you meditate?” she asked.
“No.”
“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes as if studying me. “You should. Your aura’s a bit off.”
“My aura?” I folded my arms across my chest. “My aura is just fine.”
She shook her head, that mane of red hair silky about her shoulders. “No. It’s definitely murky. You should consider a sound bath.”
“What in the world is a sound bath?”
“It’s a lovely practice.” Her entire face brightened.
“Someone plays crystal singing bowls that resonate at different frequencies. Those frequencies are great for healing and aligning and purifying. The music of them is so energizing. I’m going to get a set of bowls once I get settled.
” She nodded once as if making that decision right then.
“So you’re new to Greenridge, Vermont?” I asked.
“Arrived yesterday.” She stepped back over to where I’d originally found her lying in the brush and patted something I hadn’t noticed.
A suitcase.
“Did you . . .” I began. “Did you spend the night out here?”
“Indeed, but the air was a bit crisp, I will admit.” She wrapped the long cardigan around her and shivered.
“Of course it was,” I said. “October in Vermont means cooler temps, especially overnight.” Who was this Sadie Rodgers? And more importantly, was she insane? “Do you not have a place to stay?”
“That’s at the top of my list of tasks for today,” she said with a bright smile. “I was meditating about it before I was . . .” She glanced up at me. “Interrupted.”
“Right. Sorry. I don’t think meditating will help you find a place to stay though.” I was fighting off a wild notion that kept dancing around inside my head. A wild notion that involved inviting this Sadie Rodgers back to Hartley’s Nest.
“Meditation always helps,” she said with a note of confidence. “That’s why my aura looks like this.” She arced her hand out to indicate the air around her. “And your aura looks like . . . well . . . that.”
The disapproving look in her eyes bugged me. Nothing was wrong with my goddamn aura because auras were nonsense.
And this chick—no matter how gorgeous she was—was sure to get under my skin with all her new age silliness.
“Okay.” I drew in a deep breath. “I have to get back to my run.” I pointed to the trail. “Good luck finding a place to stay. You could always get a tent at Faraday’s Hardware back on Main Street,” I joked.
I saluted her and broke back into a jog, leaving her in the brush.
Where she still resembled an angel.
But I knew better now. She was actually a nutcase who believed meditating could solve real-world problems like finding a place to stay. She’d find out soon enough that hard work—and a solid internet connection—were the only ways to truly get things done.