Chapter Sixteen Potential Burial Sites #2
“A lot of it, yes.” Mar returns to her tripod to peer into the camera.
She shoves away strands of pink hair that fall onto her forehead.
“The police never released all the details, but enough leaked. Plus, everyone in town talks, right? I mean, how could they not? The guy sketched his victims before killing them. How sick is that?”
I force out a hollow laugh. “Sounds like a nightmare.”
“Totally.” She squints at me. “You okay? You’re looking kind of pale.”
“I’m fine. C’mon, let’s get our shots. It’ll be dark soon.”
To my relief, she drops it. We stay at the tracks until the sun starts dipping low behind the tree line. Once the shadows descend, we pack up our gear and return to the car, reaching the gravel lot at the same time another vehicle pulls up.
Instantly my stomach sinks like a stone. I recognize that yellow Jeep.
Doesn’t this guy have a life?
With a black backpack slung over one shoulder, Zed hops out of the Jeep. “Hey,” he says, raising a brow at the sight of us. “What are you doing out here?”
“Just taking some photographs for class,” Mar tells him. “And let me guess, Zellman, you’re out here searching for the remains of Thorn’s victims?”
Her mocking tone doesn’t faze him. “Indeed. I’ve been investigating potential burial sites, and this one’s on the list.”
Burial sites. The words make my skin crawl, but Mar just snorts. “Yes, I’m sure your extensive podcasting experience will be more successful than the police’s efforts.”
Irritation clouds his eyes. “The police haven’t found shit. They’re useless. And I don’t know what planet you’ve been living on, but the true-crime community—and yes, podcasters,” he says snidely, “have actually solved a lot of cold cases that the cops bungled.”
His response gives me pause, because I can’t reconcile it with those menacing texts. It doesn’t seem like Zed has any interest in leaving those victims in peace. He’s actively trying to find their bodies. So why would he warn me to stop?
Maybe he doesn’t want to share the reward…
I heed the thought. Is that it? I suppose that makes sense. But…ugh. I don’t know. Anything. I don’t know anything, and it’s starting to chip away at my sanity.
“In fact,” Zed continues with a smug smile, “my podcast just released the Thorn nine-one-one call.”
I can’t help but engage, curiosity getting the better of me. “How did you get your hands on that, anyway? I read that the former sheriff was adamant about not releasing that tape.”
“Sorry, ladies, but I don’t reveal my sources.” His smile fades as he focuses on me. “You still don’t want to team up?”
Mar barks out a derisive laugh. “Seriously, Logan, get a fucking life. Nobody is teaming up with you.”
“You, I understand,” he shoots back. “But her?” Zed jerks his thumb at me. “Your last name is Shipley, Ryan.”
“So?”
“You realize how many people around here still believe your family is hiding something? It only benefits you to find the bones. It’d shut everyone up. They’d finally stop talking about y’all like you were Thorn’s accomplices.”
“Nobody is talking about Ryan,” Mar says irritably. “She grew up in Europe, not Starling. And she’s under no obligation to team up with a dumbass who fancies himself some kind of super-detective because he has a podcast.”
Zed’s face reddens, and I catch a flash of anger in his eyes before Mar takes my arm.
“Come on, Ryan. Let’s go.”
Later that night, I watch a movie with Jasmine in the living room while texting with Everett, who’s telling me the latest about his sister, the queen of trouble.
“Hey, Jaz,” I tell my cousin, “apparently Everett had to go rescue Nikki from a scary biker bar across town and pull her off some thirty-year-old dude.”
Jasmine’s face pales. “Oh my God! What!” She grabs her phone and scrolls through her notifications. “I can’t believe she went back there.”
“Wait—tonight wasn’t her first time?”
“She’s been a couple times before,” my cousin confesses. “She says the guys there buy her drinks.”
“Not guys, Jaz. Men,” I correct. “She has no business being in a place like that.”
Jasmine bites her lip, dismayed. “I told her to stop going.”
“Clearly she didn’t listen.”
From what I’ve seen, Nikki doesn’t listen to anyone.
“I’m going to bed,” I say, leaving Jasmine to her frantic texting.
As I walk down the hallway, the murmur of voices seeps through my aunt and uncle’s bedroom door.
“…when someone…affair.” Dan’s voice is harsh, bitter.
Affair?
I pause midstep as alarm bells go off in my head. Then I step closer to the door.
“No, you’re not being fair!” My aunt’s voice, sharp and cutting, rises above his.
Maybe I misheard Dan. Maybe he said fair and not affair. Maybe those true-crime forums are poisoning my brain.
I press my ear to the door, guilt prickling at my skin. Their voices dip lower, but I catch fragments. Dan again, firm but not loud enough for me to make out the words. Maggie, clearer this time.
“No. You can’t say something like that and then…”
I’ve never heard them fight before, but maybe it’s nothing. Maybe my mind is twisting this into something worse.
Backing away slowly, I try to ignore the anxiety crawling up my spine. As I turn around, I bump into something solid. Someone.
“Whoa!” Connor’s voice is hushed.
He steadies me, then glances at his parents’ closed door. They’re still arguing, Maggie’s voice rising again.
“It’s probably nothing,” I assure him. “Just one of those stupid arguments that sounds worse than it is.”
He seems unconvinced. His eyes flick toward the door. “They never fight.”
“Maybe they’re stressed. It’s probably something silly, like…I don’t know, money or work or whatever.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Connor doesn’t say anything else, but as we head down the hallway together, I can’t help but look back at the closed door one last time, a pit in my stomach that I can’t quite shake.