Where They Found Her(2)

“A body?” It came out in a squeak I loathed myself for. “You mean a dead body?”

“That would be the implication.” Erik sounded skeptical of me now. He probably had been from the get-go, but I wasn’t helping matters. “I need someone to head out and see what’s going on. And with Elizabeth at the Governor’s Round Table and Richard out of commission—I’d do it myself, but like I said, I have this family emergency. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

“Is everything okay? With your family, I mean.”

Why was I getting personal? Erik hated personal. When we’d arrived in town back in August, I’d been sure that Erik and Nancy would be our first friends. Justin and I hadn’t socialized in a long time, and we needed to. Justin already had the professorial connection with Nancy, and I’d been instantly drawn to her warmth, even if it was partly attributable to her view of me as a prospective patient. Erik was a little prickly, yes, but he was also incredibly bright and extremely interesting.

However, Erik and Nancy had politely spurned all our advances: brunch, barbecues, concert tickets. All of which had been outside my comfort zone, anyway. Perhaps it was Erik’s checkered history or Nancy’s fertility problems—ones she talked about with an emotional frankness I envied—that kept them at a distance. Or maybe they just didn’t like us. Regardless, it was as though Nancy and Erik were encased in very fine barbed wire, visible only upon close inspection. And my own skin was far too thin to risk pushing nearer.

“Yes, we’re fine,” Erik said with typical curtness. “Anyway, looks like you’re on this dead-body story for now. Assuming you’re up for it.”

“Of course, I’ll head out right now,” I said, relieved that I sounded so calm and efficient.

But I was already nervous. To everyone’s surprise, including my own, I’d done a pretty good job so far bringing my little corner of Ridgedale to life. Even Erik, once a prizewinning foreign affairs correspondent, had seemed impressed. But I’d never covered anything remotely like a dead body. In Ridgedale, those were a rarity. There hadn’t been a single one since we’d lived there.

“Good,” Erik said. There was still hesitation in his voice. “Have you, um, ever covered a crime scene?” He was being polite. He knew I hadn’t.

“A crime scene? That seems to presuppose a murder. Do we know that?” I asked, pleased that I’d picked up on his jumping of the gun.

“Good point. I suppose we don’t,” Erik said. “Our source in the department was vague. All the more reason to tread lightly. Despite what they seem to think, the local police aren’t entitled to any sort of special treatment from us, but they’ll already be on the defensive with the university to contend with.”

“The university?”

“The wooded area near the Essex Bridge is outside campus proper, but it’s university property,” Erik said. “It’s my understanding that it was a Campus Safety officer who called in the body. As you can imagine, the university will be motivated to keep this quiet. Assuming any of this information is even accurate. There’s always the chance that we’ll find out the whole thing is a false alarm.”

The door creaked as Justin came out into the hallway, squinting his hazel eyes at me. His shaggy brown hair was sticking up in all directions like a little boy’s. Who’s that? he mouthed, pointing to the phone with a furrowed brow as he crossed his arms over the Ridgedale University T-shirt hugging his triathlete’s wiry frame. I held up a finger for him to wait.

“Okay, I’ll be careful.” Now I sounded so effortlessly confident that I was almost convincing myself. “I’ll text you an update once I’ve gotten down to the scene. I assume you’ll want something abbreviated for online, full-length for print tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” Erik said, still hesitant. He was doing his best to buy into my confidence, but he wasn’t all the way there. “Okay, then. Good luck. Call if you need anything.”

“Erik?” Justin asked sleepily after I’d hung up. He scrubbed a hand over his beard, which, despite early resistance, I now felt weirdly attached to. It covered up much of Justin’s angular features, yet it managed to make him look even more handsome. “What did he want in the middle of the night?”

I looked down at my phone. It was a little past six a.m. “It’s not the middle of the night anymore,” I said, as though that were the relevant point. My voice sounded spacey and odd.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Justin pushed off the doorframe and put a concerned hand on my arm. Because I wasn’t allowed to be spacey, not even for a second. Not anymore. That’s what happens when you dove off the deep end: people got alarmed when you dared poke a toe back in the murky waters.