Cold River - Carla Neggers [33]
Sean didn’t turn on the flashlight until he came to the crypt. Jo would have his head if he interfered with a crime scene. He circled the beam of light at the rock and debris, the tarp, the splatters of blood. Bowie’s blood. Hannah hadn’t bled as much.
The thick wood door to the crypt was shut, its only “lock” a stick shoved into the latch where a padlock should have been. Sean removed the stick and managed a smile at what passed for security. The door creaked as he opened it, shining the flashlight into the dark, windowless space. It was surprisingly high—at least eight feet, presumably to provide space for stacking coffins.
With a grimace, Sean stepped inside. There was no electricity. He shone the beam of light into the corners of the crypt, just to make sure a raccoon or other animal hadn’t somehow taken up residence there. Heavy metal scaffolding provided spots for coffins, but despite the cold weather, no bodies were yet being held over the winter for spring interment. A wooden shelf kept coffins from having to rest on the concrete floor. The walls were laid stone that had been pointed and in some places sealed with cement. The ceiling was framed in, plastic-backed plywood added as a protective measure against moisture.
It was one dark, dank and creepy place, but there was nothing there.
Sean returned to the lane. Maybe Bowie had a point. He was a stonemason. Stonemasons got hurt.
Jo and Elijah arrived, greeting Sean briefly, and he filled them in on what had happened. When he finished, Jo squatted down in front of the fallen rock and debris. Blood had splattered on chunks of ice.
“Is Hannah with Bowie now?” Jo asked without looking up.
“They left separately.” Sean glanced at his brother. “I’m not jumping to any conclusions. Bowie hit his head. He could have called Hannah’s name and not realized it. This all could be nothing.”
“You know Jo,” Elijah said. “She loves to check out nothing.”
Sean lowered his flashlight beam to the end of the trail that led down through the woods, impenetrable now in the dark. “Bowie’s still on probation. It’s easier for him if it was just the wind that knocked over the pile and had Hannah thinking she heard someone whispering her name. Maybe it’s easier for us if it wasn’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jo asked sharply.
“The investigation’s stalled,” Sean said. “We’re all getting restless and impatient.”
“I’m not.” She waited, as if she expected Elijah to argue with her, then said, “I just want to know what happened here.”
Sean sighed. “I know. Something’s not right with Hannah.”
Jo stood up next to Elijah, both looking at Sean as if he’d been hit on the head with a rock. “Sean,” Elijah said, “you want to tell us—”
“No. I don’t.” He nodded to the stone, dirt and ice, the tarp still now that the wind had died down. “Bowie needs to get some equipment up here and clear out this mess before someone else gets hurt.”
Sean recognized Rose’s Jeep out on Cameron Mountain Road. She stopped in front of the church and ran across the road with her golden retriever, Ranger. When they got to the crypt, Elijah quickly explained the situation. She listened, pacing but not interrupting. “Ranger and I can take a look in the woods, if you like,” she said. “We can see what we can turn up.”
“It’s best you stay up here,” Jo said.
Rose nodded. Her hair, the same medium color as Elijah’s, was tangled, and she was pale and pensive. She’d gone to the Midwest in November after devastating tornadoes and hadn’t been in Black Falls when Kyle Rigby and Melanie Kendall had turned their sights on two teenagers. A.J. had been the one to call her and give her the news that their father’s death hadn’t been an accident after all.
A.J. had called Sean in California, too.
Rose rubbed the