Page 21 of Hell Hath No Fury

“There’s a penetrating injury to his abdominal area. The coroner won’t elaborate as to the cause of death until after autopsy, but it looks pretty obvious to me.”

“Penetrating injury? Gunshot or knife?”

“My initial guess is he was stabbed. He may have been killed elsewhere and transported here, but it’s too soon to tell for sure. The damned rain didn’t do us any favors. It washed away all but a few footprints. One set belongs to the woman who found the body.” Fergusson looked at Matthias’s mud-caked boots. “Let me guess. The other set is yours.”

“Good guess.”

The sound of an approaching vehicle drew their attention down the hill, where a small SUV roared in their direction. Two of the uniformed cops stepped onto the road, arms raised. For a second, Matthias feared the driver was going to run the cops down, but at the last minute, the car lurched to a stop. A petite blonde in an oversized pink hoodie tumbled out and staggered blindly toward them. The uniforms caught her only to have her try to wriggle free.

“Let me go,” she cried. “Is that my husband? Is Sonny—” she hiccupped. “Is Sonny dead?”

Fergusson strode toward her. Matthias fell into step behind him. “Ma’am,” Fergusson said in the same take-charge tone Matthias remembered. Fergusson identified himself. “And you are?”

She continued to squirm in the uniforms’ grasp. “Ashley Jones. Sonny Jones is my husband.”

Fergusson gestured for the cops to release her. “What made you come here this morning?”

The woman rubbed her arms where the two officers had gripped her. “A neighbor of mine called me to say she’d seen a lot of police activity at Sonny’s work site. I’ve been frantic because he never came home last night and isn’t answering his phone, so I hurried over here and saw the county coroner’s truck.” Her eyes glistened. “That’s him, isn’t it? Sonny?”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but yes. A body has been unearthed, and several of the local police officers have identified the victim as Greyson Jones.”

She let out a mewling wail. Fergusson reached for her, but she juked away with a yelp. “I need to see him.”

Matthias heard his name called softly and turned to see Emma standing on the road behind him. Beyond, Fran and her car were gone.

Another yip from Jones’s wife brought his attention back to her. Fergusson had reached out to take her arm as he guided her toward the shallow grave. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped.

Fergusson held up both hands. “I only wanted to steady you. The ground’s slippery, and you don’t appear too steady.”

“My husband’s dead. Obviously I’m unsteady. But I don’t need your help.”

As Fergusson directed Ashley Jones to the victim, Matthias moved to Emma’s side.

“Where’s Fran?” he asked.

“I tried to get her to stay, but she refused and took off.”

“At least we know her name. The locals will track her down and question her later.”

Emma was watching the scene at the grave. “Poor Ashley.”

“You know her?”

“Yeah. She, Sonny, Eric, and I all graduated high school together. Ashley and Sonny were sweethearts even back then. He was the quarterback. She was the head cheerleader.”

“A little clichéd,” Matthias said.

“A little.”

“Did you get to talk to Eric?”

“Yeah.” Emma kept her gaze on the gathering next to the grave. “You were right. He took Nell to Zeke’s funeral.”

He gave her a grin. “Of course. I’m always right.”

She responded with a soft snort.

“Why didn’t he leave you a note? And why didn’t he take his phone?”