Page 60 of In the Dark of the Past

“Gear up,” I said. “We’re rolling.”

Birchwood Preserve at this time of day was the kind of beautiful that made your teeth ache. Mist clung to the lowlands, spiderwebs jeweled with dew. The eastern sky bled from gray to pink to gold, turning the world into something soft and almost kind if you didn’t look too close at the details.

We didn’t have that luxury.

River stood beside me at the edge of the maintenance road, hands jammed into the pockets of her jacket, eyes fixed on the tree line. I’d argued—briefly—that she should stay at the station. She’d told me exactly where I could shove that idea and then asked if I wanted to be the one to tell Myra and the other girls I’d tried to bench her.

She had a point.

Myra knelt ten yards ahead, hand resting on the harness of the cadaver dog at her side. The shepherd—Odin, because of course Myra had named him that—panted softly, nose working the air, eager and focused.

“You ready?” Myra asked, glancing back at us.

River swallowed. “No.”

“Good enough,” Myra said, and unclipped Odin’s lead. “Such.” It sounded like “sook” and was the German command for search.

The dog took off at a ground-covering trot, weaving between the trees, nose low. We followed at a slower pace, careful not to trample potential evidence.

Darren’s directions had been good. Better than I’d expected, actually. “Fifty yards past the old, rusted gate, follow the split-rail fence until it breaks, then there’s a white rock that looks like a skull and three pines in a row. We dug between the second and third one.”

Morbid, but accurate.

Odin slowed near a cluster of pines, snuffling the ground harder. His tail stiffened, ears pricked. Then he sat with a chuff.

“Alert,” Myra called. Her voice had lost its usual dry humor. “We’ve got something.”

My heart kicked.

We stopped a few feet back while she moved in, leashing Odin.

“Gut,” she said. “Brav.” She gave him a good rubdown to let him know he’d done good, and that he was a good boy before leading him away to wait for Eryn to arrive. CSU techs—two of the three we had on payroll—came forward with flags and markers, photographing the disturbed earth from every angle.

It had been over a decade. I’d told myself more than once that even if Eleanor had been buried out here somewhere, the animals and weather would’ve done their work by now and we’d find nothing but rumor and regret.

But I was wrong.

The first scoop of dirt turned up some pale wood splinters. The second revealed the curve of a cheap pine box, already soft and rotted through in places. Darren hadn’t mentioned the pine box. The smell hit next—earth and rot with something metallic underneath.

River’s hand found my good one without looking and her fingers threaded through mine, her grip almost bruising.

Myra and Eryn worked methodically, directing the techs, calling for more light as the sun lurked stubbornly behind clouds. When the top of the box was exposed enough, she paused, her jaw set.

“Sheriff,” Eryn said. “You want to be here for this?”

No.

“Yes,” I said.

She nodded once, then pried at the softened wood with a crowbar. It gave with a wet crack, the lid caving inward.

What was left inside wasn’t a body so much as a ghost of one. Bones, mostly. The tarp they’d wrapped her in was in tatters. Her hair was barely there. It was the kind of sight that never left you, no matter how many times you saw it.

We all went quiet.

The CSU tech to my left gagged quietly and looked away. Eryn didn’t. Neither did Myra. They leaned in, eyes sharp.

“Female,” Myra murmured. “Adult. Approximate height…we’ll confirm later, but I’d put her at five-five, five-six maybe. There’s a healed fracture on the left radius. Dental work…” She trailed off, squinting. “Cade’s mom always joked that Eleanor paid more for her veneers than she did for her car. If this is her, the dental will confirm it pretty fast.”