The chopper turned back around, the waves frothing under the wind created by its blades, and then it was gone, sweeping across the water. She wondered where he was going that he was crossing the water rather than heading inland. Most likely, he was taking the scenic route and would swing back inland soon enough.

Shrugging off the encounter, she began to walk down the beach. The waves were big today, huge smashing things that pounded hard onto the sand. It looked like they’d been in a mean mood the previous night as well; she could see mounds of waterborne debris deposited on the wet gray sand. Long streamers of seaweed; sea glass polished and rubbed until it was as smooth as stone, no edges to it; broken and battered shells along with the odd one in perfect condition.

Anahera picked up a couple of pieces of particularly lovely sea glass. She’d collected it as a child and as a young woman, lining them up along the window where the sunlight would hit them. She’d thrown away her collection after her mother’s death, but today, she found beauty in watching even the cloudy morning light spear through the glass.

It was as she was putting a third piece into a pocket that she spotted a huge hunk of seaweed up ahead. It almost looked like the seaweed had wrapped itself around a tree trunk or perhaps the carcass of a dolphin or small whale.

Anahera walked over, curious but careful. The seaweed sat close to the far edge of the ocean. A single freak wave and it would be pulled back ­in—­and so would Anahera if she got too close. The seaweed fronds gleamed wet and dark, splayed out across the sand like fleshy fingers. The closer Anahera got to the hunk, the less she felt like exploring it, but she couldn’t stop her feet from moving forward. There was something about the shape of it, the way it curved. And the color. Not just green.

Pink.

Orange.

Anahera didn’t realize she was running until she’d reached the seaweed that wasn’t wrapped around anything as prosaic as wood or a whale bone. Her breath painful in her throat, she began to drag the seaweed as far as she could up the sand. She had to make sure it didn’t get sucked back out to sea.

A massive wave crashed ashore, licking dangerously at her feet. Anahera braced her legs, somehow just managing to keep hold of the seaweed and its chilling cargo. Then she pulled, pulled, pulled.

Collapsing on dry sand well clear of the water, her knees sinking into the fine grit of it, she forced herself to look at the seaweed ­again… forced herself to acknowledge that it wasn’t seaweed she’d hauled up the beach but a body. A body that was discolored and so badly damaged as to be unrecognizable, but that wore an orange top and black leggings with pink side stripes.

Miriama’s shoes were gone, but she still wore her socks.

For some reason, that single detail was enough to crush Anahera’s lungs and drive a scream from her body.

49

Will had barely finished organizing for a forensic team to come out to Golden Cove for the skeletal remains when he got the call from Anahera.

“I found her,” she said in a toneless voice. “The sea brought her back in.”

Will shuddered, bracing his palm against a tree trunk, the bleached bones of the skeleton in his line of sight. He’d done nothing to disturb the scene, but he’d ventured back to the car to grab his camera, then taken as many ­high-­resolution images as he could, well aware that when it came to the actual investigation, he’d be relegated to the bench.

As far as his superiors were concerned, he was a ­burned-­out cop with his best years behind him. No one would trust him to be in charge of a case like this. Will wasn’t about to let that stop him. Not having access to the bones shouldn’t matter as long as he could access the report to do with the probable height, age, and ethnicity of the victim in life.

He didn’t think the forensic team would find any other physical clues.

Whoever had left the bones, whoever had arranged the bones, had done it with clinical care.

It was a taunt, that skeleton. And since Will was the only cop in town, the person raking up old horrors, it was difficult to believe the taunt wasn’t aimed at him. But that was no longer important. “Are you sure?” he asked Anahera.

“Yes.” Her voice almost swept away by the wind, she added, “I’m watching over her. When can you get here?”

Will stared at the skeleton. He couldn’t leave it, not until another officer got to Golden Cove. The chance of someone disturbing the site was too great. “I need you to keep on watching over her,” he said, his hand fisting by his side. “I’ve got someone else here who I can’t leave.”

“Just tell me ­this—­is it someone I know?”

The news would be out soon enough and Anahera wasn’t a woman who spilled secrets. “Skeletal remains,” he told her. “I can’t risk anyone moving the bones.”

“­Skeletal…” Another harsh wind, ripping away her words.

But Will had heard the last word she’d said: hiker. It was the same thing he’d thought the instant he’d seen the bones. It could well be one of the three women who’d disappeared fifteen years ago and never been found.

He called the district commander again.

It took an excruciating two hours for the first forensic team to arrive. Will had spoken with Anahera several times, both of them caught in their separate hells and unable to move. He’d considered sending someone else out ­there—­there wouldn’t be a crime scene to contaminate, not if Miriama had come out of the ­sea—­but Anahera had said no.

“Miri shouldn’t be seen like this,” she’d said. “She deserves for us to take care of her.”

As he’d expected, the forensic crew was accompanied by two detectives. “Will.” The older one of the two couldn’t quite meet his gaze, the wrinkles in his brown skin deeper than the last time Will had spoken to him but his body in excellent shape. “I’m afraid we’ve been assigned the case.”

“Robert.” Will shook his hand. “Keep me in the loop, won’t you? I’ve picked up more than a bit of knowledge about this town that might be helpful.” He wasn’t used to justifying his need for information, but he needed his fellow detective’s cooperation if he was to have access to the reports.

Openly relieved at Will’s lack of rancor, Robert immediately agreed to copy him in on any results. “I hear you’ve got a second scene?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

Will nodded. “I’m heading out to keep it under surveillance until the second forensic team arrives.” He’d argued hard for the first team to go to Miriama’s body, aware it was decomposing quickly with every second that passed, but those in charge had overruled him. In their view, while she’d died more recently, the body of a drowning victim wasn’t going to hold anywhere near the forensic evidence that might be discovered on a skeleton that had been laid out for someone to find.

In their minds, it was tragic accident versus pathological murder.

“This Shane Hennessey fella.” Robert shot a look over at where Shane still sat on the crate, his head cradled in his hands. “He a likely?”

“My gut says ­no—­he threw up halfway into the wait.” Shane had been desperate to get out, go home, but Will hadn’t been able to let him leave.