Page 36 of Rules

My pickup's tires screech as I take the park entrance too fast, adrenaline pounding through my system. The call keeps replaying in my head: Ten sixty-seven—dead body—at the pond. What the hell is going on in my town?

The park is usually a peaceful refuge with morning joggers, elderly couples getting their daily steps in, mothers with dogs and strollers. This is not a place for death.

Red and blue lights from the first responder's vehicle flash against the trees. An ambulance is already parked on the grass, its back doors open. A small crowd has gathered near the yellow police tape that looks like it's been hastily strung between two oak trees. Deputy Sang stands with his back to the crowd, arms spread wide as if physically holding them back.

I pull up behind the ambulance and immediately spot Deputy Rogers, her notebook out, talking to a visibly shaken elderly couple at a picnic table. People are pointing, murmuring, somerecording with their phones. This is exactly what I don't need—a fucking public spectacle.

Taking a deep breath, I step out and instantly switch into what Tim calls my Alpha Sheriff mode. The badge feels suddenly heavier on my chest. I jog over to where Deputy Sang is.

"Everyone needs to step back!" My voice thunders across the area. "This is an active crime scene. Deputy Sang, get those people back another fifty feet and get their names, numbers, and addresses. People, you're in our crime scene. That means nobody leaves until my deputies have taken their statements."

The crowd stirs, some shifting backward, others craning their necks for a better view.

"I'm serious, folks. Back up now, or I'll have to consider obstruction charges for each of you." This gets their attention. The crowd reluctantly retreats as Sang begins taking names.

Deputy Rogers approaches, her face grim. "White female, early to mid-twenties. No ID, no clothes. Just some jewelry. Looks like she had it rough before the end."

"Any witnesses?"

"No, not yet. The Millers found her." Brooklyn nods toward the elderly couple. "Morning walk around seven-thirty. Their dog sniffed her out. They thought she was sleeping at first until they got closer."

I follow her on the walking path toward the pond. The taller grass on one side dances in the light breeze. The small decorative pier comes into sight. Another two steps and I see her. She's lying on her side in a patch of trampled grass about fifteen feet from the water's edge, partially hidden by cattails. Completely naked except for an ornate sapphire and diamond necklace at her throat and a matching bracelet on her wrist. Dark curly hair frames a face I recognize immediately, despite the cuts, bruising, and unnatural pallor.

"Sophia." Her name escapes me in a whisper.

"You know her?" Brooklyn looks up sharply.

"Sophia Vasquez. Front desk manager at the Whispering Pines Inn." My mind flashes to the last time I saw her the day Melanie went missing. "She couldn't be more than twenty-five."

"Oh yeah, I remember I questioned her when Melanie went missing."

Bruising around her neck suggests strangulation. No obvious blood other than a few cuts. But the poor soul has massive bruising starting on her torso and limbs. The way she's positioned—limbs akimbo, hair splayed in the grass—suggests she was dumped, not killed here.

"Looks like whoever it was, tried to throw her in the pond but didn't get her far enough," Brooklyn says, voicing my thoughts. "Probably got spooked so, they took off rather than stop and throw her in."

The jewelry catches the morning sunlight, incongruously beautiful against her lifeless skin. Something clicks in my mind. "That necklace and bracelet. Art Deco style, sapphires and diamonds."

"Yeah, that's what I think too, it's the one from the antiques break in." Brooklyn states.

I crouch for a closer look, careful not to disturb anything. "This has to be it."

"Fuck," Brooklyn whispers. "Sure looks like they're connected?"

Before I can answer, a voice calls from behind us. "First break-in's now dead bodies?"

Erin Maithis strides down the path, carrying her forensics kit. Her hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail, and she's dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt rather than her usual professional attire.

"Erin? I didn't call for forensics yet." I looked at Deputy Rogers who shook her head no.

"I was heading through town when I heard the call. Figured you'd need me sooner rather than later. So, I saved you the call." She surveys the scene with practiced efficiency. "Do we know who she is?"

"Sophia Vasquez. Works at, well, worked at the Whispering Pines Inn." I report. "The jewelry, we believe is from the antiques break in."

Erin nods, her expression softening momentarily before her professional mask slips back into place. "Let me get to work. Can someone send the paramedics down so we can get her off the grass? Has the coroner been called?"

I glanced at Deputy Rogers who shook her head no.

"That's alright, I'll call."

---