Page 5 of The Wolves Come at Night
“You kids stay here,” the detective said, setting off with the two patrol officers. Carson thought his name was Marcus something; she’d been in the bathroom freaking the hell out when he’d shown up to join their outing. He had a hand on the holster at his waist, and so did the two uniformed cops. She glanced at Simeon to see if he’d noticed, suddenly feeling very, very unsafe. She was alone in the woods with four men, three of whom were armed, and a possible dead body. She heard her mother’s horrified voice say, “What the hell were you thinking, Carson?”
An excellent question.
Simeon was quiet and watchful beside her. If this weren’t such a horrid situation, she’d be in heaven being near him. As it was, she simply took one step closer and was surprised when he put an arm around her shoulders.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said, and she thought he was reassuring himself as much as her.
“Got something here,” one of the patrol officers called, and without thinking, Carson moved toward his voice. She wanted to see, and that was horrible. But Simeon walked with her, clearly just as curious.
The detective stood over a mound of branches and leaves tucked haphazardly around the body of a woman. Carson could see her face through the screen of branches. The impressions flew through her mind. Open eyes, slitted and swollen. A huge hole in the side of her head, lopsided in the leaves. Brain and blood and matted hair. She looked surprised to be dead.
Granted, no one thinks they’re going to die on the top of a mountain after an argument.
“Hey, hey, hey, you two, back it up. This is a crime scene.” Hot Marcus what’s-his-name shooed them away. Simeon took Carson’s hand and pulled her back ten yards. He was pale, the light in his beautiful eyes dimmed by distress.
The police started talking on their respective phones, calling for backup.
She realized Simeon was shaking, ran her hand up his arm. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay.”
“You could have been killed,” he said, eyes closed. “If something had happened to you, while you were using my app? It would be the end of everything.”
“Good to know you’re more worried about the integrity of the app than my safety,” she snapped.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he fired back.
“You two want to put the lovers’ spat on hold?” The detective stood with his arms crossed. “I need all of you to come down to the station. Make your statements—and Carson, I’d like you to sit down with a sketch artist. Will you do that for me?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. What was she going to say? No, thanks, I’ve got to study for my midterms? And a lovers’ spat? With Simeon Chase? Izz would laugh her out of the dorm.
Still, her heart sparked for a moment, and she groaned inside. Stow your crush, Carson. What a damn wreck of a day this was.
They marched away dutifully, and Carson took a moment to look around. So much for the path to enlightenment.
“Hey, look at this,” Simeon called quietly, and she looked over to see a mossy green circle of stacked gray rocks, what she now knew was Tennessee limestone because it built every fence in every park all around the city. Inside were several fallen slabs of what looked like ancient concrete.
“Are those…gravestones?” she asked, a little breathless.
“Yeah,” Simeon said, jumping into the circle and moving the heavy, collapsed stones around.
“You’re standing on their graves,” she scolded, and he looked up with a raised brow.
“Hate to break it to you, but there was a lot of Civil War fighting in this area. Plus, this land originally belonged to the Indians. You’ve heard the history of Fort Nashborough, surely. It’s all graveyards around here, whether you can see them or not.”
Carson looked at her feet, imagining bodies stacked like cordwood underneath her, and scrambled closer to the stone circle.
Simeon was running his hand across the carved lettering of the headstone. “Wow, look at this. Born 17… Damn, I can’t make that out. Is that a three?”
“I don’t know. But look at his death date. December 5, 1776. Not Civil War era. Revolutionary.”
“Tennessee didn’t have any official regiments in the Revolution.” She raised a brow. “My minor is in history,” he said.
“Gotcha. Well, you’re assuming he died in battle. This is a family graveyard. Look, there are three other stones. Smaller ones.”
“Wife and kids, maybe?”
“Maybe.” The names and dates on the three smaller headstones were unreadable, but Carson took photos anyway. It was a lovely, eerie spot.
“I’m curious,” Simeon said a few moments later. “What did you ask to find when you set out on your adventure today, Carson?”
