Page 22 of Silent Bones
Addie pressed her lips together. “That’s my guess. I’ve done a lot of backwoods cases, Noah. Bar fights, cougar hunting accidents, even a bear mauling once. But this—” she gestured around the lab, “this isn’t any of those.”
She removed her gloves, tossed them into the bin, and leaned a hip against the steel counter. “I’ll get you what I can,” she said. “But I’ll be honest… I don’t like the way this one’s shaping up.”
She gave him a longer look now. A weight behind her tone. “You look like you already know that.”
Noah didn’t answer.
McKenzie did. “I knew this smelled funny the second you said campground.”
They exited the room a few minutes later, fur and meth logged into evidence, bodies returned to their sterile cells. The buzz of the door behind them felt louder than when they came in, like something had closed, and they weren’t sure what.
As they stepped into the stairwell, Noah said, mostly to himself, “We’re missing something.”
McKenzie adjusted his coat. “Yup. The part where this makes any damn sense.”
7
It felt like home. The scent of cedar smoke and grilled meat lingered as Noah reached for his coffee, letting the mug warm his fingers. A low hum of conversation buzzed around them inside Peak 46, the tavern tucked inside Ridgeway Lodge and perched like a watchtower above High Peaks Lake. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, light spilled onto polished wood and leather.
“I’m telling you,” McKenzie said, stabbing a piece of bison burger with his fork, “Callie and Jake are heading for a split. You can feel it. Like a thunderhead moving in.”
Noah didn’t look up from his sandwich. “Not my business.”
“No, but it might be your opportunity,” McKenzie said, lowering his voice with mock seriousness. “You’re both single. She’s got a thing for wounded types. You said she made the first move on your brother Luke. She likes dogs. You have a dog.”
“Had a dog. That was Luke’s.”
“Either way, she makes it pretty obvious.”
“McKenzie, I’m not doing this,” Noah muttered.
“You already are. Look at you.” McKenzie gestured at him with a fry. “You’ve got the brooding stare. The ‘I’m fine being alone’ thing. Women eat that up.”
“She’s a friend. A co-worker.”
McKenzie gave a dramatic sigh. “So where does Natalie Ashford fit into this? Still in the ‘let’s just keep it professional’ phase, or have we graduated to ‘accidental brush of the hands’ territory?”
“Like I would tell you.” Noah smirked despite himself. “Eat your damn lunch.”
McKenzie chuckled and leaned back, letting the rustic chair creak beneath him. The copper-topped bar behind them caught the afternoon sun, glowing like a hearth. Antler chandeliers hung above, casting tangled shadows across the mahogany walls. If there was a cozier crime discussion spot in all of Adirondack County, Noah hadn’t found it yet.
His phone buzzed against the table.
He glanced down. Rishi Gupta.
“Hold on,” he said, answering. “Rishi, you got something?”
The tech analyst’s voice came through clear but rapid. “Yeah. We finished pulling the data from Stephen Strudwell’s phone. It was messy, but one thing stands out, there are over two hundred messages between him and someone namedTheresa Voss.”
Noah’s brow lifted. “That name sounds familiar?”
“Should be,” Rishi said. “She’s the owner of Whispering Pines Campground. Small private site off Route 30.”
McKenzie perked up; mouth full.
“Stephen and Theresa had regular contact,” Rishi continued. “Texts, call logs, even a few voicemails. Some of the messages are… well, let’s just say, intimate. Not graphic, but the kind of stuff that suggests a relationship. Possibly romantic.”
“How do you know it wasn’t just… I don’t know, a mentor situation?” Noah asked. “Friend of the family?”
