Page 28 of Silent Bones
"And if I bring up old stories about you and your ex?" she asked.
"I’ll switch to hard liquor."
"Noted."
They sat there for a moment, two voices on opposite sides of suspicion and familiarity. Friends? Maybe. Something more? Possibly. But underneath it all, Noah still felt the pull of the case, the hunch that the Ashford name wasn’t just a footnote in it, but was a shadow.
“I’ll text you the location,” he said, finally.
“I’ll be waiting.”
The call ended with a soft click. No closure. Just space.
He set the phone down on the dock beside him and let the stillness return.
The beer was empty.
The plaster cast stared back at him from the towel.
And out beyond the trees, in the spaces between facts and folklore, something didn’t add up. He watched his reflection shimmer across the water, then disappear as the wind stirred the surface.
8
Next day.
The place looked like it belonged in a travel magazine.
Callie stood on the flagstone porch, surrounded by white pine and hemlock, the lake just beyond the house sparkling under the late-morning sun. Bikes leaned against the side rail, one adult-sized, one kid-sized, both mud-splattered. Life signs. She knocked twice, waited. Nothing. Knocked again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
She tried the door handle. Locked. She cupped a hand against the glass and leaned in.
“Noah,” she called. “You alive in there?”
Footsteps thudded. A groggy grunt, the sound of a deadbolt, and then the door swung open a few inches.
He squinted like he’d been hit by a spotlight. “Thorne, could you knock any louder?”
“You weren’t answering your phone.”
“My alarm never went off.”
“You’re forty-six, not fourteen.”
He stepped aside, shirt rumpled, jaw scruffy, eyes bloodshot. Callie stepped in and scanned the entryway. The interior was warm, woodsy with a stone fireplace, wide-plank floors, and rustic trim. But there was clutter too. A hoodie on the back of the couch, two cereal bowls in the sink, and a trio of empty beer bottles on the counter. A fourth on its side.
Not the first time she’d seen this version of him, but it never sat right.
“So the alarm didn’t go off,” she repeated. “Or you hit snooze four times and drank yourself unconscious.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” he muttered, scratching his jaw. “Only two of those are true.”
She grinned as she moved further inside, her boots clicking softly across the floor. “Where are the kids?”
“Mia slept at a friend’s. Ethan’s at Gretchen’s for the week since my plans changed and I got assigned the case.” He shut the door behind them and motioned toward the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“No, I figured we’d grab some on the way over.”
