Page 40 of Silent Bones
“That’s your story, not mine.” Hugh didn’t look at him. “Things look fine from my end.”
“Funny how perception can distort reality,” Noah said. “But I know what you care about, your reputation, and your legacy. So if Luther has something that could ruin that…” He let the words hang. “What is it?”
Hugh turned. Smiled faintly. “You always were the mirror of me, you know. Ray, Maddie, Luke, they were your mother’s reflection. But, you? Your mother said you were me to a tee. Right down to the parts I tried hardest not to look at.”
Noah studied him. “Did you agree with her?”
A beat. Then Hugh shrugged. “Of course not. Your mother loved her stories.”
“So what’s the truth regarding your involvement with Luther?”
“That whatever I’ve done, I’ve done for this family. For the Sutherland name. Maybe one day, you’ll understand that.” He stepped closer. “But don’t ever question my integrity.”
He set his cup down on the table and headed for the door.
At the threshold, he paused and called over his shoulder, “Tell Kerri, if she needs space, my door’s open. I’d love to see my grandkids. Even if their father doesn’t want them to see me.”
Then he was gone.
Noah stood there in silence, his shirt half-buttoned, watching the empty doorway. Trying to decode what had just been said, and what hadn’t.
Something was rotten under all that legacy talk. And he wasn’t going to stop until he found out what.
After passingthe turnoff to the Ampersand trailhead, Noah followed the washboard ruts of Coreys Road deeper into the forest. Just past Stony Creek Ponds, he spotted a set of fresh tracks veering off to the right. The woods swallowed the narrow path almost immediately, trees bowing overhead, their leaves brushing the roof of his Bronco like fingers. Ahead there was no mailbox, just a rusted chain threaded through a pine and a warped warning sign barely clinging to the bark: KEEP OUT.
He rolled through the gates slowly. Whatever was out here wasn’t meant to be found.
The road narrowed to a twisting trail, the Bronco jostling over roots and stones until the trees finally broke and revealed a crude pull-off where McKenzie’s SUV and a marked cruiser were tucked beneath the canopy.
Noah parked behind them. A deputy motioned toward the woods with two fingers.
He found McKenzie and two officers crouched a short ways in, positioned behind a ridge of boulders.
Through a break in the trees, he could see a hand-built cabin thirty yards ahead. It had a sloped tin roof, a chimney of fieldstone, stacked wood, and a pickup parked out front. Smoke rose from the chimney in faint ribbons.
McKenzie handed him the binoculars. “Laddie, did you swing by a massage parlor on the way over here? I was about to call in SARS to find you.”
“I got held up.”
“Obviously,” McKenzie muttered, adjusting his belt. “You missed the show. He’s already been outside twice this morning. Cold plunges in the creek, bare-assed, yelling at squirrels. The guy’s three hairs short of Sasquatch himself.”
Noah ignored the joke and looked through the binoculars. Inside the cabin there was movement. A figure with long gray hair, shirtless, pacing in front of a window.
“All right, let’s go.”
They moved in tight, staying low. When they were twenty feet from the cabin, McKenzie called out. “Malcolm Hawkins! Adirondack Sheriff’s Office. Step outside. Keep your hands visible.”
The front door opened. A tall, wiry man emerged barefoot in jeans, hair pulled back in a ponytail. His skin was leathered from the sun, his eyes unreadable.
“I haven’t done anything,” he said, raising his hands.
“Didn’t say you had,” Noah replied. “But you fled a crime scene two days ago. Eluding the police doesn’t look good.”
“Eluding?” Mack scoffed. “What are you talking about? I never saw anyone. You sure it was me?”
“You were on an ATV near camp 65. It was where Logan Forrester was staying. I saw you. You took off when I called out.”
“I like to fish that stretch. Nobody’s ever there.”
