Page 63 of The Drowned Woman
“We could go back for them.”
“No. They’re at my old house. With all my other stuff.” They were both silent for a long time. But it wasn’t a bad or sad quiet, more like Nate understood how she felt—probably because all those fosters left him with not much stuff, either. Luka had gone to Baltimore and brought back what was at Nate’s old house, but it was mostly clothes for school and a few pictures of him and his mom.
“I miss her,” he whispered into the wind.
“I miss him,” Emily echoed.
They kept walking until the path forked, this time giving them only two options. “Which way?” Nate asked.
“You’re the navigator.” They huddled over the compass and map once more. “We wanted to go towards the ten o’clock when we had the arrows lined up.” They rotated around and ended up standing in a mud puddle.
“Neither path goes the right way,” Nate said.
“Yeah, but that one is more the right way.” She pointed to the path that was seven o’clock away from the north arrow. “Plus the other path goes up the mountain and it looks steep.”
Nate squinted at the compass and her map again. “Can you make it show where we are?”
Emily tried to refresh the map but all she got was a whirling circle. “No cell bars.”
“Okay. We just need to remember we went left, so that will be going right when we’re trying to get back.” He broke a branch from a pine tree and stuck it in the intersection. “And we’ll look for the branch.” As they ran down the path, birds flew away, flapping their wings in annoyance.
But then a loud crack echoed through the forest. Both she and Nate stopped, looking around, their backs to each other as they scanned the shadows surrounding them.
The wind swirled past them, carrying a man’s laughter—or was that a bird squawking? They pivoted to face the direction it seemed to be coming from, Nate stepping in front of Emily. She moved aside—he blocked her view and she wanted to see—but then came the crunch of footsteps and more laughter, this time from the other side of the trail.
“Who’s there?” Emily called, trying to ignore the way her stomach churned—just like that night when Daddy’s shouts had woken her, when… She squeezed her eyes shut tight, shoving the memories away, taking deep breaths like Dr. Hailey had taught her. She wished JoJo, the therapy puppy, was here with her. Mommy should have let her have a dog.
“Are you okay?” Nate whispered, taking hold of her hand. She opened her eyes and nodded. “I think we should head back.”
She nodded again, her mouth too dry and throat too tight to try to talk as her eyes met Nate’s. They turned, eying the path behind them. The sun was hidden behind clouds, making Emily shiver as the shadows stretched across the trail, trying to swallow her and Nate.
They took one step, then two… and then they saw him. A big man, dressed in black, with a helmet covering his face.
Just like the man who’d killed Daddy.
Thirty-Seven
Luka had already examined every detail of Trudy’s photos, running every address and license plate through NCIC. After getting the okay from the Smithfield PD and Ahearn, he grabbed a pool car and headed over the mountain.
Smithfield was a smaller version of Cambria City, mirroring Cambria City’s topography. Surrounded by the Allegheny Mountains on three sides and the Juniata River on the fourth, its history was built on the railroad and coal industries. Large Victorian and Queen Anne mansions anchored the nicer neighborhoods, shoulder to shoulder with white-framed colonials, brick Federal styles, and gabled Cape Cods. Go a few blocks in any direction and the architecture changed dramatically to narrow shotgun-style homes, post-war split-levels, and squat bungalows sporting roofing shingles as siding. Abandoned lots surrounded the railroad tracks alongside the river, while further away from the historic town center was a combination of forest and farmland.
Luka checked in at the police department—no sense treading on toes—made certain his map and list of names was up to date, then headed over to the nursing home situated in a stately brick Queen Anne Victorian, complete with turret and gables.
He started retracing Trudy’s movements by speaking with the nursing home staff. Luckily, given the higher volume of visitors on a weekend, the administrative assistant who’d worked with Trudy was there.
“Mrs. Orly is dead?” he repeated, eyes wide, face aghast. “I just saw her.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here. Did anything unusual happen during Mrs. Orly’s visit? Did you meet anyone who seemed to know her? See anything out of the ordinary?”
He shook his head. “Nothing like that. It was mainly paperwork—she’d already toured the facilities. We got her husband on the waiting list, took care of the insurance and financial forms. I don’t think she even spoke to anyone other than me while she was here. She took some pictures to share with her husband—maybe those would help?”
“Right. Thanks.” Luka headed back out to the street, taking a moment to enjoy the sunshine. He felt as if he were emerging from hibernation, it’d been so long since he’d felt the warmth of the sun on his face. It was still chilly, especially here where the wind was constrained by the mountains, giving it extra bite, but he didn’t mind. He glanced at Trudy’s photos and began to follow her footsteps, knocking on every door he came to.
He’d made it to the end of the block and halfway up the other side of the street without success. No one remembered seeing Trudy, Dominic Massimo, or any stranger two days ago.
He reached a nicely kept Cape Cod, white frame, blue shutters and trim, and no one was home. Not surprising given the beautiful day, but… As he was sliding his card and a note into the mailbox beside the front door, he realized that it was almost full. And there were newspapers lying on the porch. Could be nothing, but something felt off.
Luka checked the homeowner’s name, Patrick Rademacher, against the list he and Leah had compiled last night. People Risa had written about, fact-checked, or proofed their obituary. Rademacher wasn’t on it. Yet, the name felt familiar—a niggly, jangly, electricity under the skin kind of familiar.
