Page 41 of The Sister's Curse
“No. Not because of you. Lie back in the water.”
I lay back to rinse my hair, looking up at the tiled ceiling. I had never feared my dad, not in the way I feared my mom.
But I didn’t fear her at all in that moment, as she wiped soap from my eyes and I slid under the surface of the water.
11
The Wicked Witch of Bayern County
It took three cups of coffee to clear my head the next morning.
I walked down the beach at Sandpiper Run, dragonflies zinging around me. The beach had been cleared, and yellow police tape was woven among the trees. Dark leaves whispered overhead, and I smelled cloying honeysuckle. As people drove by the parking lot, I could feel eyes boring into my back. There would be pressure to open the beach soon.
I limped down the beach. The only shoe I’d been able to jam my swollen foot into was one of Nick’s tennis shoes, and I minded my footing. I’d put three pairs of socks on my healthy foot to wear the other shoe properly. I sure as hell wasn’t going to be involved in any foot chases today.
Someone had been here despite the lines of crime scene tape strung along the trees. Designs had been carved in the sand of the beach, unintelligible, over and over: The snake eating its own tail. The ouroboros. And the number seven. Seven days until the Fourth of July…
I took pictures. Likely, sneaky teenagers had crossed into the scene overnight and had been unnoticed by the deputy who was supposed to be guarding the scene. He was on the beach now, but he likely parked by the road. I’d have a word with him. This meant any evidence we gathered from the scene from here on out would be contaminated and inadmissible.
A splash sounded, and I turned to see Jasper wading out of the river. He waddled to the shore with his fins, then sat down heavily beside a pile of gear. He began stripping off his fins.
“Hey.” I sat down beside him. “What’s it look like down there?”
“Silty.” He showed me the camera he’d been using to take pictures. I saw very little on its screen, just dirt and fuzzy water.
“Any snakeheads or other creatures with teeth?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been searching since yesterday for the girl who was reported by the near-drowning victim. No sign of her. Nothing weird underwater, either. Saw a very nice water snake, though.”
He clicked the pictures forward and showed me one of a dark gray snake creating tiny ripples as it swam. It had a round head and a slightly derpy expression. Nothing that could kill a human.
“That’s a pretty snake,” I said.
“It was. My contact at DNR says they’ve had a few reports of what they call ‘suspicious aquatic encounters.’ ” Jasper made air quotes around the words. “She’s skeptical, because most of the calls she gets about being bitten by something underwater wind up being about dumb stuff people have done, like messing with snakes.”
“So it’s okay to just take pictures?” I teased him.
“Look, but don’t touch.” He lifted a brow. “You know, there’s a study an ER doctor conducted several years ago. The vast majority of ER admissions for snakebites are teen boys and men. Small children and women don’t get bit nearly as often.”
“Why is that?”
“Small kids and women have the sense to get away and leave snakes alone. Dudes gotta mess with wildlife and reap the consequences.” He grinned, and I grinned back.
“Makes sense.” I gestured to the beach, to the symbols carved in the sand. “What do you make of those? They’re the same as the symbol on the skull in the Sumners’ mailbox.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Looks kind of occult to me, honestly. Wouldn’t surprise me. The summer solstice was a couple days ago. Longest day of the year, and it’s a big deal at places where pagan folk gather, like Stonehenge. They have a live feed and everything when the sun rises and sets.”
“Sounds like you know about that stuff.”
“Not so much. But timing is important in the natural world. I just keep track of the summer solstice because the river tides are higher. Something about the angle of the sun. It happens every year, even this far inland.”
I sighed. “Forensics came up with nothing about that skull. No prints. A total dead end.”
“Ah, that sucks.”
“It just makes me think the cases are connected. And I’ve been researching the Dana Carson disappearance case. The numbers on the skull and the sand…It’s now seven days until the Fourth of July, the anniversary of her disappearance.”
“Think about the timing,” he said. “Somebody might have sat on this for twenty-five years, waiting for justice, and decided they were gonna take it into their own hands when it didn’t come.”
