Софи Келли - Final Catcall

“You getting soft?” he teased. “Do you need to hold on to pull yourself up?”

I stopped a step below him. “Who are you calling soft?” I challenged. Andrew had always brought out my competitive side. “Seems to me I heard a lot of heavy breathing while we were unloading that piece of staging.”

He leaned forward, raising one eyebrow in a leer. “That heavy breathing was just because I was so close to you.”

I rolled my eyes. “What a load of . . . lumber,” I said. Then before he knew what was happening, I faked left, darted around him on the right and tore up the steps.

“Hey!” he yelled.

I took the stairs two at a time, glad that I had long legs because I could hear him gaining on me, his feet pounding on the weathered wooden treads.

I lunged for the top step, sticking my arm out to the right so he couldn’t dart past me the way I’d done with him. When I looked back over my shoulder, he was maybe a couple of steps behind me, laughing and breathing hard. I reached blindly for the top of the railing that ran along the edge of the lookout and stumbled over something I couldn’t see clearly in the waning light. Instead of landing on wood, weathered smooth by rain and snow, my hand landed on something soft.

Hair. Skin.

I jerked away and Andrew banged into my back, grabbing my shoulders to steady himself.

“Whoa! You okay?” he said.

I nodded, and took a second to catch my breath.

Then Andrew saw what I’d fallen over. “Is that . . . ?” He didn’t finish the sentence.

I nodded. “Yes.”

It was Hugh Davis.

It was pretty clear that he was dead.

5

Andrew swore under his breath and fumbled for his cell phone. “We need an ambulance.”

I caught his arm. “No, we don’t,” I said. “We just . . .” I swallowed. “We just need the police.”

The color drained from his face. “Is he dead?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Andrew was already punching in 911 on his phone.

“Tell them we’re at the first lookout on Spruce Bluff,” I said.

He swallowed and put the phone to his ear. “Okay.”

I looked at the body—Hugh’s body—again. It was half sitting, slumped sideways against the lookout railing at the top of the stairs, almost as though his legs had given out after climbing up and he’d had to sit down fast. His eyes were closed and I could see what looked like blood on the collar of his jacket. There was some kind of ragged open wound just below his left ear.

I leaned over for a closer look. Was it a bullet hole? My stomach clenched and I could taste something sour in the back of my throat.

Had Hugh been shot? He’d left the library no more than about three hours before. What could have happened in that amount of time that had ended with him up here with a bullet hole in the side of his head? I shivered.

Andrew put a hand on my shoulder. “They’re coming.”

We moved a few steps away from the body. “Do you know who it is?” he asked.

“It’s Hugh Davis,” I said.

He frowned. “You mean that director from the theater festival?”

I nodded.

“He seemed like a bit of a control freak. He must have come over to check out the stage. You think he had a heart attack or something?”

I could hear the sirens wailing in the distance. I shook my head. “I . . . No.”

“So? What? You think he fell?” Andrew stared up at the jagged rock face of the bluff rising above us.

“I think someone might have shot him,” I said quietly.

“Shot him?” His grip on my shoulder tightened.

I dug my fingers into the knots of muscle in my neck. “I . . . uh. It looks like there’s a bullet hole just behind his ear.”

“Let’s go.” His hand moved to my back and he pushed me toward the stairs.

“The police will be here in a couple of minutes,” I said. “I don’t think we should just leave the body.”

Andrew shook his head, his mouth pulled into a thin line. “Kathleen, if he was shot, whoever did it could still be around. I’m sorry, but we can’t help him. It’ll be safer down in the parking lot.”

I knew he was right. Still, it felt wrong to leave Hugh’s body slumped against the lookout railing. I took one last look over my shoulder for any sign of another person or any clue to what had happened and then I went down the steps.

We stood against the side of the bluff at the bottom of the stairs. The automatic streetlights had come on, washing the parking lot in a weird pinkish-orange light. I remembered Maggie saying the odd-colored bulbs saved energy.

The paramedics arrived first, but Officer Derek Craig was right behind them in his squad car. “Stay here,” Andrew said.

I ignored him and started toward the police car.

He stepped in front of me. “Kathleen, I can take care of this. Just wait.”

“I’m not going to have an attack of the vapors,” I said, shaking off his hand. “This isn’t the first dead body I’ve seen, and I know these people. You don’t.” I stopped, realizing how abrupt my voice sounded. I took a deep breath. “It’s okay, Andrew. I can do this.”

After a moment he nodded.

I recognized one of the paramedics coming toward us. He’d taken care of me when an embankment out at Wisteria Hill had collapsed after days and days of rain this past spring. Ric nodded at me and I pointed back over my shoulder. “The top of the stairs.” I knew Hugh Davis was past any help Ric and his partner could give him.

Derek Craig walked around the front of his police car. “What happened?” he asked as I reached him.

“We—my friend Andrew and I—brought a piece of staging over in my truck for the theater festival. Then we decided to walk up to the lookout. The body was at the top of the steps.” I stopped to clear my throat. “It’s . . . His name is Hugh Davis.”

He nodded as he made notes in a small ring-bound notebook, then looked up at me. “Did either of you touch anything?”

I nodded slowly. “I did. I almost fell over hi—the body. My hand touched the top of his head.”

Derek tucked the notebook back in his shirt pocket. “I’ll be right back. I need you and your friend to wait here.” He gave me a half smile. “You know how this works.”

I did.

I walked back to Andrew, who stood with his hands in his pockets, looking out over the water.

“We have to wait a little longer,” I said.

“How can you stay here?” he asked, not looking at me.

I knew he didn’t mean here in the parking lot.

“I like it here,” I said. “I have a life here.”

He gestured toward the bluff behind us and his green eyes met mine then. “Kathleen, there’s a dead person up there. Dead.” There were two deep frown lines between his eyes. “This is the last place I would have expected to find someone shot.” He swiped a hand over the side of his face. “This is stupid. You need to come home.”

I pressed my lips together and took a couple of deep breaths before I answered. “People get shot in Boston.”

“I know that,” he said, his voice tight. “But when was the last time you fell over a body in Boston?”

“I’m not having this conversation right now,” I said. I couldn’t keep the edge of anger completely out of my voice. From the corner of my eye I saw a black car I didn’t recognize pull in next to Derek Craig’s police cruiser. Marcus got out of the driver’s side.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to Andrew. I didn’t wait to see if he had anything to say.

A feeling of déjà vu washed over me as I walked up to Marcus. “Hi,” I said. “Where’s your car?”

He smiled. Not a big smile, but a smile nonetheless. It chased away a little of the anger I was feeling.