Кей Хупер - Chill Of Fear

"Pretty much." Quentin couldn't help glancing toward Diana even as he spoke.

Nate was paying attention. "Or do we maybe have a little more than that? What's her story, Quentin? Did she really just stumble over the skull?"

"She didn't tell me any more than she told you about that."

"About that? What else did she tell you?" Nate lowered his voice. "Is she gifted too? Psychic?"

Quentin was a little surprised that the cop asked the question openly, but he barely hesitated before replying. "In her case, it's more of a curse than a gift. And not one she's happy with or knows how to use effectively. She might be able to help us, but she's just as likely to join the dozen or so guests already packing up and leaving."

Momentarily distracted, Nate said, "I heard one of them tell the manager that he couldn't afford this sort of publicity, and he sounded real nervous about it. I guess the others are leaving for the same reason, because they're afraid to find themselves in the middle of a media nightmare. Especially if they have secrets or... indiscretions ... of their own to hide."

"Probably. The Lodge's reputation for discretion is a strong lure for plenty of people looking for a private, stress-free vacation. This — especially if we find more — is just the sort of thing to really screw that up. When word gets out that two children were murdered here, even if years apart, the media's not going to ignore it. Then again, this place is so remote, and the locals are so accustomed to minding their own business, I'm not all that sure it will get out. Anytime soon, at least. Plus—"

"Plus, The Lodge is one of the largest employers in the area," Nate finished for him. "People around here have a vested interest in minding their own business. You've always thought that, haven't you?" He was matter-of-fact rather than offended, largely because he believed the same thing and understood the mind-set, having grown up in Leisure.

"It's been obvious. Even after I found brief mentions in the Leisure newspaper morgue of various accidents and disappearances over the years, I could never follow up. Nobody seemed to know anything. Nobody seemed to remember or to want to talk about it. Whatever the excuse, the meaning was clear. Whatever happened at or near The Lodge was not my business. And I've never had the legal authority to force the issue."

"Hey, Captain?"

Nate and Quentin both stepped forward at the summons, joining the two officers who made up the Leisure Police Department's Crime Scene Unit.

"Found something," Sally Chavez told them.

"Other than bones?" Nate wanted to know.

"Yep. See for yourself." Kneeling, she leaned back so that both Nate and Quentin could do that.

The skeleton, now half uncovered and with the skull repositioned where it belonged, lay stretched out on its back, legs straight and arms at its sides.

As if it had been laid out carefully for burial. Quentin made a mental note of that, bothered by it even though it wasn't particularly uncommon. Some killers took special care with the disposal of their victims, and some did not.

Both men saw immediately what Chavez had invited them to see.

"A watch?" Quentin bent closer.

"Yeah," Chavez said. "Right wrist, so he may have been a southpaw."

"He?" Nate asked.

"Guess. Mostly from the watch, which looks like a guy type to me. From the size of the skeleton, this was a kid, and gender is a lot more difficult to determine from skeletal remains if death occurred before puberty. I don't see any obvious signs denoting gender. What I can tell you is that the watch undoubtedly had a band made of some kind of material that must have rotted away. Clearly not metal. Probably not plastic; that stuff lasts forever."

"That isn't really a child-size watch," Quentin said. "More of an adult watch he was meant to grow into — maybe given for some sort of accomplishment."

Nate grunted. "I got one when I made Eagle Scout."

"Can we get a closer look?" Quentin asked Chavez.

"Just a sec. Ryan, will you get a few shots of the watch, please?"

Her partner, a silent young man, stopped brushing dirt away from the foot end of the skeleton long enough to pick up a nearby camera and take several pictures.

Chavez carefully worked the half-buried watch loose with gloved hands, looked at it briefly, then slid it into a clear plastic bag and handed it up to her captain.

"Looks like we got lucky," she said.

Quentin and Nate both straightened, and the latter said, "Looks like. The back is engraved. He was named MVP of his Little League team. Ten years ago."

"Jeremy Grant."

Quentin and Nate both turned, startled, as Diana spoke. She was standing several feet back, certainly not close enough to have been able to see the watch. Her face was tense, her voice a little shaky.

"That's what it says, isn't it? What's on the back of the watch? His name is — was — Jeremy Grant."

Quentin stepped toward her. "Diana—"

"Just tell me."

"How the hell did you know?" Nate demanded.

Her gaze remained fixed on Quentin. "Tell me."

He had been advised to keep her grounded, and Quentin had the certain sense that right now it was a literal thing, that if he didn't provide an actual physical anchor for Diana, she would be gone.

Maybe in more ways than one.

He crossed the space between them and took one of her cold hands in his. "That's the name on the watch." He kept his voice low so no one else heard them, but also matter-of-fact. "You saw him?"

A little sound escaped her, not a laugh and not quite a sigh. "Saw him? Oh, hell, I talked to him."

Stephanie Boyd, manager of The Lodge, had her hands full. Not only had a dozen of her guests checked out without hesitation as soon as a skeleton had been found in one of the gardens, but those who were left had been vocally unhappy about the situation. They wanted her to reassure them that this was a one-time unfortunate event, that the police would soon be gone, and that no media would get wind of it.

So far, there had been no media that she knew of. She was crossing her fingers that continued. But, who knew?

And now she had a new worry.

"Captain, you can't be serious," she said to Nate McDaniel, trying hard to keep the dismay out of her voice.

"I'm sorry, Miss Boyd, but I am serious." He sounded serious. He also sounded frustrated. "It may be a cold trail, but I have to treat this as an active murder investigation. We expect dental records and DNA will positively identify the remains as those of Jeremy Grant, age eight when he disappeared from here at The Lodge ten years ago. His father worked here as a gardener at the time, but died himself of cancer a few years later. The mother relocated; we're trying to trace her now."

"You can't know that child was murdered on the grounds of The Lodge," she heard herself objecting. "Or by anyone connected to this place."

"He was buried in the English Garden, Miss Boyd."

"That wasn't part of the formal gardens then, Captain."

"No, but it was inside the fence. On the grounds of The Lodge."

She leaned back in her chair and stared at him across the desk. Her office felt more than usually small with his rather large presence occupying it. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you have no evidence aside from the location of the remains that this is in any way connected to The Lodge."

"Miss Boyd — "

"Make it Stephanie." Dryly, she added, "From the sound of things, we're going to be seeing quite a lot of each other, at least for a while."

"I'm afraid so — Stephanie. I'd like to be able to offer Jeremy Grant's mother more closure than just the information that her son was murdered." He paused, then added, "And I'm Nate."

She nodded rather absently. "Just how do you mean to conduct an investigation into a ten-year-old crime? There are certainly a few longtime employees here who probably remember when the boy disappeared, but evidence? How can you possibly find anything after all this time?"