Angels Fall

she saw, Brody. I did that. Checked with Missing Persons. But… well, I didn't push through like I should have."
    "And now?"
    "Well…" Rick looked off. "Lot I should've done, could've done, would've done. I asked you to come out here and talk about this, Brody, because I felt you should know first. You stuck by Reece through this. A lot of us didn't."
    "She knew what she saw." His vision blurred briefly.
    "Yeah, she did." Rick rose, walked to the window. "Couldn't shake her off it. Damn shame."
    "She ought to be here, too." Brody took another swallow of coffee to reach for the buzz. Fatigue was falling over him like a fog.
    "She will be."
    "Give me some details before…" Was that his voice, slurred like a drunk's? When the room spun, he tried to push to his feet. A quick spurt of knowledge had him stumbling toward Rick. "Son of a bitch."
    "Nothing else I can do." When Brody fell, Rick looked down at him with sincere regret. "Not a damn thing I can do but this."

    REECE CALLED BRODY'S home phone and his cell half a dozen times each. It was getting dark now. She wanted to hear his voice, wanted to tell him what she knew.
    She knew.
    And knowing, she just couldn't slice more baked chicken or make another mountain of mashed potatoes.
    "I have to go, Joanie."
    "This here's what we call the dinner rush. You're what we call the cook."
    '"I can't reach Brody. It's important."
    "And I've had about enough of romance inconveniencing me."
    "This isn't about romance." This time she took off her apron. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I have to find him."
    "This place doesn't have a revolving door. You go out it, you keep going."
    "I have to." She bolted out with Joanie's curses racing behind her. The sun was already behind the peaks; the lake had gone gray with twilight.
    She cursed herself because Brody's insistence she not drive herself to and from work alone now meant she had to hike to the cabin. She did the first mile at a steady jog, searching through the gloom for the light he should switch on at dusk.
    He went out for some beer, she told herself. Or for a drive to clear his head. Or he was in the shower, or taking a walk.
    He was fine, wherever he was. Just fine.
    She was panicking over nothing.
    But who did you call when you knew the top cop in town was a killer?
    She'd call the state police, that's what she'd do. As soon as she'd talked to Brody. Sunshine and the dark side of the moon. Rick Mardson had bought both those necklaces, one for his wife, one for his lover. He'd been the one having an affair with Deena Black, sneaking around, taking precautions so no one would see him with her.
    And he killed her. It had to be.
    He could have slipped in and out of the apartment over Joanie's easier than anyone else. Wasn't everyone used to seeing the sheriff strolling around town? He'd know how to get keys, get duplicates. Or to hide the fact that he'd broken in.
    To cover his trail.
    She slowed, catching her breach, struggling against another spurt of panic. Something plopped in the waters of the lake, rustled in the long grass beside it. And she ran again with her heart stumbling in her chest.
    She had to get inside, lock the doors.
    Find Brody.
    Her breath snagged when she saw the shadows by the lake, then she forced back the scream when she saw the trio of elk taking their evening drink.
    She veered away from them, raced by the willows, the cotton woods and finally hit the hardpack of Brody's short drive.
    His car wasn't parked beside hers. And the cabin was dark.

    She fumbled out the key he'd given her, then had to stand with her head pressed against the door. It was harder, so much harder, to enter the dark than to leave it behind.
    "Six times one is six," she began, fighting the key into the lock. "Six times two is twelve." Stepped in, slapped her hand on the wall for the switch.
    "Six times three is eighteen." Breathe in. breathe out. "Six times four is twenty-four." She locked the door behind her, then leaned back against it until the worse weight of anxiety eased.
    "Not here. But he'll be back in just a minute. Maybe he left a note. Except he never leaves notes. It's not his way. But maybe this time."
    The kitchen first, she decided. She'd check the kitchen first. She turned on lights as she went, chasing the dark away. There were dregs of coffee in the pot, an open bag of pretzels on the counter. She checked the pot: found it cold. She looked in the refrigerator, saw he had a supply of beer, of Cokes.
    "So he went