Stranded

longer quiet. Maggie’s and Tully’s roles were quickly reduced to traffic control and site management. The crime scene techs, Janet, Matt, and Ryan, had arrived again from Omaha with their mobile lab. Agent Alonzo had told them that an FBI agent from the Omaha field office would also be making his way up, but so far they hadn’t seen or heard from him.
    Grace had alerted to five other sites: one behind an old laundry house, another behind the barn, and three in the woods. Creed had given her a rest after each find, along with her pink elephant and some water. They were walking the pasture now but hadn’t gotten any more hits in the last hour. Creed insisted this would be their last grid of the property.
    Sheriff Uniss had brought an anthropology professor from a nearby university to help direct his deputies on how to dig the places that Grace had alerted. Creed had warned them that the three in the woods could be surrounded by what he called secondary scatter; in other words, pieces of the primary targets. He had marked the primary not only according to Grace’s alerts, but also to his visual observations, pointing out one spot in particularwhere the wild grasses were only half as tall as those surrounding it.
    Maggie didn’t envy the digging crew. There were at least a dozen of Creed’s fluorescent flags telegraphing sites and some were in hard to reach areas, way off the beaten path.
    The sheriff had sent one of his men to fetch sandwiches for everyone. Maggie and Tully were only getting to theirs. Tully went to get them some bottled waters and sodas while Maggie found them a quiet place at an old picnic table.
    The sun wasn’t quite as warm today but it was another beautiful day, and Maggie was struck by the absurdity—such beauty alongside the macabre. Watching Grace had reminded Maggie of her dogs and she pulled out her cell phone. She pressed the contact number before thinking what time it was or what she might be interrupting. She heard it ring only twice, then was sent to voice mail. She listened to Benjamin Platt’s smooth, deep voice ask her to leave a message at the beep.
    “Hey, it’s Maggie,” she said. “Just checking on my boys. Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a few days. I’ll try and catch you later. Bye.”
    It seemed too casual, almost too abrupt. This was a man she had considered having a serious relationship with only a few months ago. They had become friends so quickly that the next step seemed not just natural, but inevitable. Then they both put the skids on. No, that wasn’t true—Maggie put the skids on. Ben wanted something more permanent. He wanted a family. And kids. She knew he still hurt deeply from losing his little girl despite it being almost five years ago. But Maggie wasn’t sure she’d be able to replace the void Allie’s death had left in Ben’s heart and in his life. And she wasn’t sure she wanted children.
    “I snagged the last Diet Pepsis,” Tully said, coming back with sodas in his hands and bottled waters sticking out from each of his jacket pockets.
    He popped the tabs while Maggie spread out napkins and unwrapped the sandwiches. There was a certain rhythm to their daily rituals, a sure sign they had been spending a lot of time together.
    “Don’t forget to take your antibiotic,” she told him. “And drink water with it. Lots of water.” She uncapped and slid a bottle in front of him.
    “I actually feel better today.”
    “You still have to take it.”
    “You’ve been talking to Gwen.” But he was already digging the plastic bag with the pills out of his trousers pocket. “I hate that she’s going back to talk to Dodd. I don’t care if she insists he’s harmless. I just don’t like her going back there.”
    “Otis is the only one who can tell us who this killer is.”
    “Do you think his name really is Jack?”
    “Doubtful.” She took a bite. The lunch deputy had done good—turkey, provolone, and spicy mustard.
    “Alonzo said that the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally was in August,” Tully said. “Sturgis, South Dakota, is about six to seven hours away from here. I-29 north then I-90 west. Alonzo also said attendance was around a half million. Can you believe that?”
    Maggie shook her head. “August seems too long ago.” She pointed to his discarded wrappings. “Aren’t you going to eat your pickle?”
    “Knock yourself out.” He slid the pickle atop the waxed paper to her.
    “Just because he was one of the faithful