Sweetheart by Chelsea Cain Page B

His slicker was wet and he looked unhappy to be there. He rolled down the window half an inch.
    “Archie Sheridan?” she asked.
    He pointed at the trailhead, and beyond it, the dark woods. And then rolled the window back up.
    “Thanks,” Susan said. She thought about asking to borrow his flashlight, but he didn’t seem to be in that great a mood.
    She changed into her sneakers, put her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt, and started walking. The ground on either side of the cement path to the trailhead was already a field of mud. It glistened under the park lights. When she reached the edge of the dark woods, she thought about going back to her car, going home, going to bed, but then she thought of Parker and how far he would go to get a story, and she hunched her shoulders and headed into the darkness.
    The overcast sky held enough light that the trees were shadowed and every branch looked like a bent, angry arm. Susan couldn’t help but think of Gretchen Lowell as she walked down the gravel path, the mud sucking at her feet. Gretchen had dumped at least two bodies in these woods. Is that what this was about? Another Beauty Killer victim? Susan dug her hands deeper into her pockets and picked up the pace.
    She’d walked about a quarter mile when she found them. She could see the flashlights up ahead, the long white beams refracting off the cedar trunks. Cops, bless their hearts, were always easy to spot.
    They were also hard to sneak up on, and she was still thirty feet away when one of the flashlight beams paused and then swung around and landed on her face. She blinked into the light. “I’m looking for Detective Sheridan,” she announced.
    A large shadow appeared behind the light and she heard Henry Sobol say, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, it’s you.”
    The flashlight dropped.
    Susan wiggled her fingers at Henry. “Hi,” she said.
    “He’s over there,” Henry said, swinging his flashlight around to illuminate Archie, who sat on a fallen log just off the trail. Henry twisted his mouth wryly. “We’re waiting for a bird expert,” he said.
    “Ornithologist,” Archie called.
    Susan could practically hear Henry rolling his eyes. “Whatever,” he said.
    She walked over to where Archie sat. He had a flashlight at his feet, shining off into the woods, so she could make out enough of him to see that he was soaking wet and covered in mud.
    “Did you trip?” she asked.
    “Do you know anything about birds?” he asked.
    She put her hands on her hips. “Is that why you asked me out here?”
    He picked up the flashlight and shone it in a bird’s nest that he was holding on his lap. “It’s human hair,” he said. “Blond. There’s another body.”
    Susan leaned over and looked into the nest. She was confused. “You found a nest?”
    “A kid gave it to me. He found it up the hill.”
    “A kid?” Susan said, looking around at the dark woods.
    Henry walked up behind her. “He’s gone,” he explained.
    “He disappeared,” Archie said.
    “The kid?” Susan said.
    Archie looked up at Henry. “You call Search and Rescue yet?”
    “Based on hair in a nest?” Henry shone his flashlight down Archie’s mud-and-debris-covered body. “Are you okay?” he asked, lowering his voice. “Debbie called me, you know. After you stomped out in a cloud of self-pity.”
    “It was more a fit of pique,” Archie said.
    “She’s worried about you,” Henry said.
    “You two should start a club.” Archie stood. “I don’t want to wait anymore.” He called over the three uniformed cops who were standing with their flashlights. “I’m going to want shoulder-to-shoulder teams with flashlights. Take your time. We’re looking for a female corpse.”
    “Archie,” Henry said.
    Archie shone his flashlight straight up the muddy hillside. “We’re going up there,” he said. “That’s where the kid found the nest. So that’s where we should start.”
    “Wait,” Henry said.
    “I’m done waiting,”