The Price of Redemption. Pamela Tracy

a middle-aged woman, probably dead about six months,” Eric said. “Whoever put her in the shed didn’t really try to hide her. She was buried under clothes.”

      Ruth seemed to deflate but only for a moment. Then, she raised an eyebrow. Eric knew she was thinking the Santellises would be a bit more thorough, a bit more cruel.

      Sheriff Mallery stomped into the room and frowned at Ruth. “What are you doing here?”

      “I heard you had a body.”

      “Well, great guns, the news has probably made it to the moon by now.” He motioned to Ricky. “You might as well head over there, don’t touch anything and make sure to get the facts right.” Ricky didn’t need a second invitation. Ruth didn’t even wait for one.

      Mallery headed outside, leaving Eric alone with the ghosts of his ancestors both present and past. Not the position Eric wanted, so he slowly followed them. They had the shed’s door propped open. August, in Arizona, was bad enough, hot enough. Add the stench of a dead body to the sweltering air and suddenly Siberia looked pretty inviting.

      Every few minutes someone would exit and someone else would return. The coroner, annoyed at the chaos, threatened dire consequences should any feet stray too close to his victim and contaminate the area.

      Eric leaned against the door frame and watched as Ricky displayed the unique ability of being able to write both in a cramped place and in the dark. Ruth hovered at Ricky’s elbow. “It’s a woman,” she whispered in his ear.

      “Duh,” he responded.

      Friendship, even in the worst of locales. Eric missed it, wanted it and didn’t dare pursue it out here in the real world. The people he’d befriended in the past had a way of getting hurt—sometimes fatally.

      Two deputies were busy moving boxes away from the corpse. Eric stayed on the stairs by the door. He could see everything and everybody. The coroner stood after a moment and said, “We can take a break now. I’ll call dispatch and get the CSI guys out here.”

      The cops moving stuff sighed in relief. It was crowded, hot and dark in the shed. Compared to the smell, those were the good qualities. One of the cops put down the basket he’d just picked up. It teetered on the edge and fell to the ground with a thump only made louder by the self-imposed silence of the people in the shed.

      At that moment, more than anything, Eric wished he’d remained on the porch, because when the coroner started packing his medical bag and the basket fell over, Eric spotted another hand.

      THREE

      Ricky, the reporter, got so excited he dropped his pen. The two deputies froze, probably fearful lest they move something and find yet another body. The coroner simply reopened his medical bag and waited for the deputies to snap out of their stupor and clear the way.

      Eric watched Ruth. She didn’t make a sound. The heat from the shed seemed to cloy as the players in this no-win game waited to see what would happen next. It reminded Eric of prison, of being in a place he couldn’t breathe, a place with no soul. The smell of death, human sorrow and just plain wrongness, intensified. Although no one acknowledged the feeling, they all recognized it.

      Sheriff Mallery finally snapped his fingers and barked at his deputies, “Well, you two just gonna stand there?”

      Suddenly Ruth and Ricky were both pushed back as the need to maneuver boxes and clear the area became frenzied. Ricky obviously knew his job. He blended into the shadows. Ruth stumbled forward, her hand stretched out, her mouth a silent “0” of what? Fear? Shock? Disbelief? The deputies got busy and the hand became an arm, a torso, legs, a complete corpse.

      From Eric’s vantage point, he could tell this body had been a dead body longer than the woman’s. The black slithery look was missing because there was no tissue left to rot. Only dingy brown bone remained. This corpse hadn’t preferred the pink, flowered polyester of the first corpse. No, this corpse dressed a bit more conservatively, a bit more dignified.

      But police uniforms, like pink polyester pantsuits, were meant to last.

      Doctor Winters nodded in Ruth’s direction and took on the same snappish tone the sheriff had just used. “Get her out of here.”

      “Nooo,” Ruth keened.

      The deputies didn’t move; Ricky didn’t move; the sheriff didn’t move. The coroner was already on his knees in front of body number two. The white-haired doctor frowned. Shaking his head at what he knew to be a bad decision, Eric entered the shed and grabbed Ruth by the elbow. “Let’s go back to the cabin.”

      “I need to see—”

      “They’ll work faster if you’re not here. You’re making them nervous.”

      Ruth glanced at the two deputies who were now both still—again. Nervous didn’t begin to describe the looks on their faces. “Go, Ruthie,” Ricky urged. “I’ll tell you everything. I won’t leave out a thing.”

      Her knees crumpled, and Eric held her upright. He moved her toward the open door. The top of her head came to his chest. It would have been easier to pick her up and carry her, but if he knew anything about this woman, it was that she wouldn’t want to show weakness at this time. The sheriff moved aside to let them pass. He didn’t offer to help. He didn’t offer condolences or advice, either. He followed them out into the semifresh air and made a phone call. Doctor Winters did the same.

      Eric had too much on his mind to even attempt to eavesdrop, though he was tempted. And each heavy step gave him time to think. Two bodies! There are two bodies in my shed. Maybe he should have waited before calling the authorities. This sheriff inspired about as much confidence as a used-car salesman. Two bodies! Helping Ruth across the front yard, up onto the porch, into the house and finally to the couch, he couldn’t help but shake his head. Two bodies and one of them belongs to her!

      He fetched a bottled water from the tiny kitchen, laid it at her feet and waited a moment to see what she’d do.

      Nothing. She slumped forward instead of back. Her hands crossed her chest as if holding something—probably pain—inside. Her hair cascaded down and almost touched the floor. This was the first time he’d seen her in civilian clothes, not that black counted as a good first impression.

      When the court had vacated Eric’s conviction, and later during the trial of Cliff Handley’s partners, Ruth had been in attendance, always wearing her police uniform. She’d also worn her hair in a braid that hid the fact that she had a rich, red, luxurious mane.

      He went outside, found the same spot for phone reception he’d discovered earlier and called Rosa’s cell. It was fifty-fifty he’d get through. Sam and Rosa would be at the other police officer’s funeral. Eric couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he remembered how the man died. He’d been shot by a fifteen-year-old trying to steal a car. The news stations kept mentioning the kid’s age, as if crime was reserved for adults. The residents of Gila City were shocked. Eric wished he could be shocked, but in his world, fifteen-year-olds knew more about guns than they did about skateboards.

      Which is why he wanted to change his world.

      He’d chosen Broken Bones because he wanted out of that life, that media circus. Yeah, right, as if he could be that lucky. That world had obviously followed him. No, not followed but preceded, giving him a proverbial Santellis welcome—You can run but you can’t hide.

      Rosa picked up after just two rings. “Packard here!”

      He almost mentioned how he couldn’t seem to get used to her new surname, but the timing wasn’t right. Banter between him and his last remaining friend was strained, to say the least, mostly on his side. “I think you need to come out here. I found a body earlier, called it in and wound up with quite a few guests.”

      “Who’d you find?”

      “First body was a female. Second body is wearing a police uniform. The bad news is Ruth is here.”

      “Second