Page 10 of Silent Bones (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #7)

Miles lit up. “Yeah. You know Ed? Great guy. We go way back. He’s been on the podcast multiple times. We are actually considering hosting at his home one of these days.”

“You’re telling me my neighbor is on a Sasquatch podcast?”

“He’s our recurring guest expert on Adirondack sightings. Real boots-on-the-ground kind of guy. He’s a rare breed.”

Noah exhaled slowly. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Not at all. Ed’s got some of the most convincing theories around. Plus, a great radio voice.”

“I thought he just shouted at raccoons.”

Miles grinned. “To the untrained ear, yes.”

Noah didn’t dignify that.

Instead, Noah stared out at the trees, at the spot where the bodies had once lain. “You’re telling me you think this... whatever did this... was a Sasquatch?”

“I’m not saying it was , but I’m not saying it wasn’t . But it sure as hell wasn’t a bear. Or a cougar.”

Noah’s jaw tensed. He didn’t like how close that was to what Addie had said earlier.

“Stay out of this,” Noah said, holding up the cast.

“Oh, I will. But if you change your mind, we’ve got a new episode dropping Friday. You should listen. I cover all of it… a timeline, witness whispers, possible cryptid sightings in the region. I might have a unique angle you haven’t considered yet.”

“I’m not interested.”

“You might want to be.”

Noah gave him a long look.

“Look, are you going to arrest me?” Miles asked.

“I haven’t decided. What do you think?”

“Honestly, I figured it was 50/50.”

Noah shook his head. “Go. Get out of here. If I catch you back here again, those odds drop to zero.”

Miles raised both hands. “Understood. Message received. Loud and clear, Officer...?”

“Noah Sutherland. And this is your official warning.”

“Much appreciated.”

As Noah turned, Miles called after him, “You ever want the real story, you know where to find me.”

“I’ve learned enough.”

Miles nodded and backed away into the dark, flashlight beam bouncing as he went.

Noah stood a moment longer, cast in one hand, the forest quieting again. Sasquatch? He’d seen all manner of loonies come out of the woodwork after a crime but that was just on another level.

Somehow, things felt even stranger now than they had that morning.

The night had deepened into a hush by the time he returned home.

Noah sat at the edge of his dock, legs dangling over the water, a half-warm bottle of beer resting in his hand. Out here, with the house light off and the woods behind him dark and still, the lake became a mirror, slick, obsidian, swallowing stars.

Insects buzzed along the surface, flickering in and out of view. The gentle lap of waves against the shoreline offered the only rhythm. Somewhere across the water, a loon called once, sharp and solitary, then went silent.

He took a sip and stared across the rippling black.

The plaster cast sat on the bench beside him, wrapped in a towel.

A reminder of just how quickly reality could tip into absurdity.

He thumbed through some of the online groups to see what locals were saying, then tuned into a podcast episode that Miles had covered.

People really believed Bigfoot existed. That there wasn’t just one but hundreds of them hiding in the forests.

Some believed it was a flesh and blood creature, while others thought it was inter-dimensional, capable of moving between worlds.

The more time he spent listening, the more insane it all sounded.

Bigfoot? Casts of fake footprints shared online, and cryptid theories floating into a homicide investigation like smoke. Ugh, that was all he needed.

Still, Miles had been right about one thing, people were already talking. Online, in town, maybe in neighboring counties by now. Whatever control they thought they had, it was slipping.

He let the silence breathe, long enough for the beer to settle warm in his stomach, before he brought up his contacts.

Noah scrolled to her name.

Natalie Ashford.

He hesitated, thumb hovering. Then tapped.

Two rings.

Three.

"Well, this is unexpected," she answered, voice soft but alert. "Didn’t think I’d hear from you tonight."

"Didn’t plan to call," Noah said. "Kind of one of those nights."

"Long day on the job?"

"You could say that."

A pause.

She didn’t press.

Crickets filled the gap.

He cleared his throat. "Thought maybe you’d want to grab dinner sometime. Tomorrow evening, maybe? Something low-key. Nothing formal. Just... you and me."

"You and me?" she repeated, voice tinged with amusement.

He smiled faintly. "Unless you've got a clone."

Another pause. This one longer.

“Is this personal,” she asked, “or professional?”

He let the silence stretch. Then said, “Let’s call it… both.”

Her tone shifted, subtle, but perceptible. "You’ve got a reason, then."

"I always do."

"And let me guess, you think it leads to my family."

He took a long sip, eyes never leaving the dark line of trees across the lake. "I think a lot of roads lead to your family. Doesn’t mean you’re on them."

She exhaled softly, like she’d expected as much. “My father doesn’t run half of what people think he does anymore, Noah. He lets other people get their hands dirty.”

"Still his dirt."

"Let me guess, you think he's tied to what happened over at Saranac?"

Noah didn’t answer directly. “You ever heard of Whispering Pines Campground?”

"Sure. Small place down Route 30. Used to stop there for firewood when I was a kid. It’s changed hands many times.”

"You know the current owner? Theresa Voss?"

“No. But I’ve heard the name.” A beat followed. “Didn’t she have some... trouble?”

He looked out at the lake again. “That’s one word for it.”

Another silence, but heavier now. It hung between them, thick with things unsaid.

She broke it. “So, this dinner, should I wear a wire?”

He chuckled. “Only if it comes with a good wine pairing.”

Natalie gave a small, warm laugh. “Alright. One drink. You ask your questions, and I’ll decide how many answers you deserve.”

"Fair."

"And if I bring up old stories about you and your ex?" she asked.

"I’ll switch to hard liquor."

"Noted."

They sat there for a moment, two voices on opposite sides of suspicion and familiarity. Friends? Maybe. Something more? Possibly. But underneath it all, Noah still felt the pull of the case, the hunch that the Ashford name wasn’t just a footnote in it, but was a shadow.

“I’ll text you the location,” he said, finally.

“I’ll be waiting.”

The call ended with a soft click. No closure. Just space.

He set the phone down on the dock beside him and let the stillness return.

The beer was empty.

The plaster cast stared back at him from the towel.

And out beyond the trees, in the spaces between facts and folklore, something didn’t add up. He watched his reflection shimmer across the water, then disappear as the wind stirred the surface.