Page 14 of Silent Bones (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #7)

I t was grinding. The shrill buzz of his phone dragged Noah out of sleep. For once, his evening with Natalie hadn’t ended up in bed. Today he slept alone. “All right, all right…” he muttered, hand slapping at the side table. Only it wasn’t there.

He fumbled down to the floor, face-down on the hardwood, and swiped to answer. His voice was still hoarse. “Yeah?”

“Aye, laddie. Good news. We found him.”

Noah rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Who?”

“Who do you think? ATV guy. Malcolm ‘Mack’ Hawkins. Bastard’s been living like a damn ghost. But we nailed him, off-grid cabin tucked past the far end of the lake.”

Noah sat up straighter. “You’ve confirmed he’s there?”

“Oh aye,” McKenzie said. “I’ve been observing his naked ass for the last half hour.”

Noah blinked. “McKenzie?—”

“Through binoculars, ya pervert. Get your mind outta the gutter. Our lad’s into the full Mother Earth routine—cold plunges, mud smears, probably about to dig a hole and plunk his junk in the?—”

“Jesus, stop. That’s enough. Where are you?”

“I’ll ping you the coordinates. Bring me some coffee. And maybe bleach for my retinas.”

The call ended. Noah lowered the phone and stared at it a beat longer than necessary.

For a moment, he just sat there, letting the early light creep through the curtain slits. The smell of lake water drifted faintly in through the cracked window. The house was still. Silent.

His thoughts drifted to his kids, he should’ve been camping with them this weekend.

They were with Kerri now, his late wife’s sister over in Ticonderoga.

Kerri and her two kids had always been a safe harbor.

So had Gretchen, who had gone with them.

But no matter how grateful he was, it never stopped the guilt from creeping in.

Every time he leaned on them, it felt like he was admitting he couldn’t carry it all.

He pushed up from the bed, stripped off yesterday’s clothes, and stepped into the shower.

The hot water washed away some of the ache in his shoulders. He was toweling off when the knock came.

Sharp. Insistent.

Wrapped in a towel, he padded across the hardwood.

Another knock.

“I know you’re in there. I heard you,” came the voice from outside.

He sighed. “What is it, Dad?” he called, swinging open the door.

“No ‘hi, how are you,’ no offer to come in and have breakfast?” Hugh Sutherland stood on the porch in his usual half-casual button-up and loafers, frowning at the towel. “This generation. No manners.”

“I have to leave. Don’t have time.”

“That’s fine. This won’t take long.” Hugh brushed past him, uninvited, as always.

Noah watched him walk straight to the kitchen and help himself to the coffee already brewed.

“I heard the kids are staying with Kerri or was that Gretchen? I never know what is happening. No one tells me. Why didn’t you call me and ask for help?” Hugh asked.

“We’ve discussed this.”

“Oh yes, your obsession with Luther Ashford,” Hugh said, pouring coffee. “Son, it’s getting old. And I’m not getting younger. That heart attack?—”

“You mean the panic attack?”

Hugh waved it off. “The doctor doesn’t know for certain.”

“Right. What does he know? Just a guy who went to med school.”

Noah moved back into the bedroom and started dressing while Hugh monologued from the kitchen.

“As your father, I have a right to see my grandchildren.”

“And I have a right to the truth,” Noah called back.

“About?”

“Alicia’s death. And, what you know about Lena.”

“Oh, we are not rehashing all of that again, are we?”

“Did you know someone stole a box of evidence from my house while I was at the hospital? State and county case files. The same night someone boxed me in at the hospital parking lot. Now, if you were me, what would you conclude?”

Hugh sipped calmly from his mug. “That someone doesn’t want you digging where you shouldn’t.”

He held out the second mug. Noah didn’t take it.

“So maybe instead of saying it to your face,” Hugh continued, “they figured you were smart enough to take the hint.”

Noah squinted at him. “What are you afraid of, Dad?”

“Afraid?” Hugh walked into the sunroom. “Me? You’re speaking in riddles again.”

Noah followed. “What does Luther Ashford have over your head? Are you doing his dirty work?”

Hugh chuckled. “Ah, Noah. Always searching for monsters where there are none.” He stared out at the lake. The surface was glass. Not a ripple in sight.

“Admit it, you and I never really saw eye to eye,” Noah said quietly.

“That’s your story, not mine.” Hugh didn’t look at him. “Things look fine from my end.”

“Funny how perception can distort reality,” Noah said. “But I know what you care about, your reputation, and your legacy. So if Luther has something that could ruin that…” He let the words hang. “What is it?”

Hugh turned. Smiled faintly. “You always were the mirror of me, you know. Ray, Maddie, Luke, they were your mother’s reflection. But, you? Your mother said you were me to a tee. Right down to the parts I tried hardest not to look at.”

Noah studied him. “Did you agree with her?”

A beat. Then Hugh shrugged. “Of course not. Your mother loved her stories.”

“So what’s the truth regarding your involvement with Luther?”

“That whatever I’ve done, I’ve done for this family. For the Sutherland name. Maybe one day, you’ll understand that.” He stepped closer. “But don’t ever question my integrity.”

He set his cup down on the table and headed for the door.

At the threshold, he paused and called over his shoulder, “Tell Kerri, if she needs space, my door’s open. I’d love to see my grandkids. Even if their father doesn’t want them to see me.”

Then he was gone.

Noah stood there in silence, his shirt half-buttoned, watching the empty doorway. Trying to decode what had just been said, and what hadn’t.

Something was rotten under all that legacy talk. And he wasn’t going to stop until he found out what.

After passing the turnoff to the Ampersand trailhead, Noah followed the washboard ruts of Coreys Road deeper into the forest. Just past Stony Creek Ponds, he spotted a set of fresh tracks veering off to the right.

The woods swallowed the narrow path almost immediately, trees bowing overhead, their leaves brushing the roof of his Bronco like fingers.

Ahead there was no mailbox, just a rusted chain threaded through a pine and a warped warning sign barely clinging to the bark: KEEP OUT.

He rolled through the gates slowly. Whatever was out here wasn’t meant to be found.

The road narrowed to a twisting trail, the Bronco jostling over roots and stones until the trees finally broke and revealed a crude pull-off where McKenzie’s SUV and a marked cruiser were tucked beneath the canopy.

Noah parked behind them. A deputy motioned toward the woods with two fingers.

He found McKenzie and two officers crouched a short ways in, positioned behind a ridge of boulders.

Through a break in the trees, he could see a hand-built cabin thirty yards ahead. It had a sloped tin roof, a chimney of fieldstone, stacked wood, and a pickup parked out front. Smoke rose from the chimney in faint ribbons.

McKenzie handed him the binoculars. “Laddie, did you swing by a massage parlor on the way over here? I was about to call in SARS to find you.”

“I got held up.”

“Obviously,” McKenzie muttered, adjusting his belt. “You missed the show. He’s already been outside twice this morning. Cold plunges in the creek, bare-assed, yelling at squirrels. The guy’s three hairs short of Sasquatch himself.”

Noah ignored the joke and looked through the binoculars. Inside the cabin there was movement. A figure with long gray hair, shirtless, pacing in front of a window.

“All right, let’s go.”

They moved in tight, staying low. When they were twenty feet from the cabin, McKenzie called out. “Malcolm Hawkins! Adirondack Sheriff’s Office. Step outside. Keep your hands visible.”

The front door opened. A tall, wiry man emerged barefoot in jeans, hair pulled back in a ponytail. His skin was leathered from the sun, his eyes unreadable.

“I haven’t done anything,” he said, raising his hands.

“Didn’t say you had,” Noah replied. “But you fled a crime scene two days ago. Eluding the police doesn’t look good.”

“Eluding?” Mack scoffed. “What are you talking about? I never saw anyone. You sure it was me?”

“You were on an ATV near camp 65. It was where Logan Forrester was staying. I saw you. You took off when I called out.”

“I like to fish that stretch. Nobody’s ever there.”

“That site’s not easy to reach,” Noah said. “Most people boat in.”

“I prefer wheels. I know the trails.”

“And you just happened to ride through an active crime scene?”

Mack’s jaw flexed. “Didn’t know it was one.”

“So, do you know Logan?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play games.”

“Look man,” Mack said, lowering his arms, “unless you’re charging me with something, I’m not answering any more damn questions.

I was there to fish and trap. I admit that.

That’s all. I didn’t see anyone. And for the last time, I wasn’t eluding the police.

My bike is loud. I can’t hear a damn thing at the best of times, but certainly not over that engine. ”

McKenzie leaned in toward Noah and nodded toward the truck. “That’s a ’25 Tundra,” he muttered. “Top trim. Seventy grand easy.”

“And?”

McKenzie tapped Noah on the arm. They stepped back from Mack and walked a few paces into the woods for privacy.

“What is it?” Noah asked.

“It’s not what, it’s where,” McKenzie replied. “I looked into him while I was waiting for you. Six months ago, Hawkins paid cash, get this, for a top-tier silver Airstream. A 2025 Classic 33FBT. One hundred and eighty-three grand. Paid for outright.”

“Cash?”

“Yup. Same with that truck. No financing. No loans. I checked. But there’s no Airstream here, and no sign of it on any other owned property.”

“He doesn’t exactly scream diversified investor.”

“Nope. Off-grid, no job, no income that we can find. Either he hit the Powerball or there’s a pipeline we’re not seeing.”