Page 5 of Silent Bones (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #7)

T he lake never lost its magic. Hammered silver under the morning sun, mist curling off the surface like breath. Coming back to the Adirondacks hadn't been easy, but mornings like this reminded him why he'd stayed. Something about this place mended what needed mending.

Noah Sutherland tightened the straps on the roof rack, the canvas tent bag thudding softly as he secured it. Behind him, the sound of sneakers scuffed over gravel, followed by the scrape of a duffel bag being dragged across the driveway.

He smiled faintly as he watched Mia wrestle a duffel bag half her size toward the back of the Bronco.

“Careful, kiddo,” Noah called. “That bag’s not going to carry you, you know.”

Mia shot him a grin over her shoulder, ponytail swinging. “I got it!” she announced, dragging the thing another foot before plopping it down with an exaggerated huff.

Ethan was crouched near the cooler, busily inspecting the camping stove like it was a piece of alien tech. “Do we really need this?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. “We can just make a fire, right?”

“That’s the idea, champ,” Noah said, ruffling his son’s hair as he passed. “But if it rains, you’re going to wish we had backup.”

The Bronco’s tailgate was already down, camping gear lined up like a military operation: tent, sleeping bags, food packs, fishing rods, a half-deflated soccer ball because Mia had insisted, and two beat-up folding chairs.

They were bubbling with quiet excitement, and for once, Noah let himself feel it, that rare hum of peace.

From next door, the sound of a screen door banging open echoed across the narrow stretch of lawn.

“Hey, Sutherland!” Ed Baxter’s voice carried across the yard, cheerful and gravelly. “Don’t forget the marshmallows! And maybe a good set of earplugs if Bigfoot comes sniffing around the campsite!”

Noah laughed, turning toward his neighbor. Ed was standing on his porch in battered jeans and a T-shirt that read I Believe under a cartoonish Sasquatch silhouette, cradling a mug of coffee.

“You ever get tired of that joke, Ed?” Noah called back.

“Hell no,” Ed grinned. “That’s prime wilderness humor, my friend.”

Mia chuckled under her breath. Ethan shot Ed a look of grave seriousness. “There’s no Bigfoot,” he said, as if personally correcting the record.

Ed held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I just report the local gossip, buddy.”

Noah shook his head, smiling, and turned back to the Bronco, tugging the cooler into place. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Noah asked.

“That was the plan but something urgent came up.”

“That urgency wouldn’t be related to Gretchen, would it?” Noah asked.

“Maybe.” Ed grinned.

The morning sun had edged higher now, glinting off the water, warming the driveway. For the first time in months, Noah felt a flicker of real anticipation. A weekend away, no phones, no cases, just trees and stars and his kids.

His phone rang.

The sound cut through the quiet, sharp and unwelcome.

Noah sighed, digging it out of his pocket. The screen lit up. It was Savannah Legacy.

He hesitated.

“Dad.” She shook her head. “Don’t answer,” Mia said behind him, voice light, joking but not really.

He gave her a rueful look, then thumbed the green icon. “Savannah.”

“Noah,” her voice came through, apologetic. She sighed. “You are going to hate me for this. And I’m sorry to do this to you, but..”

His stomach dropped. “Savannah, no. Not now.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious.”

“But I’ve been planning this trip for weeks.” His voice sharpened, frustration rising. “I’ve already pushed it off once.”

“I know.” She sounded genuinely sorry. “I know.”

Noah pinched the bridge of his nose, turning away slightly so the kids couldn’t see his face. “Get Porter.”

“Porter’s tied up on that assault case out in Tupper Lake.”

“Felix?”

“Vacation. Out of state.”

“Braithwaite?”

“Neck-deep in that missing persons case near Whiteface.”

Noah let out a breath, tipping his head back to the sky. “What would you have done if I was already gone? Out in the woods, no phone, no way to reach me?”

There was a pause.

When Savannah spoke again, her voice was soft. “That’s your answer, Noah.”

For a second, all he heard was the faint rustle of trees, the creak of the dock, the distant splash of a fish breaking the water.

He closed his eyes.

“There has to be someone else.”

“There isn’t.”

He released a low sigh. “Where do you want me?”

A moment later, he hung up.

Noah lowered the phone slowly, thumb lingering over the dark screen as if that might change the outcome.

When he turned, Mia was already pulling her duffel bag off the Bronco’s tailgate, dragging it back toward the porch. He felt his stomach drop. Ethan stood frozen near the cooler, shoulders tight, his face pulled into a frown he was trying hard to smooth out.

Noah felt the breath push out of him, sharp and useless. “Mia…”

She looked over, ponytail swinging, and gave him a faint smile. “We figured.”

“Hey, buddy,” Noah said softly, crouching to Ethan’s level. His son’s lower lip trembled just for a second, then firmed.

“It’s okay, Dad.” Ethan’s voice was steady. “You have to go.”

Noah closed his eyes briefly, pressing a hand to the back of his son’s head, drawing him in for a quick, hard hug. “I’m sorry.”

“We get it.” Mia’s voice came from behind, softer now. “We really do.”

That was the part that landed hardest.

A few years ago, there would’ve been tears, protests, slammed doors. Now there was just this: quiet understanding, practiced disappointment. His kids were learning to carry the weight he couldn’t always set down.

“Rain check,” Noah said, clearing his throat, trying for a smile that felt crooked at the edges. “I swear.”

Mia gave him a look, half amused, half tired. “That’s what you always say.” But she came forward anyway, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I love you guys,” he murmured into her hair.

“We know.”

Hearing that didn’t make it any easier.

By the time Noah slid into the driver’s seat, the Bronco felt heavier, as if the air inside had thickened.

He turned the key, the engine coughing once before settling into its familiar growl.

Gravel crunched under the tires as he pulled down the narrow driveway, past Ed’s place.

Ed lifted a hand in a half-wave, a coffee mug in the other.

He veered out onto the road skirting High Peaks Lake.

The morning had sharpened now, the mist burning off the water, leaving the pines crisp against a sky so blue it hurt to look at. Noah kept one hand loose on the wheel, the other drumming absently against his knee, eyes flicking between the road and the blur of trees beyond.

He’d told himself, once, that he could balance it all. Work, family, the demands that came knocking at all hours. That if he just held on long enough, things would settle, the scales would tip back.

But the truth was, the job had teeth. It bit into you, piece by piece, and some days you didn’t notice how much was gone until you reached for it and found nothing left.

How many more times, he wondered, before the kids stopped waiting?

The road curved gently along the lake, past old cabins and summer homes, with the occasional glimpse of a dock or canoe through the trees.

Tourists would be filling the town soon; hikers, kayakers, families looking for wilderness adventure with just enough Wi-Fi to keep them anchored.

High Peaks always buzzed this time of year, its quiet corners briefly crowded, its small-town edges softened by the hum of summer money.

Noah barely saw it.

His mind kept circling back to Savannah’s voice on the phone, the edge he’d heard under the apology, the way she hadn’t answered when he asked what they’d do without him.

The Daily Grind sat at the corner of Main and Jefferson, its wooden sign swinging faintly in the breeze, the smell of coffee and fresh-baked pastries seeping through the open front door. Noah parked, cutting the engine, his fingers lingering for a beat on the steering wheel.

He ran a hand over his face, drawing a slow breath.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the questions were already lining up: What kind of scene required him? What kind of violence froze a whole department? Why had her voice sounded like something worse was coming?

Noah pushed the door open, the little brass bell chiming softly as he stepped inside.

Savannah was already there, at a corner table by the window, her shoulders slightly hunched, hands wrapped around a paper cup she hadn’t touched.

Noah’s heart sank, just a little.

It wasn’t just the case.

No, it was something else.

He crossed the room quietly, the noise of the shop dimming at the edges, and took the seat across from her.

“Hey,” he said gently.

Savannah looked up, and in that moment, Noah saw it, the thin fracture under the surface, the thing she hadn’t let show over the phone.

Her eyes were rimmed red, her mouth pressed thin, her fingers tightening briefly on the cup as if steadying herself.

“Noah,” she said softly. “Thanks for coming.”

Outside, the street hummed with the early morning: delivery trucks rumbling past, a jogger cutting through a crosswalk, a couple with matching backpacks laughing softly over coffee to-go.

But at their corner table, the air was still.

“What is it?” Noah asked, softer, reaching across and taking her hand.

Savannah blinked, and pulled herself back, gave him a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Up close, she looked tired, older, Noah thought, though she was only a few years ahead of him.

Fine lines were around her mouth that hadn’t been there last summer, a pale cast under her skin, and weight in her eyes.

“Savannah?” he asked.

She hesitated, then exhaled, rubbing a thumb along the edge of the cup. “It’s Cora,” she said quietly. “The chemo didn’t work.”

The words hit Noah like a punch. Savannah's partner had been fighting cancer for months. “Oh, Savannah…”

“They said it’s just time now. However much we can make of it.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes glistened. She sniffed once and gave a small shake of her head, as if to brush it all away. “Sorry. I wasn’t going to— I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Noah said softly, “and you don’t have to be.”

Savannah gave him a look, sharp and grateful at the same time, then pressed her lips together, exhaling through her nose. “Thanks.”

For a moment, they just sat there, two people sharing a quiet grief at the edge of a busy morning. Then Savannah straightened slightly, reached down, and pulled a manila folder from her bag. “I wouldn’t have called you in if I didn’t need you, Noah.”

“I understand.” He took the folder, his fingers brushing hers briefly.

“DEC sent it over.”

Inside were printouts, glossy 8x10s clipped together, a preliminary report tucked in the back.

Noah flipped through slowly, the images hitting harder than he expected: two collapsed tents, gear scattered across the dirt, blood splashed up a tree trunk, deep gouges in bark.

One shot zoomed in on a sleeping bag torn nearly in half, the stuffing pulled out like cotton from a wound.

“Teenagers?”

She nodded. “Locals.”

“Animal attack?” he asked quietly.

“That’s what it looks like,” Savannah said. “But until DNA from the bodies comes back, we’re treating it as a criminal investigation.”

Noah tilted his head, still scanning the photos. “You’re on the fence.”

Savannah gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

“What’s pulling you off center?”

She hesitated. “The spacing on the claw marks is unusual. Big. And the pattern of the tents, it’s just…” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “It’s probably nothing, but it’s sitting wrong.”

Noah closed the folder, tapping the edge lightly against the table. “Who is leading it right now?”

“McKenzie and Callie are still on-site. DEC’s got their people there. Addie Chambers is standing by for postmortems.” Savannah’s mouth twitched faintly. “I wanted you to see it before the bodies were moved. Photos are one thing; the crime scene is another.”

He nodded slowly, a familiar shift sliding into place, the detective part, the part that clicked over even when the rest of him wanted to stay on that lakeshore with his kids.

“Has the media gotten wind of this yet?” he asked.

Savannah gave a wry breath of laughter. “Not yet. But give it an hour.”

“And DEC?”

“They’re calling it a possible bear attack. Mayor’s office is pushing to keep it quiet, high season, big money, campers everywhere. They don’t want to scare people off unless we’re sure.”

Noah leaned back slightly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Any witnesses?”

“One. Potentially at least.” Savannah’s expression tightened. “Logan Forrester. Camped at another site just north.”

“What did he have to say?”

“He hasn’t. He wasn’t at his campsite but all his belongings are.”

“So maybe he’s a victim.”

“No blood. His tent is still in order. He left his stuff behind. We’ll need to track him down along with Stephen Strudwell.”

“Stephen Strudwell?”

She tapped the report. “There were five teens registered to camp, four were found dead, the fifth is missing.”

“A possible suspect?”

“Possibly, or another victim. That’s for you to find out.”

Noah filed the name away, feeling the weight of it settle alongside everything else.

Savannah nudged the folder toward him again. “I need you on this. Go to the scene. Talk to Addie. Let me know what we’re looking at.”

His hand stayed on the folder as he looked out. The town stirred to life: shop doors opening, people emerging with their morning coffee, sunlight climbing through the pines.

But in here, the air was thick, quieter.

Noah drew a slow breath, the peace of his morning already a memory, the weight of the case pulling at his shoulders.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll see what I can do.”