Page 36 of Silent Bones

“Pity. You might want to bring that fur you found. Word is, it’s being tested?”

Noah blinked. “How did you hear about that?”

“Word travels. Am I right?”

“It’s in process,” Noah said stiffly.

“Process?” He laughed. “Which means it will be sitting in a lab for months. Well, Dr. Albert Langley will be at the festival. He’s the guy to talk to, a cryptid researcher, folklore expert. He’s tested all kinds of stuff. Fur. Prints. Stool samples. The works. He’d have that tested in no time.”

Noah took a slow breath. “First, the slayings weren’t Bigfoot-related. Second, don’t spread that nonsense.”

“So what, you expect us to believe it was another animal?” Miles asked.

“Possibly a bear.”

“Were they beaten or eaten?”

“What?”

“The teens. As Sasquatch doesn’t eat. But he has torn apart a few people and twisted heads.”

Noah didn’t answer. He just stepped toward the door.

“Thanks for the chat,” Miles called after him. “Maybe next time you’ll come with a sample. Or a better lie.”

Noah heard Ed mutter something to the effect of, “Seriously? He’s my neighbor.”

Noah pulledthe Bronco into the gravel turnout just above the dock, tires crunching softly in the warm hush of night. A few porch lights dotted the shoreline across the lake, flickering reflections on the still water like scattered candles. Stars glimmered overhead, undisturbed by clouds or city haze.

She was already there.

Natalie Ashford leaned against the side of her jet-black Aston Martin DB12; one heel propped up behind her on the rear tire. The car glinted under the dim dock light, sleek and predatory. So did she.

Though something was different.

Gone were the ripped jeans and Vans. Tonight, she wore a black silk dress with a slit up one side and thin straps that showed off her shoulders. Her long dark hair had been swept into a loose twist, a few strands falling to frame her face. Diamond studs sparkled on her ears, and her makeup was minimal but striking. It gave her cheekbones the kind of edge that could cut glass.

When she saw him, her lips curled slightly. “When you said here,” she said, glancing around the secluded cove, “I thought you meant a new restaurant.”

Noah held up the wicker basket in one hand and two bottles of beer in the other. “I brought the restaurant with me.”

“I feel overdressed.”

“I was about to say, that’s different from how you normally dress.”

Her smile faltered just a little. “My father has…” she trailed off, eyes slipping to the lake. She didn’t have to finish.

Noah knew what she was about to say. In Luther’s world, appearances mattered.

He gestured toward the dock. “Shall we?”

The canoe bobbed gently at the end of the wooden planks. Natalie stepped out of her heels, held them in one hand, and padded barefoot down the dock. She moved with elegance, like someone who’d been raised under constant scrutiny.

Noah steadied the canoe with a foot and a hand as she climbed in, then shoved off with a quiet grunt and stepped in after her. The boat rocked slightly, and then settled into the rhythm of the water. He took the paddle and began to steer them out into the lake.

The further they got from shore, the quieter it became. Just the occasional lap of water and the rhythmic dip of the paddle.

“How’s the newspaper business doing?” he asked after a few strokes. “Now that Maggie’s gone.”