Page 1 of Murder Road

CHAPTER ONE

That July night seemed full of possibility, with the empty highway stretching out before us. I had just woken up from a nap in the passenger seat, my head foggy as I remembered where we were. I took off my flip-flops and pulled my bare legs up, crossing them and running my hands through my hair. The digital clock on the dash said it was two in the morning, and the road didn’t look like the same road we’d been on when I fell asleep. I wondered where we were going. There was no way I would fall asleep again.

“We’re lost,” I said.

Eddie glanced over at me from the driver’s seat. “I don’t think so. We took a wrong exit, that’s all. I’ll get us back on the interstate.”

I looked out the window at the narrow country road, lined with dark trees, and thought we were definitely lost—but the truth was, I didn’t care. I was riding at night in Eddie Carter’s Pontiac, which had a front seat like a sofa. It was July of 1995 and I was twenty-six years old. I was here because Eddie and I were on our honeymoon. We had been married just over twenty-four hours.

We were headed for a motel that was a cluster of cabins on the shore of Lake Michigan. We’d budgeted enough money to stay exactly five nights. We planned to swim, play Scrabble, barbecue burger patties on the rusty charcoal grill, drink half-warm beer from a cooler, swim some more, then go to bed.

Repeat five times, and then we’d make our way home to the small apartment we rented together in Ann Arbor, and Eddie would go back to work fixing cars and I’d go to my job at the bowling alley. We’d both go to work every day, then we’d come home and have dinner that was probably one of six kinds of sandwich, and then we’d go to bed. Repeat every day, forever.

I glanced over at Eddie. He was frowning, concentrating on the road. His brown hair had grown out since he left the army, though he still kept it short. He was wearing a light gray T-shirt and worn jeans. He wasn’t a huge man, but he was sleekly muscled, and his biceps were hard under the sleeves of his T-shirt, his physical presence at odds with his quiet, studious expression. At twenty-seven he was a year older than me, though he seemed much more mature. As I looked at those biceps, it hit me yet again that I had married a man instead of a boy.

Married. I had to toss the phrases around in my head, trying to get used to them. I married him. We got married. Eddie married me. I am his wife. We are a married couple.

The words still felt strange.

“Do you want me to pull the map from the glove box?” I asked him.

“I think I know where we are,” Eddie said. “Roughly, at least. Something about this is familiar. I think we’re heading south. There should be a turnoff to get back on the interstate.”

“Are you tired?”

The question seemed to amuse him. “No.”

Right. He’d slept in all kinds of weird places, at weird times, while he was overseas. I didn’t know the details of what he’d done in Iraq—he didn’t talk about it much. But I’d seen Eddie say he was going to sleep for exactly one hour, and then do it, as if his brain had a timer. It was one of his mysteries.

I leaned forward and turned on the radio, twisting the dial and watching the needle move along the numbers. Most of the stations around here were off the air at this time of night, and much of the dial was static. I finally found some country music that wavered in and out of existence, like a ghost passing from room to room. “Haunted cowboys,” I said as a man’s voice warbled patchily into the silence of the car. “Dead a hundred years, and still trying to drink whiskey and find a woman.”

Eddie smiled. He was the only person I’d ever met who liked my jokes.

“Don’t worry, April,” he said, which was a little strange, because I wasn’t worried. Or was I?

I looked out the window again. It was pitch-dark out there, not a streetlight or lit window in sight. A three-quarter moon hung low and crisp in the sky. It was the kind of night that wasn’t suffocatingly hot, but if you slept with the window open, you’d wake up with clammy skin and damp, chilled sheets. You’d stay tucked in bed until sunrise, when it started to get hot again.

“There’s no one out there,” I said. “It’s like we launched into space.”

“Not true.” Eddie pointed. “There’s someone right there.”

Sure enough, through the trees a light glowed. Low at first, then brighter, lighting in a smooth flow. It wasn’t the flip of a switch or a flashlight. It took me a moment to place it, but it seemed more like someone turning up a kerosene lamp, making the flame go higher.

Was it inside a house? Or someone outside in the trees? I couldn’t tell. I watched the light as we passed it, turning as it shrank behind us. I should have felt comforted, but I wasn’t.

“What was that?” I asked as the country music on the radio changed tunes, then wafted out of range again.

“Beats me,” Eddie said. “Look, we’ll give it another ten minutes. If we don’t see a sign, we’ll—Oh, Jesus.”

I turned back to face front, and I saw what he saw. In the beam of the headlights was a man at the side of the road. A teenager, maybe. He wore a baggy jacket and was walking slowly, his head down. As our headlights hit his back, he didn’t turn.

Eddie slowed the car so we didn’t pass him, but kept him in our headlight beams. “Drunk, do you think?” he asked me.

I watched the figure take another slow, careful step. He still didn’t turn our way, though we must have been the only car to come down this road for a long time. On second look he was small for a man, and I noticed jeans that flared at the bottom.

“I think that’s a woman,” I said.

“Could be.” Eddie kept the car at a crawl, inching behind her. There was something strange about the way she didn’t turn, but there was also something pathetic about it. “She could still be drunk,” Eddie said.

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