Page 4 of Bone Echo

“What the hell are you doing sneaking around like that, Pat? Where’s Lloyd?”

The older man recoiled as if Kurt had hit him.

Damn. Scaring him was the last thing he wanted to do. The guy didn’t interact well with folks as it was. “Is anyone else here, Pat? Besides you and the Satterfields?”

Oglesby shook his head frantically. “Nobody. I looked all around the yard and in the barn. Just Lloyd and…” He pointed to the front door. “You’ll see.”

“Okay,” Kurt said more calmly. “Let’s go inside and you can show me what you called Charlie about.” He avoided mentioning blood or murder so as not to prompt a particular response.

Satterfield’s work truck was here, which meant he was. That he hadn’t come to the door when Kurt arrived set off another of those adrenaline launching alarms. When you lived out in the middle of nowhere like this the arrival of a visitor rarely went unnoticed. The sound of a vehicle’s engine or the closing of a door seemed to echo for miles.

Oglesby shook his head wildly from side to side. “I’ll stay right here, chief. You go on in and look for yourself. I can’t go in there again.”

Well, damn. As much as Kurt wanted to get inside and see what the problem was, he didn’t like the idea of leaving Oglesby loitering about out here. Whatever had happened, his presence was relevant and Kurt didn’t want him disappearing now that help had arrived.

“We need to get inside,” Kurt urged patiently, “and find out what’s going on.”

Wailing a multi-syllabled no, Oglesby grabbed Kurt by the shirtfront and shook him as if he needed him to pay better attention. That was when Kurt saw the blood

Oh, hell.

Kurt grasped the other man’s wrists and pulled his hands away from his shirt. As he surveyed the discoloration on his fingers and palms his heart lurched into a faster rhythm. Definitely blood. “Show me where the blood came from, Pat.”

Faded, watery eyes met Kurt’s. “They’re dead, chief. I tried to wake ’em up, but they’re dead. Dead as door nails.”

“You can wait in the Jeep.” Kurt ushered him to his Jeep, opened the passenger side door and waited while the older man climbed in. Kurt had to get in that house. The blood had elevated the situation from puzzling to suspicious.

“Just sit tight.” Kurt reached into the glove box for his weapon and shoved it into his waistband. The older man’s fearful gaze tracked each move. “This is nothing for you to worry about, Pat. It’ just a precaution while I have a look around inside. No getting spooked and taking off on me, okay?”

Oglesby relaxed a little. “Okay. I’ll stay right here, chief. Don’t worry about me.”

Before turning back to the house, Kurt asked, “Was the door unlocked when you arrived?” Knowing how he’d entered the home and whether or not it was already unsecured could be vital.

Oglesby shook his head. “I used the key under the rock. Kathleen keeps—kept—one there. She was always forgetting her key.”

Kathleen was Lloyd Satterfield’s wife. Kurt didn’t like that Oglesby used the past tense, but there it was.

“So it was locked,” Kurt confirmed.

The man’s head bobbed up and down in the affirmative.

“Okay. Sit tight and I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

Kurt closed the Jeep’s door, hit the fob to lock it and walked slowly toward the house. All the things he should do next bombarded his sluggish brain. Secure the scene. Call for backup. Take precautions not to contaminate the scene.

This was crazy.

There had to be some sort of mistake.

An accident...a misunderstanding.

This was paradise. Quiet, beautiful, peaceful. A charming village perched on the ocean just like a scene from a glittering snow globe. Murders didn’t happen here.

He tamped down something that felt entirely too much like panic welling in his chest. He had to maintain his objectivity, couldn’t go off halfcocked. He didn’t know what had happened here just yet.

At the front door he belatedly wished he had some latex gloves. Then again it didn’t really matter at this point. Oglesby had already been inside. He’d likely touched the doorknob and no telling what else.

His heart thundering in his ears, Kurt opened the door. The cold metallic smell of blood assaulted his nostrils with the first rush of air into his lungs. He staggered with the impact of it. Not just a hint of the unpleasant stench, the air was muggy with it. He knew the smell. Knew that heavy, thick aura of death.

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