Page 62 of Half the Summer's Night
The rest of the morning is a waste. I’m too anxious about the delivery to take care of the other bodies on my list, two elderly people who died in the local nursing home. I at least try to catch up on paperwork, but it’s hard to concentrate.
Part of it is that I’m still worried about Rowan. The death being at Neptune’s Adventure feels too pointed to be a coincidence. Now, I can’t shake the thought that Nameless will do something to Rowan out of—I don’t know, jealousy?
It seems a strange word to describe a killer. But it also fits.
To calm my jangling nerves, I send Rowan a quick message.
Hi, I had fun yesterday.
Which is true enough, but mostly I want him to respond, to know he’s okay.
At least he responds quickly.
Rowan
Me too! Glad I ran into you!
I stare down at the text, a thick darkness eating away at my chest. I like Rowan. I do. We have identical tastes in movies, and I appreciate a guy who apparently cuts out of work to play mini golf. I like his dark, curly hair and crooked smile and big, reassuring body. I like the way he always seems nervous about looking me in the eye.
He’s the kind of awkward guy I would always get a crush on in college. And sure, I’ve gushed about him to Penelope and Chloe. But there’s a dark, bitter truth:
He’s not the one I want.
The one I want is a killer, and I think he may have killed again.
The bodyfrom Neptune’s Adventure arrives right when Deputy Muñez told me it would, and I hang back as Hector wheels it into the examination room.
“Table or fridge?” he asks, hands still clutching the gurney.
“Table,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t come out shaky.
“Brace yourself.” He transfers the body over. “It’s fucked up. Good reminder not to go drinking and golfing.”
I give him a thin smile.
Hector arranges the body on the table for me. When he’s done, he steps back, and I see the damage for the first time.
The head is crushed. Mangled. It doesn’t even look like a human’s head at all, just a mess of meat and bone.
“Guess you got a strong stomach, huh?” Hector glances over at me. “Officer Whitehead puked when he saw it.”
“I don’t blame him.” I circle the body, heart fluttering. I’m not interested in the mangled head, though. I’m looking for the one thing that will prove this is Nameless’s work.
And that proves—what? He watches me during the day?
“You good?” Hector asks, dragging me out of my thoughts. “Ready to sign off?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” I scribble a line on his touch pad, give him a wave goodbye, and wait until I hear the clank of the garage door to approach the body.
I snap on my gloves. Grab the fabric scissors. There’s an order to performing an autopsy, and technically, I do follow it. I cut the clothes away, my eyes scanning the pale, mottled flesh. There’s nothing to indicate a struggle, not really. Some rope burn around one ankle, but the report Muñez sent over said the victim had been found with one of the ropes from the sails tangled around his foot. I can see the story as they would: a frat boy stayed out late drinking, broke into Neptune’s Adventure to cause some mischief, got himself tangled up, tripped, and fell in. We’ve seen other things like this in Rosado.
And how many of those were because of Nameless?
I run my hands over the body’s leg, lifting it to look under the calf. Work my way up to the hips, the belly. Nothing. No suspicious marks.
The further up I go, the more my heart pounds. Maybe this really was an accident. Maybe Nameless only watches me at night, under the cover of shadows. Maybe Rowan is safe.
God, I hope he’s safe. He doesn’t deserve to die just because I like him. He hasn’t even touched me.
