Bone Box. Faye Kellerman
Chapter Thirty-nine
The eye sees what it wants to see—and sometimes more.
Late summer in Upstate New York was glorious: warm but not hot with humidity kept in check. Deep in the woods, the sky was a blazing blue through the canopy of green trees with singing birds and humming insects, brilliant enough to turn the most curmudgeonly into optimistic fools. Rina stopped on the trail, breathing in air that would soon turn cool then cold. Back in Los Angeles, she would have never attempted a solo hike, but Greenbury was a small town, and somehow that made it feel safe.
Wearing a backpack, she made sure to keep to the trail. Cellular reception was spotty at best and as she walked deeper into the forest, it all but disappeared. The temperature dropped a few degrees and the vegetation turned thicker. Some of the oaks and maples were hinting at the fall colors to come; autumn was her favorite time of year. As she walked through the woods, she marveled at the way the light sparkled against the ground, the contrast between sun and shade. The stunning displays of nature were providing her with many Ansel Adams moments. Why not take advantage?
She took off her backpack, fished out her phone and a bag of camera attachments. One thing that was great about a phone was the nearly limitless amount of photographs she could take and delete and take again.
Having walked the trail about a half-dozen times, Rina was familiar with the terrain. Every time she shot photos along Bogat, she tried to pick out something new. Last month had been insects; she’d captured over a hundred snapshots of beetles, spiders, butterflies, and other winged creatures. Today she was aiming bigger, specifically for the magnificent, majestic trees and the interplay between light and dark. She found just what she was looking for in the form of a giant, old oak—a huge trunk with leaves shimmering in a gentle breeze, a thousand facets of broken light like the sun reflected off a lapping lake. Trouble was the oak was some distance away off-trail. Although she had a zoom lens, she wanted up-close-and-personal shots.
It isn’t that far away, she told herself. Go for it.
Taking out an old-fashioned compass, she made a note of her coordinates. It was very easy to get disoriented in the woods. Everything was green and lush and looked the same even if you were paying attention. But she was emboldened because as she walked closer to the oak, there was a clearing and some phone reception.
Off-trail, she had to be particularly careful about falling. Tree roots were thick and rocks abounded. As she inched forward, she looked around until she found a great spot to set up. She stepped forward and backward to get the ideal frame, the forest floor beneath her feet feeling spongy. Odd because it had been at least a few weeks since it had rained.
She took a giant stride backward to zero in on the tree and felt a sudden snap under her foot. At first, when she looked down, she thought she had stepped on a twig. Then she realized it was something different and in her confusion, it took a few seconds to register.
A skeletal hand with human fingers.
It had been several hours since she had eaten, but her stomach lurched and her gut felt leaden. Her head went light as her heart started pumping full force. She managed to stay upright, but she was finding it hard to breathe. Talking herself off the ledge.
Old bones, Rina. No one is here. You’re safe.
She brought her hands to her mouth and tried to calm down.
Go back to the trail.
Don’t run. Walk.
Then she heard her husband’s voice in her head.
But … first document this.
The attachment was already on.
It was easier to look at the horror through the filter of a lens. She snapped pictures not only of the hand but also of the surrounding area. She was feeling more and more anxious, so she stopped. Stowing the camera attachment, she took out her phone. Her husband’s mobile went straight to voice mail.
She took out the compass, slowly making her way down the hillside and back to the trailhead. As she walked, she kept trying her phone.
No reception.
Okay. At least you’re on the trail.
Keep going, keep going.
Don’t run. Walk.
Her perfect day had turned sour. But she didn’t dare wallow in pity.
Deep in those woods, it had once been an inconceivably hideous day for someone else.
The calls kept going to Peter’s voice mail, so Rina tried Tyler McAdams, her husband’s sometimes partner in crime solving, which really wasn’t a tall order in such a small town. When he answered, she explained what had happened. The first thing out of his mouth was “Where the hell is Bogat Trail?”
“Didn’t you live here for a year?”
“Two and a half but who’s counting? Have you personally ever seen me in a windbreaker or a parka?”
“I don’t think I have.”
“That’s because cashmere snags when caught on a tree branch. My idea of hiking is going from the law school to Widener. I repeat. Where is Bogat Trail?”
“Just call up Peter. Tell him I’m in my car at the trailhead. He’ll know where that is. And tell him to call me. I can’t get hold of him and by now, I’ve left so many messages, his voice-mail box is full.”
“He’s in a meeting with Radar and one of the college proctors. There was an altercation at one of the bars last night; punches were thrown and a window was broken. The owner is not happy.”
“The semester just started.”
“Exactly. Just stay put, Rina. I’ll go interrupt him.”
A few minutes later, her husband’s voice cut through the line.
“What in God’s name are you doing at Bogat Trail by yourself?” he thundered.
Rina paused before she spoke. “I’ve been on this trail alone at least a half-dozen times.”
“Well, you never told me you were there.”
“I’m certain I did but you never cared because I never found any human remains before.”
A pause. “Go home. We’ll talk later.”
“I’m not going home, because you need me to show you the spot. I copied down the coordinates from my compass.”
“Then