To the Grave by Carlene Thompson Read Free Book Online Page A

trip to the cottage,” James finally said with a touch of indulgence. “It doesn’t matter now, though.” He hugged her and she clung to his warm body. Then she thought of her own damp, stringy hair and filthy clothes. She quickly pulled away. He peered at her, his forehead creasing again. “You’re wet and cold. Let’s get you home.”
    â€œJames, I’d appreciate you staying a few minutes.” Catherine had forgotten Eric Montgomery still stood beside her. Eric nodded in the direction of the cistern. “I need for you to take a look at something.”
    The body, Catherine thought with dull, horrified inevitability. Marissa told Eric that I think the body is Renée.
    James hesitated, obviously knowing why Eric wanted him to stay and just as obviously wanting to leave. James, however, never ran away from anything. “Sure, Eric.” He looked at Catherine. “You sit still, sweetheart. Don’t try to walk by yourself. I’ll be right back.”
    Catherine watched James nearing the cottage, his shoulders straight but a lag in his step, and her heart wrenched. She desperately wished she hadn’t come to look at the place. She wished she’d never seen it, never heard of it. She wished it didn’t exist. But it did and she’d come to it with all her joyful plans—plans she hadn’t even mentioned to James—and look what had happened. She’d found the body of a dead woman, for God’s sake, and her nosiness had dumped a load of trouble and darkness onto the Eastman family, especially her dear James.
    Catherine closed her eyes for a moment, chilled by the thought of the bloated, decaying body rescue workers were now preparing to retrieve from the cold water. James had to watch, she thought, and considering the circumstances, he shouldn’t have to do it without her support. Despite his instructions, she left the safety of the ambulance and on weak legs walked to his side and linked her arm through his. He looked at her and she wanted to give him an encouraging smile, but she simply couldn’t muster one.
    Catherine realized a smile wouldn’t matter to James, though. He’d only flicked a vague glance at her when she clasped his arm. Then his silent, intense gaze focused on an orange piece of equipment shaped like a stretcher that two men carried to the cistern.
    Eric stood beside James. “That’s a Skedco Sked stretcher system,” he said casually. Catherine knew Eric was merely chatting, trying to calm James by diverting him. “It’s an especially good transport system for rescues in confined spaces like storage tanks and manholes. It’s flexible and easy to hoist with ropes and only weighs eleven pounds without its attachments, which they don’t seem to need. This isn’t a difficult job.”
    James nodded, pulling Catherine closer to him as a tall, muscular man wearing protective eye gear lowered the stretcher into the cistern and then slid into the water with the fluidity of a seal. He rose once, took a breath, and called to Eric, “Got the body partially secured!” He looked at his fellow rescue worker. “We don’t need ropes. I’ll be sending up the stretcher in a minute.”
    Catherine’s breathing slowed as the sled rose from the water. One rescue worker took hold of the rails while the other clambered unaided from the tank. Together they lifted the stretcher, tilting it as much as possible to maneuver it out of the cistern, and laid it gently on the ground.
    Eric glanced at James, who said firmly, “Stay here,” to Catherine. He and Eric walked to the stretcher. Catherine could see the body’s dark slacks, a long-sleeved sweater, a puffy, dangling white hand, and long, wet black hair. She couldn’t bear to look at the face, but James stared at it for almost a full minute, his complexion turning gray beneath its remnant of a summer tan. Then he