Cold River by Carla Neggers Page A

hair. He ignored Sean and looked at Hannah. “I heard Poe barking like crazy, but I didn’t know you were here.”
    “I can call an ambulance,” she said.
    “Nah.” He shook his gashed hand, a gob of blood dropping onto an icy patch on the lane. “It’s nothing.”
    Sean eyed Bowie warily, making no apparent effort to hide his suspicion. “Were you in a fight?” he asked.
    Bowie shrugged. “A fight with granite.” He touched the cuff of his sweatshirt to his cut, swelling face as he nodded to Hannah. “You okay? Your cheek’s bleeding.”
    “Just a little. I’m fine. I got out of the way in time.”
    “Most of this mess fell on me,” Bowie said. “It knocked the wind out of me.”
    Hannah winced at the blood dripping from his hand and face. “You should get yourself checked out. You might need stitches, and if you have a concussion—”
    “I’ve got a med kit in my van. If I went to the emergency room for every nick and scratch I get in this work, I’d never finish a job.” He grimaced at the tarp, rock and dirt. “I stopped by to pick up some tools I left out here and heard a noise.”
    “What kind of noise?” Sean asked.
    Bowie glanced back at him, slightly less hostile. “Probably the tarp. I’d secured it with rocks, but it was blowing around in the wind. I figured a critter crawled under it looking for a warm place to sleep. I climbed onto the edge of the pallet to secure the tarp and must have knocked this stuff over on myself. Stupid.” Clearly in pain, he turned back to Hannah. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
    “I thought I heard someone calling my name…it was weird.” She saw Sean’s eyes darken, but he said nothing as she continued. “Honestly, Bowie, you should see a doctor. Don’t take chances.”
    “I’ve been hit in the head before. This time—hey, at least it was an accident.”
    She didn’t smile at his stab at humor. “Are you sure?”
    “Why wouldn’t I be?” He gave her a crooked grin. “Prosecutor Hannah.”
    Sean didn’t smile, his expression serious as he toed a pile of small rocks. “Where were you when you heard the noise?”
    Bowie picked up the shovel from the frozen ground and leaned it against the front of the crypt. “I was at the end of the lane by my van. Thought at first it might be a deer or a moose. Poe started barking. I couldn’t hear anything after that. I came down here, and next thing, I was fighting off granite.”
    “Bowie…” Hannah hesitated. “Could it have been an attack?”
    His gaze settled on her, practical. “I don’t see how. It was probably just a big old raccoon making trouble.” He grinned, blood trickling into the corner of his mouth. “Or maybe a ghost.”
    “Funny, Bowie.” Hannah cradled her injured wrist, felt it swelling. She shivered, very cold now. “Look, with everything that’s been going on lately, it’d be a good idea for us to tell our story to the police and let them check out what happened.”
    “You do what you want. I’m getting a couple Band-Aids.”
    Next to her, Sean inhaled sharply and reached into his parka for his cell phone. He hit a couple of buttons. “Hey, Elijah. I’m at the crypt at Four Corners cemetery. Hannah and Bowie got banged up. You and Jo need to get over here.” He disconnected and turned to Hannah. “What did you mean you heard someone calling your name?”
    “Just what I said. It was a whisper—I don’t know. Maybe it was the wind and my imagination is so fired up I just turned it into my name.” She made an effort to smile. “Or there is a ghost out here.”
    Sean returned his cell phone to his coat pocket. “Whatever you heard, it wasn’t a damn ghost.”
    “Bowie,” Hannah said, “did you hear someone call my name, or was it you?”
    He clenched his cut finger with his uninjured hand, stemming some of the bleeding. “I didn’t hear anyone, and no, it wasn’t me. That I’d remember.”
    “You could have hurt your head more than you