Hard Silence by Mia Kay

and stayed quiet. It must be maddening. And there wasn’t a treatment. She probably worked herself into exhaustion just to get some rest.
    Did she fumble with words because it always a struggle to remember what was now and what was then ? Is that why she didn’t want to go to dinner? He remembered her laugh from Saturday, the look on her face when she’d said yes.
    She wanted to go, but she was afraid. Life was too short to live it in fear.
    When his email alert dinged, he opened Bob’s message and downloaded the attached files. The pictures tiling across the screen dragged him back to reality. Dirty bones piled into a muddy hole, roots reaching to reclaim their grisly trophies, worms and bugs burrowing new escape routes. Something the poor bastard in the hole never had the chance to search for.
    Ron Thomas had been another big guy–—long femurs indicated at least six feet tall. Thick bones, healthy. His killer, or killers, would have to be mountainous. Just like the others.
    He’d lived in a small town. Atwood, Alabama. Ray Finch had lived in a one-horse town in New Mexico. Beau Archer had lived miles from the nearest town, somewhere in Virginia. Like Finch, Ron Thomas hadn’t been found near his home.
    Ron didn’t have a family. No parents living. No siblings, no aunts, uncles, or cousins. Just like the others. They’d each been married at their deaths. Ron had been married to Liz. Beau had been married to Betty. Ray had been married to Allie. The authorities had lost track of their wives. Ron and Beau had each had a stepdaughter but no one remembered much about them. Ray had been childless.
    As his printer whirred, Jeff stared at the growing pile of paper. It was no way to think. He needed to spread out. He needed supplies.
    After programming directions to the nearest Office Depot into his phone, he slid behind the wheel and settled in for the hour-long drive. Honestly, how could anyone live this far from major necessities? What had brought Abby here? Had she grown up here, like the Mathises?
    Not everyone had, and Fiddler wasn’t someplace you just stumbled onto. Charlene Anderson, Tiffany Marx and Gray Harper had relocated for friendship. Even he had come because Gray had needed his help. Only someone you liked would get you to somewhere this remote.
    Jeff almost missed a turn and pulled over at the first wide spot in the shoulder. Rifling through his bag, he grabbed a pen and an envelope. Then, shading his eyes to stare at his phone, he searched for information on the burial sites and scribbled notes.
    The Dismals and Sandia had websites. They were beautiful, but remote. No one would follow a stranger there. Beau had been found on his property. He wouldn’t have invited a stranger home.
    They had been killed by people they trusted.
    Putting his notes away, he continued to think until the Hastings city limits forced him to consider traffic and navigation. When he reached Office Depot, he loped across the parking lot and grabbed a cart, eager to get home.
    He went straight for paper—printer paper, glossy sheets for photographs, legal pads, file folders and sticky notes—then to Sharpies, pens and highlighters, relaxing into the familiarity of color coding. He added all his favorite tools and a roll of butcher paper to protect the office wall. An oversized United States wall map and a box of colored pins finished the pile.
    Satisfied, he took his place in the cashier line and waited. And waited. The woman behind him spent the time on her cell phone. Behind her, another shopper sighed. Further back, a child whined and demanded candy.
    The front door swished open and the breeze carried the scent of gardenias. He looked over each shoulder, expecting to see Abby behind him. She wasn’t, but there was a scented candle on the impulse-buy shelf. When the hell did candles become office supplies?
    His fingers twitched and flexed at the memory of holding her, of feeling her hips flex in an effort to keep her balance.