Love Lies Bleeding

Love Lies Bleeding
by Laini Giles
Copyright © Laini Giles, 2013

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This e-book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

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Issued by Musa Publishing, April 2013

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ISBN
: 978-1-61937-482-9

Editor: Estela Kennen
Artist: Kelly Shorten
Line Editor: Jenny Rarden
Interior Book Design: Cera Smith

To Allan, of course.

Chapter One

Buttermilk Falls State Park, Ithaca, New York
June 1986

“
E
verybody else goes to Florida for vacation. Hawaii. Mexico. But me? I followed Joni Mitchell to New York on a nature walk from hell. Good going, Nicole,” she muttered to herself. Her lungs were on fire, and she clutched at the stitch in her side. She was losing momentum as she limped down the trail, and prickles of fear traveled across the fine hairs on her arms. With each successive curve she rounded, she figured Kathy would be waiting for her. But each time, Kathy wasn’t there.

“I swear to God. This is the last straw. No more hiking. Ever.”

Her best friend had convinced her to spend their vacation in the Finger Lakes. From Pittsburgh, they’d curved their way through the mountainous terrain of Western New York and hours of nothing but forests, hills, and rest stops at rural Dunkin’ Donuts. Nicole was thrilled to see some civilization at last. Ithaca—with its galleries, clubs, great restaurants, and tons of used bookstores—promised a good time. But what was the first thing Kathy had done? Dragged her out to look at more forests and hills.

As with their visit to Letchworth last year, Kathy had already disregarded safety and somehow outdistanced her. Nicole was pretty tired of Kathy’s whole earth mother routine in general, and now she was just tired. And seriously pissed off. What was the old saying? Fool me once…

The scenery was nice, though. Instead of the sudden and dramatic drop of so many falls, Buttermilk was more of a shallow, multifaceted sheet of water. It was so massive, she could still hear the rushing flow from where she sat.

It was a perfect summer day, but Nicole trembled, hugging herself for warmth. Her shins hurt, and the new hiking boots she had purchased a few weeks ago were rubbing, even with the pillowy hiking socks she had bought to go with them. Moreover, her thighs ached from the tension and from the grade of the hill. She sat down on a downed hemlock log to one side of the trail and rubbed the junction of her heel and ankle where a blister was developing.

Why hadn’t she stuffed some Band-Aids in her pocket? Trying to reach the car would be hell because of the blister. Kathy would double back and check on her when she felt guilty enough. Nicole just hoped it was before she either starved or the wild animals started gnawing on her, whichever came first. As if emphasizing her point about the wild animals, some twigs cracked nearby, and a graceful doe emerged from the underbrush. It stared at her for a moment with its deep, expressive eyes before darting back into the trees. As she thought more about the gnawing, she realized she’d give anything for a cheeseburger right about now. A big fat one dripping with cheese and juicy tomatoes. She didn’t even have a canteen with her, which made her even more nervous. Although the water churned up by the falls might be safe to drink, she’d have to risk blood poisoning getting to it.

“Relax,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure why she was being so quiet, since no one else was around for miles. Or at least it seemed that way. She leaned over with her elbows on her knees, studying her surroundings and trying not to think about food. Her makeshift bench was huge and looked like it had been there for years. She wondered how long. A half century? A century? Nature’s detritus trailed out the ends. Fallen leaves, rocks, and old rodent nests formed an earthy carpet all around it.

On the ground between the tree and the path, Nicole saw a scrap of blue nestled in the brush. Cloth?

They must have resourceful squirrels in these parts. Maybe some careless campers left some trash. Or maybe it was an old camping blanket. But who would have buried a camping blanket?

Nicole glanced at her cheap little Timex, shocked at how much time had passed since they had arrived at the park. Impatient, she looked down again. The cloth buried there continued to bother her. Reaching down to grab at it, she noticed a fissure in the soil, and her gaze followed the crack. It trailed off down a little slope, the earth jutting at slight angles, crooked and uneven along its bias. Nicole yanked the large chunk of what appeared to be blue wool loose from the earth.

Intrigued now, she crouched in front of the log. After breaking a nail scraping at the ground, she pulled away several decades worth of leaves and twigs, revealing more blue. The rich smell of earth and rot and decay hit her nostrils. She ground her knees in the soil as she tried to gain a little traction.

She tugged at the fabric some more, the motion causing chunks of bark to shed off the log onto the surrounding forest floor. She was going to be scraped all to hell tomorrow. As she glanced around again to see if Kathy was headed back up the path toward her and knowing she wasn’t, Nicole wiped her hands on her shorts to rid them of some of the filth. Now she was on a focused mission, and her digging intensified.

As she pulled, the resistance gave way at last, along with loads more compacted earth. She was confronted with a small glimpse of white. Well, off-white. And then a skull rolled through the remainder of the moss and leaves and settled against her thigh.

Chapter Two

Parking Lot-
Buttermilk Falls State Park
June 1986

“T
en-four. Conley out.”

Senior Investigator Frank Conley hung up his radio and guided the Crown Victoria into the lot, nerves thrumming as they always did when he responded to reports of a body. The hikers had found Trooper Vic Lewis cruising near the park and hysterically related their story. The case had been turned over to Frank.

Frank guessed what was in store as he drove to the crime scene. A couple of women from surrounding areas had disappeared in the last few years. He surmised that this victim was Mary Van Order, who had left her abusive boyfriend in West Danby and vanished back in 1984. He tried to prepare himself for calling her mother, June, whom he’d kept updated for the last two years. It was always the worst part of the job and the one he hated the most. As the father of a teenaged daughter, Frank had to steel himself for these phone calls; Shannon was all he could think about when he gave the news. Finding bodies was bad enough. Finding bones was a rare occurrence in these parts.

Shutting off the Crown Vic’s engine also stopped Joe Cocker in mid-howl. Frank grabbed his cheap insulated mug from the beverage holder, managing one last sip of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. It was already starting to go cold. The HQ was on the other side of town, so there’d been plenty of time for it to go lukewarm on him on the drive over.

“Shit,” he mumbled, spilling a few dregs on his pants and wiping at it with a paper napkin. “I’m too old for this crap.”

As he unfurled his full six feet three inches from the front seat, he could feel joints popping that he hadn’t been aware of until now, and he wondered for the umpteenth time how many more cases he had to see out before he could retire. Even near a small city like Ithaca, being a cop was serious business. Frank had joined the state police when he was all of twenty-four and had seen the wear and tear of twenty years since then. His fondness for Jim Beam hadn’t helped him weather that time well. In fact, it had cost him his wife and daughter a few years before. The lines around his blue eyes gave the slightest hint of the mileage he’d seen. His thick dark hair had become a blanket of gray, and his forehead traveled a little farther back every year.

Frank still managed to draw stares from admiring women, but he had ceased noticing them long ago. He and Allison had been divorced for three years, and often, he preferred it that way. Then he would see his daughter Shannon growing up so fast and realize how much he was missing. Shannon had turned fifteen in April, and she was as much of a handful as her mother had been at thirty. He told himself it was easier being single, and sometimes, he believed it. He and Allison had been able to end their rollercoaster time together after sixteen years, but with Shannon, the fun was only beginning.

He was beginning to wonder if he could relate to women at all anymore. Except maybe for sex. Whenever he got a little keyed up, he went home with Shelly, the bartender at The Dive Bar out near the lake. Yeah, the place was a dump, but he could escape there when he needed to forget he was a cop for a while.

Law enforcement in rural upstate New York required an intrinsic relationship between city cops, state police, and those working in the sheriff’s department. Sometimes, it was hard to tell where jurisdictions split between all the fields and creeks and state parks. Ithaca was a small city, crouched at the foot of Lake Cayuga, one of New York’s scenic Finger Lakes. The steep, rolling terrain gave the area an abundance of parkland, and the mountainous overlooks and deep valleys formed over one hundred fifty waterfalls that had delighted tourists since the late 1800s. With two major colleges in town, Ithaca was an outpost of liberalism in red upstate New York. Its left-leaning bent also gave it some of its quirky character, with its mix of galleries, shops, theaters, ethnic restaurants, and political activism. The well-preserved architecture lent the area a relaxed quaintness. It had even been one of the original movie-making capitals before the action had shifted out west in the 1920s. But more than a thriving arts scene separated it from the farmland that surrounded it. As someone had told Frank years ago, “Appalachia starts here.” Anyone who had ever glimpsed the strange juxtaposition between the city and its country-cousin neighbors knew what that meant.

Life was pretty tame here, but an overabundance of young people kept the police hopping. Other than the usual speeders on Highways 13, 79, and 96, most of his work seemed to be alcohol-related misdemeanors, like drunk-and-disorderlies, DWIs, and vandalism. The Cornell kids stayed too busy studying to create too much trouble, but the city’s high school-age teenagers could be a handful. After a quick response to a neighbor’s complaints a few weeks ago, they’d caught four of the little bastards tearing up one of the rural cemeteries south of town. It was nothing but a damned waste, and Frank hated waste. He was a history buff, and nothing pissed him off more than seeing it destroyed by a bunch of punks. He still couldn’t understand what bizarre need caused anyone to smash the tombstone of a respected townsman who’d been dead for over a century.

“What’s the story, Chuck?”

Sergeant Chuck Keith stood near the tape separating the path from the clearing where the bones had been discovered.

It never fails
, Frank thought as he watched curious hikers crane their necks to get a glimpse of the body.
What is it about death that fascinates people so much? I’ve been doing this crap for years now, and it only makes me tired and sad for society.

“A hiker found the bones. We pulled ’em out a little while ago wrapped in a blanket. Look pretty old. Coupla’ decades, I’d say.”

“Really? I figured this was Van Order.”

“Nope.” Chuck shook his head, shuttling more hikers back to the path. “Larry says it’s older.”

Frank’s forehead furrowed as he considered an unknown victim.

Keith carefully guided park-goers away from their crime scene. Shaking hands with him, Frank peered through the trees where Sergeant Dave Ross worked in ever-widening circles, scouring the clearing for any evidence and bagging it. Sergeant Jerry Lawson knelt nearby, photographing the crime scene. Next to Lawson, medical assistant Larry Gleason analyzed the remains.

Pushing the tape down and stepping over it, Frank approached the other troopers.

What had been unearthed of the skeleton lay on a clean plastic sheet. The blue blanket buried with it was covered in old black blood. The remnants of an ancient black dress clung to the upper torso and arms, and the bones of the feet were still encased in old-fashioned lace-up shoes. The leather remained in relatively good shape, but the stitching had eroded, causing the soles to separate from the upper structures.

“Any weapons?” Frank said.

Ross shook his head but guided him to what they had unearthed. “Not really, but we found these wrapped in that blanket with her.” His gloved hand held up two evidence bags. The first contained a long metal instrument of some type, but Frank had no idea what it was. That would require a little research. The second held a locket. It looked to have been gold-colored once, but now it was crusted with dirt and tarnish. Obviously not pure gold.

As Ross held the bag, Frank tugged on a pair of gloves and pulled the locket out of it. Grasping the tiny clasp, he eased it open and nearly dropped it. The two tiny sepia-toned photos in it—a respectable middle-aged man in jacket and cravat, and a sophisticated middle-aged woman with an elaborate hat— made his blood run cold.

“Frank, what is it?” Ross said, holding out a steadying hand, which was good because Frank thought he might take a header into a nearby barberry bush. Failing that, he might pass out or puke. After a moment, he took a deep breath. Ross eagle-eyed him.

“Frank? You okay?”

“Yeah.” Frank avoided his gaze.

“What is it?”

Frank rubbed his eyes and slipped the locket back into its protective plastic.

“Nothing,” he said, holding up the bagged necklace. He had a job to do, and he needed to do it.

“Hey, Frank.” Lawson clapped him on the shoulder. “The hiker is over here. She and her friend want to get back to Pittsburgh pretty soon.” He jerked his thumb toward the girls, sitting on a log in a nearby clearing talking to Sergeant Dan Aubrey. A pretty blonde in cargo shorts and a Duran Duran T-shirt shivered, but not from cold. Her friend had long, straight, chestnut-colored hair, a tie-dyed tee, and khaki shorts. The brunette put her arm around the blonde, who shook it off in annoyance.

Frank took the clipboard from Jerry. He felt bad for the girls, but it had to be done. He slipped on his reading glasses and approached them. “Hello, ladies. I’m Senior Investigator Conley. I’m very sorry about your discovery this morning. I just need to ask you a few questions. I’ll try to make this as quick as possible.”

Nicole took his hand as if it were a lifeline, clutching it a little too tightly. “I’m Nicole Harris. This is my friend, Kathy Culver.”

The other girl nodded at Frank, who said, “Now, can we start at the beginning? You’re here from Oakmont, Pennsylvania. Is that correct?”

“Yes, outside Pittsburgh,” Nicole said. “We arrived three days ago. We’re staying at the Holiday Inn. We wanted to see some of the pretty scenery around here, try out the wineries, ride the lake boats…you know. So we went up to Taughannock the other day, and yesterday we saw Ithaca Falls and Lucifer at Treman State Park.”

“So you came to the upper park this morning, about what time?”

“About eight thirty. We got a nice early start so we could see plenty of the falls, the park, and everything. We weren’t sure how long it would take to hike all the trails, you know?” Nicole was fidgeting in that way he’d seen before from those unlucky enough to find bodies. Not quite sure what to do with themselves after being confronted with their own mortality.

“Yeah, I know,” Frank said, surveying the area. “That’s a lot of walking.” He smiled in the reassuring way that cops are trained to use in their everyday work. “What happened then?”

“We parked at the lot off Upper Buttermilk Falls Park Road and hiked for a while, then…”

“I got a little too into my nature,” Kathy admitted. When he gave her a quizzical look, she glanced at Nicole.

“She left me,” Nicole clarified. Her voice shook with anger. “She was too busy looking at the scenery and collecting leaves and rocks and got too far ahead of me. Again.”

“It wasn’t intentional, Nicole,” Kathy said. She lowered her head.

“You never do it on purpose Kathy, but you still do it, and this time, something awful happened,” Nicole protested.

Frank made more notes on his pad and peered over the top of his reading glasses at the two girls.

Frank looked over at Nicole, but she was ignoring Kathy. He could see that irreparable harm had been done to their friendship.

“So then what happened?”

“I started getting a blister on my foot,” Nicole continued, rubbing the side of her boot absentmindedly as she spoke. “It was killing me, so I stopped for a minute. I sat down on that log and rubbed my heel.” She pointed to where Ross was now examining the soil near the end of the log. “I thought about how old it might be, and I was admiring it. But then I saw a little bit of blue material right where that trooper is standing. Looked like some kind of wool, and I wondered what it might be. I was just curious…”

“Sure you were. I would be.”

“I pulled on it. And it came away in my hand.”

“It was part of that blanket we found?”

She nodded. “It looked like some kind of blanket. Maybe the type they use in the army. Only blue, not olive green.”

“Then what?” Frank said, scribbling in his unreadable chicken scratch.

“I was intrigued. I mean, who would bury a blanket? I got down on my hands and knees on the side of the log and pulled out all the gross leaf stuff that was around the material. I just wanted to see what was going on. I started yanking.”

Frank prompted her again with his eyes, looking up from his notepad.

“I gave it a last good tug, and it pulled free. Whatever it was….” She shuddered, then corrected herself. “Whoever it was…their skull hit my leg.”

Frank scribbled and scribbled, trying to keep up with her narrative.

“Is there anything else you can think of?”

“Well, I wondered why the animals wouldn’t have taken the body apart…you know…stealing the bones. Like you see on TV? I wasn’t sure why it had lain underground so long.”

“That’s a good question,” Frank said, wondering the same thing.

Frank tried to see if the hikers knew more, but it was obvious that they had just stumbled upon something that had put a giant damper on their vacation. He had Nicole sign a statement. Then he wished them safe travels back to Pittsburgh and watched them bicker as they hiked back down the trail toward their car. That was not going to be an enjoyable drive home. Six hours of arguing most likely. He figured that by the time they got twenty miles or so, one of them would be standing next to Highway 86, thumbing it. He pulled out of the parking lot at Buttermilk and headed back to the barracks.