He seemed to think about that. “I remember the kid who crashed his car out on River Road and the old lady who died of hypothermia last winter during that freak ice storm, but what was the third one you found?”
“The floater. You remember. I was fishing for Channel cat and pulled him up, instead. The big guy.”
“Oh, yeah. Wasn’t wearing a ski vest.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Stupid idiot. Ought to be a law against fat people going in the water, anyway.”
She didn’t comment. Deaton couldn’t possibly mean half the things he said. She’d known him since kindergarten, and he was just as crazy and amusing as he’d been back then.
“Damn, Lucky, that’s four bodies in seven months. That’s got to be a record, even for you. What’s your total?”
“Seventeen. Eighteen if you count the one before I started working for the newspaper. Nineteen if you add the one out of state.”
“Seventeen locally in how many years on the job?”
“Twelve.”
He shook his head. “I’ll bet this stuff doesn’t go over too well with the captain.”
No, it didn’t, but she wasn’t about to discuss her personal life. People speculated enough on the reason she and Jack were living apart.
“Where is he?” she asked, instead. “He’s usually one of the first on the scene.”
“We had an earlier call and he took it.”
Good. After the fiasco with Jack last night, at least she wouldn’t have to face him in person this morning.
Or maybe she would. His unmarked police sedan turned in the service road and came around the barricade the moment she counted her blessings.
“Ah, hell,” Deaton said, hastily jumping to his feet.
Lucky took a deep breath to fortify her strength, but her already queasy stomach did a major somersault.
Jack was a formidable presence when he was in a good mood, but when he was all business—like now—he seemed even bigger, his shoulders broader. Lucky felt both overwhelming joy and deep sorrow at seeing him. She’d gone thirty years without losing her heart, but then this man had come along and stolen it within seconds.
One minute she was single and accepting of it, if not content, and the next—bam! She’d looked into deep-brown eyes and started dreaming about wedding vows and waking up next to him for the next seventy-five years.
Regrettably Jack had proved to be more interested in the idea of marriage than the reality of it.
As he approached, he didn’t take his gaze off her. Even as he spoke to Deaton, he didn’t look away. “Swain, have you secured this scene?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why is there a newspaper photographer inside the perimeter?”
“Uh, that’s Lucky.”
“I recognize her,” he said dryly, the comment so ludicrous she wasn’t sure how he kept a straight face.
She cleared her throat. “I called it in, Jack. I was already here when your people arrived.”
His expression didn’t change, telling her he already knew.
“Wait for me,” he ordered. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He motioned for Deaton to come with him, and they walked off several yards, then stopped. Jack’s posture suggested forced control as he listened to a rundown of the incident and the procedures followed by his department since their arrival.
He asked Deaton if he’d requested an investigator from DFS, the Department of Forensic Sciences.
“No,” Deaton told Jack. “I didn’t see a need to call. The death isn’t suspicious and we have an ID on the victim from Lucky. Some old guy named Charlie Bagwell. Plus, we found his wallet. His car’s still sitting in the parking lot of The Hat with a flat tire. Guess he was too drunk to change it last night and started walking. He only lives a mile or so up the road in that subdivision on the other side of the tracks.”
“Collect the evidence and don’t speculate. Call DFS and get someone over here. Have them take possession of the remains. I don’t want the funeral home leaving with them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you get photographs before you moved anything?”
“Uh…no.”
A few seconds passed before Jack spoke again. “Get them now. And get a video of both the scene and the car. Impound the car. I also want you to send someone over to the man’s house and make sure he’s not sitting at his kitchen table eating breakfast.”
“I’ll go myself.” Deaton hurried off.
Jack turned and walked back to her, his face grim. He mumbled an expletive under his breath.
“If I caused trouble, I’m sorry,” Lucky told him. “I grew up with Deaton and most of these people out here, and they’re used to me being around with my camera. They trust me to keep out of the way.”
He shook his head. “It’s not your fault. Did he bother to get your statement?”
“Yes.”
Jack looked at her more closely, and his expression softened. “Are you okay? You’re pale.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it.” He lightly rubbed the back of his hand against her cheek. “And you’re distinctly green around the gills. What’s wrong?”
“It got to me, I guess.”
“I’ve never known you to let this stuff bother you.”
She shrugged. “I suppose it’s because I knew the man.”
“Do you want to sit down?”
“No, I’ll be all right.” She prayed that was true. She’d hate to embarrass herself by throwing up. Usually she could eat, drink, smell or look at any gross thing and not be bothered. A cast-iron stomach came with the job, and he knew it from experience.
“Can you tell me what you saw?” he asked. “You can come down later and give an official statement.”
“I didn’t see much. I came through about six o’clock on my way to the office and glanced down the track. At first I thought the train had hit a cow again. When I realized it was a human, I called 911.”
“Are you sure of your identification?”
“Reasonably sure. He cut some trees for me a few years ago, and I’ve run into him a few times since. Yesterday afternoon he crossed the street in front of me and waved. I noticed his shirt—pink flamingos and palm trees on a yellow background. Your victim over there has on the same shirt. I can’t imagine there’d be more than one of them around.”
She told him how he might get in touch with his daughter, an old school friend of her sister Shannon’s. Lucky thought his wife was dead, but she wasn’t certain.
“Jack, I…” She hesitated, hating to bring this up, but feeling as if it had to be repeated. “I promise I don’t intentionally get in the middle of things. Deaton said you were on another call. Did you leave it because of me?”
“Not entirely, but yes, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Besides, we haven’t found anything on the other call. They can handle it without me.”
“What was it?”
“A bomb threat at the box factory. Probably called in by some joker who didn’t have anything better to do this morning. Chief’s