"You've done other things without me."
The fun seemed to drain from her. "For God's sake, Bass. I know what I did. I told you I'm sorry. What do I have to do?"
"I don't know."
"God, why did you have to bring that up?"
"I'm sorry. Forget it." He set down the basket and cooler beside the trail and went to her. He took the towels and sun block from her hands and let them fall to the ground.
Faye threw herself against him. She clutched him tightly, pressing her face to his chest. "I'm sorry." She was crying. "I'm so damn sorry."
"It's okay." He gently stroked her back.
"I wish to God it'd never happened."
"It's okay."
"I love you, Bass."
"I know. I love you, too."
"I was so stupid. I only did it . . ."
"Hey, hey. It's all right."
"If you want your ring back . . . ?"
"I don't. Of course I don't. Come on, now. We've been through all this. Everything's fine."
She nodded, her face wet against his shoulder.
"And we'll still get married," he said. "If you still want to."
She sniffed. "Of course I do. Of course. I want to marry you so badly."
"Now let's get down to the river while we've still got some Saturday left."
She turned her face up to him. It was red and wet. Her nose was running. She wiped it dry and Bass kissed her. Then he gave her a gentle swat through the seat of her bikini pants. She flinched a little and laughed.
"Let's go," he said.
She gave him a hard squeeze, then let go. While Bass hurried up the trail, she picked up her things. Then she waited for him. As he walked quickly toward her, the basket and cooler swinging by his sides, she used one of the towels to wipe the tears from her face.
"Go," he said, bearing down on her.
With a laugh, she whirled around and scampered on ahead of him.
And suddenly stopped at the foot of the trail.
Bass, about to run her down, dodged to the right and halted beside her. "Look," she said, and ducked her head slightly.
Bass turned his eyes toward the river.
With trees no longer in the way, he saw two people lying in the sand near the water's edge.
"What are they doing?" Faye whispered.
"Sleeping."
"She's naked."
"Sure looks that way," Bass whispered.
"What'll we do?"
"Take a closer look?"
Faye's eyes, playful again but still red from the recent tears, gave him a mocking scold.
"Pretend they're not here?" Bass suggested.
"They're bound to wake up. I mean, we still have to bring the canoe down, and everything."
"So?" Bass said.
"She's naked. I don't want them to wake up and find us here. Anyway, we don't even know what kind of people they might be."
"Well, I know one thing. We're not going to let them mess up our canoe trip. We'll just go on with our plans as if they aren't even here."
"But they are here."
"We've got as much right to be on this beach as they do."
"But she's naked."
"Probably just working on an even tan."
"Let's go back, honey. Please?"
"No. Look, don't worry about it. If we disturb them, too bad. Let them call the cops."
Faye made a nervous laugh and quickly pressed a towel to her lips. Lowering the towel, she whispered, "We do have friends on the force, don't we?"
"Sure do."
"Man, would these two be in for a surprise."
"Anyway, nobody's going to call the cops. We'll just mind our own business and let them mind theirs."
Lips pressed together, Faye nodded briskly.
"Come on," Bass said.
He started walking forward, Faye close to his side. The motionless couple was still a fair distance away. The man wore blue jeans, but no shirt. He looked slender and fit. His feet were bare. Curled on his side, his body blocked some of the woman from their view. Her legs were visible. Her nest of pubic hair glistened in the sun. One breast showed, but the closer one was hidden behind the man's upthrust shoulder.
"I've got an idea," Faye whispered. "Maybe if we sing . . ."
"What on earth for?"
"To warn them, let them know we're coming. It'll give the woman a chance to throw something on before we're right on top of her."
"I wasn't planning to get on top of her."
"I'm serious."
"I thought we wanted to not wake them up."
"It'd be better this way," Faye whispered.
"Okay. What'll we sing?"
"How about, 'We're off to See the Wizard'?"
"I don't know the words."
"What do you know?"
" 'Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead.' "
"I don't know that. How about 'Deck the Halls'? You've got to know that one."
"Sure."
"Ready? Get set. Go."
They began to sing.
The man's arm moved. He flopped onto his back, exposing the rest of the woman. She had no head.
Screaming, Faye stumbled sideways against Bass. He pulled her tightly against him and held her as the man sat up.
"Stay back!" the man yelled. He looked at Bass and Faye, then at the woman beside him. Scurrying to his feet, he ran for the river.
"My God!" Bass blurted. "He's got her head!"
Faye pushed her face hard against Bass's chest.
The man reached the river running full speed, splashing water high as his bare feet hit it, pulled out, and hit it again.
"I'm going after him." Bass started to let go of Faye.
"No! Stay with me!" She clutched him hard, mashing herself against him.
The man dived into the river and started to swim.
"He's getting away. I've gotta go after him."
"No! Don't! He might kill you!"
"I can't just stand here and let him . . ."
"Stay! Please!" She hugged Bass even more tightly than before. "Stay. Just let him go. It doesn't matter."
"But . . ."
"No! You can't leave me here!"
"All right. All right."
He made no more efforts to get free. They stood together on the sand, embracing, as the man swam to the other side of the river, climbed the far shore and, after a quick glance backward, disappeared into the thick forest of pine.
Chapter Three
The Sheriff
Rusty Hodges, the sheriff of Sierra County, squeezed the trigger of his Smith & Wesson .44 magnum. The shot crashed through the silence and his revolver leaped like a strong, startled dog. Thirty feet in front of him, the hollow-point struck a water-filled beer can. The can jumped off the ground, tumbling and blasting out water. The water glistened like silver in the sunlight. The can fell to the forest floor and rolled.
That's about enough for today, Rusty thought. Might as well quit on a winning note.
Besides, he'd managed to destroy the two dozen beer cans he'd brought with him to the clearing.
At the rear of the patrol car, he tossed his ear protectors into the trunk. Then he ejected his brass. The six shiny shells felt warm in his palm. He poured them into the left front pocket of his uniform trousers and patted them. They made a nice jangle.
Leaning into the trunk, he plucked six fresh cartridges out of their box. He held them in his left hand and stepped away from the trunk so he could look at them in the sunlight.
Beauties, he thought.
They were sleek and heavy. Their blunt tips gleamed like silver; their shells shone like gold.
He remembered a bit of a poem from high school. It went, A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
These were things of beauty, all right.
He wondered if women felt this way about their best jewelry.
Smiling, he shook his head and started sliding the rounds, one at a time, into the snug holes of the cylinder.
He supposed it was terrible to be so fond of his weapons and ammo. A lot of people, if they knew about it, would take him for a nut. You weren't supposed to like guns. Not in this day and age. So he pretty much kept quiet on the subject.
When his hand was empty, he snapped the cylinder into place with his thumb. Then he brought his left hand close to his face. It was big and grimy. He inhaled, sucking in the aromas of oil and brass and blasted powder.
He closed his eyes.
Somebody oughta bottle this smell, he thought, and sell it as a men's cologne.
He bolstered his weapon.
Call it Gunfire, he thought, and grinned.
"Shit," he muttered. "It'd sell like hotcakes."
Leaning into the trunk, he grabbed a plastic garbage bag.
"Especially on Father's Day," he added, and laughed quietly.
Swinging the bag by his side, he started ambling away from the car. Just as he passed the open door, however, the radio crackled. "Headquarters to Car One." He ducked inside, let go of the garbage bag, and grabbed the mike.
"Car One," he said. "Go ahead, Madge."
"We've got a homicide, Rusty." Her voice sounded excited. "We've finally got another homicide. Over."
"Don't sound so overjoyed, darling. It isn't ladylike. What's the location?"
"It's at the Bend. They found it at the Bend. And there was a suspect seen fleeing the scene, but that was back at about oh-nine-hundred. Over."
Rusty glanced at his wristwatch. 9:35. "Let's bring in the Pac," he said. "She'll be at home. Where's Jack?"
"He's Code Seven at Wilma's Grill."
"Send him over to the Bend as soon as he checks in. And get in touch with George Birkus, have him send over his meat wagon. I'm on my way. Who should I see?"
"Bass Paxton. He found the body. He called from a car phone there at the roadhead."
"Which roadhead?"
"The one this side of the Bend. You know. Where everybody parks? Not that other one, whatever they call it."
"Sweet Meadow."
"Right. It's not the Sweet Meadow roadhead, it's the closer one."
"The Bend roadhead?"
"Well, isn't that what I said?"
"More than likely."
"Don't be a so-and-so, Sheriff."
"Sorry."
"He'll be waiting for you. Bass Paxton. At the Bend roadhead."
"Got it. I'll be there in about twenty minutes."
Just over fifteen minutes later, Rusty reached the turn-off to the Bend. He knew the dirt road well. As a boy, he'd hiked it with his buddies, wrestled in the sand, gone swimming in the Silver River's cold currents, camped on its shores and in the surrounding woods. Later, he'd driven the road with girls, walked them down to the Bend, wrestled in the sand, gone in swimming. The first time with Millie, it was on the sand of the Bend. God, what a night! Over the years, they'd returned to the Bend each anniversary. It was a very special place for both of them.
And now some creep had committed a murder there.
Should've done it someplace else.
The pines thinned out, and Rusty drove across the bare dirt of the parking area. A Jaguar was parked beside the garbage can. He rolled past it, and drove closer to Bass Paxton's old red Grand Prix.
The Pontiac's windows were rolled down. Bass was sitting in the driver's seat. In the passenger seat was a woman. Rusty couldn't see her face clearly, but he supposed she must be Faye Everett. The two had been going together, off and on, for a couple of years.
Bass waved and opened his door.
Rusty steered around a canoe on the ground near the Pontiac, then stopped his patrol car. As he climbed out, Bass came walking over.
"Morning, Bass."
"Rusty."
"They tell me you found a body."
Bass shook his head, wrinkling his nose as if he smelled a foul odor. "Sure did. Faye and I were gonna take my canoe down the river and we walked right up to it."
"Where abouts?" Rusty asked.
"Down by the shore."
"It's down there now?"
Bass nodded.
"What is it? Male, female?"
"A female."
"You're absolutely sure she's dead? We should call in an ambulance. . . ."
"She's dead, all right She's been decapitated."
Rusty gaped at him. "De-what?"
"Decapitated. Her head was cut off."
"You're shitting me."
"I wish."
Shaking his head, Rusty stepped over to the Jaguar. He took a close look at the orange decal on a corner of its windshield. "Do you know anything about this car?" he asked.
"It was here when we came."
He opened the door, bent down and peered inside. Looking for the registration, he tried to open the glove compartment. It was locked;
A brown leather strap curved across the floor under the driver's seat. He slipped a finger beneath the strap and pulled out a purse. Setting it on the seat, he opened it. The billfold inside was a rough twill fabric. He lifted it out, opened it, and removed the driver's license from its plastic holder. After studying the license for a few moments, he slipped it into his shirt pocket.
He nodded to Bass. "Let's go down and have a look."
"Do I have to? I mean, I hate to leave Faye alone."
"We can have her come with us."
"I don't think she'd want to do that. She's pretty shaken up. She was sick to her stomach a while ago. She's still scared half to death."
"Well, go and ask her to come along with us. She shouldn't stay up here by herself, and I need to go down there and have a look at things."
"I'll talk to her."
He watched Bass walk over to the Pontiac's window and bend down. Inside, Faye nodded. Then Bass opened the door and she climbed out.
She looked good in her bikini shorts and cut-off T-shirt. She was dressed for a good time, dressed for sun and splashing and laughter and probably sex. But the fun had been wiped out before it even began. Her head hung low. Her shoulders drooped. She walked unsteadily, holding Bass's arm as if she might fall without it.
"I'm sorry this had to happen," Rusty told her.
Faye looked up. "He cut her head off, Sheriff."
"Bass was telling me."
"He did." She nodded, frowning. "He cut it off."
"Why don't we go on down, now?"
"But she's down there."
"Come on, Faye." Bass started leading her.
She jerked her arm free, lurched away and fell. She landed hard on her back. The impact made her grunt. Her T-shirt slid up a few inches, baring the undersides of her breasts, showing one of her nipples entirely and draping the other like a ragged white hood.