From the direction of the highway came a loud crack, like a gunshot. The doe took off running. I ducked down, arms covering my head. The reverberation died as I scanned the trees. Perhaps the report had merely been the loud snap of a branch. It sure wasn’t hunting season. I stood and waited for my heartbeat to even out. I moved into the clearing ahead. A few more steps and I paused. Thumping and crunching sounded from the opposite side of the grassy area, then faded, as if something or someone were running away.

The sounds of solitude returned. I moved toward the creek. A cluster of marsh marigolds were sprinkled along the bank. A perfect photo opportunity. I stepped toward them. Halfway there, I froze in my tracks. Around me, black garbage bags filled with dirt appeared to be arranged in rows. And from the center of every bag rose the fat stumpy remains of some kind of plant. What on earth? I shrank back as if Alien babies would hatch from their pods at any moment.

A marijuana grove. Last year’s batch of Silvan Green.

With the feeling that I was trespassing, even on my own acreage, I backed away from the clearing. The root of a towering cedar caught my swampers. I landed on my backside, fighting for calm as I crab-walked toward cover. I rested against a trunk, panting.

From the quiet of the forest came a tiny electronic beeping sound, like the alarm on a wristwatch. I looked around, confused. The tones came from a nearby clump of bushes. Beneath the tangled branches, I spotted the watch, a man’s digital with chrome accents and a black band.

The wrist was still in it.

“Ahh.” I grunted and scrambled away.

Adrenaline surged through me, sharpening every sound, every smell, every thought.

The hairy arm lay unmoving on the ground. A fly feasted uninterrupted on the exposed flesh. I gulped for air, wondering if the person were dead or alive. My eyes followed the logical course of a body and saw the man’s work boots protruding from the other side of the bushes. He’d apparently fallen in a Nestea plunge straight backward into the brush. If not for the insistent beeping on his wrist, I would have been spared the distinction of finding him.

“Hey,” I called in a half whisper, wondering now if it might have been a gunshot I’d heard after all. “Are you okay?”

I glanced over my shoulder, hoping whoever had fled the scene was a good distance away by now and not lining me up in his crosshairs.

“Hey,” I said again. I crouched by the body and reached out my hand. I brushed away the fly. Then I put my fingers around the man’s wrist, feeling for a pulse like they do on cop shows. The seconds passed. I had no idea whether the man was still alive, or if my own racing blood created the dub dub I felt.

I pulled back the branches, straining to see a face with eyes full of life. I found his eyes. They stared up at the leafy canopy, the soul they once held snuffed out by a bullet that left its mark between his brows.

I scrambled backward. Not good. Not good. The man was definitely dead. Worse, he was dead on my land. Worse still, I found him.

Experience told me that if you were the one to report a dead body, pretty much everybody figured you for the killer. Likewise, TV crime programs laid it out just as plain that if you found a dead body and didn’t report it, they’ll also figure you for the killer. A classic Catch-22. And even in the short time I’d been out here, I’d probably left enough DNA on the scene to seal my own conviction. They’d ignore the fact that I didn’t have the murder weapon. Heaven knew I’d probably thrown it in the creek or swallowed it or something.

For a minute I wished I could be one of those famous monkeys, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil, See No Evil. Then I could just waltz out of these woods like nothing out of the ordinary had happened today. Unfortunately, there was the guilt factor. Somewhere, the dead guy had people who loved him, perhaps a wife and kids that would wonder why Daddy didn’t come home tonight.

And if it were my father lying there, I’d want someone to get help right away and give him the respect he deserved for simply having lived, if not for having lived right.

I sighed and turned back toward the lodge, wishing I’d brought my cell phone along. When I left it on my bedside table this morning, I had been thinking how nice it was to be unreachable. It had never occurred to me that I might be the one in need of reaching out.

I kicked at a moss-covered log as I walked past. Dead bodies sure went out of their way to complicate my life.

The roof of the lodge poked through the trees just ahead. I neared the edge of the woods, peering through safe cover before venturing the rest of the way home. Joel’s car was parked out front along with my own. And next to it was Brad’s hulking silver SUV. A jolt shot through me. I took in a breath of air. Now I had to deal with Brad in addition to the dead body. I plopped to the ground. Last year’s leaves crunched beneath my weight. Moisture soaked through the back end of my jeans. The wetness expanded to meet my drenched pant leg. I stared at a slug making its way across the slimy ground.

All my efforts to avoid reality only brought more reality crashing down on me. I wasn’t sure how much I could take. How could I survive a rerun of my life in Rawlings, with its creepy corpse and jail jaunt? I’d come to the Silvan Peninsula for a break. But it seemed there was no escape.

A moan broke the silence. Was that me? I keeled to my side, landing almost eye to eye with my slug buddy. Who cared anyway? The forest could consume me, morsel by morsel, and that would be an improvement over my present prospects.

I must have been blubbering pretty intently because I never heard the footsteps approaching until the size 12 Nikes were directly in front of me.

“Tish.”

I sat up and wiped my tears off with muddy fingers. By now I must have looked like Rambo. A final swipe of my nose with my sleeve, then I spoke. “Hi, Brad. I heard you might be coming up for a visit.”

He reached his hand toward me. “Come on. Let’s go inside and get cleaned up.”

I stared at him, unable to move. Unable to breathe. His blue jeans looked sexy as ever, snug across muscular thighs, then relaxed to his tennis shoes. His black T-shirt stretched over his chest, several feet above me. And his face . . . More handsome than I remembered, he gazed at me with deep brown eyes that somehow shot out rays of light. His corner crinkles were in full action with a smile that made me want to run and hide from its unmerited favor.

I fell back onto my side and curled into a ball. “Go away.”

“Hey. What’s wrong?” His hand touched my shoulder, giving it a gentle shake.

“You’re not supposed to see me like this.”

“If you want the truth, you look beautiful.”

“It’s not how I look, it’s how I feel.”

“What’s going on?” His voice took on a note of apprehension.

“Today’s not going so great. I just want to die.”

“Hey, now. I don’t like hearing you talk like that.”

“Well, it’s the truth. I don’t think I can face life today.”

“Come on. We’ll face it together.” He reached down. Warm hands gently gripped my arm and back. With a nudge of encouragement, he helped me to my feet.

I made a halfhearted attempt to brush the mud from the back of my pants. He swatted at a clump of leaves stuck to my knee. I caught a whiff of his shampoo or deodorant or aftershave as he bent in front of me. I nearly swooned.

“You okay?” He grabbed my shoulders.

“I hadn’t planned on seeing you today. I was going to wait in the bushes until you left. How’d you know I was here?” I barely heard him answer. His face was so close. His body so warm, so strong, so . . . manly.

“The white letters on your sweatshirt stand out pretty good against the trees,” those lips were explaining.

I looked down. Property of MSU Athletic Department, the letters boasted. I hadn’t even read the thing when I’d picked it up at Goodwill. The deep green fabric had seemed in good condition. That’s all I’d cared about. But now the words reminded me that I’d failed to finish college. Another domino in the long line perched to push me over the edge.

“And we’re on full alert at the lodge today,” Brad was saying. “Not only has Sam’s ex been spotted up and down the peninsula, but Drake Belmont was released from jail yesterday afternoon.” He pulled me toward him in a partial embrace. “It’s been foolish of you to be out on your own, you know.” His voice was low and rumbly.

I nodded, my eyes glued to the line of his jaw, the sweep of his cheek, the arch of his brow. With the grip of his hands, the flurry in my brain calmed, replaced by clarity—or was it the return of sanity?

“I missed you, Tish.” The words were nothing more than a whisper in my ear. Then came the warm trail of his lips against my neck.

I reached up my arms and clung to him, breathing him in, soaking him in, afraid to let go. He lifted me against himself, until only my toes touched the ground. His lips nudged around until they found mine. And he kissed me. I kissed him back with long hungry gulps, lost in the moment. I shoved every thought out of my brain, determined that nothing would drag me back to reality.

But it was no use.

“Brad.” I pulled my face away.

“Yes?” He gazed into my eyes, searching, ready to resume his affections at my command.

“I . . .”

“Yes?” His face took on an eager look.

“I . . . have something to tell you.”

He hugged me close, his lips buried in my ear. “Tell me, Tish.”

He refused to relinquish my body, so I was forced to say the news at close range. “Umm, when I was out walking this morning, I found a dead man.”