Free Bleeding Through: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) by Sandra Parshall

here’s where we found the body. Watch your step in all these vines.” Tom walked over to a rectangular spot free of vegetation. “The mattress was laying here long enough to smother the vines and weeds under it. But I believe the body was brought here in the last few days.”
    Joining Tom, Fagan studied the space. “The plastic she was wrapped in was clean?”
    “Spotless,” Tom said.
    Fagan looked upward again. “If the body was rolled or dragged—”
    “The plastic would have been dirty, probably torn too.”
    Fagan was silent a moment, frowning. “If she was wrapped in a blanket, a sheet, something that protected the plastic—”
    “It would have snagged in a dozen different places.” Tom waved a hand at the wild rhododendrons and other stunted shrubs that clung to the slope like barnacles on a ship’s hull. “There would have been plenty of fibers left behind, especially if a blanket was used.”
    “And the crime scene tech didn’t find any fibers?”
    “He picked up a few, but they probably came off the kids’ clothes yesterday.” Tom paused, then added, “You couldn’t roll a body straight down, with all the vegetation in the way. Dragging it, yeah, that’s possible—if the body was wrapped twice, then dragged carefully, weaving around a lot to stay clear of the brush, then the outer wrapping was removed and carried away.”
    Fagan stuck his right hand in his pant pocket and jingled his keys. “Lot of trouble to go to, out in the open where you don’t know when somebody might drive by.”
    Tom hoped that thing with the keys didn’t turn out to be a constant habit. He could get tired of it fast.
    “How’d somebody get a mattress down here?” Fagan asked.
    “Two guys standing at the top could throw a mattress, and it could make it all the way to the bottom before it hit. Two guys with enough muscle. The body wasn’t tossed, though. It was carried.” Tom cleared his throat and asked Fagan, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
    Fagan’s eyebrows went up. “And what are you thinking, Captain?”
    “That one person might have managed it with a lot of time and effort. But it makes more sense to think two people carried Shelley Beecher’s body down here.”
    ***
    Michelle sat on the edge of the bed, a hand pressed to her forehead. Frank, sitting up on the bed and tensed to bolt, watched her with wide eyes. When Rachel walked in, the cat leapt off the bed and trotted out.
    Dropping her hand, Michelle watched Frank retreat. Emotion brought some of the color back to her cheeks, and tears rose to her eyes. “Even the cat doesn’t want to be around me.” She followed the words with a choked laugh.
    Rachel sat next to her sister. “Kevin said you got a call that upset you.”
    “He didn’t believe me.” Michelle plucked a tissue from the box on the bedside table and dabbed her eyes with it. “He doesn’t believe any of it.”
    “He knows you got a call,” Rachel pointed out. “He was right here with you.”
    “No, he was in the bathroom, with the water running. And my phone log says the caller’s number is blocked. I told him the caller spoke and used my name, but still—” Michelle blotted her eyes again with angry jabs. “I’m getting tired of my own husband looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.”
    “Mish—” Rachel searched for the right words. She didn’t think Michelle would invent such things, but she hoped her sister wasn’t in real danger. The harassment could be a prank, a nasty one that had gone on too long and had to be stopped. “Maybe Kevin just doesn’t know how to handle it.”
    “Well, neither do I. Who is this person? Why is he doing this to me?”
    “Are you positive it’s a man?”
    Michelle nodded. “When I first started getting calls, I couldn’t tell. For a while he didn’t say anything, he just… breathed , then hung up. When he started speaking, I knew it was a man. He whispers, a soft, creepy whisper, but I’m sure it’s a