By the River

  Cover image: Silhouettes of the Forest © m-gucci

  Cover design copyright © 2015 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2015 by Jennie Hansen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect

  the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  First Printing: November 2015

  ISBN 978-1-68047-925-6

  As always, this book is dedicated to

  my husband, Boyd K Hansen,

  and to all of my family.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to all those who encouraged me to write another book, especially the sisters I work with at the Oquirrh Mountain Temple and the people in my ward. Special thanks go to my children and grandchildren, who frequently checked on my progress and offered suggestions. When acknowledging those who made it possible for me to write this book, I particularly appreciate Mindi Huihui, Janice Sperry, and Lezlie Anderson, my beta readers. And of course, my thanks extends to the terrific staff at Covenant.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Now what?” Kira watched in disgust as dirt flew in the air and Jasper’s annoying bark changed to a triumphant howl. Her brother, Tracy, would be back in two days. She couldn’t wait to give him back his stupid dog! Putting her fingers between her teeth, she gave a wobbly whistle. Of course, Jasper ignored her.

  “Jasper! Come here!” Plunging off the trail into waist-high grass and weeds—still damp with early morning dew that chilled her bare legs—Kira struggled toward the large black lab frantically tearing at the riverbank while barking his head off.

  That dog has been nothing but trouble since the first day Tracy showed up at my condo with him! She gritted her teeth and hurried toward Jasper. She wasn’t a dog person, and Tracy knew it. Just because he and Dad were out of town on one of his frequent business trips was no reason for him to assume she’d watch his mutt while he was away. Just this morning the dumb beast had chewed up one of her shoes, spread the contents of every wastebasket in the house across the carpet, and spilled his water bowl over her clean kitchen floor. At the rate that dog was going, she wouldn’t have a matched pair of shoes left in her closet by the time Tracy got back. Now he was defacing a public trail and making enough noise to scare away every hiker and runner within ten miles.

  Kira burst through the tall grass and weeds before skidding to a stop on the sandy riverbank. “Jasper, stop that!” She reached for his trailing leash, but it slipped free of the dog’s collar and lay useless in her hand. She reached for the collar, determined to reattach the leash. Jasper stiffened, and a low growl came from his black throat.

  Startled, she backed up a step and stared at the dog, who wasn’t behaving like his normal, friendly self. He stood stiff-legged with something dangling from his mouth—something that looked like a woman’s shoe! Mere feet behind him, the river gurgled and flaunted its high spring runoff against a wedge of sand where the riverbank dipped low. Debris had collected against the bank.

  “Jasper.” She wasn’t sure why she whispered or why she suddenly felt afraid. Jasper was a rambunctious pain, but he’d never growled at her before. Though the clearing felt secluded, it was part of a popular park trail used by runners, walkers, and nature lovers. The area was relatively crime free; a small number of attacks had occurred in secluded places along the trail, but they’d been late at night. In the early morning sunlight, it was a favorite running place for her and a few hundred other runners.

  Then she saw it. A thin white hand protruded from the sand between Jasper’s firmly planted front paws. A short distance away, a knee—a very human-looking knee—arched from the sand and jumble of twigs left behind by the receding spring runoff. Thick globs of sand were caked in a dripping pattern from the peak of the kneecap as though stuck to something thicker than mere river water. Blood? Was she seeing a human body? A very dead one?

  * * *

  A long, shrill scream shattered the peace as Ford loped along the trail, reveling in the burst of spring blossoming around him. He had a particular fondness for the long park and trail that followed the Jordan River the length of the Salt Lake valley. Its natural beauty was particularly inviting in the early spring. There it was again! Ripping his earbuds from his ears, he paused, searching for the source of the sound. Someone was in serious trouble.

  The screams were close by, not far ahead of where he’d stopped to listen. Leaping into motion, he charged toward the sound. Just over the first rise, he spotted a figure off to the side of the trail and close to the water. The slight figure appeared to be a child. As he drew closer, he could see the screams were coming not from a child but from a petite woman. Something was frightening her. A snake? Had someone fallen into the river? He increased his speed. Then he noticed her eyes were riveted on a large black animal. It took only a second to recognize that the dog wasn’t threatening the woman but was focused on something on the ground. Probably just a garter snake, but he’d better make certain. His stride lengthened.

  * * *

  Kira closed her eyes and shuddered. Surely she’d only imagined—her hands went to her ears, and she wished the screaming would stop. On some level she knew she was the one screaming, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Zigzag lines danced before her eyes, and she felt waves of blackness rushing ever closer. She fought to stay conscious, to stay in control. Her mind ordered her hand to reach for the phone clipped to the waistband of her running shorts. She had to call someone—the police! Her hand didn’t move. Her mind couldn’t grasp anything beyond the hand and the bloody knee.

  The screaming stopped on a choked gasp of terror when hands gripped her shoulders, giving a little shake. Fear turned to panic, and she fought to free herself. The hands released her as quickly as they had surprised her. A voice came from far away, and after a few seconds, words began to register.

  “What happened? Are you hurt?” The voice wasn’t familiar, but somehow the deep timbre of the masculine voice felt like it was offering her a lifeline. She wanted to burrow into that voice as though it could protect her from something terrible. She stepped toward it. Her cheek brushed against a soft T-shirt stretched tight across a solid chest; warm, solid arms wrapped around her, warming her when she hadn’t even known she was cold.

  Someone screamed. It wasn’t her this time. The scream was followed by a babble of voices. Slowly Kira attempted to straighten her slumped position. The abruptness of the arms releasing their grip on her shoulders caused her to stagger. After regaining her footing, she eased herself to a sitting position on a nearby clump of grass. She kept her head lowered, fighting waves of nausea. She tried to focus on the trees with their newly unfurled leaves, the hum of insects, and the rushing sound of water—but to no avail.

  “Stay back!” the stranger’s voice ordered. She glanced up to see a man she judged to be six feet tall, or perhaps a little more, with short dark hair and a solid build ushering a small crowd back toward the trail. “The police will want this area kept clear. We need to be careful not to trample on any evidence they might be able to use.” The man—whom she was certain was the same man who had comforted her moments ago—and most of the gathering crowd were wearing running clothes, people like her out for a morning run.

  As through a fog, Kira heard vague grumbling and a fresh outbreak of whispering. With her head beginning to clear, she considered double-checking to see if she’d really seen what she thought she had at the edge of the water. She was pretty sure she hadn’t imagined the gruesome sight Jasper dug up. She winced, regretting the unintentional reference to the dog’s activity and a reminder that she needed to take charge of him. She needed to be strong, but nothing in her life had prepared her for this.

  Taking a deep breath she looked around—everywhere except where Jasper still stood as a self-proclaimed sentinel over his grisly discovery. She couldn’t bring herself to look directly at the dog or the hand she knew still protruded from the sand at his feet. Almost a dozen people in various styles of running garb formed a semicircle at the edge of the trampled weeds that separated the trail from the river. Several held cell phones in their hands. None had moved back as far as the trail.

  Between her and Jasper stood a single figure. She could see dark hair curling against his nape. He wore black shorts and a white T-shirt with a darker sweat-stained mark running down the middle of the broad, smooth back it covered. Well-muscled legs proclaimed their owner was no novice to running. Something about his stance made it clear he was accustomed to taking charge of whatever life threw his way. His presence seemed to lend her new life.

  She should do something. Like it or not, Jasper was her responsibility. The sound of sirens drawing closer ended her attempt to rise to her feet. The man standing a few feet away seemed to have everything under control; maybe she wouldn’t have to do anything. She cringed mentally from her own thoughts. What was the matter with her? She’d been trying for years to convince her dad and brother she was a strong, capable woman who could take care of herself and make her own decisions.

  She’d caved in when it came to choosing a university in another state and had instead enrolled at Westminster College a few blocks from her father’s home. He’d vehemently opposed her decision to buy her
own home and move out of his large east bench home a year after graduating from college. Now faced with a real emergency, all she could do was huddle in the grass and act like some Victorian ninny! Where was the strong, take-charge woman she’d fancied herself to be all these years?

  Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, she forced herself to her feet and realized she still held Jasper’s leash in one hand. With her other hand, she swept her tangled blonde curls straight back from her damp forehead. She could and would behave like an adult. She stood still, breathing deeply, as she watched a pickup truck with a police light bar across the top of its cab ease its way along a trail meant for hikers and bicycles. Following close behind it was a forensics van. Someone had made the call she’d tried and failed to make.

  Two uniformed officers were charging through the trampled grass and weeds toward the group by the time she managed to take a tentative step toward Jasper. Keeping her eyes averted, she called, “Jasper!” She coughed and tried again. “Jasper, come here.” She patted her leg as she’d seen Tracy do when he called the dog to his side.

  Jasper didn’t move but bared his teeth as one of the officers attempted to approach him.

  “Your dog, ma’am?” She hadn’t been aware of the other officer stopping beside her.

  “My brother’s, actually.” She caught the officer’s quick glance toward the man standing a few feet away. “N-no.” She hurried to correct his false assumption. “Tracy—my brother—is in Bangkok.” She stumbled over the words, unable to speak coherently.

  “See if you can coax him away from the body.” The officer spoke quietly as though he sensed the struggle she was having.

  Body. She’d been trying so hard to shut out the harsh reality of that word.

  “J-Jasper!” She tried to sound commanding. The animal showed no indication he’d heard her. “Jasper!” she tried again, raising her voice as best she could. The dog didn’t even look her way; he continued to bare his teeth and snarl menacingly at the officer who was attempting to get closer.

  A piercing whistle split the air, followed by a command to “come here!” The dog, who had ignored Kira, scooped up a bit of bright color that lay beside his feet and dashed toward the man who stood a few feet away. Dropping what appeared to be a shoe—the shoe she’d noticed earlier—Jasper eagerly leaped up to lick the man’s face.

  “Good boy.” Large hands cradled the dog’s head, whispering approving words.

  Kira watched in disgust, remembering Tracy’s insistence that the dog would be good company for her and protect her from strangers. Some protection!

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sitting sideways on the edge of the seat in the police vehicle, Kira leaned her head against the cool glass of the open door. She was aware of a police officer talking to the man who had been the first to arrive after she lost her head and launched into a screaming frenzy. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Every runner on the path must think her a nutcase. Jasper lay at the man’s feet, looking smug, though she held the end of his leash, which she’d had the presence of mind to snap onto his collar when the officer suggested they head to the parked truck to talk. She’d also managed to pull the bright tangerine and aqua-hued shoe from Jasper’s clenched jaws. She’d caught the officer’s slight frown when she handed him the wet, multicolored platform shoe with its five-inch spiky heel.

  The officer had instructed her to stay where she was while he finished up. She wasn’t certain whether he thought she was somehow involved in the grisly death or if he was trying to spare her the sight of the body being removed from its wet grave. She attempted to avert her eyes and her thoughts from the activity taking place a short distance away. Either way she was glad to be away from the gawking crowd that had gathered.

  * * *

  Ford answered the officer’s questions, though his attention kept straying to the young woman who seemed to be still experiencing shock. Tousled blonde curls fluttered across her face as a gust of wind swept by. In addition to blonde curls, he’d noticed a pert little nose and deep blue eyes. At first glance she could be mistaken for a child, but the curves revealed by her running shorts and T-shirt said she was a woman. She appeared fragile and hurting, filling him with an almost irresistible urge to comfort her.

  There wasn’t much he could tell the officer. He lived in an apartment near Murray Park but preferred running on the Jordan River Parkway whenever he had time. He didn’t know anything about the half-buried body or the woman and her dog who had discovered it. If he got a chance, he meant to change that. He’d like to get to know the woman. Something about her intrigued him, and he sensed she needed a friend.

  * * *

  She knew the tall man’s name now. She’d heard him tell the officer. Rutherford Joseph Kettering. Who on earth would name their kid Rutherford? Do his friends shorten it to Ruth? She felt a giggle rising in her throat. Her attempt to cover it with a cough sounded more like a snort. Both men standing nearby gave her a questioning look, which she pretended not to see. She had a sneaking suspicion they already thought she was unbalanced or just plain crazy.

  She wasn’t certain she’d even made sense when she’d answered the officer’s questions. She’d given him her name and address and told him she worked for a local credit union as a loan counselor; she also mentioned that though she ran three or four mornings each week, she only ran occasionally on the Parkway path even if it was her favorite place to run.

  Most mornings she chose a path closer to her home. A small canal ran behind the development where she’d purchased her condo, and the dirt road that hugged its bank provided her usual route. Today was supposed to be her day off, so she’d elected to make the longer run and enjoy the birds and natural beauty of the scenic trail. She did recall telling the officer her car was parked at a nearby parking area, didn’t she? She just wanted to go home, spend at least an hour in the shower, and put on clean clothes. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt dirty, like she was the one who had been buried in sand.

  She looked down at her bare legs, covered with bits of grass and smudges of dirt, and thought of the poor woman Jasper had found. She knew now that the body was female, though she’d guessed that due to the shoe Jasper had found. The woman wasn’t a drowning victim; she’d been shot. Kira had been aware enough of conversations going on around her—including police officers, someone from forensics, and bystanders—to learn that much. There was so much more she wanted to know. Instinctively she knew that while the area was swarming with grim-faced investigators, curious onlookers, and even a television crew, her questions would be ignored.

  Was it because Kira was the first person to discover the body that she felt some kind of connection to it? Not it. Her. The hand she’d viewed belonged to a woman who had hopes and dreams, most likely a family, a short time ago. Knowing her feelings made no sense didn’t curb Kira’s need to know whether the woman had been young or old, to wonder if she had been intentionally buried in the sand or had fallen in the water somewhere upstream and been washed up on that sandbar by the swift, high current, or to speculate on whether a threat lingered along the Parkway, endangering those who continued to walk or run there. She shied away from speculating about the pain and fear that must have preceded the woman’s brutal death. A terrible sadness filled her with grief for a woman she hadn’t even known.

  The officer moved closer, leaning against the open door with one arm extended across the top of it. He spoke softly as though she were a child and he expected her to fall apart if he said the wrong thing. “I have your contact information,” he told her. “If you’d like to go, you can. However I’ll need to talk to you again as soon as possible. Take a couple of hours to clean up—yourself and your dog. Rest a little bit; then I’ll see you at the precinct station.” He handed her a small square of paper.

  She nodded, unsure she could speak over the lump in her throat. The words on the paper blurred, and she had to blink several times before reading Detective Bruce Daley, Homicide Division, followed by a nearby address. Penciled in was the notation 11 a.m.

  Rising to her feet, Kira looked around, feeling a little uncertain. All she could see was the one word on the officer’s card, homicide. She’d avoided thinking the woman had been murdered, but that one word screamed this wasn’t a simple drowning.