Amelia looked him over. The man was dressed in a tan maintenance shirt and dark pants, his name stitched into a patch above his left chest pocket. Andy. “What happened?”
He held up his cell phone. “Somebody got killed down there this morning. Drowned, I think. Somebody else got taken to the ER. Made the midday news. They’ve been down there ever since, but it looks like they’re just now packing up the last of it. I been following it all day. They moved the body out already. I got a shot of that on my lunch hour.” He swiped through his phone and held up the image of a body bag on a stretcher being towed up the stone steps toward a waiting cop van. “They were looking for something in the water too. I got some good snaps of the police divers.” Andy glanced up at the choppers. “No idea what they’re doing up there still. Not much to see now.”
An Asian woman in a short car coat, a briefcase in her hand, had been following the conversation “The guy over there said it was an overdose. Two women. One didn’t make it; the other was barely breathing when they found her.” She shook her head, her expression displaying a hint of disapproval. “Sounds like kids.”
“Whichever it is,” Andy said, “I guess we won’t know for a while. They always notify the families first. How’d you like to get that call, huh? I know I wouldn’t.”
Amelia watched the cops below. “Two women. That’s terrible.”
The man moved away from the railing and turned south. “It ain’t good for somebody, that’s for sure.” He walked away, his curiosity satisfied. “I’m going home to watch the rest of it in high def.”
The woman gave the scene a final look as well before walking off with a shake of the head. “I’ve seen enough. What people do to themselves,” she muttered in a stage whisper.
Amelia stood on the bridge with the others who were choosing to hang in until there was nothing else to see. A drowning or an overdose. It was interesting to see how a lack of definitive information could quickly lead to misinformation. But she was sure the divers weren’t here for an overdose.
Amelia’s body hummed as though she’d been infused by a low electric charge. The sound of the helicopters, the churning of the gray water below them, the chatty passersby, the cars and cabs and buses honking behind her, the police. What a mess. Where was Bodie? Though she knew this situation had nothing to do with him, he was her first thought whenever anything unusual or tragic happened. It was a worry, an automatic reflex, like throwing an arm out to protect a child when the car lurched to a sudden stop or gripping your bag in a panic when you thought you’d lost your cell phone. She’d figured out that fear and the anger that grew out of it were what caused him so much trouble. But Morgans didn’t talk of such things.
When the nearest chopper slipped away, prepared to take another pass, Amelia plucked her cell phone from her pocket and punched in Bodie’s number, just to check, plugging a finger in the opposite ear to block out everything else. She breathed a sigh of relief when he picked up.
“Hey, what’s up?” He sounded chipper, relaxed.
Amelia swiped a look at the chopper as it veered off over the lake. “Why’s something have to be up?”
“You’re calling to check on me, Am. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. Look, I’m good. Okay?”
He’d said the same before. Bodie was always good, always okay, until he wasn’t. He’d been okay, good, when he’d busted out the windows in his high school geometry class when the teacher had berated him for not having done his homework. He’d been okay, good, when he’d dropped out of college but slashed every tire in the employee parking lot on his way off campus. And he’d been okay, good, when he’d followed that woman home from the bar and gotten arrested. Bodie’s okay, good was untrustworthy, and no one knew that better than she did.
She knew a part of him was still stuck at twelve, his trembling hands gripping the back of her shirt as they descended dusty stairs to find the unthinkable at the bottom. She could swear she’d seen the old Bodie, the sweet Bodie, die and a new one, a wrecked one, take his place at the sight of blood and the stranger’s dismembered hands and feet. It had broken him, but it hadn’t broken her. Amelia had found a way to survive.
“As a matter of fact, right now, I’m doing laundry and cleaning up my place,” Bodie said. “Ironing is relaxing when you get into it. Did you know that?”
“I did know, actually.” She leaned against the railing, easing into the relief. “And I do know you’re good, Bod. I just . . . I know you’re good.”
“What’s all that noise in the background?”
“There’s a helicopter flying away. I’m downtown . . . doing some shopping. Something happened on the Riverwalk.”
“Something big by the sound of it.”
“Big enough to make the news already,” she said. “Few details, though.”
“I’ll turn on the set. It’s got to be big if it’s chopper worthy.”
She turned her back to the river. “Hey, I thought we could do dinner or something, huh? Catch up?”
“Sure. When?”
“Tonight. You pick the time. Meanwhile, have fun ironing.”
“I will,” he said. “Didn’t think you were much of a shopper, though. You and your boho chic.”
She smiled. “You don’t know everything about me, Bodie Morgan.”
“Oh yeah? What don’t I know?”
She paused. “Tonight then, huh?”
“I’ll be there.”
Amelia ended the call, then turned and took one last look below before moving along.
CHAPTER 11
Bodie dropped his phone into his messenger bag and watched from behind the tour-boat kiosk across the street as Am walked south along the bridge and then across Wacker to disappear in the crowd of pedestrians. What a game they played, he thought. How close they were and yet so very different. He crossed the street, skirting the cops trying to push people along. For a moment, he stood at the railing where Am had stood and looked down at the Riverwalk, up at the choppers. A body had been found, and he wanted to see for himself.
Had he expected to find Am here? Maybe a part of him had. They both seemed to be drawn in by the same things. Shopping. That was what Am had said she’d been doing, and he’d lied as well because he didn’t want her to worry about him or feel as though she had to direct him in any way. What a pair they made. Still lying. Still ignoring the elephant in the room, the damage done. He was stronger than Am gave him credit for. He loved her, but if he was honest, he had to admit that a part of him loathed her self-assuredness. Why had Am gotten everything? Why had he gotten so little?
When he’d seen enough, he left the bridge and walked north, head down, the sounds of the city assaulting his ears, welcome music after the unnerving hush of Westhaven. He could right himself. Tom Morgan didn’t have to be a yoke around his neck. He hoped the man was dead and dust. He hoped he burned. Maybe there’d come a time when he didn’t see him in every face he passed in the street. Evil men couldn’t last forever, could they?
CHAPTER 12