Life According to the Dead

Henry

"You're sure it's here?"

Henry Longwood steered his silver Buick into the empty parking lot of Meadford High School with more than a little skepticism.

"I'm positive," said Anna-Claire, who was sitting in the passenger seat.

Henry's gaze combed the lot. "I don't see any dead bodies lying around."

"Hardy har har."

"And you're basing this off no real evidence, just–"

"What Jim said. Yes."

What Jim said. Henry's feelings toward Jim didn't stop at dislike; he actually envied him a little. Anna-Claire was, in Henry's opinion, nothing short of spectacular. She was funny, smart, pretty, brave, and the few dates that they had gone on together had been friendly and smooth enough. But he still couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how long their relationship lasted, no matter how many conversations they had, he would never know her quite as well as Jim did.

There were a lot of things Henry hated in this world, and Jim Halliday ranked very high up on his list.

He parked the car in the corner of the lot bordering the woods. If the girl had even been killed in the first place, why here? She had attended the high school, but then again, so had more than half of Meadford. The chances of it being a coincidence were very high.

Last seen crossing Bentley Bridge...That, at least, made sense. Meadford High was close to Bentley Bridge, and it was practically the only really public place on the other side of it. The bridge led mostly into thick woods and later a rolling countryside. If Amanda Easter had indeed been murdered in a parking lot, then it most likely would have been this one.

"Well?" asked Anna-Claire, jerking him from his thoughts as she jumped out of the car and closed the passenger door abruptly. "Do you think it's him?"

"Who?"

"You know. Zachariah Searcy. We know he's out and about. Do you think he's the one who killed Amanda?"

Henry Longwood scratched the stubble on his chin. He needed to shave. "It does seem pretty random," he said slowly. "I mean, I know it was random last time, too – what was the guy's name again–?"

"Peter," Anna-Claire answered promptly, a far-off look flooding her eyes. "His name is Peter Sutherland."

Is. Present tense. He pretended he understood.

"Right. I know it was a random choice, but I also know it was damn near impossible to catch him that time. I remember my dad poring over old papers and scrounging for anything that might be evidence. He was so determined to find the right guy..."

He stopped, as though a knot had just tightened in his throat. He remembered the last time he had seen his father, drinking himself to sleep while glued to a prerecorded football game on TV. Colts versus Patriots.

"Never mind," he said, starting to walk around, searching the pavement for any possible clues. "Anyway, this whole thing with Amanda Easter seems just a bit more careless, don't you think? There are miles and miles of dense woods just past here, not to mention old cornfields, so why stop at the high school? It's public. It's the last public place you'll find on this side of Meadford."

"Maybe he was just excited," said Anna-Claire. "Of course, he must have been – after all, he'd only just escaped from prison. Maybe she was just the first person he came across, and he murdered her in the first place he found. He was probably too excited to be careful. Besides," she added, "just the fact that she died here doesn't mean that this is where we'll find her body."