Adelaine Curtis, on a break from the accumulated confusion of her life, finds herself inexplicably drawn into the investigation of a string of horrible murders in the rural town of Dempster.
The town's small police force; a sheriff close to retiring...
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South of the town of Dempster runs a winding desolate artery known as River Road. Nothing more than a twisting stretch of hard-packed dirt, gravel, and loose shoulders, catering mostly to ageing automobiles and local work vehicles. It was finally replaced by a new, paved highway constructed further to the west, that also intersected with Hwy. 6, and then on to the main route to Latham, the county seat.
The main reason being, that the old bridge on River Road was becoming a safety hazard and not worth repairing. Stroud Bridge was named after a wealthy early settler, and was one of the disappearing, covered types built in the late eighteen hundreds. Ever since horse and carriage outings were popular it had served as a lover's site, but now the deteriorating wooden structure had become a haven for various birds, wildlife, and a canvass for graffiti artists.
Deputy Edgar Street's patrol took him down River Road dozens of times every month in case of accidents or breakdowns. It was the only road that serviced the few fishing camps and cabins remaining along its path. This night he pulled to a stop and sat with the engine off and the driver's side window down.
Edgar was positive he'd seen something inside the entrance to the covered bridge when he approached, and he strained to hear any suspicious sounds. Damp air slithered inside the car causing him to shiver while keeping his eyes trained on the end of the bridge, thirty feet up the road.
A line of dense Birches and Norway maples along the side of the road opposite the river, rustled with what seemed like dire warnings, the kind he remembered as a kid on Halloween night, and his fingers drummed a tattoo on the wheel. It was never his favourite patrol. And definitely not tonight. Another sudden gust of wind shook the tendril-like branches of the willows that grew by the riverbank, the sound drifting eerily on the thick night air.
Nervously fingering his gun, Edgar stepped out of the comfort of his patrol car, stopping and increasing the grip on his holstered weapon. Something was inside that bridge, he was certain. His shirt felt damp under the arms, and he shifted uncomfortably. Leaving the car had not been his wisest choice, so he retreated to its feeling of safety, removing his gun from the holster and resting it on the console beside him.
Edgar Street was a twenty-six-year-old, skinny ex farm boy, and a recent graduate of the Latham Police Academy, a small institution in the county seat serving rural communities. Consequently, the quality of candidates was limited to young men who didn't want to farm, but lacked enough education and money to leave their roots, or rootless youths indifferent to education.
He was slightly better than some in that he always wanted to be in law enforcement, and being made Deputy to the Sheriff of Dempster, after a nerve-racking interview, and a written test, was almost a career peak.
The sudden rasp of static from the radio made him jerk, and he shifted uncomfortably on the auxiliary seat cushion, used to give him more height behind the wheel. Swearing at his jittery nerves, he keyed the mic, keeping his eyes glued to the end of the bridge.
