The path curved, and she saw the red kayak lying parallel to the beach, partly submerged in the receding tide. The gulls seemed to be picking at something in the tall marsh grass.
Quinn felt a crawling sensation at the top of her spine. Her mouth went dry. She tucked her hands up into the sleeves of her sweater and slowed her pace, ignoring her frozen feet.
More gulls arrived.
“Shoo!” She waved her arms at the birds, but they stayed with their find, whatever it was.
She looked up toward the road, hoping to see someone-anyone-she could call to walk with her down to the kayak and the gulls and see what was there. But there was no one.
With a nauseating sense of dread, she forced herself to veer off the path through the knee-high grass, still cold with the morning dew, slapping at her as her feet sank into the wet, shifting sand.
A dolphin? A small whale? Was it possible something had beached itself here on the edge of a Chesapeake Bay marsh? She was a historian, not a naturalist. She’d fancied that in her spare time, on long, lazy weekends, she could study bay life, learn the names of the birds and fish and wildflowers and grasses.
She came to the kayak and forced herself to look where the sea gulls were feasting.
A leg.
“Oh no.”
Now Quinn could see blond hair.
She recognized the blue sweater and the jeans Alicia had worn yesterday morning.
“Alicia!”
Quinn’s scream didn’t faze the gulls. She turned around, facing the road, and yelled for help, her stomach knotting, bile rising in her throat. She didn’t know if her screams were louder than the cries of the gulls or the tide, if anyone was nearby to hear her.
She made herself turn back toward Alicia and flapped her arms and yelled at the gulls, kicked sand at them, but only two flew off. When the rest refused to leave, Quinn took a closer look.
Alicia was sprawled facedown in the shallow water, strands of underwater grass tangled on her lower legs. Her feet were bare. Her sport sandals must have come off.
Quinn dropped onto her knees, shivering, her teeth chattering from cold and fear.
Please don’t be dead.
But she quickly saw there was no point in checking for a pulse.
“Oh, Alicia,” she whispered, sobbing. “You can’t be dead. Oh, God, no.”
“Quinn-”
Startled, she leaped up, spinning around right into Huck Boone. She took a step back, tripping on the kayak, but he grabbed her by the upper arm, steadying her.
He looked past her and tightened his grip on her.
“It’s-it’s my friend.” Quinn’s voice was hoarse. “Alicia. Alicia Miller. She’s…” I can’t say it.
“We need to call the police. Do you have a cell phone?”
“What?”
“A phone.”
“Yes. It’s at my cottage.”
He released her arm and touched her shoulder. “Go. Call 911. I’ll wait here.” When she didn’t respond, he squeezed her shoulder gently. “You’ve had a hell of a shock. There’s nothing you can do for your friend now except to call the police and get her out of here.”
Quinn knew he was right. He hadn’t known Alicia-he wasn’t facing the horror of seeing a friend dead. “The kayak…” Her entire body shaking now, teeth chattering, Quinn tried to point to the kayak. “I didn’t realize it was missing.”
“No reason for you to have noticed. Quinn-”
She tried to focus on anything but Alicia’s body, disfigured by seawater and seagulls. “The storms-Alicia must have been out in the storms yesterday. Why would she do that?”
“I’ll go make the call. Where’s your cell phone?”
“Kitchen counter.” But she grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his hard muscle. “Wait. Did you see the kayak on your run?”
“I wasn’t looking at the scenery.”
Suspicion rippled through her. “You weren’t out here to find her?”
Huck pried her fingers off his arm, holding on to them just for a second. “No, Quinn, I was out for a run. Come on. Let’s go back to the cottage and call the police together-”
“I can’t leave Alicia. I need to keep the gulls away.”
His expression softened.
“I’ll be okay,” Quinn added. “The shock-” She cleared her throat, stiffened herself against the trembling and shivering. “I didn’t expect to find her out here.”
“Of course not. I’ll be back in two minutes. Don’t touch anything-”
“I know,” she said quietly. “The police will need to investigate.”
Huck gave a curt nod and, after a slight hesitation, as if he was reconsidering leaving her there alone, he headed back up the narrow path.
Quinn heard the sharp cry of a gull, and felt her stomach lurch. An autopsy. They’ll have to cut Alicia open.
Her knees buckled and she tasted bile.
She knew Alicia was dead and yet wished she could shield her friend from what came next. Police, paramedics. Reporters. People who never knew her asking questions. Speculating. Judging.
They would want to know what had happened and why.
They’d ask Quinn about her encounter with Alicia yesterday in Washington.
Strangers would determine whether Alicia’s death was an accident or suicide.
Would anyone even suspect murder?