“Shouldn’t we call 9-1-1 or something?” I asked. Doubt clouded his eyes. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with, then we’ll put in the call.” “You don’t believe me, do you?” My shoulders sagged. Nothing had changed between us. It was just like last time. He hadn’t trusted me when I told him about the body in the cistern. Then, when he actually found a body in the cistern, he hadn’t believed me when I swore I hadn’t put it there. He started walking. “I believe you.” I passed in front of him in a straight line to Cupid’s Creek. A little while later I spotted my marsh marigolds and the clump of bushes, still beeping. Brad paused and perused the rows of black bags that filled the clearing. “Nice,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. He stared down through the top of the shrub at the victim’s face. “Do you know the guy?”
