The Bodies Of Missing Girls Have Been Showing Up In Our Small Town, And The Locals Are Starting To Fear A ‘Time Traveling Serial Killer’

“Uh, suspicious is a better word, I guess. We’re just trying to check in with everybody overall. Make sure everyone is okay.”

“Everything is okay here. I don’t see how this concerns Mister Carter. Thank you.”

“And who is this may I ask?” I pressed.

“Allen. Thank you.”

The line went dead.

I winced. The annoyed voice was right. I couldn’t even get a search warrant for the property if I wanted to. The only thing Mr. Carter was suspicious of was being a recluse and that’s 100 percent legal.

“We got another one,” Tray proudly announced once I walked back into the office.

I stopped in my tracks. Shook my head at Tray in disgust.

“Jesus Christ Tray. These are dead women, not touchdowns.”

Tray apologized all the way to Tarheel Hole. A line of homemade shacks illegally built on the banks of Wolfsneck, the accurately named little riverside village was a place I hated to be summoned. It almost always meant some high school kid was dying of alcohol poisoning, or some kid had drowned cooling off in the river during the summer.

The sight of “Rainier” Ray Gabbert talking to an ambulance crew sank my heart. The county’s only transient who just happened to also be the town’s biggest bullshit gossip other than Bruce, Ray was beyond bad news. Not a huge surprise considering he was named after the Northwest region’s original microbrew, Rainier Beer.

I audibly groaned when I walked up to a poor paramedic who was being fed a line of bull from Ray and jumped into the conversation.

“What happened here guys?”

The paramedic gave me the look of relief most people give me when I tell them I am not giving them a ticket. He darted away as fast as humanly possible without running.

“Some gal is dead over there,” Ray started, his voice sloppy due to numerous missing teeth. “I came down to catch some humpies this morning and I saw her there. I thought she was just some river foam at first.”