“How did it happen this time?” Henry tensed at the sound of her voice, and he tore his eyes away from the lifeless body on the bed long enough to look at her. Diana stood in the doorway, his best friend, his confidante, his family in every way except by blood, but even her presence didn’t help rein in his temper.
“Drowned,” said Henry, turning back to the body. “I found her floating in the river early this morning.” He didn’t hear Diana move toward him, but he felt her hand on his shoulder. “And we still don’t know…?”
“No.” His voice was sharper than he’d intended, and he forced himself to soften it. “No witnesses, no footprints, no traces of anything to indicate she didn’t jump in the river because she wanted to.”
“Maybe she did,” said Diana. “Maybe she panicked. Or maybe it was an accident.”
“Or maybe somebody did this to her.” He broke away, pacing the room in an attempt to get as far from the body as possible. “Eleven girls in eighty years. Don’t tell me this was an accident.” She sighed and brushed her fingertips across the girl’s white cheek. “We were so close with this one, weren’t we?”
“Bethany,” snapped Henry. “Her name was Bethany, and she was twenty-three years old. Now because of me, she’ll never see twenty-four.” “She never would have if she’d been the one.” Fury rose up inside of him and threatened to bubble over, but when he looked at her and saw compassion in her eyes, his anger drained away.
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