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resurrection. Of both activity and spirit.
    "Any houses back here?"
    "Only one on this road. It's at the other end." Kale gestured straight ahead. "Through the woods in that direction"—he hitched his thumb left—"is BeauChamp Road. It runs parallel to this one but doesn't connect. There are seven or eight houses along that private road." He shot her a knowing glance. "The big houses next to the water."
    "Rich folks," she offered.
    "Very rich."
    As he caught sight of the crime-scene tape ahead, his foot touched the brake. The tape fluttered in the cold wind, waving its too familiar colors like a caution light between the trees. That tightening sensation he suffered each morning on awakening and remembering the ugliness that had descended upon his hometown took hold of his chest now.
    Who would have done such a thing? Couldn't be any of the people he had grown up with. Not possible. He didn't care what anyone thought or said. Unlike some of the older folks he'd heard talking, he didn't really believe in curses or legends. This wasn't the work of the devil. The person responsible for this was out there somewhere. All they had to do was find the bastard.
    Whatever he believed to be the truth, he wasn't about to disrespect those who believed otherwise—as his passenger made her living doing. However the facts lined up, folks had a right to their own spiritual viewpoint, religious or otherwise.
    The path that led up to the chapel was too narrow and steep for a vehicle. He parked in the designated area along the side of the road and was about to explain the reason when Newton hopped out and headed up the path.
    Stay calm and focused, he reminded himself as he emerged from the Jeep. Do the job. Keep the peace. The less controversy the less likely the media was to latch onto Newton's presence here. He knew all too well what a circus this tragedy would turn into if that happened.
    Problem was, he didn't see how keeping this quiet was possible considering the lady's reputation. She appeared to piss off just about everybody she met wherever she went. There was an arrogance about her. He hadn't decided yet if it was real or just a defense mechanism. Didn't really matter. The end result was the same.
    He followed the route she'd taken. As brisk as the air was today he could still smell the death permeating the area. He understood that it was his imagination, but his gut seized just the same.
    "Stay between the lines of tape," he called after Newton.
    "I've done this before, Mr. Conner,", she tossed back over her shoulder without slowing her progress. That big black shoulder bag bounced against her hip.
    With her moving upward and well ahead of him, he had a decent view of her lean hips. Nicely rounded. A runner's butt. He'd suspected as much. A woman didn't get legs like that any other way.
    Way to go, Kale. Get distracted with the lady's ass. Step right on your dick.
    He berated himself and stalked after her. The area had been thoroughly searched for evidence by the state forensic team. Though that part of the investigation was officially completed and a guard was no longer posted to preserve the scene, the tape had remained out of respect for the victim's family. The villagers wanted it that way. They wanted visible evidence of the investigation continuing until the killer was found.
    The tape discouraged entrance into the chapel, but the small open-air structure was easily viewed from any side without crossing that line. Bare of leaves and blooms, the vines crept around its perimeter, except for the end where they'd been trimmed back for viewing the ocean.
    "Give me some history, Conner."
    Surely she'd researched the scene of the crime. Maybe she wanted the local folklore. That was something she'd have to dig up on her own. He'd given her all of that he intended to give.
    "In 1885 Gracie Kingsley persuaded her husband to build this chapel in memory of their daughter who died at age sixteen of what's believed to have been