River Runs Red

The Blackwood River did not run clear, not even on its best days, but this morning it dragged a film of rusted foam across the rocks below the abandoned paper mill. Cassandra Reyes stood at the water’s edge, collar turned up against the damp October chill, listening to the rhythmic slap of current against rotted timber. She had spent five years in Chicago convincing herself that Millhaven was a place she had survived, not a place she would ever return to. Yet here she was, badge clipped to her belt, staring at a corpse that threatened to unearth every secret this valley had buried.

"Found him caught on the old sluice gate around dawn," Deputy Harris said, holding up a yellow evidence marker. His breath plumed in the gray air. "No wallet, but it didn't take long to figure out who he was. Look at the monogram on the cuff."