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A loud crash silenced Richard’s response.
“Sounds like it came from that direction,” he said, dropping my hand to sprint down the path.
I followed, running to match his longer strides. The path curved off to the right, ending at a wooden garden shed.
Richard paused, grabbing the edge of the half-open door. “Hold on,” he said as I reached him. “We should be careful. It could be some sort of wild animal, and if we back it into a corner, it could turn violent.”
“But it also could be hurt,” I said, pulling the door wider to peer inside the shed. “Can’t see much.”
There’s something on the floor.” Richard pointed toward a large, shadowy object sprawled across the center of the small room.
I backed away. “Not a bear, I hope.”
“It’s not moving. Maybe just some tarps that tipped off that top shelf.” Richard grabbed a rake that was propped next to the door.
As he crept closer to the shadowy object, holding the rake like a weapon, I stepped in behind him and moved to the side to allow light to spill in through the door.
It was a tarp—a cracked blue tarp dusted with mold. But it was draped over something else. Richard tentatively reached out and flipped up an edge of the thick plastic covering.
I gasped as an expensive leather shoe was revealed.
We both rushed forward to fling back the rest of the tarp. Then stood in silence, holding hands, as we stared down at the body of Oscar Selvaggio
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