It would not be long before he was caught. He’d have to work fast if he wanted to finish his work without leaving traces of his dealings here. He was in a small wooded area, at the base of a heavily rooted tree. Digging through the damp soil, he congratulated himself on this spot, easy to remember and camouflage. Once the hole seemed deep enough, he dropped the evidence in, pushed the dirt back into the hole, covered the hole with forest litter. His girl was calling in the yard. He ran to her, his tongue lolling. She would never know.
By Amy Dryman