Chapter Twelve
Pocatello, Idaho, 2017
The sun had just crested the peaks of Scout Mountain and the light glistened on the wet grass of the old cemetery. It was early September, and a slight breeze made the morning crisp enough for long sleeves.
Jennifer Berchtold was a runner and her favorite place to stretch out and go each morning was the quiet and empty paths of the Mountain View Cemetery and the trails of the hills that snaked through and connected to it.
The large craggy cottonwood trees were probably as old as the first graves dug in the late 1800s. They gave shade and framed small dirt pathways throughout the acres of grass and tombstones.
Her friends often chided her about her creepy choice of jogging route, but for her, the silence, lack of cars, dogs, and people made it the
