A Grave Peril

by Wendy Roberts

  “You know what I mean,” I grumped. “Don’t tell people where we’re going and what we’re doing. It’s nobody’s business.”

  “Oka-a-ay.” She buckled up her seatbelt. “For the record, I never knew the woman would know about your shit family or anything. Guess Washington State is a lot smaller than you’d think.”

  Not when you were trying to find a lost hiker. Then it could be pretty big.

  Tracey scrolled through her phone and we sat in silence for the remaining hour of our drive. We pulled into the parking lot at Hog Lake and I put the Jeep into park.

  “Do you think you’ll find this Douglas Prost guy?” Tracey asked through a yawn. “Five miles is a lot of area to search.”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Obviously he’s not on the main trail or someone would’ve found him by now.”

  “So, you’re just going to trust in your dowsing rods and hope for the best?”

  “Same as always.”

  “Says there’s a pretty waterfall.” She pointed to her phone. “Wish I could see it for myself.” She rapped her knuckles against her knee brace. “Take some pictures for me, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I climbed out of the Jeep and started to get ready for my hike. As I pulled my Mariners ball cap onto my head, Tracey climbed out of the passenger side and looked around. The gravel lot was surrounded by brush and tall trees. A crow eyed us suspiciously and cawed his displeasure from a few feet away.

  “It might take me a couple hours or even more.” I tossed her my keys. “If you get bored, drive into Spokane and I’ll text you when it’s time to come get me.”

  “I’m not going to leave. What if you need me?”

  I glanced down at her knee brace and frowned. “If I need you, I’ll text or call and then you can contact someone else to help, how’s that?”

  Tracey threw back her head and laughed in a way that always made me ache for that kind of lighthearted joy. “Get out of here.” She made shooing motions. “You’re interfering with my time to take selfies and post them on Instagram.”

  With a chuckle I took out my dowsing rods, then hoisted my backpack onto my shoulders and started out on the trail. Douglas Prost’s mother said he wasn’t a very experienced hiker and he’d chosen this hike because it was both easy and beautiful. He was scouting locations to bring his girlfriend to propose. I was guessing that the best location for that kind of thing would be near the waterfall, so I followed the trail in that direction.

  The April breeze was heavy with the scent of pine and moss. Early buttercups were scattered along the rocky trail, and birds of all types sang their hearts out. All my senses relaxed at the feeling of the trail beneath my feet. It had been a long time since I’d gone on a hike and I wondered why I’d waited so long. My hands held the dowsing rods out in front as I walked but the wires held still and never wavered.

  One foot went in front of the other and I paused only briefly to take a sip from my water bottle and to take couple of pictures of birds for Tracey to post on social media.

  The area surrounding the falls was private property, so you could only go so far without breaking the law. I thought about whether Douglas Prost would’ve risked trespassing for a better view for his proposal and I took the chance. Unfortunately, my rods never wavered even once. After nearly two hours of walking, I headed back. Doug Prost’s mother was going to be very disappointed in me. I returned to the Jeep to find Tracey snoozing in the passenger seat. She jumped when I opened my door.

  “Did you find him?”

  “No.” I opened my pack, pulled out a water bottle and finished it. “It was a beautiful hike but no sign of Douglas Prost.”

  “Thanks for sending me pictures of the falls and the birds. They already got a ton of likes.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “What now?” Tracey asked. “Besides finding a washroom because I really have to go.”

  “Find a bush.” I nodded toward the tree line. “I haven’t seen even an outhouse nearby.”

  “I’ll wait.” She crossed her legs. “I can’t go outside.”

  I sighed because I still wanted to search the surrounding area. “I’m going to drive around and see if he might’ve come in from another direction.” I placed the dowsing rods in my lap. “If we see an outhouse along the way, I’ll stop.”

  As the Jeep bumped and jumped along the rutted road, Tracey began to squirm in her seat. I tried to ignore her but all this talk of having to use the toilet made me have to go too. Unlike her, though, I had no problem just stepping off into a ditch somewhere. We reached a fork in the road where construction signs blocked off access, but down a bit I could clearly make out a dilapidated outhouse. I pulled to the shoulder and nodded my head in that direction.

  “C’mon.”

  I hopped out of the Jeep and Tracey followed.

  “You’re going to think I’m being silly, but I really don’t like outhouses,” she said, trying to keep up with my long stride.

  “That’s not silly.” I slowed down so she wouldn’t have to struggle to keep up. “Nobody likes them.”

  “When I was a kid we went camping and when I went to use the outhouse, a wasp stung me on my ass.”

  I looked at her to see if she was joking. Her face was dead serious, and I burst out laughing. Once I started I couldn’t stop even when Tracey began to look more and more annoyed and my need to use the toilet intensified. When we got to the outhouse I turned to her.

  “I-I’m sorry,” I gasped trying to get hold of myself. “Tell you what, I’ll go first and if there are any bees or wasps and I’ll let you know, okay?”

  “There’s a sign saying it’s closed.” She nodded toward the wooden structure and I shrugged.

  “They aren’t maintaining it because the road is closed. It’s a hole. It won’t really be closed.” I handed her my dowsing rods. “Hang on to these.”

  “Can I play around with them and see if I’ve got the knack?”

  “Sure.”

  Once I got to the outhouse, I took a deep breath before entering and peed as quickly as I could. Less than a minute later I bounded out of the building.

  “Not a stinging insect in sight,” I assured her.

  She handed me back my dowsing rods. “No jiggling rods showing me a body either.”

  I smiled as she tentatively opened the door and headed on inside to do her business. After she was done, we sauntered back toward the Jeep while Tracey talked about the childhood joy of camping with her family. I listened politely. An envious ache for that normal childhood always reared when she talked about growing up. My childhood had been all about surviving brutal abuse. My adult life was still focused on moving beyond that.

  We were nearing the Jeep when the dowsing rods that dangled casually from my fingers suddenly twisted to the left. Tracey was two steps ahead and still talking when she realized I’d stopped. I took the copper rods and firmly held them out in front of me to check, and they definitely swung left, so I turned and followed.

  There was a steep, rocky ditch and, at the bottom, a cement culvert directed water to flow under the road. As I skidded down the rocky embankment I could just make out two hiking boots and the remnants of blue-jean-clad legs protruding from the culvert entrance.

  It was the body of Douglas Prost.

  Chapter Two

  It had been a while since I’d dowsed for the dead, and I steeled myself for an overwhelming sense of panic that didn’t come. My heart pounded, and my breathing was hard, but I calmed both with a moment of meditation.

  It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.

  Deep breath in through the nose and slow exhale through the mouth.

  The painful thudding of my heart wasn’t fear. Instead, I realized that it was nervous exhilaration. It felt eerily good to be back using my dowsing rods. I’d been worried for months
that I wouldn’t be able to return to dowsing without falling victim to the full-blown panic attacks that had paralyzed me for months after the death of my mother. However, the overwhelming sense of terror and the near black-out paralysis didn’t materialize. I pinched my eyes shut and sighed with relief.

  I wasn’t aware that Tracey had moved so that she could also see part of the body until I heard her scream like her ass was on fire. After I scrambled up the steep embankment, I hugged her tight and walked her back to the Jeep. Once she was buckled up inside and had stopped shaking, I closed the door and stood outside to make the necessary phone calls. Then I settled in to wait until the authorities arrived.

  I sent Garrett a text.

  I found the body of the hiker.

  He called immediately.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” I smiled because it was true. “Yeah, I’m really good actually.”

  “Are you sure? Do you need me to come?”

  I smiled. He’d drop everything he was doing and run to me if I needed him.

  “Go do your FBI things. I’m great. I’ve got Tracey here...” I glanced over my shoulder at my friend, who still looked pale with shock. “Yeah, so she’s such a big help. Huge.”

  That last bit of sarcasm was wasted on Garrett because I could hear someone talking to him in the background. He was obviously distracted.

  “I know it must be hard for you to get back to work.” His voice was low and soothing over the line. “I’m in the middle of something, but we’ll talk more later, okay? I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  We ended the call and then I took a deep breath. A Steller’s jay screeched his harsh call in a tree nearby. Dark clouds had rolled in, and the balmy April day chilled as a light rain began to fall.

  Climbing into the driver’s seat, I started the motor and tuned the radio to a station Tracey would like.

  “We’re going to have to wait a bit until the authorities come,” I told her. “Are you good?”

  She nodded but her eyes were still too large in her ashen face. The first time I’d found a dead body I was a child. Sometimes I forgot that not everyone had my macabre upbringing and an intimate connection to the dead.

  I grabbed Tracey a water bottle from my bag and a granola bar. She ate and drank quietly. I wanted to call Douglas Prost’s mother and let her know I’d found her son, but things weren’t that simple. I needed to be careful what information I provided her since the police hadn’t confirmed his identity.

  I punched the woman’s number into my phone and turned to look out the driver’s side window away from Tracey. A breathlessly excited voice answered on the first ring.

  “I’ve found a body,” I told her, not even bothering to introduce myself. “I’m waiting for the police to arrive. They will need to confirm whether or not the remains are those of your son.”

  A strangled sob broke across the line. The rain beat harder against the window as I waited for Mrs. Prost to regain some control. It took a full two minutes before she could get the words out.

  “But it’s him, right? You know it’s my boy?”

  Yes. In my heart, I know it’s him. “It’s very likely. I’m so very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Prost.”

  Another jagged sob cut across the line. “Thank you.” She sniffed. “I’m so grateful. God bless you for finding my boy.”

  I would take the blessing because I hadn’t had many in my life. After I told her she should be hearing from the police later, I again expressed my sympathies and hung up.

  Everyone reacted differently to hearing that the remains of their loved ones were finally found. I’d had people scream out in denial and anger because they’d still been holding out hope that their loved one was alive. Once there was a body, that optimism spiraled into hell. Some wanted to shoot the messenger. Others, like Mrs. Prost, were just grateful.

  Once the phone was tucked back in my pocket, the rain ramped up in earnest. I turned on the defogger to clear the windows that were steamed from our breath.

  “How do you do it?” Tracey looked at me with solemn eyes.

  “Well, I’m not sure how it works.” I used a tissue to clear some of the fog from the windshield. “I think the dowsing rods just—”

  “I don’t mean that.” She tugged at a strand of her pink hair and wrapped it nervously around a finger. “I mean, how do you look at a dead body and not totally freak out?”

  How did I tell her that my heart beat darker? Not all of us were raised believing that we were made from sugar and spice and all things nice. My body held the scars of abuse to prove that I’d long ago learned to control my emotions or else I’d be forced to deal with the wrath of others.

  Gawd, I wanted a drink. Just a small glass. Or a shot of something hard. I could have just one. Nobody even needed to know.

  I cleared my throat loudly and gave my head a quick shake.

  “I know it’s kind of a shock.” I reached over and patted her leg. “Let’s talk about something else.” I searched my head for a different topic. “You told me that you had cats growing up, right? Maybe you can give me some advice on how to keep Fluffy off the kitchen counter and how to stop him from being such a dick to Wookie.”

  She began, slowly at first and then with gaining enthusiasm, to describe every cat her family had owned and their various silly behaviors. I nodded and smiled encouragement. The rain pummeled the car and we were nicely cocooned in the dry vehicle. However, as Tracey spoke excitedly about cats, my mind drifted to Douglas Prost lying in the culvert through rain and snow for all these months and I shuddered.

  The rain came to an abrupt stop and I turned off the vehicle and lowered the windows a bit to catch some fresh air.

  “So now what?” Tracey asked. “After the authorities come? What do we do?”

  “Nothing. We wait for police to come and give our statements and then that’s it.”

  She nodded. “How do you think he ended up there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But I bet you could take a guess because this is kind of what you do, right?”

  “I find dead people, I don’t make assumptions about how they got where they are because that’s the police’s job but...” I glanced in the general direction of the victim. “If I had to guess, I’d say he did what we did. He had to use the washroom and he saw this outhouse. Then he lost his footing. It could’ve been icy at that time of year so if he slipped and fell down that embankment, he could’ve been hurt badly. I imagine it was something unfortunate like that.”

  “You think they’ll do an autopsy?”

  “Probably.”

  “I wouldn’t want that...to be cut up and—” Her voice had been calm but she was quickly getting emotional again.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” I suggested. “Ask me something. Anything that doesn’t have to do with dead people.”

  “Okay.” She tapped a finger to her lips. “Is Garrett still away on business?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s been traveling a lot lately. Are you okay with that?”

  “I miss him, but it’s part of his job. He calls me every morning at nine to say good morning and he calls every evening to say goodnight.”

  “Are you going to have hot jungle sex the minute he comes home?”

  I burst out laughing. “I’ll probably let him unpack first before I jump him.” I pointed to the brace on her leg. “How’s your knee?”

  “I’ll be having surgery next month.”

  “Oh.” I frowned. “I’m sorry. You never told me.”

  She shrugged. “Just found out.”

  “Is it because of your Ehlers-Danlos thingamajig?”

  “Yes. Spit not glue.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The doctors say I’m held together with more spit than glue.”
She tilted her head at me. “Hey, why did you change your mind about being called Delma Arsenault instead of Julie Hall?”

  Just last year I’d been certain about changing my name. I was born Delma Arsenault but, after being abandoned by my mother at my grandparents’ farm, I took on my middle name, Julie, and their last name, Hall. After my mom’s death last year, I considered becoming Delma Arsenault again as a kind of tribute to the name my mother originally gave me.

  “I tried being Delma for a while, but it didn’t take. I guess I’ve been Julie Hall much longer than I was ever Delma Arsenault, so it felt like I was wearing someone else’s shoes that were a couple sizes too tight.”

  “Plus, one day you’re gonna marry Garrett and then your last name will be Pierce, so that’ll be another change.”

  “Not going to happen.” I shook my head. “I don’t need a piece of paper to be committed to Garrett. Also, he did that once before, remember?”

  “I guess you’re living together so it’s kind of the same thing. But don’t you want a ring on your finger? An outward sign that shows the world you’re in lo-o-ve?”

  “I might like a ring one day but jewelry has nothing to do with commitment.”

  She wanted to talk about it more but just then the police pulled up and saved me from having that discussion. Tracey wanted to wait in the car, but I told her he’d need her statement too. We introduced ourselves to the officer and then walked him toward the location of Douglas Prost. The rain had left large puddles in the ruts in the gravel road, and we carefully dodged them as we walked. The officer and I were side-by-side and Tracey kept her distance behind us. When asked, I explained how I’d come across the body. I explained about his mother reaching out to me for help and expected a raised eyebrow or a snide remark about my using my dowsing rods, but he was obviously one of the law enforcement officers who’d heard of my skill. I’d built a bit of a reputation in Washington.

  When we stopped I pointed to the culvert below.

  “Careful,” I told him. “It’s going to be slick now because of the rain.”

  The officer only went down the embankment as far as was necessary to confirm the body was exactly where we said, and then he scrambled back up. Twice on his way he lost his footing and nearly tumbled on top of Douglas Prost. Tracey let out a high-pitched nervous squeal each time. Once he was safely back on the road, we walked back to our cars just as two other official vehicles arrived on scene. They no longer needed us so, after giving our contact information, we left the police to do their jobs.