“I bet the echoes in the Canyon are really singing now.” Julie smiled and handed a cup of coffee down to her. One whiff of the brew told Gracie it wasn't the generic stuff they offered guests departing on early morning bus tours. The gourmet coffee that Julie usually bought out of her own pocket for her employees was rich and delicious—what coffee was supposed to be. Julie had taken the liberty of dousing it with half-and-half, just the way Gracie liked it.
“They said it was a ranger who died,” Gracie said, wanting to get those staring eyes from outside off her mind.
Kari flinched, leaning toward the box of glitter glue and swizzle sticks as if trying to decide on which one to use. Kristi shrugged, but her eyes kept going back to rest on Kari's back. The two had always been close, but a rift seemed to have formed between them.
Julie nodded sadly, her eyes welling up. “Mike Garrett. Damned shame, too. You remember him, Gracie. He was up here in 2010, when those fugitives tried to hide out in the park.”
Gracie sat up with a start as the pieces fell together. Stunned, she turned to look at Kari. It was little wonder she sat staring into the corner, looking ashamed. “He was there last night. That was him at the bar.”
13
Hudson looked back over the prints he'd left in the snow. The irony that he was leaving a trail, just like the one at Lester's crime scene, was not lost on him. This time, however, his were the only prints, other than Mike's and a wide swath of tracks that had been wiped out with a discarded pine tree branch. Beyond that, there was nothing. No blood, no torn clothing, not a single sign of violence.
A helicopter flew overhead, heading into the canyon. Hudson walked to the railing and looked down. It was one of the most beautiful sights in the park. The Lower Falls at his feet dropped over three hundred feet into the canyon. Yellow and red rust stained the walls as far as the eye could follow the Yellowstone River.
Artists had flocked to this spot for over a hundred years, trying to capture the colors, the power, and the beauty of the canyon on canvas. Hudson could only see the horror of what his best friend's last moments on earth had probably been like.
The bottleneck of the falls, only seventy feet wide where the water dropped over the edge, created a monstrous roar as thousands of gallons of water rushed over the rhyolite cliff every second. Over the thunder, he could just barely hear the sounds of the search party as they worked their way through the woods. Something told him they wouldn't find anything. Unlike the first scene, this one had been scrubbed. The killer didn't bother to hide it, either. The prints left by Mike as he made his way here from his truck were still intact.
The trail the killer left had been thrashed all the way back to where they disappeared on the asphalt. The branch that had been used to do it had been left on the edge of the road where they had been sure to find it. If another snow shower had come through during the night, he doubted they would have found the dusted trail.
“Any sign of Ranger Garrett?” Calvin asked, doing a clumsy duck-roll walk in his snowshoes as he approached the railing.
“Nothing yet. We've got a crew working the choke points where runoff debris is a little thicker.”
“Sir,” Calvin squirmed, scratching his short red hair under his hat.
“Spit it out before I throw you over, Calvin.”
“Well, sir, I was just thinking. The killer wiped out their tracks, right? Well, what if Ranger Garrett left tracks over there, too? What if, whomever he was with, somehow got control of him and took him somewhere else? Couldn't he still be alive?”
The scrub print from the pine branch left a wide track, nearly two feet. It was possible. He was sure that Mike had gone over the railing. The killer they were looking for had left no sign of regret, no sign of remorse, and no clear sign of a motive that Hudson could find. It was possible that the killer abducted Mike for some twisted reason, but not likely.
“Anything's possible, son—” Hudson began as the radio on his shoulder burst to life.
“Ranger Foster, come in.”
“Go ahead, Billie. What do you have for me?”
“The subjects you asked about have been located. They are being held at Canyon Reg, awaiting interview.”
“Great work, Billie.” He might finally get some answers. “They should have background checks on each subject in Mike's email. Pull their BC's for me and forward them to my email.”
“Copy that. Finding and forwarding BC's.”
“Negative, Billie.” A new voice cut over the radio. Deputy Ranger Erikson, one of two rangers that answered only to the Administrator, “Ranger Foster, meet me at the Canyon Location Manager's office at your earliest convenience.”
Radio etiquette translated to 'get your ass over here'.
Hudson took a deep breath, staring over the brink of the falls at the steamy tumult of power at the base, three hundred and nine feet down. There was no reason for Erickson to pull rank. Political bullshit was only going to slow them down when every second mattered. He wouldn't allow anyone or anything to stop him from finding Mike's killer. “On my way…Sir.”
“Ranger Foster?” Calvin looked over the railing and back to Hudson. “What's going on?”
“Politics,” he snapped.
Feeling guilty for being short with the kid, Hudson softened and took him by the shoulder. “I don't know yet, Calvin. But when the Deputy Ranger snaps your leash, it's never a good thing. I'm not saying he doesn't care about Mike, but he's got the entire park to consider. Image, revenue and keeping people happy are definitely on his list of priorities. He's probably about to pull me out of the investigation.”
Calvin watched a helicopter disappear around a bend in the river, chewing his bottom lip and scratching his scalp. “What do you need me to do?”
Hudson shook his head. Making assumptions at this point was a bad idea, but he trusted his gut. He'd learned the hard way to trust it and right now, it was telling him things were about to go south. He didn't want to get the kid in trouble, but he didn't want to burn all of his bridges until he knew what was going on.
Jotting down his personal cell phone and email address, he handed it to Calvin. “Keep me in the loop, Calvin. Anything new, no matter how small, send it my way. Thanks, kid.”
“No problem, sir.”
He smiled and thumped him on the back. “If you're going to be sneaking me information, best you call me Hudson.”
Hiking back up the snow-clogged trail to the main parking lot, Hudson's mind roiled with the possibilities. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to be benched. Though he hadn't yet taken the hit, he seethed at the sting of it. If there was a ranger better suited to finding Mike's killer, Hudson would step aside, without hesitation.
The only other ranger who had the skills to handle a case like this was Mike. There would be no stepping aside. There would be no standing on the sidelines. There would be no peace for the son of a bitch who killed his partner.
Base camp for the search had been set up in the parking lot. All eyes turned to Hudson as he stepped out of the trees. He took his time, pulling his feet out of the bindings on the snowshoes and throwing them into the back of this truck. With his hand on the door, he stopped, turned and made eye contact with each and every man and woman until they were forced to look away.
He may have overstepped his bounds by calling out the search team, may have stepped on a few toes and bent the hell out of a few procedural policies, but it was Mike, damn it. If they wanted to judge him, so be it. If they weren't willing to do the same for a brother in green, to hell with them. With or without their help, he was going to get justice for Mike.
North Rim drive had always been one of Hudson's favorites. A narrow one-way road cut through the woods along the edge of the canyon. With no head-on traffic and no one tailgating during the off-season, it was the perfect road to putter along, think, and enjoy the view. Until now.
Search and rescue crews in bright orange visibility vests, and helicopters darting in and ou
t of view, were a constant reminder that Mike might be down there somewhere. With the speedometer pushing well past the safe speed for this winding road, Hudson focused on the path in front of him, trying not to think about the confrontation he knew was coming.
Picking a fight with the Deputy Ranger was the last thing he needed. It would only serve to make sure he got benched and likely with a babysitter to make sure he stayed put, sitting on his hands and staying out of the way. If he let his temper get the better of him, he could even end up being dismissed and given two days to clear out his things and be out of the park for good.
For Mike, he needed to keep his head. He needed to play ball with the Deputy to ensure he stayed in the park and could keep digging, even if it was off the books and under his supervisor's radar. If he was benched, he could work around being kicked out of the investigation, one way or another. If he was banned from the park, he was screwed.
It took less than five minutes to get to Canyon Village. He slipped past a 'road closed' sign to park in the side lot, but every spot had been filled with Wilderness Resorts vehicles, an unusual site anywhere but Mammoth and Gardiner. Someone had called in the cavalry.
He had expected to see the Deputy Ranger's truck, but several more green vehicles, with the park seal on the doors, had been parked nose to tail alongside the back road that led down to the maintenance bay and loading dock.
Finding an opening on the branched road that led back to Dunraven and Cascade Lodges, he slid into it and walked back towards the Registration Building. Saving him from having to hunt him down, the Deputy Ranger met Hudson in the small clearing on the way up to the location manager's office, but away from the Wilderness Resorts employees that swarmed between the building and the small post office that served Canyon.
“Ranger Foster,” Deputy Erikson shook his hand and patted him on the shoulder as if they were old cronies. “I was sorry to hear about Ranger Garrett. I know you want to be out there with the search party and I appreciate your coming in.”
Always the politician. He felt the muscles in his jaw clinch. Hudson reminded himself that if Deputy Erikson hadn't cared about his rangers, he wouldn't be here, and tried to relax. They both knew the reason, so he didn't bother to ask why he had been called in. “Thank you, sir.”
“I understand your concern for Mike, but you crossed some lines here. You know that, don't you?”
“I disagree, sir. The same subject of interest in another homicide was one of the last people to see Mike alive. I think I did what I needed to do.”
Concerned or not, the politician in Deputy Erikson vanished, replaced by his superior officer. A ticked off superior at that. “Not good enough. As soon as you knew Mike was in trouble, you should have called it in. And you damned well don't walk into a concessionaires building and lock down one of their rooms, take their property, without going through the proper channels. Much less locking four of the employees down until you can get here to interrogate them.”
Billie had done as he'd asked—she'd gotten the names. But, who would have gone after the four women and locked them down? It had to have been David. There was no way in hell Hudson would tell the Deputy Ranger and risk getting Billie and David into the same hot water he'd fallen into.
Nor did it matter that Mike had made the call to take the snowshoes. Mike wasn't there. Hudson was, and frankly, he would have done the same thing. Letting that go, Hudson stood the only ground he had. “They were the last ones to see Mike alive, and I wasn't about to allow them to cut and run, leave the park and disappear. Gracie O'Dowdy—”
“Where's your evidence?” Deputy Erickson demanded, his voice rising even as Hudson tried to keep a tight rein on his temper. “What do you have that implicates that girl besides a snowshoe log, taken without due process, that isn't even dated?”
The group at the top of the hill fell silent, all heads turning towards the heated discussion between the rangers. Deputy Erikson took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself down before they made an even bigger scene. “What do you have, Ranger, that gives you the right to treat her as anything other than a potential witness? What do you have that gives you the right to jeopardize our relations with our biggest vendor? I've got formal complaints coming out of my ass.”
“I'll get the evidence—”
“Wrong answer!” Erickson hissed between clenched teeth. “You had your chance and you blew it. I will not tolerate cowboy law enforcement in my park. You're done. I'll be handling the investigation from this point forward. Your only reason to be in the Canyon area is to aid in the search for your partner's body. Period, paragraph, end of freaking story. I don't want to see you anywhere near these women or I'll have your badge. Do you understand?”
The only thing that kept Hudson from defending himself was the knowledge that if he got kicked out of the park, it really would be over. He couldn't let that happen, not until he figured out where Gracie O'Dowdy fit in this mess. “Yes, Sir.”
14
Gracie jumped when the door to the backroom opened. Mac, with Ranger Mathews following so close he was almost walking on the backs of his shoes, walked in. An embarrassed smile pressed his lips thin as he nodded to the ranger.
“Ladies,” Ranger Mathews cleared his throat, his hands toyed with his gear belt and his cheeks flushed. “We apologize for the inconvenience and wanted to let you know that you're free to go back to work. We'd like you to speak with the deputies waiting outside. Anything you might remember from last night that could help us figure out what happened to Ranger Garrett would be greatly appreciated.”
A collective sigh of relief circled the room as the women got to their feet. Kari bolted from the room, nearly shoving her way passed Mac and Ranger Mathews. Kristi grinned and shrugged her shoulders in way of an apology for Kari's behavior before following her out the door. When Julie motioned a deputy to step behind the front desk with her, Gracie found herself alone with the ranger.
She was headed for the door when Ranger Mathews put a hand out to stop her. “Would you mind speaking with me, Ms. O'Dowdy? Figured we could use the counting room for a little privacy. Won't take but a minute.”
“Sure. Yes, of course,” Gracie mumbled and headed towards the small room in front of the accounting office. A bank of windows lined the narrow hallway and continued in to the counting room as if the wall and doorway had been put up as an afterthought. The blinds were up and Gracie stopped to stare at the people standing in the yard. Some turned and looked her way, nodding a greeting in her direction.
Overwhelmed by such a huge crowd, Gracie stumbled into the small counting room to hide. The constant grumble of voices outside, white noise behind the rushing of blood in her ears, followed her.
The door shut hard behind her and she started to wonder if it would be any better being trapped in the room with a ranger. Tables—tucked close to the wall and filled with empty cashier drawers and calculators—filled one side of the room, leaving only a small walk space between them and the safe deposit boxes in the back corner.
Hating to walk into a corner but wanting to put distance between her and Ranger Mathews, Gracie made a bee-line for the small space between the counting tables and safe deposit boxes. Behind Mathews, legs, clad both in jeans and in the uniform forest green of the rangers, walked past the half-pulled blinds on the other end of the room.
“I don't know how much help I can be, Ranger Mathews. I didn't even realize that it was Ranger Garrett at K-Bar last night until you brought me up here.”
“Have a seat, Gracie,” he pulled out a chair for himself and settled in. In registration's back room, he had looked ill at ease, self-conscious. Now, he looked calm, relaxed even. He crossed his legs, propping an ankle up on his knee, and leaned back with his notebook in his hand. “Can you tell me about last night?”
“Not much to tell. We meet there every year after we all get here, to catch up. We had dinner, talked a little and then Julie and I left.”
He jotted in his little note
book and asked, “Where were Kristi and Kari?”
“Kari was hanging out with the guys at the bar and Kristi was watching soccer.”
“You and Julie rode together?”
“Yes, I don't have a car.”
He looked up, meeting her gaze for the first time since they met on the loading dock. “How do you get groceries, supplies?”
“There's always someone going to West Yellowstone or Gardiner. Even Livingston and Bozemen. The girls usually ask if I need anything and I just give them a list and money.”
“You don't go with them?”
If she told him she never left the park during season, never went out to the towns, it would make her look, at the very least, like an antisocial hermit. At worst, she'd look like she was hiding something. But she couldn't lie to him.
“No, not usually.” She sidestepped, hoping he wouldn't push the issue. Trying to explain her aversion to public spaces would only make things worse.
“Were you aware that your snowshoe prints were all over a crime scene at Sulphur Caldron?”
She was so focused on her own insecurities that she wasn't prepared for the sudden shift in his line of questioning, or the accusation in his hard stare. She couldn't track fast enough to adjust. She could only shake her head, the pinched brows marking her confusion weren't a ruse.
“We know, Gracie. We know you make the trek on snowshoes from Canyon to the mud pots every year. It's the last thing you do before the crowds start coming in every season. We know you checked snowshoes out on the morning Lester Dunkirk was murdered. We know you made that hike. If there's something you need to tell me, now is the time.”
Still shaking her head, she muttered, “I don't understand.” Until her mind latched on to their conversation at K-Bar the night before. “I didn't make it to the mud pots,” she lied. “I barely got to Hayden before I realized I was out of shape and could get myself into trouble if I tried to do the whole thing.”
Canyon Echoes Page 7
