Fogbound: A Lin Hanna Mystery

by Sharon Canipe

  .

  Fogbound

  Lin Hanna Mysteries Book 3

  By

  Sharon Canipe

  Cover Design by

  Steve Canipe

  Copyright 2014

  Sharon Canipe

  All Rights Reserved

  Other Books in this Series

  Earthcrack

  Sandrift

  This novel is a work of fiction. All names, places, characters, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication and Acknowledgements

  This book is dedicated to my husband and best friend, Steve Canipe, who has been my helper and supporter throughout the past two years as I embarked on the process of writing and publishing these books. He provides photos for my covers, reads my early drafts, and gives valuable feedback, and helps me to produce the final product for publication. Most of all he encourages my efforts. A writer in his own right, Steve publishes a weekly column, Boomer Bytes, in the online High Country Press, Boone, NC. Reflecting on the experiences and interests of the Baby Boomer generation, these columns will appear in book form in early 2015.

  I also could not accomplish this work without my daughter Marti whose technical expertise far exceeds my own. Her creative posts provide valuable publicity for these novels and her advice in many areas is much appreciated. Her willingness to help and her support for my efforts means a lot.

  Thanks to you both!

  Thanks also go to my family and friends who encourage and support me both as readers and as sources of interesting information. Trying to mention everyone who has shared an idea would inevitably result in omitting someone, but I would like to mention Gerry Coffey who first told me about the Ore Mine where an actual murder occurred many years ago and Judy Carlson who has opened new opportunities for me to share my work.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  August 2009

  The soft morning mist curled along the fringes of the forest and settled into the valley below as Sandy pulled into the deserted parking area at the overlook. This appeared to be a good spot for what she had in mind—plenty of wooded area nearby, not too steep, no developed trails. She donned her jacket against the still chilly morning and grabbed her camera bag from the back seat.

  Her first term as a graduate student in botany at the university didn’t officially begin until next week, but her advisor had suggested she get started building her own collection of local plant photographs as soon as possible. She needed to have a decent set of photos before fall arrived and the plants lost their identifying foliage. He urged her to get out in the woods and get started before she got too busy with other assignments, assuring her that she would find a good photo collection invaluable in all of her future work. “Get started now,” he’d advised, “keep your camera handy and add to your collection whenever you get the opportunity.”

  The Parkway seemed perfect for what she needed. The road itself was easier to navigate than backcountry roads in the area. There were good places to park and plenty of developed hiking trails. One could avoid the risks of trespassing on private property. Jack, a fellow grad student she’d met at orientation, had suggested this area.

  “There are no developed trails there, but walking through the woods is not too difficult, and there are more different plants. Trails are fine but some of them have been trampled enough that you have to get pretty far off to find good specimens,” he noted. “As long as you stay aware of where the road is located, you should have no problem finding your way back to where you parked. Sometimes you may not see the road, but you can usually hear the cars going by.”

  Sandy liked Jack. He was friendly and sociable and not bad looking either. She’d been delighted when he invited her to go out to dinner this coming weekend. Grad school seemed like it could be a lot of fun. Sandy smiled to herself in anticipation of this upcoming date as she locked her car and slung the camera strap over her shoulder.

  The sun, beginning to burn through the mist, dappled the forest floor with golden flecks of light. These woods were carpeted with plants, and Sandy soon became engrossed in photographing the best specimens she could find. After a couple of time-consuming efforts to identify the plants on the spot with her guide, she decided to simply take photos and leave the identification work until later. It would be much easier to accomplish at her desk with the pictures displayed on her computer screen.

  Now she increased her pace, making sure to keep the road to her left as she wound slightly downhill into deeper woods. Jack was right. She couldn’t see the road, but she could hear traffic sounds. While there was no marked trail here, walking was not as difficult as she had thought it might be. There were even some spots where it appeared that others might have walked earlier.

  Sandy continued taking photos using her macro lens to bring the small plants into clear view. Suddenly she paused; she’d heard a cracking sound as if someone or something was moving nearby. Good grief she thought; I’d better be more alert. I don’t want to meet up with a black bear out here. Maybe it was a deer she’d heard. She crept slowly forward.

  The sound came again, closer this time; it was ahead of her and slightly to her right. She continued moving forward, positioning herself behind a large tree. She carefully raised her camera to her eye using the zoom like binoculars to try to see what might be ahead. She heard the sounds of movement. Suddenly, her lens brought a strange scene into view. Two men appeared; one of them was carrying what her uneducated eye determined was probably a shotgun. The other was digging something. They were filling a large burlap sack with some sort of plants.

  Sandy certainly didn’t understand what they were doing, but she could see that they weren’t wearing the green and gray uniforms of park officials, and she was certain that collecting plants of any sort wasn’t legal on park property. Her advisor had emphasized that fact while telling her that was the primary reason for developing a collection of good photographs. Jack had cautioned her as well. Maybe this was some sort of backwoods farming operation. She’d read that people sometimes planted hidden patches of marijuana in the forests.

  Perhaps she should report this to someone. Sandy carefully adjusted her lens to bring the scene into sharper focus and began to snap pictures. She tried to catch the faces of the men, and also tried to focus on the plants they were digging.

  Her heart leapt to her throat when she realized that one of the men was staring straight into her lens. Oh God, she thought, they’ve seen me! The face began to move toward her. She lowered her camera and began scrambling back toward the road. The camera bounced heavily from the strap around her neck, but her hands were free to push aside the shrubs and vines that impeded her pro
gress as she tried to regain the roadway just above where she’d been walking. Shouts of “Stop, Who are you?” “What are you doing here?” rang in her ears.

  Sandy was nearing the top of the gentle slope and had reached for the trunk of a small tree to aid her ascent when a shot rang out. She felt as if someone had hit her right shoulder with a heavy object and realized that the shoulder and her right arm were numb and useless. Another shot and the small of her back felt like fire. Unable to remain on her feet, she slid slowly down the gentle bank into a thicket of tall shrubs. Vaguely she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Then there was nothing but silence, and her world turned black.

  ***

  March 2010

  Ranger Bryan Lee slowed his vehicle as he approached the picnic area at Jeffress Park. It was late afternoon. The sun would soon be setting and the light was already dimming along this wooded area of the Parkway. The caller had been clear. There was a man sitting alone at one of the picnic tables with a long gun—shotgun or rifle. Apparently the man hadn’t approached or threatened anyone, but the tourist was concerned. Although Bryan thought it was unfortunate, there was no law against the man having a firearm in the park provided it was legally registered and wasn’t being used to shoot at anything. Probably it was someone who’d been hunting nearby and stopped to rest, but it was a little strange. No hunting was allowed on parkland; however, there were areas nearby where hunting was permitted. Best to check it out. He pulled into the parking lot.

  There were no picnickers in evidence at this late hour. A couple of cars parked at the end of the lot probably belonged to walkers who were most likely visiting the Cascades, a beautiful waterfall just a short walk down the mountain from this area. Hopefully the armed visitor had already moved on. Bryan pulled in and glanced around the picnic grounds; he spotted someone seated at a table near the far end. The person was hunched over with a weapon clearly evident across his lap. The ranger checked his own sidearm as he exited his car and began walking across the parking lot toward the man. When he drew near he paused and called out.

  “Hello, there. Can I help you?”

  There was no response, but the man grasped his gun as he arose and turned to face Bryan.

  The ranger slipped his own hand down to his weapon. “ Someone reported you sitting here earlier. Have you been hunting nearby? You are aware, I’m sure, that you can’t hunt on Parkway …” Bryan never finished his inquiry. The man raised the firearm. Although Bryan drew his own gun, he was too late. A shot rang out and the young ranger fell.

  The walkers returning from the Cascades heard the shot and hurried to see what had happened. There was no sign of the man they’d seen earlier at the picnic table—just the body of the young ranger sprawled in the parking lot, a gaping wound in his chest.

  ***

  May 2012

  Lin Hanna searched the stream of passengers leaving the B concourse at Charlotte-Douglas airport. She was waiting for her friend Sue Gray who should be arriving momentarily. Lin was eager to see Sue again. It had been almost eight months since the two had parted company at the end of their volunteer stints in northern Arizona. They’d met there while Lin was volunteering at Wupatki and Sue had been at nearby Walnut Canyon. The two retirees had become good friends. A few months ago they’d decided to apply together as volunteers on the Blue Ridge Parkway just north of Charlotte and only a couple of hours away from Lin’s home in Davidson.

  Lin was especially happy with that choice. She hadn’t spent much time at home during the past year. First had been the volunteer assignment in Arizona last spring, then house sitting for a friend on the coast during Thanksgiving and Christmas. Being nearby would enable her to get back home from time to time to take care of things there, not to mention planning for her upcoming wedding to Neal Smith. No date had been set as yet, but Lin had decided she wanted to have the wedding here in the Charlotte area and being in state would make planning easier.

  She spotted Sue heading her way and rushed to greet her.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she smiled. “I hope you had a good flight from Denver.”

  “Really, nice. Very smooth,” Sue replied. “I’m glad to be here though. Those narrow seats in economy don’t give you any leg room.”

  The two made their way to the baggage claim area. Lin was surprised when Sue picked up a small Pullman roll around.

  “How are you going to manage for almost four months with just that?” Lin exclaimed. “I know we’ll have uniforms but…”

  “This is just basics,” Sue grinned. “ When I realized how much stuff I really needed, especially since I was bringing my computer and all my writing notes, I decided to ship a trunk separately. It should arrive at your place in a couple of days.”

  “Good idea,” Lin said as she grabbed the roll around and led the way toward the parking deck.

  Fortunately, Sue’s flight had arrived early enough to help them avoid the late afternoon rush hour traffic on I-77 north. Soon they were exiting to the small town of Davidson just north of the city. Lin’s condo on the lake was nearby.

  Within an hour they were seated outside on Lin’s spacious balcony overlooking the lake. It wasn’t yet sunset, but the sky was already taking on a late afternoon glow that sent a cascade of golden light across the water. A few small sailboats dotted the waterscape. The scene was so peaceful; it was hard to imagine that a busy interstate highway and a bustling city were just a few minutes away.

  “This is a beautiful spot,” Sue leaned back in her cushioned porch chair and sipped lazily on the chilled glass of Pinot Grigio Lin had offered.

  “I do love it,” Lin said, “I really don’t want to give it up. It’s the first home I’ve ever chosen completely on my own, and I feel as if it is really mine.”

  “What about Neal?” Sue had to ask. “Doesn’t he own a home in Flagstaff?”

  “He does, but he hasn’t actually decided what he’s going to do after this term ends,” Lin responded. “When we last talked he was seriously considering taking his full retirement and selling that place. He’s thinking he might like to travel more, do some fieldwork, and volunteer at various archeological sites. If he decides to do that, we could live anywhere. We’d just need a home base.”

  “And this would be a great spot to come home to,” Sue nodded. “I can tell that’s what you’re hoping for.”

  “I must admit I do feel that way, but I’m trying to keep an open mind. Things will work out for the best I feel sure.” Lin took another sip of her Malbec. “I’m happy to say, though, that Neal really loved this place when he visited last month. He even mentioned the possibility of keeping this condo no matter what we do or where we go.”

  “So, tell me more about the wedding plans,” Sue seemed excited for her friends, “I want to know all about them. I’m going to be there, of course.”

  “Indeed you will be,” Lin smiled, “but there really aren’t any plans as yet. Neal will be making his retirement decision shortly, and then we’ll probably set a date—maybe in late summer or early fall. I want to have it here though. My kids live only a few hours away, and I have lots of friends here from my working days. It’s going to be small, but I do want them to be able to come. So much for my future plans, tell me about you. You mentioned shipping your computer and writing materials.”

  “Yes, you’ll remember that I once told you I had plans to write books based on some unsolved murders that I became interested in during my days as a reporter. I collected these stories from all over the country. In fact, it was one of these stories that led me to suggest we apply to volunteer on the Parkway,” Sue explained.

  “OK. Tell me more,” Lin said.

  Sue continued her explanation, “You’ll remember that old Kingston Trio recording, “The Ballad of Tom Dooley.”

  “I certainly do,” Lin replied, “and that was based on a true story of a man who lived in western North Carolina, around Wilkes County, I believe.”

  “Yes, and his crime occurred ve
ry near where the Blue Ridge Parkway runs today.” Sue continued her story, recalling that Tom Dula had been a soldier in the Civil War. Upon his return home he got involved in a complicated love triangle. He stabbed his pregnant girlfriend and buried her in a shallow grave near Reedy Creek. Later he was hanged for his crime, and the story was immortalized in song.

  “There is a sign on the Parkway near where the girl’s remains were buried that tells the tale,” Sue added. “The interesting thing I learned was that the body of another pregnant girl was found on the Parkway near that same spot in 2009. She had been brutally stabbed and beaten and her naked body was dumped on Parkway land. I find the parallels in the two stories fascinating. The mystery of the girl killed recently has never been solved. I think the two tales together might make a good book, provided I can gather more information about both cases.” Sue grinned sheepishly, “So you see, it wasn’t just the mountain air and beautiful scenery that led me to suggest the Parkway for our volunteering.”

  “It was really a good choice for me, too,” Lin said, “I’ll enjoy being closer to home. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry. Maybe we should do something about dinner. We’d better go out because my cupboard is nearly bare.”

  Over a deliciously gooey pizza at a local tavern, the friends discussed the one remaining issue regarding their work on the Parkway. Where were they going to live? They were both assigned to the Highlands District near Boone and Blowing Rock, but there was no park housing available in that area for volunteers. Neither woman was eager to spend almost four months camping, even though camp spaces were available.

  “I think I have a possible solution,” Sue explained, “but we may have to spend a few days in a motel at first. I responded to an ad online from a professor at the university. He is beginning a sabbatical and is leaving for Italy at the end of the month to do research. He was advertising for someone to rent his home for four to six months. Thing is, he was looking for a grad student who could also serve as a caretaker for the property while he was away; he was only going to charge a token amount of rent—a hundred dollars a month. I called him and told him about us; I feel sure we can take care of the place, and I think he liked the idea. You know, two “mature” ladies as opposed to a student. He wants to meet us first, though.”