The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5)

by Larissa Reinhart

  Peach poked her head up. “Where did Bob go?”

  “Pavilion,” I said, but didn’t add my thoughts about a man who would abandon his gal to save his own ass. “Peach, I’ll watch for the next one, so you can get away too. They seem to be timed out.” I flinched as Jeff’s rifle cracked again. “Go.”

  Peach scurried off her pad and ducked under the control tower to slide in next to Todd.

  “Get down,” yelled Jeff. The rifle swung toward the far right tower and blasted another disc.

  A shadow fell over the range. I looked up. The field lights brightening the day’s gloom had gone out.

  “I cut off the breakers,” Mike called from somewhere behind the control tower. “The traps are down.”

  The hunters slowly pulled themselves to sitting and Jeff lowered his rifle. I raced toward Max to check his knee. He sat on the mat with his legs extended.

  “Are you in pain?” I asked. “Lord, you could have blown that knee out again.”

  “It is nothing.” Sliding his knees up, he gritted his teeth, grabbed the lattice separating the firing stands, and pulled himself to standing. I ducked under one big arm to support him and he hissed as his weight adjusted to the bad knee.

  “That’s it,” I said. “To hell with this stupid hunt. You’re going to a doctor and then home.”

  “Stop treating me like the child. Give me moment and I will be fine. I have never let pain defeat me and I will not let it now.”

  “Someone tried to kill us,” I exclaimed. Maybe a bit too loudly, judging by the twisting heads and shocked faces.

  “Hush,” muttered Max. “You’ll make this worse. If anyone should go home, it is you. Your head was the only one endangered.”

  “It could have been Bob Bass,” I whispered. “I was standing in his stall.”

  From the pavilion, Bob’s cursing carried across the range, making my ears burn.

  “If that is true,” Max said, “then these ambiguous messages are meant as a threat to him. Do not say anything yet. Bob Bass will cause much havoc on this lodge and cost them possibly millions, when it may not be their fault. He is known to easily cast the lawsuit. First, we need to know what caused the traps to start. In the case of the criminal act, we will make your suspicions known.”

  “Any whiff of a criminal act and I’m going to the police. I don’t keep secrets,” I muttered.

  Max slid a hard glance at me and raised an eyebrow. I bit my lip, realizing that statement made me a liar. But this was neither the time nor place to admit a secret love life, so I shot him a look of my own, before turning away to hide my embarrassment.

  “The craziest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Todd, hurrying to meet us. “Are y’all okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “But Max has messed his knee up again.”

  “Damn,” said Todd. “I’m supposed to be watching that knee.”

  “What is this meaning?” Max growled.

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. “Let me get you some ice.” I hightailed it toward the pavilion.

  Inside the pavilion, Bob’s publicist tried to match Bob’s shouts with soothing words. Peach and her camera stood behind them, offering an occasional word of support. Viktor watched the proceedings from his grill station.

  I stopped in front of his counter, my breath jagged with agitation. “Do you have any ice?”

  His thick brows lowered. “You still have your head, I see.”

  “What?”

  “The Bob Bass complains his head was nearly taken off. I am watching. The small disks came closest to you, not Mr. Bass.” Viktor bent to reach beneath the counter and yanked open a door.

  “Barely,” I said. “Thanks for your concern. Or were you hoping to serve my head for dinner tonight?”

  “I wonder if there is enough protein inside that thick skull for a meal?” Viktor filled a baggy with ice. “I am warning you. You work for the Bear, and you’ll be lucky to keep that head attached. Look what already happens.”

  I gaped.

  Viktor slapped the bag of ice on the counter. “Your mouth will draw the flies. You tell the Bear, I am watching him carefully. If I were you, I’d leave him now. Go home, Miss Tucker.”

  Snatching the bag, I whirled away from Viktor. The Sparks and LaToya had already moved back into the pavilion to huddle around the fire pit.

  With his cane, Max hobbled toward the fire, shooing off Todd’s attempts to help. He eased onto the edge of the fire pit, his bad leg extended before him and arms crossed.

  Long lines on the sides of his face framed his high cheekbones. The slight lift on the edge of his eyelids lengthened with his grimace.

  “This should help,” I said, laying the ice bag on his knee. I kept Viktor’s warnings to myself. The Bear’s pride was on the line, and I feared what would happen to his knee if he decided to acknowledge Viktor’s threats. I’d have to watch Max’s back for him. Like hell I was going home if this Viktor decided to make trouble for the Bear.

  But first, I needed to know how skeet traps turn deadly. “I’m going into the control tower to ask Mike for a first aid kit.”

  “Stop worrying so much. You are like the old woman.” Max dropped the ice bag onto the edge of the fire pit. “My knee cannot feel this ice through the wool tweed, in any case.”

  “You could shove the ice down your pants.”

  I backed away at the low growl uttered from his throat.

  Todd flinched. “Maybe I’ll look for the first aid kit too.”

  I glanced up at the tower. Through the windows, I could see Mike Neeley and Jeff Digby gesturing like they were in the midst of a heated argument. “I’ll be right back.” With my eyes on the window, I patted Max’s shoulder. “We’ll fix you up.”

  Before Max could protest, I dashed out of the pavilion.

  Todd caught me in two of his long-legged strides. “You want to find out what happened, don’t you?”

  “You’re curious too. I have to know what happened. Skeet doesn’t fly out of those traps like a cannon. They’re supposed to arc up in the air like a bird.”

  “Unless we’re talking Angry Birds.”

  I pointed at the tower. “Looks like the manager and the field guide are in the middle of a knock-down, drag-out. We may learn something useful from that.”

  “Fighting about the skeet screw-up?”

  “Mike’s good people and I can tell he’s worried about the lodge. Especially if someone like Bob Bass threatens to litigate.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Bear says Bob’s well-known for being sue-happy.”

  “But he’s shrugging off all these anti-hunt demonstrations.”

  “What demonstrations? Some hog-related messages. We don’t even know if they were made by an activist like Bob Bass claims. It could be Lesley Vaughn, off his nut. He’s not anti-hunt. He’s just pro-pig. I just don’t know if he’s whack-a-doodle enough to have killed Abel. Did you see anybody else here?”

  Todd shook his head. “I was watching the contestants. But none of them went into the control booth.”

  We had reached the red stilt structure and stood at the bottom of the stairs. Through the open trapdoor above us, I could hear the argument I saw from the windows. Mostly Jeff Digby yelling about safety and liabilities.

  I flicked a look at the firing stands. “Where are the guns?”

  “Digby collected all the rifles and locked them in a box in his Gator.”

  “Jeff’s probably worried about more accidents. Wasn’t it amazing how he shot those targets to save us from getting hit?”

  Todd’s gaze hardened. “Are you going soft on Digby?”

  “Seriously?” I gave him a slight push on the arm. “Let’s go up before they kiss and make up. I want to hear what they’re saying in the heat of it.”

  We climbed the stai
rs and stepped inside the wooden box before either man noticed us.

  Muted light flooded in from the narrow sides and floor-to-ceiling front window. The men stood before a long table holding computer equipment and thick binders.

  Mike held a hand up to cut off Jeff’s rant and turned toward us. “What can I do for you, Miss Tucker?”

  “Ma’am.” Beneath Jeff Digby’s trimmed beard, crimson flared, licking his cheekbones.

  “We came to grab the first aid kit,” I said, stepping into the center of the room.

  “Who’s injured?” asked Mike. “I thought no one got hit.”

  “Don’t worry. My friend has a bum knee and he must have wrenched it during your mishap. We mainly need ibuprofen and something for his pride.”

  “Let me get it for you.”

  I turned to Jeff Digby. “Do you think someone deliberately set the targets to fly at us?”

  “Can’t see how. They’d have to mess with the skeet software.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can program each tower for the number of clays launched and their speed, angle, and size,” said Mike, handing me a bottle of Advil. “The software sends a signal to each tower and triggers the launcher for the kind of throw you want.”

  “But how can it go off if no one is pushing the buttons?” I said, revealing my complete ignorance about all things electronic.

  “I guess it was a glitch,” said Jeff. “And if so, I’m going to kick some programmer’s butt from here to tomorrow. I didn’t know the damn thing was on. Must have started up when we hit the power to turn on the field lights.”

  “How hard is it to break into this building? Could someone have known how to time the program thingy for when y’all started target practice?”

  “You think someone did this on purpose?” Mike pulled in a tight breath. “How?”

  Jeff shook his head. “The building was locked tight. Mike and I are the only ones with a key because the equipment is so expensive. Plus the whole area’s surrounded by the fence and locked gate. That fence is a ten-foot-high chain link.”

  “You should check the fence line anyway,” said Mike. “I’ll call the software company. Maybe they can tell us what went wrong.”

  “I’ll check the fence, but I can’t see how or why,” said Jeff.

  The why was the issue that scared me.

  “What else can go wrong this weekend?” Mike leaned against the table. “I don’t want to cancel this contest, but this is some bad juju.”

  Jeff shook his head. “Now or never. I can’t keep that hog loose any longer. As far as I’m concerned, the big hunt’s this weekend or we can’t do it at all.”

  “Surely the contestants can’t want to continue after this happened,” I said.

  Bob Bass’s reedy whine drifted through the open trapdoor, complaining that they wouldn’t have time for more target practice. I heard the low murmur of Max’s retort. Bob’s whine turned to a taunt about catching the hog and Max’s gimp.

  “Good Lord,” I muttered. “They still want to hunt.”

  “If we don’t let them hunt, they aren’t going to take it well,” said Mike. “You know what can happen, Jeff.”

  Jeff glanced at Todd and me.

  We feigned polite ignorance at Mike’s implication, but the consequence seemed clear. Big Rack could face financial ruin by canceling an event this well-publicized. Particularly when an egomaniac like Bob Bass felt gypped of his trophy.

  I hated to spell out the other consequence of continuing the hunt. “Bob Bass thinks anti-hunt protestors are behind the pranks. Maybe one’s gotten out of hand. Have you seen Lesley Vaughn today?”

  “Lesley Vaughn’s obsessed with Hogzilla, but harmless,” said Jeff Digby.

  “But he’s been sneaking around your woods, spying.” I turned to Mike. “We caught him last night headed for the preserve to track down Hogzilla.”

  “I think Lesley’s harmless too, but his antenna doesn’t pick up all the channels, you understand. He drives Jeff nuts, asking to track Hogzilla with him.”

  “What about other guests?” I thought about the ominous phone conversation I’d overheard that now added to the menacing atmosphere. “There’s a guy in the room next to me. Deed. What about him? Is he a hog lover like Lesley Vaughn?”

  “Listen,” said Mike. “I know you feel involved because of Abel, but this isn’t your place. I can’t discuss guests like this. Just let it go. Jeff and I will handle it.”

  “If there’s something weird going on, as a guest, I want to know who’s rooming next to me. Remember someone broke into my room.”

  “She’s right, Mike, and in this case, not discussing a guest might make it worse. You should have seen her with Lesley.” Jeff turned to me. “Jayce Deed’s a photographer. We didn’t take any other hunters this weekend because of the contest. He’s from out west and just here to relax and do some photography.”

  “Thank you, Jeff.” I turned to Mike. “I’m not trying to infringe on the privacy of your guests. But with all that’s happened, it feels awful coincidental to me that you’ve got a sudden software snafu that could have knocked a person’s head off.”

  “I don’t think it would have knocked your head off,” said Todd. “But it would have made a pretty big dent.”

  I shot him a “not helpful” look.

  Mike’s brows came close to knotting. “It had to have been a glitch. I’m going to call the software company now to make sure. But at this point, unless the hunters ask for a cancellation, I’d need a better excuse to call off the hunt.”

  What more do you need than attempted murder, I thought, and prayed that wasn’t the case.

  Twenty

  To top off the morning’s scare, icy rain began to trickle from sodden clouds. While Mike spoke to the hunters about software glitches and Todd assisted Max to their cottage, I scooted back to the lodge in a golf cart.

  Although I felt bad for Mike and the other Big Rack employees, I hoped the contestants chose to cancel the hunt.

  Because they were so competitive, I doubted they would.

  Back in my room I cursed my lack of dry clothes, changed again, and without hesitation, grabbed my phone to dial up Luke.

  To hell with family guilt, I’d almost gained a saucer-sized hole in my head.

  “Luke,” I said when he picked up. “We might be leaving soon. Can you talk?”

  “Just for a quick minute.” His voice rose. “I’m watching the lunch rush to pick up speeders.”

  Considering the size of Halo, I didn’t think the chances of a farmer zooming home to check on the state of his winter wheat would hinder us any.

  “So there was a mishap at the target practice.” I explained the skeet incident, carefully choosing my words to prevent Luke from an apoplectic fit.

  “Cherry, that’s more than a mishap. If it’s not a computer glitch, that could be attempted murder. At the least, it’s malicious intent. You better hope the software has a design flaw.”

  Damn his power to see through my whitewashing.

  “Once again, I’m unable to tell if a certain party was the intended victim,” I said. “At least no one got hurt, except Max. He messed his knee up, diving from clay targets. I’ve got Todd on nurse duty, don’t worry.”

  “I don’t worry about Avtaikin as much as you do.” Luke clipped his words. “You’re trying to downplay this accident. Why?”

  “I’m not downplaying anything. I told the manager that he should cancel the hunt. What with that anonymous note on my painting, I’m pretty sure someone here doesn’t want me asking questions about Abel’s death. Although for the life of me, I can’t figure out if the peacocks and cake messages have anything to do with it.”

  “Forget the peacocks,” he growled. “What is this anonymous note?”

  I sucked in my breath, hop
ed the note wouldn’t freak him out, and blew out my story in one quick exhalation. “Someone broke into my room and left me a message. ‘Accidents happen.’”

  The other side of the airwave went still. Except for the sound of Halo’s lunch rush speeding by and Luke’s heavy breathing.

  “Hey, baby?” I whispered. “You still there?”

  “I don’t like it. Not a bit.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “It means someone wants you to leave this Abel business alone, Cherry. Why’d you wait so long to tell me?”

  Because I didn’t want to worry him? Or because I was afraid he’d make me stop poking around? “It’s not a very explicit message. Kind of vague, if you ask me.”

  “Someone broke into your room. Did you tell the lodge manager?”

  “Yes, I did. And we didn’t see anything on the security feed because they have low-rent security for such a high-rent hotel.”

  I won’t repeat the words blasted into my ear.

  “Girl, you better know what you’re doing, because it sounds like you opened up a hell of a can of worms over there. I’m going to make some calls. You hold tight.”

  I would hold tight, but I couldn’t hold still.

  “It’s almost time to leave for the bunkhouse,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Or as Lesley Vaughn would put it, our destiny with the Super Swine awaits. Anyway, I guess my investigation is over. I won’t be in my room anymore, so no worries about more break-ins.”

  “Not funny. Just watch your ass, because if someone dares to lay a finger—” Luke broke off his words. “This is one holy mess. I’m calling Swinton PD. I’m guessing you didn’t tell them about the note either.”

  “Calling Holt was next on my list, and that’d save me some time if you did it for me. They sure as heck don’t listen to me anyway.” But I sure as heck didn’t need an obstruction charge. “Could you leave my name out of it, though? Rookie Holt’s a bit touchy about my interest in Abel’s death. Until I have something solid to give her, I thought I should lay low on investigative reports.”

  “I’m buying more Tums.”