“You don’t think it was a glitch either?” Relief whooshed through me. Knowing I’m right amidst naysayers was a cross I often bore, but this weekend’s cross had become a heavy burden on my small shoulders. I scooted closer to face him. “How could they have done it? Jeff Digby and Mike said the building and fence hadn’t shown signs of breaking and entering.”
“Their system could have been hacked from the outside,” said Todd.
“They can do that? I thought that sort of thing was just done to big sites.”
“I think so. I know somebody who hacked into an online poker site.”
“Why?”
Todd shrugged. “Mess with the odds, I reckon.”
I studied his relaxed expression. Often used at poker tables. “It wasn’t you that hacked into the poker game, was it?”
Todd started a “now baby, of course not” lament.
I placed a finger to his lips to stop the frenzied whispering. “Can the skeet software people find evidence of a hacker?”
“If they know to look for it, I guess.”
“I think we need to tell Mike and Jeff Digby so they can report it. Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
Todd cut his eyes away. The skin covering his sculpted cheekbones darkened.
“Lord Almighty, Todd. Since when did you let men like Jeff Digby shake you up? I’ve never seen you like this.”
His clear blue eyes swept back to mine. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
Vanity shot an electric current through me, causing my pulse to speed and my hands to creep up Todd’s shoulders. I leaned toward his ear. “Really? Like what?”
“Like you’re crazy. I didn’t want to mention hackers because it would set you off and he’d never believe another word out of your mouth.”
I pushed off Todd’s shoulders, forgetting to whisper. “The hell.”
A sound much like a cat suffering strangulation emanated from Tennessee’s position.
“Artist, perhaps you and our mutual friend would like to take the coffee break in the bunkhouse?” said Max. “The rain has slowed. Take the small jeep-like vehicle. Mr. Tennessee and I can radio when we want to return to camp.”
I glanced at Todd, my pride-induced anger ebbing. “We do need to report some important information to Mike Neeley.”
Crossing the small room, I stopped next to Max’s chair, my eyes fixed on the leg he had propped on a tub of supplies. My heart squeezed, cinched by the thought of ruining Max’s weekend in my desire to root out a criminal. “I hate to leave you. What if you need something? I don’t want you running up and down this deer stand. Just look what happened to Jenny Sparks and her ankle.”
“Thank you, but Mr. Tennessee can assist me. I insist you leave.”
Placing my hand on his shoulder, I bent toward his ear. “Please be careful. I know you don’t believe me, but there’s a nutcase out there. Maybe they’re just a crank, but I fear the worst.”
“You often do.” Max’s lips slid into a wry smile. He took my hand and squeezed. “If I see the psychotic, I promise to shoot first.”
“Are you crazy? Don’t shoot anybody.” I gripped his hand. “I’m thinking about worst-case scenarios and in them, there’s a gun fight.”
“I make the joke. Much shooting will scare the boar.” Max gathered my other hand in his large paws. “Artist, you must calm yourself. The pranks were most likely made by the Bob Bass agitator. Bass said they will not make the scene unless it is public. We are deep in the woods where no one can see us. Go to the bunkhouse. This weekend was to relax you.”
Todd approached and settled a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll see she gets some rest, Mr. Max.”
Max quirked an eyebrow. “Good luck to you then, McIntosh. To make this one rest is the Herculean task. You may have a similar strength, but I fear this weekend makes for stimulation not relaxation in the case of our artist.”
I rolled my eyes and climbed out of the stand. Back into the shroud of cold and wet that now accompanied darkness. Perfect weather for hunting hogs.
And those that might hunt hog hunters.
Twenty-Two
Dreary weather had absconded the daylight. The dark swooped in and swallowed the forest, like the burgeoning darkness in El Greco’s View Of Toledo. The arduous drive back to the bunkhouse meant a crawl, searching for tree markers in the gloom that felt as ominous as Hansel and Gretel’s missing bread crumb droppings. I tried the thermal imaging binoculars, but the forest became even murkier but for the bright spots of critters hiding in the trees. Mud sucked at the tires and the engine whined. Todd parked the Gator to better examine the overgrown path.
“I guess we’re not helping the hunt with all this noise. That hog will surely have hit the county line by now,” I said. “Jeff Digby better have sweetened those feeders with something pretty remarkable to keep Hogzilla around.”
“Do you see another marker?” Todd cut the Gator’s lights to shine a flashlight on the surrounding trees.
I picked up the binoculars again, adjusted the focus, and skipped my achromatic vision from tree to tree. White fuzzy movement in my horizon line caught my attention. I scooted forward on the seat and searched for the darting form. “Something’s out there.”
I felt Todd’s muscles tighten. “Is it the hog? How big?”
My binoculars caught the object. I followed its zig-zagging path between trees. “It doesn’t move like an animal. I think it’s human.”
“Can I look?”
I handed him the binoculars and directed his gaze where the form had moved. “Do you see it?”
“Yeah.” Todd adjusted his seat to follow our prey. “He’s coming closer. Kind of round.”
“It’s got to be Lesley. Give me your phone. Maybe I can reach Rookie Holt. We may need the police out here.”
Todd plucked his phone from inside his coat. “No bars.”
I tried 911 without success. “We’ve got to do something. Haul ass and catch him.”
Todd dropped the binoculars. “Are you kidding me? This thing doesn’t haul ass. Between the mud and the trees, the best we can do is mosey.”
“Then I’m going after him on foot.” I scooted toward the side of the Gator and hopped out.
“Wait. You don’t haul ass very well either.” Todd slipped off the seat next to me. “I’ll wear the binoculars and guide us. I’m taller so I’ll be able to spot him easier.”
“You don’t have to rub it in.” I handed him the binoculars. “What is that man up to?”
“Okay, got him. Lesley makes a pretty good target.”
We took off, stumbling in a jerky gait after a figure I could not see. Prickly weeds snagged my jeans and wet branches slapped my face. Trees suddenly loomed as Todd jolted me to and fro between the dense vegetation. Granite erupted from the clay, stubbing our toes and threatening our ankles.
Todd jerked to a stop, yanking me back. “The land falls off a bit. I almost missed it.”
I inched my boot forward and lost my toe to empty space. “Falls off a bit? Thank the stars you caught us in time.”
“Lesley’s leaning against a tree over there.” He pointed to a dark spot in the dark. “We’ll have to go around this gully, but I think we can catch him. He must be dog tired.”
He wasn’t the only one dog tired.
We continued our journey, more stumble than trot, following the edge of the low ravine. At a gentle slope, we crossed. In the ankle-deep water, mud sucked at our boots. Flashes of quicksand memories left from my childhood’s Saturday morning television viewing had me clinging to Todd’s arm, ready to climb him bodily to reach some overhead Tarzan vine.
I hopped out of the ditch minus a boot. Todd retrieved my boot while I stood on one foot, cursing Lesley Vaughn for attempting to save ridiculous hog monsters from their villainous fate. Shoving on my
boot, I took a step and fell over a tree branch.
“Cherry?” Todd yanked me to my feet. “What do you plan to do with Lesley once we catch him?”
“Probably sit on him. At least until I catch my breath.” I swiped at a wet leaf stuck to my face. “I hope Lesley gets chiggers. It’ll serve him right.”
“I was just thinking...”
Previously, I had held dubious feelings when Todd uttered that portentous sentence starter. However, having been elucidated on Todd’s basic computer-hacking knowledge (which eclipsed my own), I raised my hopes. “Yes?”
“Instead of grabbing Lesley, maybe we should just follow him. We might catch him in the act, so to speak, and then you won’t look so crazy.”
I narrowed my eyes at the man I could barely see. “You have a fair point, although I do think you’re overstating the crazy part.”
“Besides that, I don’t know if I can find the Gator, and I haven’t seen a tree marker in ages.”
“You mean we need to follow Lesley because we’re lost and he might know where he’s going?”
“Yep.”
We continued our trek. Unable to mask our heavy tromping or my reflective clothing, we kept our distance. After another thirty minutes, a glimmer of light shone in the distance. The light grew to reveal a familiar building and the growl of an approaching UTV.
“Lesley’s headed for the bunkhouse,” I whispered, now pulling Todd back into the trees edging the drive. “Let’s hide a bit and see what he does. But if it looks dangerous, I’m rushing to stop him.”
We hurried to the clearing, halting behind a thicket of pines. A Gator pulled in the drive, slamming to a stop before the bunkhouse porch. A guide jumped out and ran around to the passenger side. Holding his arm, Rick slid out, scooted past the outfitter, and waited while the guide fumbled with the doorknob.
“What happened there?” I said. “Looks like Rick got hurt.”
I worried my lip, scanning for Lesley, who had disappeared at the approach of the side-by-side. “Where’s Lesley? I am not searching these woods for him again.”
Backing out of the pine thicket, we followed the edge of the tree line to the far side of the clearing. No Lesley Vaughn. Defeated, we turned our back on the wet, cold treachery of the forest and headed toward the bunkhouse.
“You know what I’m thinking?” I looked up at Todd. “If you’re right about the skeet system hacking, Lesley Vaughn would get my vote for most likely to know how to hack.”
“If it was Lesley, he was aiming for Bob Bass’s head.” Todd grabbed my hand. “Or yours.”
Todd and I slogged across the gravel drive and met another side-by-side pulling away from the bunkhouse. Clinton Sparks hollered a hello, explaining their return to the lodge. Jenny Sparks reclined in the back, her ankle wrapped, iced, and propped on the seat. Caleb Guterson slouched in the driver’s seat, jiggling his leg and refusing to make eye contact.
“How bad is the ankle?” I asked.
“Viktor thinks it may be a fracture.” The fret lines crisscrossing his face betrayed Clinton Sparks’ hearty voice. “These things happen, but I wanted to get Jenny back before the mud gets worse.”
Viktor thinks?
“Good luck,” said Todd. “Be careful on the drive back.”
“Thanks,” said Clinton. “It’s a shame. We’ve had many happy weekends here. Jenny and I had been thinking about buying Big Rack. Retirement investment. This weekend’s soured us some.”
“I didn’t realize the owners were interested in selling,” I said. “With all the changes they’re making, I thought the Woodcocks had dug their heels into the lodge for good.”
Clinton shrugged, then turned in his seat at Jenny’s wince.
“We best get,” said Caleb Guterson. “It’ll be slower going in the dark.” He peeled out, spraying mud.
I glanced at the dismal state of my jeans, now dirtier thanks to Caleb Guterson. “I spied a washer and dryer in that bunkhouse and I think it’s going to get some use this weekend. I’m about out of dry clothing.”
“Wonder if Caleb’s ticked because he can’t participate in the hunt,” said Todd.
“Wonder why his momma didn’t mention her son was acting as a guide for the tournament,” I said. We continued our trudge toward the bunkhouse. “You don’t think Caleb planned on causing trouble, do you?”
“If the Gutersons were behind any of those hog head messages, Caleb doesn’t get the chance to do anything now.”
“I hope you’re right, Todd.” Reaching the porch, we shook off the wet and wiped off our boots.
“And wasn’t that fascinating,” I continued, “learning the Sparks were interested in buying out the Woodcocks? You think folks around here knew that? Do you think that’s the reason Mike has been so determined to continue with this hunt?”
Todd pushed open the front door. My brooding over Caleb Guterson and the Sparks fled. Although warm and dry, the bunkhouse was steeped in tension only out-thickened by Viktor’s bubbling soup. Buckshot charged forward, barking an anxious greeting. I bent to pet her while casting a sidelong glance at Rick. He sat on a bench at the long pine table in the center of the room. A bloody shirt and thermals had been tossed aside and a first aid kit lay open on the table. His rangy, pale torso revealed a barrage of old scars and his left arm lay on the table, oozing blood from a long cut. Behind him, his guide hovered, ashen and fidgety. At the opening of the door, Rick had glanced in our direction, flashing a face marked with a dozen bloody cuts, before dropping his gaze back to the table.
Viktor looked up from the package of sterile bandages he held. “Ah, good, a second vehicle has returned.”
“Sorry, Chef. We hoofed it from some point between our deer stand and here.” I peeled off my wet coat and hung it on an antler hook. “What’s going on? Looks like a field hospital.”
“His rifle exploded,” said Viktor, dabbing the gash with a wet cloth. “The Little Joe has done an admirable job. He brought Rick here quickly.”
Todd and I exchanged a long look.
Another accident. This one more dangerous than the clay shoot.
“I swear I didn’t touch the Winchester, other than to hand it to him,” said the green-faced guide.
“They said it was a new rifle.” Rick ground the words between his teeth, sucking in his breath at each touch of the cloth. “Lil Joe, you must have dropped it. Got some mud plugged up in the barrel or something.”
Lil Joe mopped his face with his hand. “I swear I didn’t do anything. I was real careful with all the firearms.”
“Misfires happen,” I said cautiously. Leaving my boots and wet socks at the door, I barefooted it to the young guide and jerked my thumb toward the first set of bedroom doors. “Why don’t you clean up? Maybe a quick hot shower? That’s my plan when you’re done.”
Lil Joe obediently slipped into the bedroom and disappeared.
“I don’t like that guy,” whined Rick.
“I’m sure he didn’t do anything to the gun,” I said, trying to calm Rick. “Where’s Mike?”
“Mike Neeley left before Mr. Miller arrived,” said Viktor, dabbing ointment on one of Rick’s bigger facial cuts. “He hiked to Team Two’s deer stand. It’s not so far. The Sparks left, so Mike goes to clean it out.”
“You’ve got a good touch, Viktor. Maybe you should have been a doctor instead of a cook.”
Viktor cut me a sharp glance. “The good chef must know the first aid in the case of a kitchen accident. How is it you arrived without vehicle? Where is Avtaikin?”
I glanced at Todd, who still worked at peeling the bibs from his long legs. I wanted to wait for Mike to talk about Lesley’s appearance. “Does Rick need to go to the emergency room too?”
“No. No hospitals.” Rick cringed.
I felt annoyed at my distaste for his weakness and sought to change the
subject. “What were you shooting at?”
“We saw the hog.” Rick’s voice rose and his trembling subsided. “Tusks as big as my arm. I fired a round at him.”
“Rick, you’re lucky to be alive,” I said. “My uncle told me about a similar accident where the man died. Used it as a gun safety story. Are you sure it wasn’t the ammo you used? The casing could have had a flaw.”
“It nearly would have killed me.” His shoulders relaxed and Rick warmed to the story. “I let go when the gun blew up. The Winchester fell out the window and busted to pieces on the forest floor. Scared that hog away too.”
I glanced at the wall clock made from interwoven antlers. “Maybe you better hang it up for the night. Take some painkillers and rest.”
“I agree,” said Viktor.
“As soon as Lil Joe cleans up, we can send him back to gather up the busted gun and whatever else y’all left,” I said, hoping the misfired rifle might offer some clues.
Todd ambled through the bedroom door to explain the plan to the guide.
“I could join LaToya and her guide,” Rick said. “She’s really sweet, don’t you think?”
“Quiet now.” Viktor threaded a needle then applied it to a deeper cut in Rick’s face.
I winced. “Stitches? I doubt that’s a skill most chefs have.”
Viktor glared at me. “And not many artists organize hunt activities. Leave me so I can concentrate.”
Cleaned up, Lil Joe reentered the main room in his weatherproof bibs. Donning his coat, he slipped out the front door. Buckshot trotted from her fireplace nest to prowl between the front window and door. A few minutes later, Lil Joe reappeared in the doorway.
“Close the door, Little Joe,” said Viktor. “You make it cold in the room.”
The guide’s paled features stood starkly against his dark beard. Like a squirrel caught in traffic, he hesitated, stuck between entering the room and looking out into the dark, clammy drive. He glanced from our expectant faces and back to the drive. Buckshot yipped, then paced between Lil Joe and our spot near the table.
The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5) Page 15
