“What is it?” I felt ready to explode from tension.
“The Gator.” Lil Joe took a last look, then stepped inside and shut the door to lean against it.
I let out a deep breath. “What happened to the Gator? Did you leave the lights on? Battery dead?”
He worked his jaw, then spoke. “The tires. Slashed. Every last one of ’em.”
Twenty-Three
While Viktor and Lil Joe discussed radioing the remaining hunt parties, I pulled Todd into an empty bedroom. True to the cabin’s name, bunks lined both sides of the room, each covered in thick quilts pieced from hunting motif fabric. I recognized my bag among the others stacked against the wall, and while I talked, I stripped off my soggy jeans and pulled on my last dry pair.
“Todd, we’ve got to find Lesley,” I said. “I thought he had a screw loose, but I underestimated his level of wingnut. I saw Lesley’s pack last night. It didn’t look like he had any weapons, although he obviously carries a good knife. Do you know how hard it is to cut a Gator tire? Those are off-road jobs, not some worn-out Michelins.”
Todd stared at the ceiling. “Yep.”
“And then there’s Rick’s gun exploding on him. I don’t see how Lesley could have messed with any of the hunting equipment, though. Mike and Jeff supervised putting all the weapons in those safety boxes themselves.”
“Right.”
“Should we risk waiting for everyone to get back and then spend time organizing a search party? Lesley’s watching the bunkhouse. He can’t be too far away.” I hopped on one foot, pulling on a dry sock. “I say we scout his location while we’re waiting. You saw how he moves. It’s not like Lesley’s quick on his feet. I think we could take him, although that knife makes me nervous. What do you think?” I tore off my damp top and tossed it to the floor.
Todd continued to check out the ceiling beams.
“Todd? Are you even listening? How can we get Lesley’s knife from him? If the guy wanted to behead us with clay pigeons, he’s capable of anything.”
My finger struck the air. “I know. The guide, Lil Joe, must have his own rifle. I bet they didn’t leave his weapon in the deer stand.”
I strode to the door, my quick plan ready for action.
“Wait.”
I turned back. “What? Let’s get going before the others get back and make it even harder to leave. I can just hear the Bear. ‘Artist, you jump into thee action without taking time to theenk.’ He’ll probably insist on going too, and with that bum knee, I can just see him slip-sliding in the mud. And wham. There goes his ACL.”
Todd dropped his head, cut a quick glance toward me, and let his gaze fall to the floor. “You’re forgetting something.”
“What? I’ve been piecing this together. Lesley playing GI Joe. Since hearing about Hogzilla, he constantly stays at the lodge, searching for his beloved Super Swine. He probably did all that stuff to scare us from the hunt and now that we’re out here, he’s really trying to stop us from getting that hog. Maybe he thinks we can’t get to the deer stands if he sabotages the side-by-sides just like he did the skeet software. Hate to think what else he’d try to sabotage.”
I turned back toward the door. “Lesley was at the Double Wide the night Abel died. We need to get him to confess. I thought it was accidental. But now I’m not so sure. Abel might have said something that angered Lesley and Lesley followed him into the woods. Lesley’s a big guy. Abel was small. One hard shove by Lesley and Abel could have easily fallen into that ravine. I ticked off Lesley too, and look what happened to me. After I ignored his warning, I nearly got my head taken off by an orange disk.”
“Stop.”
I looked over my shoulder. “Sakes alive, Todd. What is it? We’ve got a monster hog-lovin’ fruitcake to catch.”
Without peeling his gaze off the pine flooring, he waved in my direction. “Clothes.”
I glanced down at my cinnabar green bra. “Right. Guess the Bear is right about taking time to think.”
Todd shook his head at the floor. “I’ve been asking you to do that very thing all weekend.”
Rick had disappeared into the second bedroom. While the guide Lil Joe sat at the pine table, fiddling with his walkie-talkie, Viktor chopped vegetables on the small kitchen counter. After donning our damp coats, Todd and I claimed the need to check out the Gator for ourselves, figuring Lil Joe’s gun was likely strapped in the back of the UTV.
At our announcement, Viktor turned and pointed the knife toward us. “Just one moment.”
He strode forward, the knife gripped in his hand. The polished metal caught the light shining from the antler chandelier.
A bright spot bobbed along the paneled walls with each of Viktor’s steps.
Lil Joe scooted around in his seat, eyes following the knife. His finger hovered over the walkie’s talk button.
Beneath the long table, Buckshot lowered her head and growled.
“We won’t be gone long.” I yanked the zipper up my coat, but sidled closer to Todd.
Todd maintained his placid poker face, but his fingers began to tap a slow tempo against his jeans.
“I think you two should stay put in the bunkhouse. I do not trust you to leave.” The knife moved as Viktor spoke, jabbing the air to accentuate his points.
“Why?” I tensed, watching the knife. My hands dropped to my sides in loose fists.
“You arrive with no vehicle. After you arrive, we find the UTV tire is cut.”
Lil Joe watched us, scooting around on the bench to slowly push to his feet. Buckshot followed, sliding forward on her haunches and flicking her ears back.
“We didn’t slash the tires,” I said. “That’s ridiculous. And we arrived without a vehicle because we had to park it to walk.”
“Why park? Why should you walk in the rain? Your deer stand is not so close. It makes no sense.” The knife pierced the air before me. “You carried the disgusting cake. You are at the target practice when the clay pigeons attack.”
“Same as everyone else,” I said. “And if you remember, they were aimed at my head.”
“But they missed you.” Viktor’s eyes narrowed. “And you found the dead man.”
“That kind of thing happens to Cherry all the time,” explained Todd. “We’re not sure if she attracts trouble or if she’s just brave enough to not run from it.”
“Not helpful, Todd,” I muttered.
“You are not answering the questions,” said Viktor. “Why did you leave the utility vehicle?”
“Did it get stuck?” asked Lil Joe.
“We thought we saw something.” I reckoned their reaction if I explained a knife-wielding Lesley hiding nearby. Lil Joe might take off with his gun. Viktor too. Then the rest would return, revved up from the stillness of a deer stand and eager to shed their built-up adrenaline and hunting prowess. After all, my scheme had been just as half-cocked and eager. Too many accidents had happened already. I wanted Lesley taken alive. We needed his confession for killing Abel. “Hogzilla.”
The guide shook his head. “It took off in the opposite direction of your deer stand.”
“Maybe it circled around?” said Todd.
I reached to squeeze his hand in approval. “We had to follow on foot. Then we got lost.”
Viktor waved the knife. “You followed a thousand-pound animal without weapon? For what purpose?”
I gripped Todd’s hand. “For fun?”
“I do not believe you.” The knife whipped to the side, pointing to the fireplace at the far end of the room. “You will wait for the others. Because you decide to track the boar, the deer stand three has no vehicle. Number four must drive in the wrong direction to retrieve Avtaikin and the guide, Tennessee.”
“Dangit,” I muttered. “That’s right. We’re down to one side-by-side and the Mule until we find ours.”
I closed my eyes, feeling guilt kick me in the gut. A feeling I’d like to relieve by kicking Lesley Vaughn in his hindquarters.
“They’ll probably find our Gator on their way back,” I said, reorganizing the plan in my head. “Don’t worry. I’ll go out and investigate the tire slashing.”
“There is nothing to investigate,” said Viktor. “The tire is slashed. You will stay here until Mike Neeley returns.”
I paced the back bedroom while Todd watched, drumming his thighs in time with my footsteps. Buckshot trotted behind me with perked ears and tail pointed at the rafters.
“Why didn’t you just tell them about Lesley?” His drumming slowed as I pivoted before the piled duffel bags.
Buckshot dropped on her forelegs to wag her tail at Todd.
“I wanted to tell Mike first, and everyone’s so nervy, I don’t want any shooting-first-asking-questions-later scenarios.”
“What are we going to do now?”
I paused my circuit of the room and squatted to scratch Buckshot’s belly. “Wait until everyone arrives, I suppose. Talk to Mike and Jeff Digby, who know about Lesley. Hopefully, they can calm everyone and organize a search party for him. It’ll just take longer than I wanted.”
Thunder rolled in the distance and the patter of rain on the tin roof turned to pounding.
I glanced toward heaven. “This is just not my weekend. Why didn’t Mike cancel this damn hunt? Wasn’t finding Abel’s body enough of a hint that everything would turn to—” I stopped myself, ashamed. “I need to count my blessings, Todd. I may be suspected of perpetrating malicious acts here and accused of low morals and trashy DNA at home, but at least I’m not dead or in jail.”
“Yet,” said Todd unhelpfully. He patted the edge of the bed and Buckshot leapt beside him. “You aren’t doing any good wearing out the floorboards. I know waiting’s hard for you, but if we’re going to search for Lesley, your feet’ll appreciate a bit of a rest.”
“You’re right.” I dropped next to Buckshot, then fell backward to stare at the upper bunk’s slats. She turned three circles and laid her head on my belly. I stroked her ears while Todd scratched her haunches.
“Better?” said Todd.
“I’m jumping out of my skin, but my feet do appreciate it, hon.”
“You could use the break. You’ve been nonstop nerves since you got here, baby.”
“I swear something’s been bothering me ever since I met Abel Spencer. I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“Maybe you sensed he was sly, like people have been saying.”
“I don’t know.” I ran a finger under Buckshot’s collar. “I was so struck with admiration for his relationship with Buckshot here. Abel seemed nice. His questions about the hunt didn’t seem particularly intrusive. Just the usual neighborly nosiness. Maybe I misjudged him.”
“What questions did he ask?”
“I’ve been trying to remember exactly. I couldn’t really answer, so they didn’t stick in my brain. Something about how the weekend was organized and how they chose who got to hunt.”
The sound of boots clomping on the porch startled Buckshot into leaping off the bed. I shoved to my feet and shot to the door where Buckshot stood barking.
As I pulled open the door, Buckshot tore through and galloped to the front window. Viktor and Lil Joe had disappeared. I strode across the floor, snatched my coat, and headed outside.
Evening had evolved into dead of night darkness. Rain soaked the seats of the vandalized Gator. At the porch’s far corner, Viktor and Lil Joe had surrounded Mike Neeley. While Viktor explained how I had sabotaged the side-by-side, Lil Joe reported Rick’s accident. Ignoring Viktor, Mike turned on Lil Joe.
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me on the walkie,” he bellowed. “You need to report everything.”
I flinched, feeling bad for Lil Joe. First chewed out by Rick, then his boss. I had yet to see Mike lose his cool, but everyone had a tipping point.
Thunder rumbled, drowning out their voices for a moment. I decided my Lesley Vaughn defense could wait until everyone had calmed. Instead, I attuned to Lesley sightings. Too dark to see into the forest, I watched the edge of the drive lit by the bunkhouse floodlights. I half-expected to find Lesley crawling out of the tree line, readying to throw ninja stars at the remaining tires.
Shivering, I ran my hands along my arms and turned my attention back toward Mike’s group. Having given up on gaining Mike’s attention, Viktor stood to the side, arms crossed. He slid a hard glance at me and I volleyed one in return.
Looked like we were going to have a showdown.
In the distance, an engine rumbled. Mike’s harangue subsided and Lil Joe took advantage and slipped away. Taking a deep breath, Mike grabbed the porch rail in his hands and ducked his head. Viktor watched him for a long moment, then looked at me.
I walked the length of the porch, stopping between the two men. “Don’t be too hard on Lil Joe. Viktor fixed up Rick. Misfires do happen.”
Mike raised his head, but kept his eyes on the rain-soaked drive. “Nothing’s going right this weekend. And everything was planned so carefully. I should have cancelled when I saw the forecast.”
The walkie on his belt squawked and he lifted it without tearing his eyes from the driving rain. “Come in, Team Three. What’s going on? Over.”
Tennessee’s garbled voice sputtered, “...no vehicle.”
“What was that, Team Three?”
“Still waiting for Team Four.” Tennessee’s voice grew clearer. “Can’t reach them on the walkie.”
A stone the size of Gibraltar dropped to the pit of my stomach. Bob Bass, Peach, and Jeff Digby made up Team Four.
The wind shifted and the rain smacked the porch railing. Mike took a step back, adjusted his channel, and held the walkie to his face. “Just a minute, Tennessee. Let me get Team Four on the line. Team Four, respond please. Jeff, are you there?”
The line crackled. I held my breath. The whine of a UTV grew and headlights shone in the darkness.
“Team Four? Digby, what’s your location?” Mike’s voice trembled.
A massive splash accompanied the Mule’s entrance into the lighted drive. I squinted beyond their headlights and saw the two-seater held Team Five’s outfitter and LaToya. The UTV swung around, spewing an arc of water and orange mud, then pulled before the bunkhouse. LaToya reached between her feet, pulled up her gun case and backpack, and dashed up the porch stairs.
“Oh my, is it getting bad out there,” she said. “We could barely see and got stuck twice. I hope this storm blows through quickly. I thought I sighted that hog coming to our feeder, but thunder cracked and it bolted.”
I tried to smile. “Go on in and warm up, LaToya.”
Her excitement shone through any disappointment or discomfort. “I’m starving.”
Shaking off the water, her guide hurried up the porch steps and set their supply tub on the floor. He looked over at Mike’s pacing and agitated barks at the radio, then at me. “What’s going on?”
“Team Four is not answering their calls.”
“Shit,” said the older man. “We’ve got another problem. I didn’t want to use the walkie because I didn’t want to scare the girl.”
“What’s wrong?” Goosebumps flooded my skin and I wrapped my arms tighter around my body.
“I need to grab a couple men and go back out there.” He reached for his rifle pack and slung it over his shoulder. “Who’s all here?”
“Lil Joe, Mike, and Viktor. My friend, Todd. Rick’s injured,” I said.
“Shit, I really need Jeff Digby.” He glanced over at Mike. “What in the hell is going on?”
“What happened?” I asked. “Don’t worry about scaring me. I’ve grown up with hunters.”
“This is different.”
I eyed his fidgeting, the worry lining
his face, and the grim set to his mouth. “I’ve also helped on some Forks County Sheriff’s Department cases.”
He looked me over, drawing a quick character assessment the way older men do, and somehow found me worthy. “There’s a man out there.”
“Watching the bunkhouse?”
“No.” The outfitter shot another side glance at Mike, still pacing and shouting in the walkie. “The man I saw was dead.”
Twenty-Four
A second body in the woods. I couldn’t help the comparison between Abel Spencer and Lesley Vaughn. Both had fallen into a rocky gully. Although, while Abel’s upturned body had blocked a gentle stream, a torrent wrapped Lesley like a flowing shroud. He lay like a large, dark rock in the foaming rapids.
With the rain splattering our hooded heads, we stood, shining our flashlights over Lesley’s still form at the bottom of the steep hill. Buckshot trotted along the edge, ignoring the rain and burying her nose in accumulations of wet leaves at the promise of each enticing new scent.
LaToya’s outfitter, Big Clem, had pointed out the broken branches and the washed-out section where Lesley must have slid or skidded back and fallen.
“Caught my eye,” he said. “Thought maybe the hog had done it, so I stepped out of the Gator to check.”
“God Almighty.” Mike covered his eyes with one hand and squeezed his temples. “Big Clem, go farther down the embankment and see if there’s an easier way to get to him.”
“Better wait for the police before you touch the body.” I flashed my light on Big Clem’s generous-sized boots. “Maybe you could throw a tarp over him for now. And keep your eye out for evidence while you figure out how to get to the body.”
“Evidence of what?” Big Clem’s gruff voice sounded confused.
“Of what caused him to fall.” I thought again of Abel and his hat. “And where his pack landed. I don’t see it on him.”
“I can’t see the police getting out here anytime soon, but I guess that makes sense.” Big Clem threw an uncertain look toward Mike.
The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5) Page 16
