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

by Larissa Reinhart

  “No, you’re not. Something’s bugging you and you’re trying to keep yourself busy because you can’t sleep.”

  “You know me well, my friend.” I smiled, then checked the grin. “Look at this.”

  I dug the pellet from my pocket and shined a light on my palm.

  Todd picked it up to better eyeball the small slug. “A diablo. I used these as a kid. That hog will think it’s a horsefly, not a bullet. Who’s hunting with a Daisy?”

  I shoved the pellet back into my pocket and switched off the flashlight. “Tonight’s sniper. Who wasn’t actually sniping. I’m feeling awful confused.”

  “Better get out that sketchpad. That’s the only way you get unconfused.”

  “You’re right. And it’s much warmer drawing than it is trying to find clues in the dark.” I reached for his hand. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a pain. I know my love life’s been driving you crazy. You just want what’s best for me, and I appreciate that.”

  “Baby, you’re driving yourself crazy.” He squeezed my hand, but before he could continue, I jerked him to the ground.

  “Listen,” I whispered.

  The door to the bunkhouse scraped against the threshold and soft footsteps fell upon the planking. The culprit skulked against the shadowed bedroom wall, away from the front window. My eyes flickered from the creeping body to the window. Jeff Digby’s form, previously backlit by the fire, had disappeared.

  I tapped Todd’s hand and pointed toward the porch. Half-bent, we tiptoed to the flattened side-by-side and hunkered behind it, watching the porch. The shadowed body had reached the far end of the porch, hopped off, and slunk around the side of the bunkhouse.

  “That’s not Jeff Digby,” I said. “Too small.”

  “Why’d you think it was Digby?” whispered Todd.

  “He’s not at the window.”

  “I didn’t see him when I came out, either.”

  “He was on guard duty.” I cocked my head, then shot to standing. “Shit. Rick.”

  Forgetting the skulker, I ran for the porch, leapt the stairs, and dashed into the bunkhouse. The fire blazed with a new log. The girls’ bedroom door was cracked, and I poked my head inside. The sound of LaToya’s even breathing eased a small amount of tension. The bathroom light exposed the empty bunk below. I checked the bathroom, then hurried to the men’s room.

  Cracking the door, I slipped inside and was immediately assaulted by raucous snoring and the stale, musty scent of men. Jeff stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the sleeping man in an upper bunk. In the bunk across from Rick, Viktor rose on an elbow and looked from Jeff to me.

  I placed a finger to my lips and tugged on Jeff’s arm to lead him from the room. Behind us, I heard the soft thump of Viktor’s feet hitting the floor.

  Viktor closed the bedroom door behind him, looked from Jeff to me, then at Todd standing before the front door. “Well?”

  “Peach snuck out,” I said. “And the weapon used tonight was a pellet gun. I found a handful of dropped pellets. Most of the shots peppered the mud. They weren’t really shooting at anyone.”

  “Where’d Peach go?” asked Jeff.

  “Around the west side of the house. She’s been taking a lot of unflattering videos of Bob. Now her little movie camera’s gone.”

  “What does that mean?” said Jeff.

  “Don’t you want to find her?” I asked. “Where’s Mike? Let’s get him to watch the window.”

  Jeff shook his head. “I don’t want to wake him. A pellet gun doesn’t sound too dangerous. Let him sleep.”

  “I’ll watch,” said Viktor. “I am not sleeping.”

  “If we’ve got to trek into the woods, let me get some supplies,” said Jeff, turning toward the kitchen.

  “We’re wasting time.” I bounced on my boot heels, then hurried after him. In the kitchen, I found him unlocking the pseudo-gun cabinet. “What were you doing in the bedroom?”

  “Nothing,” he growled.

  “You were thinking about Jessica’s daughter and Rick, weren’t you?”

  He turned to shoot a look back at me. “You brought it up. I wasn’t going to do anything.”

  “Then why were you in there?” I settled my hands on my hips.

  “I was just...” He turned back toward the cabinet and grabbed a rifle pack. “Just checking on him.”

  “Bullshit,” I whispered, but changed the subject. “Know any reason why Peach would sneak out? Bob’s sawing logs in the bedroom.”

  “No.” Jeff swung around with the open pack in hand. “I’ve got some medical stuff, just in case. We’ll take thermal goggles too.”

  “And you’ve got a rifle.” I cut my eyes to the Marlin he had strapped in the backpack’s carrier.

  His brown eyes met mine. “That hog is still out there.”

  “And whoever Peach is meeting.”

  Twenty-Nine

  With our eyesight reduced to grayscale, we tromped into the dark, cold void like alien monsters. Buckshot was left behind, swapped out for thermal binoculars and Jeff Digby’s tracking sense. Through the binoculars, the landscape had an Escher-like quality. Fascinating, yet slightly eerie. Creeping along the side of the bunkhouse ahead of me, Jeff Digby glowed white. Behind me, Todd, bright as an angel, murmured in delight at each scurry of mouse and possum.

  “Todd,” I whispered. “Cut it out. You’re going to give our location away.”

  “I can’t see how we won’t spot them first,” said Todd. “I love these heat sensors. Did you see that bird flying above us?”

  “That’s a bat, hon.”

  Jeff held his arm out then flicked his hand to the right. We followed his point, slogging through the mud and into the woodsy undergrowth. I tried not to think about the dampness wicking through my sweatpants and thermals to my chili pepper boxers, which already felt soggy.

  I concentrated on Jeff’s abrupt starts and stops as he tracked Peach’s movement into the woods.

  “How did she know where to go in the dark?” I whispered.

  “Two sets of prints,” said Jeff, pointing at an ambiguous spot on the forest floor. “Someone’s leading her.”

  We had hiked for an interminable ten minutes, when Jeff held out an arm to stop us, then motioned to get behind a tree. He squatted, pulling me down beside him. I yanked on Todd’s pant leg, bringing him into our huddle.

  “Can you see that dark object in the distance?” whispered Jeff. “You’ll notice the angles. Once you spot it, it’ll stand out.”

  I squinted through the binoculars and found the peak of a tent’s rainfly. “Someone’s camping in the preserve. I want a closer look at the tent.”

  “Are you nuts?” whispered Jeff. “If you get shot by an air gun, it’s going to hurt.”

  “She’ll do it anyway,” said Todd. “You just have to let her do her thing.”

  “Thank you, Todd,” I said, patting his leg.

  “He supports your death wish?” said Jeff.

  “I don’t have a death wish.” I whipped my binoculars from the tent, glaring at Jeff’s spectral form. “Todd knows I don’t stand aside to let someone else do a job I feel needs to be done. Todd just gets me.”

  The statement was so true, I felt one of the knots in my heart tighten. Todd remained unnaturally quiet.

  I wondered if my heated cheeks glowed whiter than the rest of my body. “Let’s get back to the business at hand. Stalking Peach.”

  We turned back to watch the tent. For a longish minute nothing happened. As I’d never been much on patience, I rose from my squat, trying to ignore the loss of warmth our small huddle created.

  “Y’all stay here,” I whispered. “Jeff, I trust you’re a good marksman, but if things get crazy, I’d rather you not shoot. I fear that would increase my odds of landing a bullet near or in my body.”

&nbs
p; “You are nuts,” muttered Jeff.

  “I was told I have an uninhibited fear response.” I took a step and looked back. “And that does not mean I’m crazy.”

  Todd gave me a ghostly bright smile.

  I picked my way through the trees, moving in a half-circle while keeping the tent in my thermals. Reaching the small clearing where the tent had been pitched, I dropped to crouch behind a stand of trees and studied the camp. Two large plastic gas cans flanked a cooler. The absence of a fire pit surprised me, but made sense with the wet weather. No sign of life showed within the rugged tent, although I couldn’t hope for that kind of luck. I crept closer, pausing every few steps to check for movement inside the tent.

  Behind me, Todd and Jeff moved soundlessly, flanking my position. I stepped into the clearing, stopping to crouch behind the gas cans and cooler. I flipped up the cooler lid and peered inside. Water jugs, protein bars, and trail mix. Surprised by the lack of beer and wieners, my fingers slid. The cooler lid banged shut. I fell back, feeling mud ooze beneath my seat. I froze, hunkered in the cold muck, waiting for a maniac waving a pellet gun to emerge from the tent.

  No maniac.

  Grabbing the handle of a heavy gas jug, I hauled up and onto my feet. Then thought about the need for such large gas cans. When camping as a kid, we used small bottles of propane for camping stoves and lanterns. These giant jugs were similar to the ones at the bunkhouse, used to gas the UTVs. Did the camper steal the gas or bring his own? They certainly couldn’t hike, carrying these heavy jugs. A hike from Big Rack would take a full day to get to this point.

  What an idiot I was. Lesley Vaughn didn’t hike through the preserve. He must have gotten a ride. From this camper. Which meant they left earlier than the hunting party, sometime after Jeff and I had caught Lesley sneaking into the forest. Jeff had said the preserve’s fence alarm had a breach before dawn.

  Was Lesley working with someone else? Some other Hogzilla lover?

  Had the camper killed Lesley?

  My heart slammed into my ribcage. Adrenaline pushed me past the food and gas stand. I prowled the perimeter, looking for a vehicle. Not spotting one, I studied the ground for the missing vehicle’s tracks. Closer to the tent, I found muddy ruts filled with water. Satisfied the camper must have taken off, I stole to the tent flap and listened for the breathing of a heavy sleeper. Yanking off a glove with my teeth, I grasped the tent’s zipper pull and slowly slid it up.

  Behind me, a tree rustled and a twig snapped. I dropped the zipper, spun, and lost my balance. My butt slammed into the tent pole. The tent shook. My arms windmilled, my heels slid against the mud, and I fell backward into the tent. The pole bent beneath my weight and the other end lifted, extended, and popped out of its arc. I fell flat on my back, covered in collapsed nylon.

  “Dammit,” I said.

  “Nice going, Tex.” Jeff Digby’s whispered voice drew closer with his footsteps.

  “Someone just jumped from behind a bush fifty yards from here,” said Todd. “They lit out like their pants were on fire.”

  A moment later, we heard the growl of a UTV.

  “Dadgummit,” I said. “That’s gotta be our shooter.”

  Thirty

  In order to nose around the contents of a collapsed tent, you first have to rebuild the tent. Which means bending straightened poles and reinserting them into their assigned slots. Which is hard as hell to do at God-knows-what-time in the morning.

  Thermal binoculars do not help at all with tent poles. They are just as black in thermal optics as they are with plain old eyeballs. Which caused a fair amount of cussing from the peanut gallery. It seemed Jeff Digby did not appreciate my helpfulness in scouting the pellet gun-wielding maniac’s tent nor my insistence in helping right the tent that had fallen on my body—not his.

  And I did not appreciate his flagrant remarks about my posterior that had “tore down the tent and scared away that sumbitch.”

  “I don’t think Cherry’s butt could scare away anyone,” said Todd, continuing his slew of unhelpful remarks. “It’s not big enough to do much of anything. In fact, in high school we had a name for—”

  “Get that pole lodged in the ground before it lodges in your keister, Todd. I’m going in that tent.”

  “Hurry up, then,” said Jeff. “I want to get back to the bunkhouse and make sure everybody’s safe.”

  “When you called Viktor on the walkie, what did he say about Peach’s return?”

  “Peach told Viktor she had gone out for a smoke and not to tell Bob because he doesn’t approve.”

  “Are you sure you tracked Peach to this campsite?” asked Todd. “Maybe she did go out for a smoke.”

  Jeff drew himself up before Todd. “Are you commenting on my tracking skills, son?”

  “Boys, all that grunting is going to attract Hogzilla. Peach is a suspect until proven stupid for wandering around in the dark just after someone shot at her.”

  Of course, I also found myself guilty of that charge.

  I crawled into the tent. Besides the typical sleeping gear, the camper had left two large duffel bags. Camera equipment filled one. The second held clothing and other odds and ends that did not include pig heads, peacock feathers, or threatening notes. But I did find a plastic dish of pellets.

  “I bet I know who this guy is,” I called to the sleep-deprived, surly men standing outside the tent. “I’d recognize these hipster flannels and expensive camera equipment anywhere. No-Mustache, a.k.a. my lodge neighbor, Jayce Deed.”

  “Who’d you say?” The tent flapped open and Jeff’s head popped into view.

  “The guy staying at the lodge supposedly spending his weekend on nature photography.”

  “He’s not supposed to be in the preserve. I coordinate all the hunting trips, including the vehicles. I didn’t sign out for the photographer. Or for anyone else to use a UTV.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but I don’t think he’s out here to take pictures.” I crawled out of the tent and took Todd’s hand to regain my footing. “This guy is paying top dollar to stay in your lodge, yet he’s snuck into the preserve to camp in a rainstorm just to take photos? I knew plenty of photography majors and even the hardcore nature lovers wouldn’t do that.”

  “Too soft?” asked Jeff.

  I shook my head. “Crappy lighting. This cowboy’s up to something. He’s the one terrorizing the hunting party.”

  “Do you think Peach is involved?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  Upon our return to the bunkhouse, Buckshot raised a sleepy head at our entrance, then dropped back before the fire. Jeff sped into the men’s bedroom, leaving Todd and me to explain our findings to Viktor. I eyed the doorway to the back bedroom, wondering if Jeff’s hurry was more to do with Rick’s sleeping habits than the call of nature. I decided a possible pedophile’s safety wasn’t my priority. If Jeff wanted to beat the crap out of Rick, he’d wake everyone doing it anyway.

  “The Peach,” Viktor droned in his Iron Curtain monotones. “She appears not the smartest lightbulb in the box. When I said to her, ‘why smoke in middle of night,’ she said, ‘I always smoke while Bob’s sleeping or he’ll give me a hard time.’”

  “It could be true,” I said. “Bob gives Peach a hard time about everything. Sneaking out to smoke might be a safe little rebellion for her.”

  “I do not approve of the smoking. It ruins the tastebuds and makes it difficult to taste nuances in my cooking.”

  “You might have sold me on a new habit, Viktor.” I winked. “And by the way, you can tell me I’m right. Max is Hogzilla hunting, not Viktor hunting. Finding Deed’s campsite proves that.”

  “It proves nothing until we learn the truth of what Jayce Deed is doing in the woods,” said Viktor. “Perhaps the Bear did not cut the tire or shoot the pellet gun, but I do not trust him. He will attempt on my life, mark
my word. And I will be prepared.”

  “It’s hard to mark your words when I can’t understand them, Viktor.”

  The back bedroom door creaked and Mike plodded out. He had pulled his Big Rack ball cap over his tousled hair. “I can’t believe how hard I slept. Jeff filled me in on what’s going on. I told him to grab some shuteye while he could.”

  “You are exhausted by the stress,” said Viktor.

  “I guess so.” Mike yawned. “So our photographer is camping in the preserve? And y’all followed Peach to his site?”

  “Digby tracked her to the campsite,” I said. “We didn’t actually see her there.”

  “The tracks might not have been hers,” said Todd. “Digby might have gotten them confused. It’s not like he’s perfect. He probably makes mistakes like that all the time.”

  I ignored Todd’s green-eyed bluster. “Mike, shouldn’t we wake Peach and see what she knows?”

  “Will it make a difference if we do it now or in the morning? If we wake Peach, she’ll likely wake Mr. Bass.”

  “Jayce Deed is still out there,” I said. “Aren’t you concerned he’ll do something else? If Peach has anything to do with him, we might be able to use that information to stop Deed. What happens if he cuts the tires on the other vehicles? Or worse? We’re trapped out here.”

  “Please calm down,” said Mike. “We’re not trapped. The lodge knows we’re out here and if they can’t catch us by radio, they’ll eventually send someone out to see what happened. Someone will radio in tomorrow to check on things. When they can’t get through, they’ll send someone.”

  “Perhaps we should wait,” said Viktor. “The Peach makes no sense at the best of times. Without sleep, she may be impossible to understand.”

  “Leave this to Jeff, Viktor, and me,” said Mike. “You’re a guest, Miss Tucker. It’s not your place to question my customers. Particularly at this time of night and after all you’ve been through.”

  Todd stepped closer to me, pressing against my back.