Nine Lives

by Sharon Sala

  “I have to go in to work today,” Wilson said, as he stepped out of the shower. “There was a call on my cell phone. Had a pusher that was a no-show. I’m out twenty-thousand unless I bring him back, and Brickman isn’t up to the chase.”

  Cat knew who Red Brickman was. Art played poker with him every Saturday. She didn’t stop to think what a small world it was that the man who employed her was best friends with the man who’d first owned Wilson McKay’s business.

  Instead, she nodded in understanding as she spat toothpaste into the sink, then rinsed her mouth before turning around. She felt his fingers tracing the pink butterfly on her hip, but by the time she looked up, all she saw was his bare backside.

  He strode past her into the bedroom to get dressed. Cat made a face at herself. If he was ready to get back to business, then she was, too.

  She’d gone over and over the lists that she’d made until she’d convinced herself that Presley’s trip to East Texas and Mimi’s disappearance on the same day were connected. Now she had to either prove, or disprove it, in case she had to move on to another location, but to do that, she needed to get to Presley’s lease. Seven hundred acres of dense forest would be a dandy place to get rid of a body without being seen.

  However, if she took Wilson’s suggestion to view it from the air as Presley had done on that day, she had to charter a chopper.

  She began brushing her hair in long, steady strokes and tried not to think of the available hunk in the adjoining room, or the fact that she’d selfishly indulged herself when Mimi was lying dead somewhere. It didn’t occur to her that she might be wrong about Mimi’s fate. She knew what she knew.

  As she glanced up in the mirror, she caught Wilson looking at her from the other room. His expression was a cross between worry and want. She didn’t like the possessive look on his face. She wasn’t available unless she said so—and for now, the answer was no. She’d taken care of herself without anyone’s help for far too long to suddenly go all feminine and helpless. Wilson McKay was a great person to have sex with, but no one told her what to do or how to do it.

  She dropped her gaze, tossed the hairbrush aside, and grabbed a band and fastened her hair at the nape of her neck. Today she’d chosen a blue turtleneck sweater to go with her jeans and boots, and, as usual, was opting out of wearing makeup. It wasn’t part of the uniform she needed.

  “You look beautiful,” Wilson said, as she came out of the bathroom.

  She eyed his half-naked state and then grinned wryly.

  “So do you.”

  He laughed again, just like he’d laughed when she’d asked for a repeat of their marathon lovemaking session, only this time it didn’t embarrass her. She just stood there, letting the look on his face wash over her.

  A half hour later he was gone. She’d promised to let him know how the day went. That much she could do. It didn’t interfere with any of her independence. It was, after all, only a phone call.

  She’d chartered the chopper in Dallas. It was definitely an easier, quicker, more efficient use of daylight. With an aerial map of East Texas and the coordinates to the seven hundred acres that belonged to Mark Presley, Cat was on the move. Fifteen minutes after ten in the morning, and she was already half-way there.

  The pilot, a man who called himself Skippy, had been given instructions as to the area over which they would be flying. He’d given her a wild-eyed look when she’d told him she was looking for someone, at which point he had tried to explain to her that, because of the dense vegetation, it was highly unlikely anyone would be found from the air. When she didn’t counter that remark, he moved on to the next and fairly obvious question. If someone was lost, then why weren’t the police in on this?

  Cat had listened politely, ignored his question about the cops and waited for him to get in the chopper.

  “Okay, fine. It’s your dollar,” Skippy finally said.

  “Yes, it is,” she said shortly.

  But he wouldn’t let it go. “You won’t find a lost camper from the air…not in that part of the country. Besides, I can’t imagine why anyone with a brain would go camping at this time of year.”

  Cat poked her finger against his chest.

  “Listen, Skippy, we’re not looking for a lost camper, so quit worrying. All you have to do is fly that chopper and follow my orders.”

  Skippy shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he pointed back at her. “Now here’s where you and me might be partin’ company. I will fly this bird, but when I’m in the air, I’m in charge.”

  Cat’s eyes narrowed and her voice lowered. “Listen, mister, someone murdered my friend Mimi and hid her body. You are going to help me find her.”

  Skippy’s mouth dropped. “Uh…you didn’t say anything about—”

  “Maybe this was a mistake,” Cat said, and started back into the office.

  “Wait! Wait! Where are you going?” Skippy yelled.

  “To get my money back.”

  The little man huffed and then puffed and then spat.

  “Well, there’s no call to go and do all that,” he muttered.

  “Are we on the same page?” Cat asked.

  “Hell, yeah. Get in.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and climbed into the chopper. “By the way, what’s your name?” she asked.

  “Skippy. You been using it just fine for the past half hour.”

  Cat arched an eyebrow as she gave the short, stocky man a long look. “No one is named Skippy. What’s your name?”

  He sighed. “Melvin.”

  Cat nodded. “That’s better.”

  Neither one of them spoke again for the entire trip. It wasn’t until Melvin began to circle that Cat realized they’d reached their destination.

  “Is this it?” she asked.

  He pointed to the map and nodded, then pointed to a large, blackened area far to the east of them.

  “Something been goin’ on down there. Big burn area…see it?”

  Cat leaned forward. “Yes, I see it. What do you think it means?”

  “Something caught on fire, that’s all.”

  “Well, that’s obvious,” Cat muttered.

  Melvin leaned toward her. “What did you say?” he yelled.

  “Nothing,” she said, and then pointed to the map. “Can we start at the outer circle of the area and then work our way in?”

  “Sure.”

  “How low can you fly this thing?” she asked.

  Melvin glanced at her, then pushed the stick forward. The chopper dipped drastically.

  Cat’s stomach rolled. She grabbed the edge of her seat with both hands and willed herself not to throw up. The sensation passed once they leveled off, but she glared at the little man just the same.

  He grinned.

  She glared again, then moved her coat aside just enough for him to see the gun and shoulder holster she was wearing.

  The grin slid off his face faster than cold butter on a hot plate.

  “Hellfire, woman! You wanted to fly low, didn’t you?”

  “I’m looking for clearings large enough for a chopper to land in that do not have access to roads.”

  The way she figured it, if the location could be reached by car, Presley wouldn’t have used a chopper.

  Melvin swallowed nervously, then nodded his understanding.

  And so the search began.

  They flew into the sun, then headed north in a counter-clockwise motion, circling the area in a contracting spiral. The roads that had been cut through the timber led straight to pump jacks, some of which were still pumping, some of which were not. The ones that were inactive were overgrown, and it was easy to see that they were unfit for land travel and that no one had been there in ages.

  As they neared the charred area, they soon realized that what had burned here had been a well. She didn’t know when it had happened, but it could explain why Presley had flown up here. If that was the case, then it didn’t help her cause.

  “What do you think
?” Melvin asked, as he eyed the fuel gauge against the slant of sun sliding toward the western horizon.

  “I don’t know what to think,” Cat said.

  “If you don’t have any more ideas, I’m for headin’ back.”

  Cat turned on him. “That’s too damned bad, because we aren’t going back. That’s quitting. I don’t quit.”

  Melvin’s face turned red, but he put a clamp on his comments.

  Cat was so mad she was shaking. Her hands were doubled into fists, and her stomach was rolling. This was a bad dream that kept getting worse. Her entire adult life had been dedicated to finding bail jumpers, and she was damned good at it. But she would never have imagined she would be looking for Mimi—not like this.

  She buried her face in her hands, trying to regain some composure, but the rage kept pushing its way out. She lifted her head abruptly, unaware of the tears streaming down her face, and began hitting her knees with her fists.

  “Damn it, Mimi…I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this.”

  Melvin was startled by Cat’s outburst, but when he saw that she was crying, he groaned. All his life he’d been a sucker for a crying woman. Didn’t matter why they were crying, he just couldn’t stand to see it.

  “Now, now,” he said, and patted her roughly on the shoulder. “Don’t give up yet. I tell you what we’re gonna do. We’re fixin’ to unwind this flight pattern we’ve been on. We might see somethin’ different then.”

  Cat inhaled on a sob, then swiped her hands across her face with angry jerks.

  “What do you mean?”

  Melvin pointed to the map in Cat’s lap. “We flew from outside to in. Now we’re gonna fly the other way, from inside to out. We’ll be lookin’ at the same stuff, but from a different angle.”

  Cat nodded slowly. “You know what, Melvin? You’re all right.”

  He beamed.

  “So let’s see what we can see. Tighten that seat belt. We’re gonna do a little tree skating.”

  Cat thought it was a figure of speech until the little man pushed the stick forward again. By the time he leveled off, they were only yards above the trees.

  “Lord,” Cat murmured, as she saw a deer burst out of the trees and dash across a small clearing.

  “We’re fine,” Melvin said. “I’ve never lost a bird or a passenger.”

  Cat tried to smile, but she was too rattled to do anything but hang on.

  Soon the shock of being so low passed, and she realized she was able to see far more than they’d seen on their first sweep across. They’d been flying for fifteen minutes when Melvin suddenly swerved and did what Cat could only call a U turn.

  “What is it?” she asked, as she leaned over, trying to see what had caught his eye.

  “On your right!” he yelled, and pointed down. “Someone set a whirlybird down in there.”

  Cat stared but couldn’t see it. She could see a break in the trees, but it seemed so small.

  “Are you sure?” she yelled back.

  He made a circular motion with his hand.

  “Look at them trees. The limbs have been clipped some. See the bare ends of those branches?”

  Cat’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes!” she cried. “I do see.”

  “Reckon you wanna set down and look the place over some?”

  “I need to, but can we do it?”

  Melvin puffed out his chest. “Trust me, woman. If another man did it, then so can I.”

  “Oh Lord,” Cat said, as Melvin turned back to the east, then began to set the chopper down.

  The treetops were so close she could have reached out and touched them, and when they began their descent, she resisted the urge to close her eyes. The lower they went, the more real the sensation became of being swallowed up by the trees.

  Tiny bits of leaves began to fly through the air like green confetti, along with small bits of wood from the limbs. The debris flew in every direction, some pieces even ricocheting against the body of the chopper. Just when she thought they would surely crash, the sensation of movement ceased, and she realized they were down. The rotors slowed, then finally stopped.

  Cat opened the door and all but fell out. She steadied herself, then eyed the pilot.

  “Way to go, Melvin,” she said slowly, then gave him a thumbs up. Shivering from the cold, she pulled the collar of her coat a little closer around her neck as he came around the front of the chopper.

  “I’ll just run a little check on the bird while you look around. If this doesn’t feel right, we’ll take her right back up and look some more, okay?”

  “Okay,” Cat said, and took her gloves out of her pockets as she walked away.

  At first she circled the clearing slowly, hoping to find signs that would tell her they were in the right place. As she walked, she began widening the circle in the same way that they’d searched from the air. Within minutes, she found tracks.

  In themselves, they meant little. Tracks were tracks. They could have been left by anyone. She paused, then knelt.

  “What did you find?” the pilot asked.

  “Skid marks from another chopper and some boot tracks,” she said.

  Melvin grinned. “I told you a whirlybird had been here.” He turned around to check the oil gauge as Cat stood up.

  Cat stood there for a moment without moving, looking for the next sign that would tell her which way to go. Wind suddenly gusted through the trees and blew wisps of hair into her eyes. As she turned away, her gaze landed directly on what appeared to be drag marks.

  Breath caught in the back of her throat. She hesitated, then moved toward them, and as she did, she saw the occasional footprint off to the side, as if someone had been staggering while dragging a load.

  A slight panic set in. This was what she’d come for, but she suddenly wasn’t so sure she was ready for the truth. Bracing herself for failure, she took a deep breath and started to walk, taking care not to step into the tracks in case this place proved to be a crime scene.

  She walked until she was almost out of sight of the chopper, then turned and looked back. Melvin was standing beside the bird, intently watching her. When he saw her turn, he waved to indicate he was paying attention.

  She waved back.

  The thought that she was not alone in these woods was suddenly comforting.

  Something rustled in the underbrush, and she jumped as a rabbit bounded out from beneath a thicket.

  “Easy now,” she told herself, and continued to move, only it was becoming more and more difficult to see where the tracks were going.

  The leaves were thicker here and had blown around enough that it was difficult to follow the trail. Just when she thought she’d gone the wrong way, she walked up on one of Mimi’s shoes. As she did, it felt as if someone had kicked her square in the belly. Breath ceased, and spots swam before her eyes. She had to grab onto a tree to steady herself, then, finally, bend over and put her head between her knees to keep from passing out.

  Seeing the shoe in a place like this was like being run over. She felt empty and all at once hopeless, but she couldn’t give up. She owed it to Mimi to see this through.

  Gritting her teeth, she stood up. Knowing the shoe would be evidence, she left it where it was and kept moving forward.

  Within twenty yards, she walked up on a steep drop-off.

  It was a ravine about thirty yards across and at least a hundred yards deep, maybe more—the sides sheer and the bottom completely covered in pine trees and brush. With all the undergrowth, depth perception would have been non-existent from the air. It would have appeared as green and flat as the rest of the conifer-covered land.

  By the time she reached the rim, she was shaking. She had to look. It was the reason she’d come. But knowing that and doing it were two different things. She was still struggling with herself when she finally looked down.

  The rim marked a drop-off with no slope. She stared down into it until her vision blurred, and still she saw nothing to indicate that a body ha
d been thrown over the edge. Blinking away angry tears, she turned her back on the ravine and began searching beneath the trees, looking for signs of digging that would signify something had recently been buried.

  Ten minutes passed, then fifteen; then thirty minutes came and went as she continued to search. Twice she thought she’d found something suspicious, only to realize what she’d been seeing was nothing more than an accumulation of rotting leaves.

  Frustrated, she walked back to the edge of the ravine and looked down again. She was convinced that no one could have gone down there, but she had to be sure. She walked back and forth along the rim, looking for a path. She saw nothing, and after a few more minutes, she convinced herself there was no way anyone could have been in there on foot, let alone walked in with a body, then walked back out.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there when she realized she was looking at a path after all. But it wasn’t a path and footprints—it was a line of broken limbs that had been made through the brush, something that might have occurred if something heavy had rolled through.

  Her throat tightened as she sank to her knees. Then she leaned farther forward, her fingernails digging into the mud and leaves as she clung to the edge. The sensation of falling made her stomach roll. She looked quickly at first, then rocked back on her heels until her head quit spinning.

  She needed to look again, only this time, she told herself, she wasn’t pulling back until she was convinced there was nothing there. She lay down on her belly and then leaned out over the rim, hanging on to a young sapling for added balance.

  At first, all she could see were the trees—green cedar and pines, and blue spruce, as far down as the eye could see—but there was still the faint path of broken limbs angling a little to the right of where she was lying.

  She leaned a little bit farther out, and that was when she saw it—a flash of red, deep beneath a pile of dead wood and pines. Even though it was what she’d been looking for, her heart sank.

  Mimi’s new coat had been red.

  “God…oh God.”

  Tears burned her throat as she scooted away from the edge. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and then tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t work. Instead of going for help, she fell backward. As she did, the trees around her turned into long green fingers, pointing upward toward heaven. At that point Cat realized she was seeing what Mimi must have seen—her last glimpse of the world into which she’d been born.