Candy Canes & Corpses

by Abby L. Vandiver

They walked through the front entrance, an old wooden door with an oval beveled-glass window, and stood next to a hostess’s desk, looking around.

  A young woman wearing black pants and a white button-down shirt with a short black apron tied around her waist walked up to them and said, “I’m sorry, but we stopped serving lunch about a half hour ago. Dinner service won’t start for another couple of hours.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, we didn’t come here to eat,” said Tess. “We actually wanted to speak to the manager.”

  “I’m sorry, but he’s out with a cold today.”

  “Seems to be going around,” said Tess.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” the waitress asked.

  “Possibly.” Tess grew quiet. She hadn’t actually thought about what she was going to say if she had the chance. She couldn’t come right out and ask about the missing woman. Then a thought hit her, and she said, “My son is planning on asking his girlfriend to marry him . . .”

  “Oh, congratulations,” said the waitress.

  “Thank you,” said Tess with a smile, deliberately not looking over at Char. She could already see her friend’s surprised look through her peripheral. “Anyway, he was thinking of proposing to her here, and he was wondering if there was anything you guys could do to make it special.”

  “Oh sure,” said the waitress with a vigorous nod, “we get those kinds of requests all the time.”

  “So, lots of people get engaged here?” said Tess, glancing around.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say ‘lots,’ but we definitely have our share of lovebirds coming in here to pop the question.”

  “Any recently?” asked Tess.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” The waitress gestured to a romantic little table in the corner and said, “Just this past Friday night a young man proposed to his girlfriend right there.” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but you know the missing woman that’s been in the news?”

  “You mean Rachael Warren?” said Tess.

  The waitress nodded. “It was them.”

  “They got engaged here?” said Char, glancing at Tess.

  “Well that, I can’t say for sure,” said the waitress.

  “What do you mean by that?” said Tess.

  “He had the whole thing arranged with special champagne, flowers, even a dessert that we made just for the occasion with ‘congratulations’ written on it. But they left abruptly before we could present it to them.”

  “That’s odd,” said Char. “Did they get into a fight or something?”

  The waitress shrugged. “Can’t say for sure, but I can tell you that neither one of them looked very happy when they left. In fact, the woman walked out, leaving the guy sitting there.” She paused, then added, “And she was crying.”

  “Did she turn his proposal down?” said Tess.

  “I don’t know for sure,” said the waitress, “but I think she might have.”

  “What makes you say that?” said Char.

  “Because she sure wasn’t flashing around any new fancy engagement ring!” The waitress looked at Tess. “Now about your son . . .”

  “My son?” said Tess, still thinking about Rachael leaving the restaurant in tears.

  “Yeah,” said the waitress, “the one who’s getting engaged?”

  “Oh, him,” said Tess, pulling open the door, “I’ll be sure to tell him to stop by. Thanks.”

  They walked to the Durango and once inside the vehicle, Char turned to Tess and said, “Your son? You don’t have a son.”

  Tess shrugged. “It was the only thing I could think of to say. At least it got her talking.” She wrinkled her brow. “Hmmm . . .”

  “What?” said Char.

  “Based on what the waitress said, it looks like Rachael said ‘no’ to Max’s proposal.”

  “Sure sounds like it,” said Char. “I wonder why?”

  Tess shook her head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Well, maybe she just wasn’t that into him,” said Char.

  “I don’t think that’s it,” said Tess. “According to the barista at Wheaton’s, the two were madly in love, inseparable.” Her mind flashed onto what Skye had mentioned, that the boyfriend might, somehow, be involved with Rachael’s disappearance, and she quietly said, “Oh dear . . .”

  ‘“Oh dear’ what?” said Char.

  Not wanting to jump to any conclusions, Tess said, “I think we need to go to Blackbird Lane. It’s only a couple of miles from here.” She put the SUV in reverse and gunned it, sending gravel spitting out from her back tires.

  Seventy-five thousand acres of fenced forested land, rivers and lakes, along with fifty miles of hiking trails, made Wild Wood Forest and Nature Preserve a very popular tourist attraction in the summer.

  In the wintertime, however, the preserve was closed due to heavy rain and snowfall, making the roads and trails too treacherous for tourists to maneuver. Many a hiker, not adhering to the warnings and “Closed” signs found themselves stranded and in dire need of rescuing.

  Maybe the same thing has happened to Rachael Warren, thought Tess as she gripped the steering wheel and pushed her foot down a little harder on the gas pedal.

  “You think Rachael is lost somewhere in the preserve?” said Char, voicing Tess’s thoughts. She braced her arm against the dashboard as Tess took a corner a little too fast.

  “Maybe,” said Tess, glancing in the rearview mirror at the dog to make sure he was okay. The boyfriend flashed into her mind again, and she added, “Or maybe she’s hurt and can’t get out.”

  Chapter Nine

  Normally, by this time of year, the roads into the preserve would be blocked off with barricades due to the heavy snow. This winter the snowfall had been minimal, so even though the preserve was closed, Tess was able to drive the Durango right up to the front metal gate leading into the parking lot.

  She rolled to a stop in front of the closed gate and looked through the windshield at a heavy chain that had been looped through the ten-foot high chain link fence, wrapped once around the frame of the gate and secured with a padlock. She looked out the window—to the left and then to the right—at the fence line that seemed to go on forever in both directions.

  Char, seemingly reading her mind again, said, “How are we going to get in?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Tess. She put the vehicle in park, turned off the key and opened her door. “Let’s take a look around, see what we can find.”

  She opened the back door, and immediately Goober jumped out and started to run along the fence line heading left, his red leash snaking out behind him.

  “Goober! No!” Tess yelled out, but the dog had already vanished into the trees. She let out a heavy sigh. “I guess we’re going this way.”

  The two women trudged along the fence line for about ten minutes, periodically calling out Goober’s name.

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” said Char as she ducked under a low hanging branch. “If we’re not careful, we could get lost out here, too.”

  “Not if we just keep to the fence line.”

  Char looked around. “Are we on government land?”

  “No, private,” said Tess. “Everything on the inside of the fence is federal land, and everything outside of the fence is privately owned.” She pointed to a farmhouse in the distance with a large barn, a couple of out buildings, what looked to be a grove of some kind of trees, and a good-sized pond. “I think this section of land might belong to them.”

  “Hopefully, we won’t get arrested for trespassing,” said Char.

  A distant bark made Tess stop and listen. “That sounds like Goober.” She put her hands up to her mouth and yelled out, “Goober! Come!” She waited a couple of seconds, and when he didn’t respond, she yelled out again. “Goober!”

  A moment later, a dog—presumably Goober—started barking incessantly.

  “It sounds like it’s coming from som
ewhere in there,” said Char, pointing to a forested area inside the fence.

  Tess yelled out the dog’s name again and waited. When he didn’t respond this time, she said, “It’s not like him to not come when he’s called. He could be hurt.” She looked around, her face fraught with worry. “We need to find a way in there.”

  They continued walking along the fence line, combing through the brush and bare saplings that had taken root, looking for a way to enter the preserve.

  Moments later, Char pointed to a slit in the fence about three feet tall that was partially obscured by bushes and said, “It looks like the wire’s been deliberately cut.”

  “It sure does,” said Tess, squatting down beside it. “This is probably how Goober got in.” She grabbed hold of one of the loose ends and began tugging on it. “Here, help me pull it apart.”

  Char glanced over her shoulder toward the old farmhouse. “What if we get in trouble?”

  “For what? We didn’t cut it.”

  “But we’re here on private property, sneaking around and looking suspicious.” She glanced over her shoulder again at the house in the distance. “What if the owner comes out here with a shotgun?”

  Tess scoffed. “Nobody’s going to come after us with a shotgun. And even if they do, what? You think they’re going to shoot two middle-aged women?”

  “They might,” said Char.

  “Oh pshaw,” said Tess with a wave of her hand. “If the owner happens to see us and comes over, we’ll tell him the fence was already like that, and that we’re just trying to find my dog.”

  “I don’t know . . .” said Char, chewing on her bottom lip.

  “We’re wasting time, Char.”

  “Maybe we should call the police to come find your dog.”

  “Just get down here and help me.”

  Char let out a breath then bent down and grabbed the other end of the fence. Together they yanked on it until the opening was large enough for them to squeeze through, careful not to scratch themselves on the cut wire.

  Once inside the preserve, the two of them slowly walked through the trees, stepping over fallen branches and through tangles of vines. Without a trail of any kind to follow, the only thing guiding them was Goober’s now sporadic barking.

  “It sounds like it’s coming from that way,” said Tess, pointing to a dense clump of spruce trees off to the left of them.

  “What’s over that way?” said Char.

  “I think it’s the Little Otter River, just beyond those trees, but . . .” Tess scrunched her brow.

  “But what?” said Char, looking over at her.

  “Well, just this morning, I was finishing up the trail map for this place, and I remember having to add a couple of new trails and a small creek that were not on the previous map.” She stepped over a fallen limb. “So, I’m not sure if . . .”

  A cacophony of squawking birds overhead interrupted her. They both looked up just as a flock of crows took flight.

  “Look! Black birds,” said Char. She looked over at Tess. “I think we need to follow them.”

  Tess and Char pushed their way through the trees and underbrush, looking up periodically to make sure they were going the same direction as the birds flying overhead. Oddly, it seemed that when the two women fell behind, the flock of birds landed in a nearby tree, as if waiting for them.

  A periodic bark coming from the same direction seemed to confirm that this was the way they needed to be going.

  A few minutes later, they came to the edge of a small creek, snaking in between the trees. Just a bit too wide for them to jump over, they scoured the bank, looking for a way to get across.

  Char looked up at the trees, her eyes searching. “They’re gone,” she said. “The crows aren’t there anymore.”

  Tess looked up through the bare branches and into the treetops. Not a single bird inhabited them. “Where’d they go?” she said, looking around.

  “I don’t know,” said Char. She looked from treetop to treetop. “Now what do we do? Which way do we go? Do we cross the creek or head upstream?” She looked at Tess. “What do you think?”

  Tess shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe we should . . .”

  A sharp bark coming from across the creek caused Tess to point to a small trail on the other side of it, cutting through the brush. “There!” she said. “We need to cross the creek and go that way.”

  Char pointed to a couple of fairly large rocks sticking out of the water a few yards to the left of them and said, “That looks like a good place to cross.”

  The two carefully stepped across the rocks, and once on the other side, Tess put her hands up to her mouth and yelled, “Goober!” She waited a few seconds and yelled out again. “Goober! Come!”

  The dog let out a sharp, high-pitched bark.

  “It sounds like it’s coming from that way,” said Char, pointing to another clump of spruce trees just ahead of them.

  The two pushed their way through the thick vegetation, and after a couple of minutes, Tess stopped by the edge of a shallow gully, put her hands to her mouth and yelled out, “Goober!”

  “Goober! Come!” yelled Char.

  Immediately, they heard a sharp bark and a whine coming from right in front of them. When Tess saw a flash of red in between the trees, she pointed and cried out, “There he is!”

  Goober stood there looking at them, his leash taut.

  “Thank God!” said Char.

  When Goober saw them, he pranced and pulled but would not come to them.

  “It looks like he might be stuck,” said Tess, peering through the trees. From what she could tell, Goober’s leash had gotten caught on a fallen branch. “Hang on, boy. I’m coming.”

  Tess hurried down the gully and was about the climb up the other side, when her foot got caught on an exposed tree root, causing her to stumble and fall. She started to push herself back up when her eyes caught sight of something blue partially hidden in the bushes.

  “What the . . .” she said, furrowing her brow.

  “What is it?” said Char, walking to the edge of the gully.

  Tess stared at the blue fabric for a moment longer. When the realization of what it was set in, she sucked in her breath, looked over at Char with tears welling in her eyes, and said, “Now I think it’s time we called the police.”

  Chapter Ten

  Tess and Char sat on the edge of the gully with Goober wedged in between them as the paramedics carefully loaded the woman’s body into a black body bag and zipped it up. Dozens of law enforcement, FBI and crime scene investigators had arrived on the scene and were now scouring the area, looking for potential evidence—a piece of paper, a broken twig, a foot print. Each time they found something, they stuck a small red flag in the ground to pinpoint its location relative to the body then took a series of pictures and measurements.

  While the two women sat there, as instructed by someone from the local police department, Char said quietly, “Was it Rachel?”

  Tess nodded her head slowly. “I suspect so. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but based on the white streaks of hair I saw covering her face, I’d say it was.” She draped an arm over Goober’s shoulders and pulled him closer.

  “That poor girl,” whispered Char.

  “Excuse me . . .” An older man with a head of shockingly white hair and dressed in a fleece lined leather coat with grey slacks walked up to them with a noticeable limp and said, “Were you the ones who found her?”

  “I did,” said Tess.

  “And you are?”

  “Tess Langley,” she said, holding out her hand. “And this is my friend, Charlene Dougherty.”

  The man shook her hand. “I’m Detective Jack Curtis with the Rome Police Department.” He reached into the inside of his coat, pulled out two business cards and handed one to each of the women.

  Rome was about thirty miles south of Whispering River, and with a population six times the size of their small town, it’s where people from here we
nt when they wanted a taste of the “big city” without having to really go to a big city like Syracuse.

  “Rome? Why are the Rome Police here?” said Tess.

  “Because Rome County butts up to this part of the preserve,” said the detective. “And since we don’t know yet how or where the victim actually died, both departments and the FBI will be investigating it until it’s determined who has jurisdiction over the case.”

  “You don’t think she died here?” said Tess.

  “I’m not saying that,” said the detective. “But it is possible that she was killed somewhere else and then her body dumped here. We won’t know for sure exactly what happened to her until all of the evidence has been processed and analyzed.”

  “Oh, dear . . .” said Tess in a hushed voice.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind,” said Detective Curtis. He pulled a small notepad and pen from the other inside coat pocket.

  “Of course,” said Tess. She watched as the paramedics carried the body bag to a more open area, set it down on the ground and waited. Within minutes, the increasing roar overhead indicated an approaching helicopter. “Was it Rachael Warren?”

  “We can’t say for sure until we get a positive identification,” said the detective, “but it appears to be.”

  “And you think someone might have deliberately . . .” Tess just couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Again, we won’t know for sure until the autopsy report comes back.”

  They all watched in silence as the chopper lowered an empty gurney down to the paramedics. Once the body bag had been loaded on and strapped in, the gurney rose up into the air and a moment later was pulled through the chopper’s opened door.

  As it flew away, the detective looked back at Tess and said, “Why were you two out here in the first place? Didn’t you know the preserve was closed for the winter?”

  Tess remained quiet, debating how to respond to that. She knew that if she said she didn’t know the preserve was closed, it wouldn’t take much investigating to discover that she was lying, especially when the detective found out that she was in charge of redoing the trail map for the entire area. If anyone knew the layout of the land, it surely was her.