Chapter 4

 

SUNDAY MORNING, I woke up more than a little sore. Yoga class had gone better than I expected. Tina Gaylord, the instructor, had taken me to one side to assess me for placement in class. After touching my toes produced a loud grunt, and trying to balance on one leg for longer than a count of ten sent me toppling to the floor, Tina assigned me to the beginners’ side of the room.

As I watched Murray lithely twist herself into one asana after another, I decided that it was time to kick the couch-potato habit. I might never be able to stand on my head, but by God, I was determined to be able to touch my toes without groaning.

A warm breeze cascaded through the open window overlooking the backyard. I winced and climbed out from under the new comforter I’d recently purchased. The color of peacock feathers, the blanket had been the inspiration for me to redo my entire bedroom, and I’d lucked out, finding matching accessories so that now I felt like I was sleeping in an opulent harem. Even during summer, the nights in Chiqetaw were usually cool enough to warrant a cozy blanket.

I took a quick shower, then slipped on the one-piece swimsuit I’d bought at the beginning of summer. The bra shelf supported my boobs so they weren’t doing the jiggle-dance that all large-breasted women dealt with, but the leg holes rode higher on my hips than I felt comfortable with. Harlow had helped me pick it out.

A cautious peek in the mirror caught me off guard. Whoa. My, oh my. Apparently, Harlow knew what she was talking about when it came to fashion. Outside the glare of the dressing room lights, the suit looked good… real good. The high-cut legs made me look taller and less cushy around the middle, and the color was a gorgeous tone-on-tone embossed burgundy, which set off my peaches-and-cream skin, as Nanna would have called it.

I slipped jeans and a tank top over the suit, slid into a pair of loafers, and wove my tangle of curls into a French braid that fell just above my waist. Silver sparkled among the brunette.

In the kitchen, the feline brigade came bouncing into the kitchen, clamoring for food. Kip fed them while I finished making English muffin-and-egg sandwiches for breakfast. I fixed myself a quad-shot espresso and poured it in the blender, adding a dollop of vanilla ice cream, milk, a couple of ice cubes, and chocolate syrup. Might as well make it nutritious, I thought, tossing in a scoop of chocolate Slim-Fast that I kept around for emergency meals. As the blissfully thick, caffeinated shake ran down my throat, I sat down at the table with the kids.

“Why can’t we go?” Kip said for the umpteenth time, his mouth full of muffin. His strawberry-blond hair reflected in the sunlight that beamed through the window, as he gave me that woeful puppy-dog gaze of his. Short for his age, he looked younger than his nine years.

Randa chimed in. “Yeah, I hate chlorine. The lake would be so much nicer.”

“I already told you,” I said. “A man’s missing. We don’t know what might be out there and I refuse to put you in danger. I tell you what, if everything seems okay, I’ll drive back, get you, and you can go swimming this afternoon.” I gave them my “no-more-complaints-and-that’s-final” look. They quieted down. “Stay around the neighborhood today, okay? I’m taking my cell phone, and Horvald’s going to be home, so go over to his place if there’s an emergency.”

They pouted the rest of the way through breakfast, but by the time I was ready to leave, they’d managed to find something to occupy their time. Kip was playing superhero out in the front yard, and Randa was on the phone, calling to see if her friend Lori was back from vacation yet. A horn sounded from the front of the house. Murray had arrived. We were driving out separately, just in case her boss, Coughlan, called her back to the station. The jerk was so lazy that he had taken to interrupting her on her days off to take care of grunt-work that he didn’t want to do.

I headed out the door, glancing at the still-unfamiliar Mercury Mountaineer parked in my drive. Yet another change this year. I had finally given up hope of ever finding my beloved Grand Cherokee, which had apparently gone the way of a chop shop when it had been stolen in April.

I sauntered over to Mur’s pickup and leaned in her window. “Do you mind if we stop at the store before we head out? I didn’t want to torture the kids any more than necessary by packing a picnic basket here.”

She nodded. “Not a problem. I’ll follow you, right?”

I shaded my eyes from the sun. “Yeah, do you have the directions in case we get separated?” I handed her the map that Jimbo had drawn up.

“I’ve been there before, remember? When I was checking out Jimbo’s alibi?” She tucked the napkin into her pocket.

“That’s right. He’s changed in the past months, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. “At least he hasn’t gotten himself tossed in jail since you dropped the charges against him. Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

As I pulled out of the driveway, I turned on the radio to 107.7—The End. Nirvana came wailing out of the speakers and I chimed in, happily belting out the lyrics to “Lithium,” even more off-key than Kurt Cobain himself. Fifteen minutes later, the back seat full of bread, chips, soda, and beer for Jimbo, I turned left onto Myerson Road, with Murray keeping pace right behind me.

Myerson forked into a “Y.” I flipped on my right blinker and turned onto Oakwood, which would lead us northeast. A spacious country road, Oakwood was free from potholes since the loggers took a different route that led them around Chiqetaw instead of directly through it.

The road wound through patches of fir, cedar, and alder that were interspersed with sprawling country homes and vintage farmhouses. The big farms had been subdivided into one-to-five acre individual lots years ago, and the profusion of houses were surrounded by miniature corn fields and blueberry farms. Weekend gardeners made a killing at the farmers’ markets around the area. I veered left when we came to Lakeshore Drive.

Miner’s Lake was actually more of an overgrown pond than an actual lake. While the other side was clearly visible, the lake was wide enough to fish on and swim in. I slowed, bumping along the uneven road, wondering if the city was ever going to get around to repaving it.

Jimbo’s chopper, polished and shining, was parked in front of a ramshackle house that had long ago passed its prime. The house was surrounded by outbuildings and sheds scattered across the property. Half-finished projects, from engine motors to plumbing to woodworking, littered the yard, and a big old truck peeked out of the main garage. One of those rounded cab affairs, it had been jacked up for off-road use, probably for when Jimbo went hunting and trapping.

As I pulled to a stop, Murray eased in behind me and Jimbo sauntered out into the yard. It still seemed odd to see him in his home environment. Instead of his leathers, he was wearing a mesh tank top and jeans. His perpetual bandana was nowhere to be seen, instead he’d caught his hair back into a ponytail that was hanging down his back. Roo, his brown and white three-legged dog, hopped along beside him, barking and wagging her tail. She was missing her left rear leg, but the pooch seemed happy enough.

Jimbo shushed her. “They’re friends, you dimwit. Good girl, that’s a good girl.”

The dog came loping up to greet us. The first time I’d laid eyes on her, I’d been surprised to see how well she functioned with only three legs; but she ran and played just like any other dog.

“Hey Jimbo. You remember Murray?”

Jimbo’s eyes flickered from my face to hers. He gave her a wry grin and spread out his arms. “Yeah, yeah… Hey, Detective, you want to frisk me?”

I choked back a snort as Murray cleared her throat. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. I heard you were frying up a chicken and decided to find out if you can really cook, or if you’re blowing smoke again.”

As I watched them, a tiny bell went off in the back of my brain, but it flickered and vanished as quickly as it had come. I shrugged it off and looked around. “You know, before we eat lunch, why don’t you show me where your fence got torn up?” If there was something nasty out here, I might be able to get some sort of energy trace on it and at least figure out whether it was a cow gone rogue, or something more sinister.

“Good idea. This way.” Jimbo led us past the jumble of fix-it projects sitting around the yard, to a field that spread out for a couple of acres. I inhaled sharply; his garden was more than a small patch of vegetables—it was huge, taking up the space of two city lots. Thick patches of zucchini and squash dotted the ground, and vine after vine of peas trailed up makeshift trellises.

When we came to the carrot patch, however, it looked like Bugs Bunny’s evil twin had come calling. The carrots were trampled, and a number of them had been uprooted and gnawed at, then dropped. A nearby corn patch had received similar treatment, the stalks bent and broken. I knelt down, looking at the footprints Jimbo had been talking about. Whatever had made them had been big, all right, and barefoot.

“Mur, what do you think?”

“Got a giant in the neighborhood? I’ve never seen prints that big, but they could be a hoax,” she said. “Lot of kids out here get bored during the summer.”

The raised beds had been torn apart. “Well, if it’s kids, it’s more than a prank.” I gauged the damage that had been done. “They really ripped up this section of the garden. But why did the culprit stop here and not rampage through the whole field?”

“Because I heard it, that’s why,” Jimbo said. “Roo was barking her head off so I came out with my shotgun. Thought it might be a coyote or a fox after the chickens. I told you five of my chickens went missing over the past few weeks. I saw something loping back into the woods, and it was moving fast. Big, running on two legs. Look at what it did to my fence.”

Though he’d already started mending it, the fence showed definite signs of damage. None of the wires had been cut, but instead had been bent, as if some large weight leaned against it until it was low enough to crawl over.

I looked for any sign of cloth or fur stuck to the wires but came up empty. Finally, I reached out to grab the fence where it had been mangled the most. As I touched the wire, a jolt raced through my fingers and I yanked my hand away. A thin red line rose where my palm had touched the barbed wire. “Damn it, why didn’t you tell me there’s juice running through this?”

Jimbo gave me a quizzical look. “What are you talking about?”

With Murray peeking over my shoulder, I showed him my hand. “This is what I’m talking about. The minute I touched the fence, I got shocked.”

“O’Brien, this fence ain’t electrified. I don’t have the bucks for that.” His eyes flashed and I thought I detected a hint of worry behind that gruff exterior.

Murray turned to examine the fence. “He’s right, no juice. Em, did you feel anything else?”

I closed my eyes, trying remember what had been running through my mind, but the only thing that stood out was the blinding flash of pain as it registered on my nerves. “No. I have no idea what happened, but I don’t like it. Okay, well, it’s obvious something came through here. I dunno what.”

“Bear maybe?” Murray said. “Bears are good for that sort of thing, when they aren’t trying to get in your car.” She gave me a snarky grin, as if I needed a reminder that a big ol’ bear had been cozying up to my late and lamented SUV.

Jimbo shook his head. “Bear would have gone sniffin’ around the garbage, not digging up carrots.”

“True enough,” Murray said. “What say we go get the groceries?”

We wandered back to the driveway and wrestled the food out of the Mountaineer. I looked over at Jimbo. “Where should I stow this stuff? Down in the clearing where the kids go swimming?”

“Yeah. Here, give me that.” He snagged the heaviest bags out of my arms, carrying them as if they were made of Styrofoam. Murray and I gathered up the rest of the supplies and set off behind him, with Roo hopping right alongside.

“You’re one heck of a doggie,” I said, stopping to pet her.

Jimbo glanced back at me. “Roo’s a keeper, all right. Found her out there on the road a couple years ago,” he said. “Some dumb-ass hit her with a truck and kept on going. I took her to the vet down the road and he amputated her leg. The bone was shattered, and he said it would be harder on her for him to try and fix it than to amputate it. She healed up just fine. I named her Roo ’cause she reminds me of a kangaroo.”

Yet another side of Jimbo that had only recently showed itself. He also had a couple of cats, Snidely and Whiplash; a couple of nanny goats, Billy and The Kid; and a huge pen of chickens. He only named the egg-layers though, never the ones culled for roasting.

As we entered the clearing, I saw that Jimbo had been doing some landscaping. The foliage had been cut away since the last time the kids and I were here. The shore was easily accessible now. The water was so shallow in this area that you could easily wade out till it hit your knees before the lake bottom dropped off suddenly, plunging to fifteen feet deep within a single step’s range. A couple of inner-tubes floated nearby, tied to a rickety walkway that led out to a rowboat. Canary grass, waist high, was sprinkled with thick stands of cattails and horsetail and skunk cabbage, whose brilliant yellow flowers filled the air with a fetid smell.

The day was shaping up to be hot—at least eighty degrees. I fished through the bags for sunscreen. “I’ll start looking around after lunch. I’d rather do it then, when I’ve eaten enough to ground my energy.”

Jimbo shrugged, looking a little disappointed. “Sure. Whatever works for you. If Scar’s dead, well… I guess he won’t be going anywhere. And if he’s not, then I’m back to square one.” He headed up the trail. “I’ll go check on the bird. It should be ready in a few minutes.”

As Jimbo disappeared toward the house, Murray and I spread out the blanket and arranged the food.

“Do you honestly think you’ll find anything?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Ten to one, no. My guess is that Scar took off, got freaked by the idea of fatherhood or something like that. He’ll probably turn up in a few days. I can tell that Jimbo’s a lot more worried about Scar than he lets on. But I have to say, it’s this mysterious intruder that confuses me. He’s right, whatever did it was big. And if it was a person, they’d have to be incredibly strong to bend that fence.”

The soft lapping of waves against the shore and the drone of buzzing insects lulled me into a drowsy state. I stretched out on the blanket, propping myself up on one elbow as I shaded my eyes. Across the lake, a scattered handful of homes dotted the shoreline.

“Those houses over there look expensive.”

“They are. The developers scam people for every buck they can get.” Murray arched her back, then pulled off her clothes to reveal a lovely two-piece tankini suit. The brilliant cobalt set off her dark skin and eyes. She shook her hair out of the ever-present braid. Loose, it hung down to her butt, a little longer than mine, but her hair was so straight that it gleamed in the sunlight.

I stared at her, unable to wrench my eyes away. “You look absolutely amazing, Mur.” And breathtaking she was: tall, curvy, sturdy, with well-muscled legs and arms.

She swatted a bee away from the bread. “Thanks. I thought I might as well get some swimming in while we’re here. Yoga class has given me a lot of extra energy.”

“I was stiff as a board this morning. I sure hope I end up enjoying it as much as you do,” I grumbled.

She settled on the blanket next to me. “Give it time. You just started. Your body has to adjust to the movements.”

A rustling through the grass told us Jimbo had returned. He was carrying a platter of fried chicken. “We’ll eat, then you can do your hoodoo thing and see if you can find out what happened to Scar.”

The smell wafting up from the plate was incredible, and the saliva began to churn in my mouth. As I bit into the drumstick, a wave of flavor rolled down my throat that almost brought tears to my eyes. “I’ve never tasted chicken so good. You say your grandmother taught you to cook like this?”

“Yep,” he said. “Last time I visited her, she gave me her recipe for fried chicken and catfish. I wrapped up some drumsticks and thighs for you to take home to the kids.”

Murray gave him a smile, her chin covered with chicken grease and butter from the French bread. “Well, you were a good student, I’ll say that much.” We polished off the entire platter along with most everything else I’d brought. I passed around the wet-wipes.

“Oh man, another bite and I’ll explode.” I dried my hands on a paper towel. “Jimbo, tell us a little more about Scar. What’s his real name? How long have you known him?”

He settled back against the ground, hands under his head. “I don’t know what Scar’s real name is. The boys in the valley have a code when it comes to information. If it’s not offered, don’t ask. Some of the guys out there are carrying baggage from the past that they don’t want to talk about. Scar showed up four or five years back, said he was from the Midwest and had been on the road since 1986. We’re good buddies, but he’s never volunteered anything about his past. He’s a good guy, though… good-hearted.”

Murray nodded. “I guess tracing him by his social security number would be out of the question?”

Jimbo snorted. “And just who’s going to have that information? Scar was what you call an entrepreneur.”

I broke in. “But you told me he just bought a thirty-thousand-dollar bike. How did he get the money to pay for it?”

“The boys in the valley don’t have regular jobs, Em,” Murray said. “Most are legit, I think there are a several good mechanics out there who make a pretty penny and I know there are at least two jewelry makers and a fix-it guy. Others earn a few bucks through odd jobs and whatnot. And still others… You’re right, though. Thirty thousand dollars is a lot of money to be dropping on a motorcycle when you don’t have any visible means of income.”

Jimbo sat up and expelled a loud sigh. “Will you two get off it? I don’t know where his money came from, but I do know he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Scar loves his girlfriend. He likes the idea of having a family and kids, and he just wants to hang out and have a beer with his buddies in the evening. See what you can find, okay?”

Obviously this was getting us nowhere. I stood up and dusted off my jeans. “Guess I’ll get started. It’ll do me good to walk off some of this food. Where does Scar usually hang out?”

Jimbo pointed to a path that cut around the lake. “His favorite fishing spot is back there, through the woods and over by that little spit that comes out of the trees there.”

It looked to be close to half a mile. An easy hike. “Have you gone out there looking for him? Maybe he showed up, fell, hit his head on something.”

The big biker hung his head. “O’Brien, I’ve scoured everywhere else on this property, but for the past couple of weeks, that path’s given me the creeps every time I go near it. Never bothered me before but now, the minute I get near, I turn tail and hoof it back to the house. I wanted to check it out but I just… get scared out of my wits. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like it.”

Jimbo was, for the most part, ESP-blind, so whatever was out there was either unusually strong, or his imagination was playing tricks on him. Neither possibility reassured me. “Okay, why don’t you clean up this mess. If I’m not back in half an hour, come find me.”

He checked his watch, then nodded as I turned to Murray. “Ready to go?”

She shook her head. “Give me a few. I ate like a pig and I’ll explode if I move around too much. You want to wait for me?”

“Slacker! I’ll just go all by my lonesome and you can catch up.” I tossed her a grin, then flounced off in the direction of the path.

“I’ll be along in a bit—don’t go too far until I get there,” Murray called after me.

The area near Miner’s Lake was one step away from deep wilderness. Cedars and fir grew thick in the hushed shade of the forest, their tall trunks buttressed by dense thickets of waist-high deer ferns and thick shrubs of drooping salal, its leathery, shining leaves and clusters of waxy indigo berries ready to gather for wine and jelly making.

I stopped by a fallen log covered with the ever-present moss and mushrooms that permeated the area, and settled myself on the end, where I drifted into a light trance, touching on the droning of bees, the bird song that echoed through the trees, the gentle burble of a nearby creek. Sunlight beat down through the forest canopy, dappling the ground with the sparkles of peridot light that filtered through the leaves.

As my thoughts came to rest, I began to notice an undercurrent of energy. The welcoming path ahead suddenly loomed daunting and shadowed. I tried to pick out the chord that disrupted the otherwise tranquil woods, but it was almost as if the land wore a thin veneer of energy, much like a blanket of weaving colors that hid its secrets from prying eyes.

Unsettled, I wondered if I should turn back. No, I’d promised Jimbo I’d find out what I could, and Murray would be joining me soon. Surely, if there was anything out here, I’d see it before it saw me. Inhaling deeply, I reached out, searching for any sense of human life nearby, focusing on the copse, breathing slowly. Slow, go slow, deeper, a little deeper. And then, before I could shield against it, a presence intruded.

Thick tendrils of energy rumbled up from the soil. I tried to pull away but the vines coiled around my conscious thoughts, dragging my focus deep into the mulch of the forest floor. I couldn’t think, couldn’t break away, couldn’t do anything but succumb to the encroaching force. On the verge of passing out, I sought for a handhold, an anchor to ground me into the tangible world.

A sudden noise in the bushes broke my concentration, and I leaped to my feet, shaking myself out of the trance. A large brown hare scurried out of the bushes, loping across the path. The animal stopped long enough to turn and gaze at me through golden, glowing eyes, then vanished under a huckleberry bush as quickly as it had appeared.

Alice, I thought. Was I headed down the rabbit hole next? Jimbo had warned me there were strange energies hiding in these woods and he hadn’t been exaggerating. This patch of land was rooted in the glaciers and volcanic flows of these mountains, remaining relatively untouched by human development. The forces here were powerful, older than civilization. Who knew what might be lurking in the shadows?

Should I go on, or give it up? I glanced back, looking for any sign that Mur was on her way. Torn between my sense of duty and the feeling that I wasn’t altogether in a safe situation, I was about to go back for Murray when a beam of sunlight blinded me; reflecting off something in the clearing ahead, just beyond a low-growing patch of ferns. I hesitated. Since I’d come this far, I might as well take a look. If my eyes were playing tricks on me, then I’d head back to Jimbo’s.

I veered off the path, pushing my way through the undergrowth into the glade. Now I could see that the object that had caught my attention—a pair of eyeglasses, sitting on the ground. The light was reflecting off their lenses. Focused on them, I stepped over a small, leaf-covered log half-buried in the dirt and my toe caught on a root or a twig. I wavered for a moment, but couldn’t catch my balance and tumbled to the ground.

What the—? Reeling from the sudden fall, I pushed myself to my knees. No damage, as far as I could tell. I turned back to the log, my nose twitching. Something smelled horrible. Had an animal died out here? I leaned in closer, scattering a few leaves away from the branch that had caught my sneaker. Hell and high water! An arm! I’d tripped over somebody’s arm! Panicking, I scrambled away, but nothing moved. Ever so cautiously, I crept back and began to brush away more of the leaves and soil.

The man had been haphazardly buried under several bushels of mulch. He was face down, but by what I could see of his leather vest and the green bandana wrapped around his head, I had a sinking feeling that I’d discovered our missing biker. The stench and the cloud of flies that swarmed up when I disturbed the leaves told me that he’d been out here for a while. I made no move to turn him over. My imagination filled in blanks all too easily. I backed away, shaking.

Blood had spattered the tree trunk beneath which the man rested. Now dried, it resembled ruddy brown paint splattered on the bark. If this was Scar, he hadn’t met his end in an easy manner. I leaned against a nearby tree until I could compose myself, unable to wrench my eyes away from the sight. This was no accident. I had to get back to Murray. We had a murder on our hands.