Just look at all these sheep milling around. Makes me sick. All puffed up with self-importance, thinking they’re going to be the one to play hero today. Idiots.
“All right, people,” Gleason, the forest ranger in charge of the search yells. “Gather up.” The crowd stops talking and surges toward him. Nothing he says will surprise me, so I pay attention to the people instead. “First of all, thanks to the volunteers from Liberty Lutheran for putting together the sack lunches. Let’s give them a round of applause.” Of course they all start clapping, as if trail mix and ham sandwiches were gourmet delicacies. “If you need extras, they’re on the table near their van.”
Movement at the edge of the crowd catches my eye. The FBI agent, Lucy. I cough to hide my smile. The way Bill talked about her, you’d have thought she walked on water. She’s nothing like what he described. Cheeks hollowed out by exhaustion, shoulders tight in a constant flinch, a gimpy ankle—of all these sheep gathered here, if I had to cull the herd, I would choose her as the weakest of the bunch. FBI agent or not.
“Radios,” Gleason was saying. “Check your batteries before you head back out. Harriet’s got spares. If you damaged your radio or it’s not working, she’ll sign you out a new one. Oh, and people, these radios are for official communications. Which means everyone and anyone can tune into your channel. So let’s keep the personal chat to a minimum.” A ripple of laughter spreads through the crowd. “And yes, that means no booty calls to your girl on another team.”
A pair of kids jostle another kid between them, his face bright red.
“As you know, we received some excellent news a short time ago. Acting Sheriff Keenan got a text from Bill. I can’t share the contents of the message—” The crowd’s cheers and applause interrupt him. He raises his hands and they quiet. “Knowing when the message was sent and an approximate location has shifted our search area slightly. So you’ll be receiving updated maps and assignments. Do not leave until you get your new assignments. Team leaders, if you have people out in the field, be sure to get theirs and update them as soon as possible.”
The sheep nod, all smiling.
“Now, we have approximately six hours of daylight left. Let’s use those wisely, and bring Bill home. Thank you very much. Dismissed.”
Another round of applause; I have no idea what for. But I clap and smile anyway, my attention on the FBI agent’s husband who is weaving through the crowd, approaching Gleason. Most of the others simply plop down on the ground, waiting for their leaders to bring their new assignments. They’ll be on their feet the next six hours, so they know enough to rest while they can. The FBI agent remains on the outer edge, skirting the clumps of chatterers pouring over maps, also making her way to Gleason, somehow timing it so she arrives at the same time as her husband.
“Nick Callahan and Lucy Guardino. We’re friends of Bill and Deena’s,” the husband tells Gleason, shaking his hand.
The FBI agent lets her husband do the talking—probably a smart idea, because from what I’ve seen so far, he’s better at it than she is. When she and Nick were signing in, filling out the volunteer paperwork, Harriet was trying to be polite, asking questions, and Lucy kept trying to brownnose her. You don’t brownnose Harriet—she might be in her seventies, but she pretty much runs this place; has for decades, and she sees right through that crap. Lived here all her life, even though her children and grandchildren all moved away and her husband passed on years ago. She knows everything worth knowing. Well, almost everything. She’s my eyes and ears—shares all the best gossip and comings and goings with me, never realizing that with a few stray words she might be condemning one of her neighbors.
I like to think of it as stalking my prey. Actually, to tell the truth, it’s the most fun part—well, other than the getting away with murder part.
“Right,” Gleason says. “Harriet says your paperwork is all in order.” He clears his throat, eyeing both of them. “Nick, I have a team down a man—they’re out in the field, but I’m set to go out and get them their new assignments. So if you don’t mind riding with me?” He nods to his Forest Service pickup parked behind him. “Lucy,” he clears his throat again, “you’ve already met Judith Keenan, right? She’s headed back to Bill’s house. How ’bout you go with her and coordinate with the family? That all right with you, Judith?”
“Of course.”
No hesitation. I hate that. The way we all jump to, following the rest of the flock.
Except Lucy. She’s not merely hesitating, she’s holding an entire silent conversation with her husband. His eyes narrow the slightest bit, her lips tighten, but then she nods. “That would be fine.” She hands her fancy walking stick to her husband. “Guess you’ll be needing this more than me.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go find Bill.” Gleason slides his hands together either wiping away dirt or silently applauding himself.
It’s everything I can do not to smile as I watch the crowd scatter, off to their oh-so-important and oh-so-futile assignments. They’re not going to save Bill. Not today. Not tonight. Not ever.
I’ve made certain of that.