NC-17

by Larissa Reinhart

Laci and Fred stepped in front of the camera.

  “Chandler Jonson is still missing,” intoned Laci. “We know y’all are as worried as we are. Tonight, we’re recreating what happened the night he went missing for our private detective, Maizie Albright.”

  The camera panned to me.

  Startled, I waved. “Hello.” Cocking my hip, I planted my hand on it before I realized serious private investigators probably didn’t pose.

  Old habits.

  Mara zoomed in, then angled back to Fred and Laci.

  Fred — sounding like a mini-Rod Serling — walked through the campsite, pointing. “Imagine a tent here. A fire flickering in this pit. Three trackers sitting on logs, roasting marshmallows. Discussing what had been a disappointing day in their attempts to collect evidence of nearby Sasquatch.”

  I rolled my finger in the air, hurrying him along.

  “Chandler had said he wanted to check out the fence line,” said Laci. “For the past year, there’d been a lot of activity in the old chicken farm ruins. Like the construction of a giant fence and whatever was going on inside it. History tells us this area had always been an excellent find for indications of Bigfoot presence. During the chicken farm days, there was a noticeable uptake in sighting stories as well as other proof like footprints and sounds. The unique moans, whines, and grunts associated with Sasquatch. But with the new Wellspring Center’s hostile takeover—”

  “I thought the chicken farm had been abandoned a long time ago?” I said. “And Wellspring bought it. Which isn’t necessarily hostile.”

  “Yes, I meant hostile as to what they are doing to the land.” Laci glowered. “And since Wellspring acquired the land, the Sasquatch stories have declined. Evidence proving that Wellspring is invading their habitat.”

  She pointed a finger at me before I could speak. “Anyway, Chandler wanted to check out the fence line, to see if anything new had been built.”

  “Fair enough.” I sank onto a log before the empty fire pit.

  “And we were enjoying our marshmallows.” Fred sat on a log.

  “The police said you had an argument before Chandler left.”

  Laci and Fred glanced at each other.

  “We wanted to go with him,” said Laci. “And he wouldn’t let us. Chandler never acted like that before. We’ve always checked the fence line together.”

  “And look what happened,” said Fred. “If we had gone, maybe he wouldn’t have disappeared.”

  That thought made my stomach hurt. If something had really happened to Chandler, the opposite would have been more likely. The three might have suffered the same fate. “Do you think Chandler knew something would happen?”

  Laci crossed her arms and stared at her feet. Fred found a sudden interest in a stick.

  “He shouldn’t have brought you here at all if he thought something was going to happen.”

  “Chandler wouldn’t have put us in danger,” cried Laci. “We always followed safety procedures. We’ve had survival training.”

  Considering in three days I’d had a book thrown at my head, a gun shoved in my back, and my bike nearly blown up, there were many types of danger. But was I any different than Chandler, following the kids to the scene of the crime when the crime hadn’t been solved?

  Not that we still knew if there had been a crime.

  “Okay, so you argued, Chandler left, then what happened?”

  “After about thirty minutes,” said Laci. “We got worried.”

  “I hopped up,” said Fred, hopping up. “And ran to the edge of the trees.” He demonstrated peering through the trees. “But the girls called me back.”

  “Not because we were scared,” said Laci. “Because it was super dark, and Fred hadn’t taken a flashlight. We were worried he would trip and hurt himself. Safety first.”

  Fred returned to shoot a death glare at the girls. “My fellow searchers were getting anxious, so I stayed with them. I could tell they were nervous.”

  Oh boy. I held up a hand before Laci could argue. “Show me the route to the fence where Chandler disappeared.”

  * * *

  With Mara recording, we navigated through the trees and into another clearing. A man-made area before a large wooden fence. Of the vegetable protection kind. The top of the greenhouse peeked above the fence. We were facing the back of the Wellspring property.

  “When you ‘check out the fence,’ do you walk around to the side where you can see in?”

  The kids nodded. The incline here was steeper than inside the fence. The Wellspring Center must have leveled their land back in the heyday.

  “Have you hiked to the top of Black Pine Mountain?” I asked, gazing up the steep mountain slope. “To the lookout?”

  “You’ve never done it?” said Laci. “There’s not much of a view. But there is a plaque bolted into the side of a rock and a bench. I think it was put there in the twenties. It’s a rough hike and the trail has mostly disappeared. You can reach it by a road from the other side of the mountain, so the trail here has been abandoned.”

  “I haven’t done much touristy stuff in Black Pine,” I admitted. “When I’d visit, we mostly stayed at my Daddy’s property. He’s not much for going into town.”

  We clambered along the fence line, rounded the side and walked until the wooden fence ended in chain link. Mara panned up, focused on the razor wire, then on me.

  “Yes, that’s odd. But not Supernatural odd. I don’t think it has anything to do with Bigfoot. You’ve not seen what lengths paparazzi will go to take photos of celebrities without their makeup on.”

  “It’s not just the razor wire.” Fred pointed through the fence to the banks of greenery, hiding this area from the Wellspring lawn. The Center’s towers rose in the distance. “There’s something going on in the old building near the maze.”

  “I saw that building. They’re working on it. It’s cordoned off because it’s hazardous.”

  “We think that’s where they do scientific experiments,” said Fred. “It also has several junction boxes and more wiring than normal. Extra exhaust stacks in the roof. If they were going to capture Sasquatch and do experiments, that’s where they would do it.”

  They sounded intelligent until his point ended with “Sasquatch experiments.”

  I kept my IMHOs to myself and turned my back on the fence. “Do you know where the K-9 unit tracked Chandler’s movements?”

  Fred pointed up the mountain. “From here, they said he followed a trail into the woods. But not far. He eventually cut around the campsite to another trail back to his car.”

  “Bypassing your campsite? Why would he do that?”

  “We think the dog picked up an old scent,” said Laci. “We’re in these woods a lot. We tried to explain it to the police, but they ignored us. They also didn’t take the police dog on the Wellspring side of the fence. They said there wasn’t enough evidence for a warrant.”

  “Okay, Mighty YouTubers, I assume the police have already scanned this area for any evidence of Chandler. It’s getting dark. Unless you have anything you’ve left out — like you know how Chandler might have snuck into the Wellspring Center from here — I say we take his trail back to return to study for chemistry tests.”

  Mara switched off her camera.

  Laci pointed farther down the chain link. “There’s a gate. They could have snatched him and taken him inside.”

  “Show me the gate,” I said.

  We trooped alongside the fence to an area that became overgrown with scraggly bushes, prickly vines, and thin pines. The kids wormed between the fence and trees, pushing away vine tendrils that whipped my face and shoulders.

  “Here it is,” said Mara.

  We stopped in a huddle. Thick metal bars fastened the fence to a heavy gate reinforced with rods and more razor wire.

  “Why put a gate here?”

  “If they captured Bigfoot—”

  “Fred, can you humor me and try a theory that’s not Bigfoot related?”

&nb
sp; He scratched his chin. “To hide the gate?”

  “Obvs,” said Laci. “But why?”

  “See how the dirt’s scraped away by the gate and everything is mangled on this side,” said Mara. “Like they were moving something heavy.”

  “Like—”

  “Don’t say it, Fred.” I followed the line of trampled foliage with my eyes. “Where does it lead?”

  “Someone’s coming,” whispered Mara.

  I squinted through the trees. Lights bobbed along the rough terrain. As the vehicle drew closer, I saw it was a golf cart. By the size of the figure behind the steering wheel, it didn’t take much to guess who was driving.

  “Craptastic,” I muttered. “Oliver.”

  “You know him?” Fred’s whisper pitched higher. “What will he do to us?”

  “You, I don’t know. But he may try to hug me.”

  Fred grabbed my arm. “Hug as in…”

  “Wrap his arms around me and squeeze.” I glanced at Fred’s face. “Like in a literal hug.”

  Laci grabbed my other arm. “We can run.”

  “He’s already seen us. There must be cameras watching the fence line. Besides, I am not running through these woods. It’s like an obstacle course for spider webs.”

  “Maizie?” called Oliver, parking near the gate. He swung out, rocking the golf cart. “What are you doing here? And who’s with you?”

  He strode toward us, squinting. Pulling out his phone, he switched on the flashlight function and shone it along the fence, highlighting our faces.

  I blinked and shielded my face, feeling like the Von Trapp family in the cemetery scene. “Hey there, Oliver. Nice evening for a hike, right?”

  “You don’t hike,” said Oliver. “All those times I wanted to hike the hills, you’d said your ankles weren’t strong enough. Or have you changed that much?”

  “I have changed considerably.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Ankles included.”

  “She still doesn’t hike,” said Fred.

  “Stay out of this, Fred,” I hissed, then turned back to Oliver. “We’re looking for clues from the missing camper.”

  “I’ve been asking about him for you.” Oliver leaned toward the fence, raising his hand to grasp the link. “Do you want to come in?”

  “We’re good. Anyway, why is this gate hidden? And what’s with the razor wire?”

  “And what are you keeping in the chicken coop?” said Fred. “Or should I say, who?”

  “What do you mean by ‘who?’ I don’t think we have a chicken coop. Wellspring is vegan. Wait.” Oliver chuckled. “Did you think the camper’s in a chicken shed?”

  “If not Chandler, what about Bigfoot?” said Fred.

  I mentally face-palmed.

  “Seriously?” Oliver grinned and crossed his bulky arms over his amply muscled chest. “Is this like E.T. or something? That’s so cute. Maizie, your friends are adorable.”

  I felt tempers flare around me and sought to get us back on track. “We mean, why is the Wellspring Center so overly concerned with security? The place is odd, Oliver.”

  “Maybe for Georgia,” said Oliver. “But you know what kind of security is needed for our guests, Maizie.”

  “Yes, but—” He had a point. A point I had made a few days ago. And a few minutes ago. Which, for some reason, made me resentful. “Come on, guys. Let's go. He’s not going to help us.”

  “Maizie,” Oliver’s voice pitched. “I’m sorry. You must be worried about the missing camper. Why don’t you all come inside so we can talk?”

  “No way,” said Fred. “You just want to hug her.”

  I could feel Oliver’s embarrassment more than I could see the flush that must have heated his well-defined, high cheekbones. “Friends hug.”

  “I’m not your friend,” I said. “I’m an unfortunate event in your past. And we’re going.”

  “The event may have been unfortunate, but our relationship wasn’t,” said Oliver. “I’ll ask more questions. I’ll check the security footage for you. Let me help you.”

  I turned back to look at Oliver. “Really?”

  “We can look at the security videos together. Tomorrow morning?”

  “He just wants to get you alone so he can hug you,” whispered Fred. “Don’t do it.”

  Laci smacked Fred. “If she watches the footage with him, he won’t have a chance to delete it.”

  “If it’s not already deleted,” murmured Mara.

  “Make him take you to the old chicken coop,” whispered Laci. “We want to know what’s inside. Why they need all that equipment.”

  “This is about Chandler, not Bigfoot,” I reminded her.

  “It’s too risky,” said Fred. “Maizie, don’t spend time alone with him.”

  “Are you jealous?” Mara whispered-squealed. “Oh my God. Fred, you’re so jealous.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Mara, because ew. I’m old enough to be Fred’s...sister.” I hushed them. “Okay. I have to see Dr. Trident anyway. Why don’t you suggest that I’m doing community service with you? That’d be super helpful.”

  Two stones, one bird. I was so happy with my cleverness I almost forgot I’d have to spend the morning with Oliver.

  * * *

  Leaving the gate, we pushed through the timber to attempt to follow Chandler’s route. It still didn’t make sense to me why he wouldn’t have gone back to the campsite. From the teens’ reports and what I saw on their videos, Chandler cared about the kids and their show. As for their argument, it made sense he would want them to stay at the campsite if he thought there was some danger. But what kind of danger could there be at a health spa? Had he gone to confront someone about Wellspring encroaching on Bigfoot habitat?

  Maybe Everett had accidentally shot him. And buried him in the tomato garden.

  I didn’t like the direction of these thoughts. Nash would say I was jumping to conclusions. I should discuss it with Nash. Before I confronted Everett about how he really fertilized his tomato patch.

  The trail from the gate was overgrown but discernible enough to see the tire tracks and broken branches of recent activity.

  “Probably police,” I said. The kids didn’t argue. But then, there was no evidence of Bigfoot knowing how to drive.

  “Someone’s following us,” whispered Laci. “Do you think it’s that Oliver?”

  “How can you tell?” I said.

  “We’re trained to listen,” murmured Fred. “Chandler taught us how to tune our ears to the sounds of the forest.”

  My ears had been tuned to any slithering in the underbrush, not to the stalkings of ex-fiancés. We stopped to focus on the murmuring of any non-woodland fauna. Caught the light swish of footsteps on leaves. I grabbed Fred and Laci’s arms. The camera swept the forest from side-to-side as Mara panned the deepening gloom.

  Something moved in the shadows. I jerked and tightened my grip on their arms. Mara focused on the spot, adjusting her lens.

  “I have a bad feeling,” I murmured. “And not an Oliver bad feeling. Let's go.”

  “But what if—” whispered Fred.

  “Not tonight.” I yanked, pulling them along the trail. “I need more information about Chandler before I trust that it’s safe for you to be out in the woods alone.”

  “You’re with us,” whispered Laci.

  “I don’t count. I shouldn’t have brought you here in the first place.” I glanced over my shoulder. Mara hung back, filming over her shoulder as she walked. “Mara, put the camera away. Come on.”

  “I might capture something,” she said.

  An object thudded the ground near my feet. I leaned forward and searched the path, praying it wasn’t a hefty spider. Nothing but forest debris. Before I could righten, something smacked the tree above me, winged off, and thumped my backpack. The force spun me sideways. I cantered right. Regained my footing.

  A palm-sized rock lay on the ground where I had stood.

  Another stone slammed into a tree a few feet fro
m Mara. Dust rained. She waved her hand before the video camera, coughing.

  “What was that?” said Laci. “What’s going on?”

  “Watch out,” I screamed. “Mara, get down.”

  A rock slammed into the tree above Mara. Her camera flew out of her hand, hitting the ground at her feet. She stood frozen, her hand still hanging in mid-air.

  I shoved Laci and Fred to the ground. Vaulted toward Mara. Before I could reach her, another stone whizzed through the air. I tackled her from behind, bringing her to the ground.

  “Crawl,” I whispered. “Get to Fred and Laci. Stay down. And keep going.”

  Mara’s eyes teared. “But, my camera.”

  “I’ll get it,” I said. “When you get a little farther away, run. Stay ducked down, but run to the campsite.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I want to know who’s doing this.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “Believe me, I know. But better me stupid than you three.” I watched her scuttle backward. Laci and Fred rowed their arms, urging her to retreat. When Mara reached the pair, they took off.

  I scooped the camera into my pack, then scurried into the undergrowth. Off the trail, I angled back to where the rock thrower might have stood.

  Whoever it was had a fairly accurate and strong throwing arm. And ample material to use in the forest.

  Off the trail, my fear of creepy crawlies and turning an ankle intensified. But I figured half of my DNA was forest-friendly. I focused on that half, trying to remember anything useful from summers with Daddy. If Vicki’s DNA helped me slay a prêt-à-porter, Daddy’s could help me to stay forest fierce.

  I picked my way among the tangle of bushes, vines, and fallen limbs, trying to slip from tree to tree. Twilight deepened. I longed to use the keychain flashlight dangling from my belt, but I didn’t want the rock thrower to spot me. I thought my off-the-beaten-path paralleled the actual trail, but I kept losing sight of the barely cleared track as I veered from tree to tree. I stopped behind a tall pine, closing my eyes to listen. The forest echoed with small sounds. Popping sticks and leafy shuffles grew into the patter of feet.

  I opened my eyes and peeked around the tree. The forest seemed darker. And the footsteps had stopped. A rush of birds flew, chattering. Behind me, something moved through the forest. I glanced over my shoulder and spotted a shadowy figure.