The very idea of wolves being in the area strengthened my resolve to sacrifice the game camera and stay as far away from the woods as I could for the remainder of our stay in the Rest 'n Peace campground. My voice was almost a whisper when I asked, "So there's wolves around here too?"
"Yes, we've seen a few wolves around here recently. Ever since the U.S. Forest Service reintroduced grey wolves into Yellowstone in the mid-nineties, they've thrived. Not only have they proliferated, but they've spread far beyond the national park's boundaries. In 2011, they opened up a season on them, but in 2014, a U.S. District Court ruling relisted them on the endangered species list in all of Wyoming, much to the dismay of local ranchers."
"Understandably, due to the risk they pose to their livestock," Rip said.
I was dismayed by the ruling myself, knowing we'd probably have to traipse through the woods once again to find our way home to the campground after I'd made sure we got explicit directions from the ranger. I have nothing against wolves, mind you, but I don't exactly want to be the guest of honor at one of their family get-togethers.
"Say, it's going to get dark soon. You two need a lift?" Ranger Rick inquired. I was so relieved at his offer I could have kissed him, even though he'd probably think twice before offering a ride to sketchy-looking strangers in the future.
My spirits were lifted instantly by the ranger's kindness. Then I nearly choked on my own saliva when my bull-headed husband replied to the man's offer. Too proud to admit he had no clue about the route back to the RV park, he said, "No, we're good. We were kind of looking forward to hiking back to the campground by ourselves."
"What?" I shouted, almost hysterical. If I'd had a shovel in my hand I might have utilized it on my husband's thick skull. Three or four times, in fact.
Rip looked at me, as if surprised by my exclamation, and then back to the ranger. "But you're probably right, Rick. Darkness is almost upon us and Rapella's already a little chilled because she didn't think to bring along a warm enough jacket. Sometimes my better half doesn't have the sense God gave a skydiver who'd actually pay someone to let him jump out of their perfectly good plane."
I'd been highly impressed with the forest ranger until he'd laughed at Rip's sarcastic remark. What I wouldn't have given for a shovel at that moment! I'd have laid both of them out with it. Then I'd climb into the ranger's jeep and drive myself back to the Chartreuse Caboose, leaving those two jokers on the peak of the outcropping to fend for themselves—after they gained consciousness, that is! Who'd get the last laugh then? I thought.
* * *
By sundown the area was crawling with detectives. Ranger Rick had just delivered us to the RV park. The first thing we saw was a large portion of the campground's guests who were milling around aimlessly and chattering amongst themselves with concerned expressions on their faces. After we thanked the ranger, he departed and we joined the throng of curious RVers. I was surprised the ranger didn't stick around long enough to find out what the commotion was all about.
I glanced over at a swarm of people surrounding a young man I felt sure was a reporter for the Buffalo Bulletin. He looked like a younger version of Clark Kent, excitedly interviewing bystanders and scribbling their responses on a well-worn pad of paper. It'd become apparent to all of us, including my skeptical husband, that something ominous must have happened to Bea Whetstone. It appeared likely to be a more puzzling situation than her having just retreated to her mother's house after an angry tiff with her husband.
As the former sheriff of a county a good deal larger than the one we were currently camping in, Rip felt compelled to engage in a discussion with a horde of policemen who'd gathered to discuss their plan of action. I followed him as he strolled over to speak to the group. In the mix were six male cops, a lady cop, and the female sheriff of Johnson County, Jaclyn Wright.
When Rip approached the circle of law enforcement officers, their discussion came to an abrupt halt. It was an awkward moment for my husband. After a few seconds of silence, he introduced himself as the former sheriff of a south Texas county and a career law enforcement officer. "I've had many years of experience and would be happy to lend a hand if you need assistance. My wife and I would be more than willing to participate in a search party, as well."
I felt sure they'd welcome him into their circle with open arms, and I'm certain Rip did, too. Instead, he was given a very cold reception. Sheriff Wright gave her fellow sheriff a disdainful look after giving him the once-over. It was as if she was sizing up her competition before stepping into the middle of a boxing ring. "Sir, this is a private discussion and we can handle the situation just fine without your assistance. You need to worry about the jaywalkers in your own little jurisdiction and let me and my officers deal with this missing person case without interference."
"Jaywalkers?" Rip was angry. I could tell just how pissed he was by the amount of spittle that sprayed out of his mouth as he continued. "Did you actually say jaywalkers? I don't know about you, but I never had time to worry about jaywalkers because I was too busy taking care of more serious offenses. I'm willing to bet Aransas County, Texas, has a much higher crime rate than Johnson County, Wyoming, where there are more antelope than people."
"I doubt that," Sheriff Wright replied. "We have our fair share of crime too, I promise you. Now go on your way, sir."
I never thought I'd see two sheriffs bragging about the crime rates in their counties. Although neither county was exactly a hot bed of murderers, robbers and rapists, it appeared as if they were trying to out-crime each other. Rip was practically snarling when he said, "I was in law enforcement for more years than you've been alive, Missy. I'm sure I have a lot more experience in crime-fighting and solving cases than you do."
Just then a burly Buffalo police officer, about six-and-a-half feet tall and three-hundred pounds, walked over to Rip. Looking down at my five foot, seven-inch husband, the goliath said, "You'd better listen to the lady and go on back to your camper. We're more than capable of taking care of this situation without your help."
I can't remember the last time I'd seen Rip so livid. As he walked away, I heard Bea's husband being questioned by a detective. Rip told me he was going back to the trailer. No one in the group of eight had even cast a glance my way, so I said, "You go ahead. I'll be there in a few minutes."
Rip walked away in a huff, still seething from the sheriff's discourteous remarks.
Out of pure curiosity, I inched my way closer to the group of law enforcement officers to listen to what was being said. Rip had handed me our cell phone before he left and I fiddled with it nonchalantly so it wouldn't appear as if I was eavesdropping, which, of course, I was.
I turned on the video function and began recording so I could play it back for Rip should anything interesting be discussed. I was filming the ground, but still picking up their voices.
If I could figure out how to do it, I wanted to delete the first part of the recording, when the sheriff said, "Who does that roly-poly twerp think he is? I don't need him or any other two-bit sheriff telling me how to do my job. Being female doesn't mean I'm incompetent or incapable of handling my position as well as any man."
The male detectives wisely remained silent, while the sole female cop nodded her head in agreement. Despite the disrespect she'd shown my husband, I had to agree with her last remark. In fact, I think we'd all be better off, happier and more at peace, if women ruled the world. I believed if every country was led by a woman, war would soon cease to exist. Women by nature don't feel the obligation to flex their muscles in front of other women, or in front of men, for that matter.
The sheriff then asked Boonie a question I couldn't make out. But I heard Boonie make a reply that jived with what Jan had told me in the laundry room earlier. "My wife had a habit of taking early morning walks in the woods. She said it not only kept her fit, but walking also helped reduce stress. You don't think an animal attacked her, do you?"
"We don't know anything about what happene
d to her yet, sir," a detective replied. "Does she normally carry any kind of weapon to fend off an aggressive bear, or perhaps a cougar?"
"Yes. She nearly always carried a gun for protection, but she could have been taken by surprise. For example, six or seven months ago, a cougar leapt from the lower limb of a tree, landing right in front of her as she was walking down a trail just beyond the tree line behind our house. The cougar got in one good swipe at Bea's left arm before she dropped him with one shot from her pearl-handled Colt revolver."
I found Boonie's past-tense responses, as in "my wife had" and "she always carried" a bit odd. It was if he'd had the same premonition I now had that Bea was no longer with us. I had a bad feeling in my gut that she'd be found, but not found alive.
Then an older detective asked the bewildered park owner, "Was that Colt revolver missing when you awakened this morning?"
"No, it's still on top of her chest of drawers, which is why I was immediately concerned for her well-being when I couldn't locate her in the campground. I made a couple of phone calls and she wasn't at her sister's house, or her mother's either. Still, I suppose it's possible that if she did go for a walk this morning, as she so often did, she might have just forgotten to take it with her." Boonie didn't sound convinced.
One of the detectives then asked Boonie if he knew if Bea had come to bed the night before, and he replied, "I can't say for sure. I'm a restless sleeper, so I couldn't tell whether her side of the bed had been disturbed by her sleeping there, or it was just my tossing and turning that had the bedclothes all tangled up. Last time I recall seeing her was when she left to go to the office to do her end-of-day paperwork last night. I hit the sack soon after she departed."
"You know, Mr. Whetstone, your wife may very well be out there in the woods, injured and in danger of further harm. Did you search the walking trail she usually follows in an effort to retrace her path after you noticed she was missing?" Sheriff Wright asked.
I'd wondered the same thing, and was as surprised as the sheriff when Boonie replied, "No. I guess it didn't occur to me. Maybe I should have thought of that."
"You think?" The sheriff asked in a sarcastic tone.
After they dismissed Boonie, the officers conversed among themselves. I had to concentrate to make out what they were saying. It was of their collective opinion the missing woman had most likely become the victim of a random animal encounter, rather than foul play. All the other avenues they'd gone down had resulted in a dead end. Even though her vehicle was still at the campground, it was possible someone may have picked her up there, so the detectives' search had begun with that thought in mind. But Bea wasn't at any of her friends or relatives homes and they all were now as worried as Boonie and the authorities about what might have happened to her.
The investigators discussed the fact that having left her gun behind, Bea would have had no way to protect herself from a surprise attack. And, after all, a close encounter had happened to the missing woman before. One detective said, "She was fortunate not to have been killed by the cougar her husband talked about leaping down practically on top of her a while back. You'd have thought she'd learned her lesson then, and never hiked in the forest alone again. Or, at least not without her gun."
My thoughts exactly! Still listening in, I could tell that should it turn out Bea hadn't been attacked by an animal, the police force had no clue as to where the missing woman could be. Had a predatory animal emerged from the woods and dragged her off into the forest? Had she instead been abducted by a predator of the human variety? Was she being held captive? Had she suffered an injury? Been raped, or worse, killed? At that point, there seemed to be more questions than answers.
When I returned to the trailer, Rip was preparing for bed in quiet contempt. I spooned some shredded tuna into Dolly's bowl, took a quick shower, and donned a cotton nightshirt. Rip was snoring raucously when I slipped under the covers on my side of the built-in queen bed. A niggling thought that the next few days could be quite a departure from our normally calm and comfortable routine was flitting through my mind just before I finally drifted off to sleep. I'm willing to bet I tossed and turned more that night than Boonie Whetstone habitually did.
Chapter 8
"Have you heard that the Crazy Woman Ranch, south of Buffalo, is up for sale?" Rip asked me as he turned a page in the Buffalo Bulletin. He'd purchased the newspaper from a rusty machine in front of the campground's office, which had been closed since Bea Whetstone's mysterious disappearance. Surprisingly, the puzzling situation regarding the missing campground owner had not been mentioned in the paper.
"I bet that'd cost a pretty penny," I replied absentmindedly. It was the automatic response of someone who was paying more attention to the grapefruit she was cutting in half to serve for breakfast than what her husband was saying. Shipped to the local grocery stores from California, grapefruit in Wyoming cost a pretty penny too. I wasn't going to waste one by bleeding all over it after slicing a finger.
"Yeah, almost nineteen million." As if he thought I was interested in the topic, he added, "But it is nearly fifty thousand acres of prime ranch land."
"That's nice. Would you like a packet of fake sugar on your grapefruit?"
"Yeah, that's fine. I—"
Rip ceased talking abruptly and pointed to the television screen where the Channel Thirteen news broadcast was announcing breaking news. Most often, their breaking news was something on the level of a mobile home on fire in a Casper trailer park due to the misuse of a twenty-year old space heater. But something in Rip's expression made me rush over to watch the broadcast.
"Missing Buffalo woman's body found ripped to shreds in the Bighorn National Forest!" The statement was plastered across the top of the screen as we watched the Johnson County Sheriff step up behind a podium to speak to the press and take questions. We listened in stunned silence as Sheriff Jaclyn Wright spoke in a serious and straightforward manner. We'd already seen how gruff she could be. We'd also heard she was tough as nails, and it was clear the scuttlebutt about her was accurate.
"The severely decomposed body was found by a participant in the search party late last evening. It appears as if local business owner, Beata Whetstone, suffered an ill-fated encounter with an animal, according to the county medical examiner. Considering the multiple slashing wounds on the body, it appears as if it was most likely a mountain lion that shredded her abdomen and legs with its claws. The body was discovered in dense foliage just south of the Rest 'n Peace RV Park. The campground, owned by the victim and her husband, is located just a quarter of a mile off Highway Sixteen." Sheriff Wright spoke in a highly professional and composed, but dispassionate, manner. She paused for a moment, as if to allow time for the paradoxical name of the victim's business to sink in with the crowd and television viewers. I know it sank in with me because I felt a chill run up my spine, down my spine, and then back up it again.
Rip and I shared a look that required no words. We listened intently as the sheriff continued. "We can't rule out foul play, however. Animals may have feasted on the body postmortem, after it had been dumped in the forest. It's unclear whether or not an autopsy will be able to determine the exact cause of death due to the condition of the body. But at this time, we are treating the death as an accidental animal attack."
Just like that, the Rest 'n Peace campground owner had gone from being referred to as Bea Whetstone, or "evil witch" in Jan's case, to simply being called "the body." I didn't think the female sheriff's description of Bea's body being "feasted on" was necessary, but with her matter-of-fact demeanor, it was not particularly shocking. An even colder chill raced up and down my spine at the thought of the fear and pain the poor woman must have endured prior to her passing. A bit nauseated by the news, I wasn't sure I wanted to hear any more of the details. But like a person unable to turn away from an impending train wreck, I remained glued to the TV screen.
"I've only got time for a couple of questions," the sheriff said to the group of twenty
or more reporters in the crowd. The sheriff pointed to a rail-thin woman with hair the color of provolone cheese, and teeth, what few she had left, the color of coffee grounds. "You—over there."
"Did the animal or person kill her before or after the shredding took place?" The reporter asked as she tugged on her tank top to conceal the pink bra strap that had been peeking out behind it. The skinny gal had a distinct meth-head look about her, but it appeared she at least had a job, which could not be said for a large percentage of addicts.
"With possibly only two inquiries to the sheriff, that dumb bimbo asks a stupid question like that?" I asked.
"Definitely a true blonde." Rip smiled at me and quipped, "Honey, I'm sure glad you're a brunette bimbo instead of a blond one."
I returned his smile briefly, too unnerved by the news of Bea's death to laugh or make a smart retort in response. A seasoned lawman, Rip was more accustomed to coping with news of this nature. He ran his hand up my thigh to let me know he was only kidding me. It was an unnecessary gesture, for I'd never thought otherwise.
The sheriff responded to the reporter's ridiculous question with a question of her own. In an deliberately sarcastic tone, she asked, "What do you think?" She then pointed to an older man on the front row she was apparently acquainted with, and said, "Last question. Ted?"
"When will the autopsy report be available?" Ted asked.
"I can't answer that at this time." Apparently feeling as if the first question was ignorant, and her answer to the second one was not very informative, Sheriff Wright said, "I'll take one more. You—over there in the red jacket."
It became apparent the petite woman in the red jacket was not a member of the press when she asked with a trembling voice, "In the event it wasn't due to an accidental animal encounter, are there any suspects in Mrs. Whetstone's death? My husband and I own a campground in the same vicinity as Rest 'n Peace and I'm wondering if we should be concerned for our own well-being and, of course, that of our customers. Should we be taking extra precautions in case there's a serial killer on the loose?"
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