by Mary Hiker
“Mr. LaSalle buys baked goods from me.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and sighed. “He doesn’t know how to cook.”
“Someone lives here?” I asked, pointing toward the front door.
“For the past two months.” She held a hand beside her mouth and whispered, “He’s a private eye.”
“Someone must be paying a pretty steep bill,” I muttered. If the rooms were five grand a night, there’s no telling what a bungalow would cost.
Sophia gripped the bag on her lap. “He ordered all this, and he won’t answer the door to pay me.” She sniffed. “I need the fifty dollars to pay the rest of my rent.”
The gardener’s fists balled up at his sides.
“What’s in the bag?” I asked to break up the tension. Chevy wanted to break the tension too and nudged Sophia’s hand with his nose.
The housekeeper handed me the paper bag, and I peeked inside. It was overflowing with homemade breads and cakes. “There’s a blueberry pie in that one.” She pointed to a bag on the seat of the golf cart she’d driven over.
Blueberry pie with ice cream was Don’s favorite dessert. Today was his lucky day. Mine too, I guessed. I’d keep the bread all to myself. “Well, too bad for that guy. He lost out.” I reached into my pocket and found three twenties. “I’ll buy both bags.”
Sophia’s face lit up, and she wiped away her tears.
“Look at that, he’s sitting in there watching TV,” the gardener said, holding his hands against the window to block out the sun as he peeped through a small sliver of space between the curtains.
“Geesh is that guy nosey,” I whispered under my breath.
The gardener stepped over and pounded on the door. I didn’t want to stick around for what might happen next and hurried to collect my baked goods.
“He’s not moving,” the peeper said, peering into the window again.
I struggled to keep Chevy from getting into the bags of food and debated whether to stay or go.
The gardener took his keys and tapped loudly on the window. After staring inside a few more seconds, he turned to Sophie. “Do you have your house key with you?”
“Yes, but-”
“Hand it here,” he said, snatching it out of her hand.
The gardener knocked one more time and announced himself before entering the bungalow. The door flew open as he rushed toward a small table in the corner and checked the man for a pulse. I leaned through the doorframe and took a quick glimpse. Black t-shirt, black BDU pants, and red and black high-top basketball sneakers. A red backpack sat at his feet.
Seconds later, the gardener blocked my view as he stood in the doorway and keyed up his walkie-talkie, calling for a manager. Finally, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “He’s dead. The guy was sitting at the table with a plate full of fast food; must’ve had a heart attack while he was eating breakfast.”
Sophie burst into tears.
“Do you know him well?” I asked her.
She shook her head and sniffed hard.
“Just that he was a private detective who liked cake.”
CHAPTER 4
I stuffed one of the homemade dinner rolls into my mouth and tucked the bag containing the blueberry pie onto Don’s truck seat, safely away from Chevy’s reach. The roll was so delicious, I was tempted to go back and find Sophie to order some more. Nothing could make you appreciate the little things more than fresh homemade bread.
If that blueberry pie was even half as good as the rolls, Don was going to be a happy man when he got home. I planned to leave the pie on his kitchen counter as a nice surprise. I reached in for a second roll as I drove down the resort’s twisting drive. My progress was halted at the main road by a county crew setting up temporary road barricades and a small set of bleacher style seating.
What the heck?
A sheriff’s deputy strolled up to the truck, his ball cap pulled down low over his eyes. I recognized the lion tattoo on his forearm as he approached and rolled down my window.
“Hi, Nate,” I said, wondering how much he’d paid for the artwork on his arm.
“Oh, hey, Avery.” Nate blinked a couple times and adjusted his hat as he took a step back. “I thought that was Don’s truck.”
“It is. He’s back at the resort.” I pointed up the hill behind me as Chevy forced his head out the window to say hello. “We’re having a fundraiser this afternoon.”
“Geez, I hope the barricades don’t ruin your turn-out.” Nate watched as a young guy wearing a neon orange safety vest pulled another wooden barrier into position. “We’re getting ready for the bicycle race that’s coming through later this afternoon.”
“Bike race?” I leaned back deeper into the seat. “You guys don’t normally erect barricades for the races, do you?”
“Not usually.” His face twisted into a frown. “We were forced to work this weekend because Governor Newby decided to prove he’s physically fit enough to ride twenty-five miles.” Nate shook his head and snorted. “We have to set up extra security and patrol fifty feet on each side of the road anywhere the public has access.” He jerked his head toward the portable bleachers. “One of the governor’s buddies owns the resort and decided to set up a viewing party, so we’ve got to do even more extra work over here.”
“That seems like an awful lot of protection.” I handed him the paper bag and offered him one of the dinner rolls. “It’s not like we’re in Charlotte or some big city.”
“They even have bomb dogs working the start and finish line.” Nate’s face lit up as he grabbed a roll and bit into it. “All this because the governor’s special task force arrested Woodchuck Kelly two weeks ago.”
“Woodchuck who?”
“One of our local anti-government crusaders.” Nate finished off his roll. “All bark and no bite.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The governor’s been on the news every night since, bragging about it.” Nate snuck another roll out of the bag before handing it back. “He’s got every anti-government group in the nation ticked off at him, so we have to take additional precautions for his safety.” The deputy shoved half the roll in his mouth and kept right on talking. “They should make him stay off that dumb bike and work all weekend, not me.”
“At least you get overtime.” I offered.
“Yeah, overtime in the dog house.” Nate shook his head and blew out a breath “I promised my wife I’d take my kid to the ball game today.”
“Oh.” I finally got his point. “Good luck with that.”
“Someone’s waiting.” He nodded toward a dark GMC Heavy Duty truck inching closer and closer to my back bumper. “I better let you go.”
I pulled out onto the road and took a quick look at the frazzled deputy in my rearview mirror. I knew his wife. The poor man was never going to hear the end of it.
CHAPTER 5
That idiot was working on my last nerve.
I watched in the rearview mirror as the behemoth truck rode my bumper, honking his horn as we drove back toward town. My foot softly pressed the brake pedal, slowing so he could pass me on the two lane road. Instead, the truck pulled up alongside me in the opposite lane, going the wrong direction.
I strained to see the driver through the blacked out passenger window, and my heart began to pound. The window tinting was too dark for me to make out anything more than a large masculine frame and a ball cap. I stomped on the gas and sped up again, just as an SUV appeared around a curve in front of me, heading straight for the heavy duty truck. The driver of the pickup slammed on his brakes at the last possible second, swerving back into the lane behind me.
The black and white SUV flew past, and a wave of relief swept over me as I recognized the sheriff’s department logo on the side doors. The officer slammed on his brakes, did a U-turn, and flipped on his lights and siren as he gave chase. A moment later, I checked the rearview and smiled as the black truck pulled into the grass at the side of the road, law enforcement parking rig
ht behind him.
“Busted.” I chuckled. Chevy gave me a doggie smile as I ruffled his golden coat. He was happy just because I was.
There was a flutter of activity on the road ahead as we pulled up to the intersection at the main entrance to Pisgah National Forest. Officers talked into their radios as civilians of all shapes and sizes set up lawn chairs along the edge of the road.
I’d never seen that kind of interest for a bike race before. Must be because the governor is riding. Some folks would find it entertaining to witness our mildly plump governor sweating his guts out.
I took a left and drove up through the forest toward the Blue Ridge Parkway, deciding to get a great view on my quest for Don’s special tie. As the truck climbed up the twisting mountain road, I slowed to not much more than a crawl and lowered the back passenger window a few inches. Chevy stuck his nose out in the air, catching some fun smells while his fur tossed about in the wind, and I enjoyed the forest scenery.
Out of the blue, we were both jolted by an obnoxious honking from behind. I sat up in the seat and checked the rearview mirror. The heavy duty truck was back, and a man’s arm was waving wildly out the driver’s window. I started to reach for my phone but knew there was no cell phone signal in this section of the forest and reached for Don’s camping knife instead, slipping it between my right thigh and the seat.
The monster truck sped beside me as we hit a straight-a-way, honking all the way. I held my breath and glanced over through the now-open passenger side window. A buff man waved frantically at me.
“What the…?” I reached back, grabbed Chevy’s collar and slammed on my brakes as my cousin shot right past me.
Red brake lights flashed in front of me as Jackson swerved back into my lane and slowed to the posted speed limit. He put on his right blinker and turned onto a small pull-off on the side of the road. I shook my head and pulled in behind him. There was barely enough room for both vehicles to fit in the space.
“Stay, Chevy,” I said as I tucked the knife in my pocket and climbed out of the truck.
Jackson rolled out of his, and we met at his back bumper.
“You about gave me a heart attack.” I pointed at him, tempted to poke him in the chest.
“I need you to help me out.” He rubbed the back of his neck, ignoring my frown. “Leave your truck here and ride with me.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoffed. “I vowed a long time ago that I’d never ride with you again.”
“You’re still mad about that?” He shook his head. “When did you decide to start holding a grudge?”
“When you left me alone at the beach and took off with some bimbo in a bikini.” I crossed my arms. “It took me two hours to walk back to your mom’s place.” Jackson never even apologized for acting like such an idiot.
“That was ten years ago.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “We were kids!”
“You were twenty-eight years old.”
“Twenty-six.”
“Whatever.”
He stomped his foot. “Listen, we don’t have time for this.”
“We?”
“I need you to do a search.” Jackson nodded toward my dog.
“The only thing that dog will find for you is a treat.” I shook my head and sighed. “Chevy doesn’t do search and rescue work.”
Jackson reached out and grabbed my shoulder. “I really need your help.” His eyes were intense. Mine probably were too.
We stared at each other for a second.
“What’s wrong?” I finally asked, a slight chill running up my spine.
Jackson released my shoulder and shifted his feet.
“I was supposed to meet my friend out in these woods, and I can’t find him.” He motioned toward the trees. “He knows we’re on a tight time schedule. Buck’s never been late before.”
“Time schedule for what?” I pulled my phone from my side pocket.
“Business.” He yanked the phone from my hand.
“What are you doing?” I grabbed it back. “I need to call the sheriff’s department.”
He held out his hand, his eyes wide. “No cops.”
“Don’t be so paranoid.” I attempted to make the call. “They have to request a search and rescue mission before the team can respond.” My call wouldn’t go through. “We’re out of cell range.” That was typical in this forest.
Jackson let out a huge breath. “Good,” he muttered as he pulled out a crumpled receipt from his pocket and shoved it toward me. “Does this mean anything to you?”
“Yeah, gas prices are skyrocketing.”
“Turn it over.” He grabbed the receipt, flipped it over, and pointed to a series of numbers handwritten on the back. They were separated into two long rows. “This was where Buck was headed, but he never came back.”
“GPS coordinates.”
“Uh, and that is…?”
I shot him a look and turned back toward Don’s truck. Chevy was busy licking the driver’s side window as I pulled the back door open and searched through the collection of trail maps stuck in the pocket behind the driver’s seat. Luckily, Don had a Pisgah Forest trail map stashed away. I pulled it out from the pile, walked to the back of the truck with Jackson tagging behind me, pulled down the tailgate, and spread out the map.
Using the UTM grid lines, I found the approximate coordinates written on the scrap of paper. “It’s about here.” I pointed to a spot on the map near a scenic overlook. It was one of those secret places that only the locals knew about. No wonder the guy wanted to leave Jackson behind.
My cousin looked over my shoulder. “Take me there.”
“Did you ever hear the word, please?”
“Listen, this is serious.” He took off his ball cap, then put it on again. “I need to find Buck, like, right now.”
I blew out a breath, thinking through all the reasons I shouldn’t let him talk me into this.
His eyes beseeched me. “Do you want to leave a guy lying out in the forest when you have the ability to help?”
I rubbed my eyes as I squeezed them shut. “It’s about a two-mile hike from the closest trailhead.” My eyes opened to give him my best no-nonsense glare. “I’ll help get you to this spot, but if we don’t find him right away, we’re driving out to get a phone signal and calling the sheriff.”
“Thanks, Avery.” Jackson grinned, and the gleam came back to his eyes.
I couldn’t tell if he was relieved or just proud that he had successfully gotten his way again. Jackson let out a soft “yes” as he trotted to the passenger door of Don’s vehicle.
“Get in your own truck.” I pointed at my cousin’s GMC. “You’re not riding with me.”
CHAPTER 6
“You guys better not have a moonshine still hidden out here.”
We’d climbed two miles of trail and were about to head off the beaten path toward the coordinates on Jackson’s napkin.
“We don’t, but that’s actually a good idea.”
“Forget I mentioned it.”
Chevy plopped in a small creek to enjoy the water flowing down from above. It wasn’t very deep, but that didn’t matter. In a Golden Retriever’s mind, all water was meant to be played in. I stopped for a quick break and dug out a bottle of water from the bottom of the hip pack I’d commandeered from the back of Don’s truck.
“How much longer?” Jackson glanced up at the trees and checked his Freestyle Dive watch for the fifth time. He’d always been a lot more comfortable under the water than out in the woods. Just one of the many ways we were different.
“We’ll be at the waypoint in about twenty minutes. Don’t plan on me sticking around too long after that,” I warned him and buckled the hip pack. “Don’s giving a presentation this afternoon, and I’m not going to miss it.” I planted a hand on my forehead. “And I still need to get his tie.” I’d temporarily forgotten all about it, thanks to Jackson’s drama. “C’mon, Chevy.”
Chevy bounded out of the water and caught the dog treat I
tossed his way. We needed to hurry if I’d have half a chance to fulfill my promise to Don. We started up a narrow side trail heading toward the ridge, leaving the main trail behind.
“Since when do you put a man before your own flesh and blood?” my cousin huffed as he struggled to make his way through a downed tree and catch up. “You need to dump that dude.”
Instead of answering, I sped up to put more distance between us.
“Hold up, I don’t want to lose track of you.” The pitch of his voice went up an octave.
I increased my pace again.
“Avery!” Jackson tried to run up the hill and quickly wore himself out. “You don’t want me lost out here, do you?” he shouted between gasps of air.
Chevy sensed the stress in his voice and ran down to give some moral support.
“Listen.” I turned and stopped, gripping the backpack straps as I blew out a long breath. “The main trail runs below us, parallel with this ridgeline. If you lose me and get turned around, just head downhill until you hit the main trail. Then you’ll turn left and follow that trail even farther downhill until you come out to your truck.”
“Just keep going downhill.” Jackson nodded, his shoulders relaxing as he patted Chevy’s head.
“In the meantime, zip your lip.” I turned and continued climbing without waiting for a response.
Fifteen minutes later, we reached the top of the ridge - and one of my favorite backcountry campsites. It possessed the most amazing view of the surrounding mountains. I double checked the GPS and the coordinates were right on.
The faint smell of embers wafted from inside a circle of rocks. “Looks like someone camped here last night,” I said as I inspected a Big Agnes backpacking tent still staked into a flat spot on the ground nearby.
Jackson spun around, his eyes darting in every direction.
I called out a friendly, “Hello.” No one responded but a chirping bird.
“Where could he be?” His face was losing color, and his breath came fast. “I’m sure that was his rental car down at the bottom.”