by Dana Mentink
As they neared the plateau at the top of Finny’s Nose, they slowed their pace to avoid twigs and pockets of leaves. In the clearing just ahead, they could hear voices. Orange flames danced in the distance.
They came within several yards of the clearing before they crouched down behind some scrubby bushes.
Five figures, dressed in dark clothes with bandannas on their heads, sat in a circle. One of the group stood in the approximate center of the clearing bent over a campfire. The light caught her for a second, revealing a woman with long silvered hair. A pile of duffel bags and rope lay nearby, as well as a pile of metal rods.
“It’s Evelyn Bippo,” Bobby breathed in Jack’s ear, sending tingles down his back. “I don’t recognize the others.”
“The tall one, there. I think that’s Rocky. It looks like his ponytail hanging out, anyway,” Jack said. “What are they saying?”
They strained to make out the words. “Somehow I don’t think it’s ‘Rah rah ree, kick ’em in the knee.’” She giggled.
Without warning, one of the figures pulled a knife from his pocket.
Jack grunted as he reached to draw his gun.
“Wait,” she whispered, squeezing his arm. “They’re not going to hurt him.”
Rocky stood up and took the knife. He raised his voice to a near shout. “Today we recognize Dan as a member of the GOPs for his role in planning our next act of liberation.” Then he turned the knife and presented it, handle first, to the man seated next to him.
More conversation followed, but it was too low for Jack to make out.
Bobby grabbed Jack’s free hand and leaned close. “Let’s go. I’ll fill you in after we get out of here.”
The sun was just beginning to pry feebly at the foggy night when they made it back to the car. Jack fired up the engine and cranked the heater to megablast. They bumped along until they reached the main road.
“All right. Let’s have it,” Jack said.
She clamped her teeth together to stop the chattering and looked at her watch. “Well, since it’s almost morning, why don’t you take me back to the coffee shop. I have a key. I’ll make us some breakfast. I think I’ve got some ’splaining to do.”
He couldn’t have agreed more.
Chapter Seventeen
Ruth hung up the phone for the fifth time.
Monk sat bleary eyed at the kitchen table, coffee mug in hand.
“Just call her already,” he said. “You’re driving yourself nuts.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a bad idea. What if she doesn’t want me to speak to her? What if she hangs up? Besides, it’s really early.”
“She won’t hang up, and it’s an hour ahead in Phoenix. That makes it a leisurely 8:05 there, and she’s taking care of a three-year-old. We’re talking Cootchie here. That woman has been up since the first beam of dawn.”
He was right. Cootchie was always up before the roosters finished their cock-a-doodling. She greeted each morning as if it was made just for her and she didn’t want to miss a minute. Ruth dialed with a trembling finger. She watched Monk as the phone rang for the third time. He sat there drinking coffee and eating chocolate chip cookies as if he had always belonged there as much as her ancient beloved blender.
“These are great, honey, really great,” he said around a mouthful of cookie. “The perfect breakfast food. You should give me the recipe. No, never mind, you should make them for me on a regular basis. That’s a better idea.”
She smiled at him around the phone mouthpiece. “I’ll think about it. Oh no, someone is answering. What should I say? Hello, uh, Mrs. Sooner? Uh, it’s me, Ruth. Ruth Budge. I hope I’m not calling too early. Uh, I wanted to call before the festival activities get under way.”
He started on his second cup of coffee while she waited for the polite small talk to subside.
“Er, I was wondering. I’ve been missing Cootchie so much. I just was thinking maybe I could talk to her. That is, if you think it’s okay. I know you just got settled in there and all, but I wanted to hear her voice. It’s silly.”
“I think that would be fine. Cootchie mentions you all the time,” Meg said.
“Oh really?” Ruth tried to hide the ecstasy in her voice.
“Yes. She’s also been saying things that I just don’t understand. I think it’s something to do with squirrels.”
“Squirrels?” She laughed. “Well, you never really know what’s going on in that brain.”
“I certainly don’t.” Meg’s voice dropped a notch. “She’s been talking about the man who took her.”
Ruth could feel her heart begin to pound with the force of a jackhammer. “What did she say? Is it anything that could be helpful to the police?”
“I’m not sure. Why don’t you talk to her? Here she is.”
There was a second delay while Meg handed the phone to Cootchie.
“Hi, Nana Ruth.”
“H–hi, Cootchie.” She fought the tears that suddenly flooded her eyes. “Are you having fun with your grandma?”
“Yes, Nana. We find rocks. I saw a rabbit with big ears but no squirrels here, Nana. De muffin man says good squirrels is dead squirrels.”
“The muffin man?” Ruth gave Monk a baffled look. “Who is the muffin man?”
“De man who took me to de library. De muffin man.”
“Uh, the muffin man, like the ‘Do you know the muffin man?’ rhyme?”
“What rhyme?”
She gave herself a mental whack. Of course Cootchie would have no idea about nursery rhymes. The child was more familiar with Molière than Mother Goose. “Never mind, Cootchie. The man, the muffin man. Did he stop at the store to get muffins when you, er, went to the library?”
“No, Nana. He grewed them.”
“He grewed, grew them? He grew the muffins?”
“Yes. I have to go find rocks. Today I will dig a well to make wishes in. Good-bye. I love you, Nana.”
Ruth whispered, “I love you, too,” as the phone line went dead.
Monk insisted that a morning walk along the beach would be just the ticket for Ruth’s dark mood. She was not sure that taking a flock of seven crabby gulls along was the ticket to anything but a bleeding ulcer, but it seemed like a good way to avoid the Saturday festival crowds. She thought that speaking to Cootchie would help ease her heart, but it seemed to stir up the emptiness even more.
The waves clawed angry foamy fingers against the gravel. The birds waddled in obvious bliss, poking around for bits of plants and unsuspecting pale crabs. A low-lying fog layer diminished as the birds watched, leaving only a cold wind behind. Maude would not be pleased.
Monk reached in between Teddy and Grover to separate them when they came to blows over a dropped pretzel that lay on the beach. “All right, you nasty critters,” he said. “Enough of that squabbling. Did you bring anything to help round them up?”
She pointed at her pocket. “Fritos. Don’t leave home without them.”
He sidled closer and closer until he draped a huge arm over her shoulders.
“I need body heat,” he said. “I’m freezing.”
“I could remind you that it was your idea to come here,” she said.
“It seemed like a sound, husbandly suggestion at the time.”
A man in a jogging suit trotted into view. It was Bing Mitchell, with hardly a bead of sweat on his brow.
“Hey there. So the kid’s been found,” he called as he jogged up to them.
“Yes, she has,” Ruth said. “How did you hear about it?”
“Hugh told me.”
“She’s just fine,” Monk said. “Safe and sound.”
“That’s good. Say, I understand Hugh’s old man is looking to unload some property. Have there been any offers made on it?”
“I really couldn’t say,” Ruth said. “You’ll have to talk to Royland about that. Why do you ask?”
“Just looking to expand the business. Are you folks going to make the Fog Festival an annual thing?”
She exchanged a look with Monk.
“I sincerely hope not,” she said.
“You really should think twice. It brings people here from all over.”
Monk shot him a look. “Exactly,” he said.
The young man laughed and stretched his arms in a wide arc. “I’d better get back to my run. See you soon.” He ran on down the beach, passing another figure running in the opposite direction.
Alva careened awkwardly toward them, his knobby knees pasty white above striped crew socks.
“Hey,” Monk said. “What are you doing? Bicycles are better for exercise than jogging, my man.”
Alva staggered to a halt. He panted heavily and held the canvas fishing hat on his head with both hands. “I ain’t exercising. I found it. I finally found it. Come on!” With that he turned his back on them and galloped back to the lichen covered boulders lying in reckless confusion several yards away.
Ruth and Monk looked at each other and followed him as fast as the shifting sand would allow. When they got to the rock pile, Alva stabbed a finger under the eroded side of the granite that made a shelf a few feet above the ground.
They ducked their heads to get a better look.
Ruth screamed and covered her hands with her mouth.
Chapter Eighteen
“Not bad for a vegetarian,” Jack said around a mouthful of blueberry pancakes.
“Just because I don’t eat meat doesn’t mean I can’t cook,” Bobby said. She took off her apron and walked around from behind the counter of Monk’s Coffee and Catering. “Coffee?”
His smile was blissful. “I haven’t had a good cup of coffee in—”
“Hours?”
“Feels like years.” He noticed the way her hair curled from the wet hike down the hill, framing her flushed cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Okay, spill it. What’s the deal with the knife people?”
She pushed the damp bangs out of her face. “I can’t speak for all people, but this group looked a lot like some that descend on the national parks every time some deforesting needs to be done.”
“Deforesting?”
“Yeah. Controlled burns, cutting to quarantine disease, that sort of stuff.”
“Uh-huh. Does that have to be done often?”
“Thankfully, no. Certain strategic sites need to be thinned sometimes to control runaway wildfires. The gap in the understory, the plant growth under the big trees, creates kind of a speed bump that slows the fire. Some level of fire is good for the ecology. It burns off duff, the low-lying stuff on the ground, and clears the way for new growth.”
“Makes sense.”
“It’s the runaway fires that are bad, and those happen most often in the dense areas. If you’ve got a real thick tree cover, it creates kind of a ladder effect.”
She noted his furrowed brow. “Fire can climb from the ground to the treetops. Then the flares carry it from tree to tree when it’s really windy. When you get crown fires like that, you’re in trouble. They burn hot, fast, and high. Not much can stop them at that point.”
He watched her while he sipped, admiring the play of early morning light on her face.
“Then there’s the disease factor,” she said. “In my park we have huge numbers of old-growth oaks. There have been years when we had a real problem with oak wilt, and the only way you can effectively control that is to clear out the sick trees before it spreads.”
“I’m not clear on why people would oppose these techniques,” he said between bites.
“No one likes to cut down a tree, especially not a park ranger,” she said, fixing her intense black eyes on his, “but sometimes it is necessary to prevent a bigger loss. Most people don’t have a problem with that, but there’s a radical element that feels any tree cutting is wrong.”
“And you think that’s what we’ve got here, with Rocky Bippo and company? Have you ever heard of a group called the GOPs?”
“No, but I get the feeling the Bippos are involved in something along those lines. Traveling the festival circuit gives them an opportunity to visit plenty of different locales. The vending business provides a livelihood of sorts.”
He took a swallow of coffee. “The sister seems to be legit with the dog thing.”
“She probably is. I think most conservation groups have pure motives. It’s when they become above the law that you’ve got a problem. Evelyn may be sucked into the whole thing because of her brother, too. You never know.”
“He’s a hothead.”
Bobby ate a bite of pancake. “Last season we had to cut a stand of trees to prevent the spread of wilt, and we had protesters coming out of the woodwork, claiming it was being done for profit or some such thing. Most of the people were harmless enough, but there were five arrests out of that whole episode, and my partner got his jaw broken when his Jeep ran into a blockade they put on the trail.”
Jack shook his head. “What’s up with the knife?”
“I think it’s some sort of hazing ritual. You’re only a trusted member after you’ve plotted some sort of protest crime. It’s easier to trust each other when you’ve all done something illegal together. Doesn’t pay to squeal on a buddy when you’ll go to the slammer right along with him.”
“So Rocky and his gang are working on some mischief while they’re here. Any guesses?”
“Remember the metal rods we saw? Next to the rope? I’m betting they’re planning on spiking Vern’s trees to make it impossible for him to chop them down.” She smiled wickedly. “It’s wrong, though I would enjoy seeing the look on his face when his plans went south.”
“Me, too, but I’m going to have to put a damper on that scheme anyway. The Finny PD does not have the time or resources for any more investigations at the present time. We’re full up.”
Bobby refilled his mug and her own. “Who would think Finny could be such a hotbed of discontent?”
“Who indeed? At least I’ve got enough information to put a monkey wrench in the evil plan.” He looked down at the pager on his belt. “I have to make a call.”
Bobby poured more syrup on her pancake.
“Jack Denny,” he said into the cell phone. After a minute his eyes widened, and he said, “I’m on my way.”
“I’ve gotta go. That was Mary—she’s on her way to the beach.” He drained the coffee cup in one gulp. “It sounds like Alva finally found the body he’s been looking for.”
The sand-covered lump behind Alva was indeed a body. Idly Jack thought how disappointed Bobby was when she had to stay to open Monk’s shop instead of accompanying him. He refocused on his duty.
Mary was already on scene, talking into her radio.
Jack could discern the denim-covered legs on one end with knees curled up close to the torso. One hand covered the face. The hand was coated with a layer of blood and grit.
“See?” Alva stage-whispered, his eyes popping. “I told ya there was a body around to go with that toe.”
Jack felt slightly sheepish recalling the way he’d dismissed Alva’s ramblings after they’d failed to find any body to match the toe.
“All right. Stand back there with Ruth and Monk, okay?” He and Mary squatted gingerly beside the body, and Jack reached out two fingers to check the wrist for a pulse.
The body sat up.
Jack stood abruptly. Mary fell in the sand. Ruth, Monk, and Alva shouted simultaneously and leaped back.
The face that presented itself to them was covered in mud and grime. One of the eyes was swollen shut, and a wide smear of blood leaked from a grotesquely swollen upper lip. A pair of smashed glasses lay on the sand.
“Oh no! It’s Hugh,” Ruth gasped.
“Aw, gee, Detective,” Alva said. “It ain’t a dead body. Only a live one.”
“That’s okay, Alva. Better luck next time.” He knelt next to Hugh. “Are you okay, son? The ambulance is on its way.”
Hugh coughed and groaned.
“Monk, there’s a bottle of water on the front seat of my
car. Do you mind?” Jack said, handing him the keys.
“ ’Course not.” Monk lumbered off.
Ruth extracted a tissue from her pocket and tried to brush some of the dirt out of Hugh’s eyes.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Jack asked.
He mumbled and coughed several more times. “Those gang people.”
“Who?” Mary said.
“The bandanna gang. They were here on the beach early this morning.” He began to groan again, holding his side.
“Oh my gosh,” Ruth gasped. “I saw them, too, Sunday night.”
Jack looked up sharply. “You told me about that, but you said you weren’t sure they meant any harm. Did they threaten you directly?”
“They didn’t say a word to me, I just ran as soon as I came upon them.”
“Okay.” Jack turned to the boy. “You were here at the beach this morning and you saw them? What time was that?”
“Around five. I woke up early and decided to take a walk. They were here. They saw me watching them, and they—” He squeezed his eyes shut. “They beat me up. They said they would kill me for spying on them.”
Monk returned and handed over an opened water bottle to Hugh. “Well, you sure took a lickin’ there, young fella,” he said.
The fire chief and another firefighter arrived carrying a medical supply box. They knelt beside Hugh and began to check his pulse and pupils.
Jack looked over their shoulder. “Did you know any of your attackers, Hugh? Could you identify them?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t see their faces. It was still dark.”
“Could you recognize their voices?”
“No. It didn’t sound like anyone I’d met before.” He winced as Ernie prodded his ribs. “I just saw the bandannas.”
“Can we have some space here, Detective?” Ernie said.
Jack, Ruth, and Monk moved away. Mary stayed with Ernie and snapped pictures of the crime scene. They watched as the firefighters bandaged various cuts and abrasions. Hugh stood unsteadily amid a shower of gravel.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked. “He needs to go to the hospital.”