“How did you figure it out?”
“I did what reporters do.” She managed a weak smile. “Since it looked like the same person had killed Emma and the other woman, I wondered if there were more. Some checking of police records uncovered two more unsolved murders. Two young women whose nude bodies had been found in the woods—one in Grafton Notch State Park and the other just across the state line in the White Mountains.”
“So when you broke the story, you named him the Hunter.”
“I thought the cops were wrong to keep the danger a secret. If women knew, they could protect themselves better.”
“Then you set out to find Emma’s killer.”
“And I’ve made myself so paranoid about the case that I think he’s behind every rock and tree.” She shivered, and goose bumps rose on her arms in spite of the hot sun.
“Maybe you need to ease up for a while, let it go until you get back to civilization.”
“I can’t give up, Sam. There’s an answer somewhere in the information I have on the Hunter. Or even an answer here in the wilderness that will help me understand how he thinks.”
He admired her loyalty. She’d be okay as long as determination didn’t slide into obsession. “At least take a break tonight. When we reach Otter Pond, I’ll teach you to fish.”
“Relentless, aren’t you?”
“No worse than you.”
“Sam, you’re a good listener.” She gave him a watery smile. “To set the record straight, the jerk wasn’t a Yankee.”
“Thank God for that.” He glanced at movement upstream. “Here come Nora and Frank.”
Back toward the left, mother and son headed for a narrow passage between two jagged rocks.
“Keep ’er right in the middle,” Sam shouted over the chortling water.
Nora gave a sharp nod as the boy steered toward the slot.
A chalkboard screech forestalled Sam’s next comment. The canoe stopped just before the target vee.
“Need help?” Sam called.
Frank hopped out to stand hip deep in the stream. He peered at the waterline. “It’s just a broad, flat rock. I can get us off.”
“Will they be all right?” Annie gaped at them, anxiety in her hunched shoulders. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth.
“I got hung up like that more times than I struck out. The problem will be starting again with momentum enough to stay straight.” He smoothed a hand down her arm. “It’s not another poltergeist trick, princess. Or the Hunter.”
She nodded. “I’m just anxious.”
A few tugs freed the canoe and the teen climbed back in. A rush of hard paddling and they popped through the gap like a cork from a bottle.
“Outrageous!” Sam gave them a thumbs-up sign.
The canoe drifted closer to share the sandbar.
“Well done,” Annie said. “Where are Ray and Carl?”
“Behind us,” the other woman said, rolling her shoulders. “Ray couldn’t get the J-stroke to work right. Something about the canoe being crooked.”
Typical. Had Carl been bullheaded about adjusting the cargo?
Annie stood to look upstream. She pointed toward the right. “Oh, no, Sam. They’re in trouble.”
He followed the direction of her horrified gaze to an obstacle course of rocks spaced like ski-hill moguls. The third canoe tilted precariously, jammed between two boulders.
Heart pounding, Sam vaulted over the side. “Stay here.”
He climbed over the rocks until he made the shallows at the river’s edge. Carl stood in the water beside the canoe. From a gash in its side, water flooded into the craft.
As he splashed closer, he saw Ray’s face contorted with pain.
FIFTEEN
Annie sighed at the announcement of no more rapids. The river deepened into a broad, curving ribbon. The water reflected the blue sky dotted with puffy, high clouds. Granite slabs sloped down to the gently lapping river on one side, and gravel shoals marked the other.
They’d get Ray to the caretaker’s cabin for medical attention in good time.
Maybe this Ted Wolfe had electricity, and she could charge one of her battery packs. The tablet had depleted the power in the first and most of a second pack. And surely his radio brought in state-wide news. She dipped the paddle with renewed energy.
“It won’t be long,” Sam called to Ray in the other intact canoe. “The caretaker’s cabin is around the next bend.”
Ray didn’t look over, but managed to hoist a hand in acknowledgement. He sat propped with the cargo amidships in Frank and Nora’s canoe.
“Damn fucking canoe wouldn’t go where it was supposed to,” Carl had groaned, his face redder than usual. Ray, his acne-scarred cheeks taut in pain, had said little.
Annie knew as well as Sam that the fault probably lay with Carl for not having redistributed the weight in his canoe.
Apparently Sam had sensed it wasn’t the time to berate the man. He merely sympathized as he doctored Ray’s scrapes and wrapped his wrenched knee with elastic bandages.
“How did the accident happen?” Sam asked the man who’d shared Ray’s canoe.
Carl now sat between them, and the damaged craft bobbed behind on a tow rope, empty of all but light cargo. Without the men’s weight, the ragged hole sat above the waterline.
“I’m not exactly sure.”
Annie glanced back as Carl leaned on one elbow to look at Sam. Carl was frowning in concentration, but Sam’s features betrayed no emotion. This latest disaster had to be churning in his gut—one more score for the other side, to use his jock terminology. It seemed that Mother Nature had chosen a different victim this time.
She felt no satisfaction in the knowledge.
“You were in the bow,” Sam said, his tone low and deliberate, “but you must have seen something.”
“Like the rocks.” The pitch of Carl’s voice rose. “I told him the left side of the river was too rocky. We should head to the right more.”
Carl always knew best and freely shared his advice. Or criticism. But this time Ray should have listened. “So he didn’t take your advice,” she said.
He huffed. “No shit. Headed for the left side. Said all those rocks looked like the mine field in his damned Moon Moles Crater game. Fucking idiot. Y’all know those games?”
“Uh, no, huh-uh,” she mumbled. Word processing was more her speed. The occasional database. A game of solitaire.
“Me neither. Go on,” Sam said. “What happened next?”
“At first I thought we’d make it, but we got hung up in that narrow slot.”
“How did the hole get in the canoe?” Sam asked.
“I was paddling like hell to get us through. Should I have turned around to fucking supervise?”
“Sorry,” Sam said. “I’m not coming down on you. I just want to understand.”
“It’s okay. Reckon I’m a little keyed up.” Annie heard a slosh as Carl pulled his water bottle from his day bag. “There we were stuck between those two rocks. First thing I knew water was gushing in. The hole didn’t look that big. Ray said to stay put, that he’d get it.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“I took it to mean he’d plug it up or some damn thing. But I wanted to help. I put my paddle down and was starting to climb out to help free us when he yelled bloody murder. That’s when I saw his leg jammed clear through the hole.”
“Yeah, he twisted it big time.”
That angry undertone in Sam’s voice probably meant he blamed himself. He shouldn’t. Especially not this time. But he had to be Superguide to prove his worth at something besides baseball. Oh, he hadn’t said as much in words, but she got the picture.
With Carl in their canoe, she could say nothing. This was an accident, plain and simple. No machinations by their saboteur. Only Carl’s bullheadedness for not shifting cargo and Ray’s foolhardiness for taking the dangerous route.
You’ll see me, but you won’t know me. The memory, like a ghostly p
resence, triggered a new notion. She turned it over in her mind. Fear slithered up her spine. For now, she could only watch and wait. She had only her suspicion. Or her paranoia.
Maybe.
She glanced up from paddling to see a cabin coming into view. The Gomagash Wilderness caretaker’s cabin. A gray-haired man waved to them from a small dock. Beside him stood a yellow Labrador retriever, wagging his entire behind. The sweet tang of newly mown grass skated on the breeze.
Scanning the clearing and cabin for signs of power lines or a generator, Annie returned his wave with a hopeful one of her own and a stiff smile.
“Sam Kincaid,” the caretaker said when they drew nearer, “I must be seein’ a mirage.” He helped guide their canoe past the dock and onto the gravel.
“If that’s the case, you been too long by yourself, Ted.” Sam pumped the man’s hand and made introductions.
“We have an injured man,” said Sam. “He’ll need to be lifted out for medical attention.”
No need to point out which man. The grimace and bandaged knee told the tale. “I hate to be any trouble,” Ray gritted out.
“You can lie down on the sofa inside,” the old man said.
Ray’s knee must be more than sprained. He was carrying on as if a shark had bitten it off. Annie kept out of the way while Sam and Carl helped him from the canoe and to the cabin. Their self-appointed den mother, Nora made soothing noises as she followed.
Theirs was a slow walk up the slope to the one-story log dwelling. Rocking chairs and clay pots of geraniums sat on the covered porch spanning the front. Tall windows faced south. The plank door stood open, in welcome. The log cabin appeared cozier and more substantial than Annie expected.
She turned to their host, who was clad in green work pants and shirt, game-warden style. He had to be around seventy-five, but his carriage was proud and straight, and his physique hadn’t an ounce of fat. No doubt he could still do a caretaker’s job without breathing hard. If they had more time, she’d enjoy interviewing Wolfe for a feature. “You have a beautiful place here. But so isolated.”
His blue eyes glinted with humor. He laughed. “I don’t have time for loneliness. Captain here goes everywhere with me—to check campsites and such.” He pointed to an aluminum Boston Whaler with an outboard motor mounted on the stern. “Captain rides in the bow. Thinks he’s in charge.”
The Lab wriggled up to Frank, who knelt to pet the smooth head. Captain gave him a wide doggy grin.
“He’s a great dog,” Frank said. “Wish I had one like him.”
“He’s a good companion,” Wolfe agreed.
“Your radio,” Annie said, unable to wait through anymore pleasantries. “Does it pull in stations with news? Have you heard any big news in the state?”
“News? Ayuh, I get the public station in Presque Isle, sometimes pull in Canada. As for big news, only thing I noticed was about the continuin’ drought. Scattered thunderstorms though. You can listen later if you want to.”
Annie thanked him. No more murders, then. Surely he’d have noticed that. But no breakthroughs either. What did that mean? Maybe nothing. Maybe it fit with her suspicions. She bit her lip, unable to relax.
When Wolfe gazed at her oddly, she shook off her thoughts. “Do you get many visitors?” The cabin was spacious, and toward the rear of the house clearing sat a cedar-log swing set and a storage shed.
His eyes twinkled. “In August my daughter brings the grandkids for a week or two.”
“I see you’re looking forward to that. Is that it for visitors—except for canoe parties like us?” Annie couldn’t imagine living here alone, even with sporadic visitors.
“The owners drop in occasionally to chew the fat and sample my root beer.”
“Root beer?” Frank leapt to his feet at the words. His rapt expression revealed his excitement at the promise of soda, an artifact of the civilized world.
“Ayuh. Make my own. Best in The County,” he said, using the colloquial term for Aroostook, Maine’s largest county. “Come up to the house and I’ll treat you to a bottle.”
Man, boy, and dog hurried toward the house, with Annie in their wake.
The Labrador barked as they entered.
Ray gave a start, as if noticing the dog for the first time. “Keep that animal away from me. I’m allergic.”
He didn’t look allergic. He looked frightened. Ray, who hadn’t experience real life until this trip, might have more fears and phobias than most people. But men concealed their weaknesses from others. Her brother Thomas was afraid of heights, but he’d never let anyone know. Even a placid soul like the programmer would have enough macho pride to feign another reason to keep the dog away.
Wolfe sent Captain into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. The large main room was living room and kitchen all in one. Rag rugs, rustic furniture, and family photographs gave the house a homey feel. Scents of lemon polish and chili attested to the old man’s occupations for the day.
A two-way radio occupied a desk on one wall, and what appeared to be gas lamps and a gas refrigerator. Annie’s hopes crashed. Her wish for electricity would go unanswered.
Their host extracted brown bottles from the refrigerator and passed them to everyone except Ray, who waved his away.
The naturally brewed soft drink tasted smooth and rich, better than any commercial root beer she’d ever downed. “Delicious. No wonder the owners drop in for a bottle. I’m surprised you don’t have visitors every day.”
Wolfe’s lined countenance beamed with pleasure as he handed Frank a second bottle. When Nora protested, he said, “I got plenty. It’s a pleasure seeing the boy enjoy it.” He winked at Annie. “Like my grandkids.”
When he finished the second root beer, Frank made a beeline to the gun cabinet hanging on a side wall. Rifles and shotguns hung vertically in a wooden frame locked with a metal bar. He uttered a long, low whistle. “Whoa, cool guns.”
Nora opened her mouth, as if to squelch her son’s interest in weaponry, but shut it again when Sam gave a barely perceptible head shake. Another of his efforts at reminding Nora not to hold the reins too tight.
Carl tagged after Frank to inspect the array of firearms.
“You do much hunting?” he asked, peering at the guns over the boy’s shoulder.
Wolfe joined them. “Whatever’s in season—ducks, deer, partridge, turkeys—you name it. I do some guiding too.” He caressed the blued metal barrel of a new-looking rifle. “This Remington 700’s gonna get me a big buck come deer season. Lightweight titanium for an old man.” He grinned self-deprecatingly.
“That’s a fine Weatherby shotgun in there,” Carl said, reaching a tentative hand to the walnut stock.
“I see you have a collector’s eye,” Wolfe told him. “Would you like a closer look?”
Astonishment flashed across Frank’s face. “You know guns, Carl?”
The contractor tore his gaze from the gun case. He shrugged. “I do a little bird hunting. Quail. Turkey.” He stepped away. “I don’t need to examine the Weatherby, Mr. Wolfe. Got the newer model at home myself. Y’all best leave those weapons where they’re safe.”
“We’ll have to be on our way soon,” Sam said, “if we’re to make the next campsite this afternoon. How about raising the authorities to get Ray air-lifted to a hospital?”
“I’d fire up the generator and try if I thought anybody was there.” Wolfe lowered himself into an armchair. “Talked to Joe Plourde yesterday. He’s the park ranger on the Allagash. Said he’d be out most of today checking on campsites and warning campers about keeping fires contained. We’re having a dry spell, you know. Nobody else to call for now.”
“I see storm clouds in the distance, but they’re only playing hide and seek,” Sam said.
“What do you mean? I have to stay here?” Ray said. Grimacing, he held an ice bag to his knee. Earlier, he’d swallowed three ibuprofen, but they didn’t seem to be alleviating his pain. “How long?”
“Only until l
ater this afternoon.” Wolfe gave his guest a tolerant smile. “I’ll give Joe a call four, five o’clock. There’s still plenty of daylight after that for a helicopter to get here.”
Since no battery charging was possible, Annie shared Sam’s impatience about moving on. She felt sorry for Ray, but with his injury, he would be no help if what she suspected were true.
“Ray, I’m sorry about all this,” Sam said, his jaw tight and his eyes hard. “My brother will refund your money and offer a discount on another expedition. I hope—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Ray pushed up on his elbows.
Carl stalked toward the injured man. “Jesus, don’t be such a wuss. Your injury was due to our so-called guide’s incompetence and negligence.”
“Don’t be hasty, Carl,” Ray said. “You were the one—”
“What do you know, you fucking geek?”
His mouth tight, Ray turned his face into the sofa.
Carl glared at Sam. “If it was me, I’d be calling my lawyer. When I got through with you, your chicken-shit company would be lucky to have a tent stake left.”
“Unfortunate you see it that way. Apparently Ray does not.” Sam squared his shoulders and turned his back on the man. He stalked outside in a masterful feat of control.
She ached for him. He’d lost his baseball career in a fluke accident. No matter that his heart was still in his sport, he was determined to make a go of wilderness guiding. A lawsuit would threaten that alternative. What would he do?
She watched him stride toward the canoes, his brawny backside taut with tension. His control of his temper and of the situation added to his sex appeal. Dammit.
She knew how she could comfort him. Sex would ease her tensions too, but only for a short time. No, a vacation fling would only stir up more problems. She’d only get her heart broken by another self-absorbed jock. Self-absorbed for a legitimate reason, but it amounted to the same thing. And when it was over, they’d have to deal with their respective demons.
Inner demons she could handle.
You’ll see me, but you won’t know me.
What worried her much more was a corporeal demon, the human kind.
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