The road through town dead-ended at the entrance to the campground on the opposite side of the river. The gatehouse at the entrance was unmanned, and the single-lane track that meandered through the grounds was unplowed. I stopped and knelt to secure the snowshoes to my boots. Once the bindings were tightened, I straightened and followed the narrow road into the campground.
The area was wooded, and the lodgepole pines that had been pushed back to the boundaries of the town grew in abundance here. Regular clearings marked the sites for tents and RVs, but all were empty, a smooth, unblemished stretch of white. The sounds of civilization vanished with astonishing swiftness, and soon all I could hear was the crunch of snow under the blades of my snowshoes and the murmur of the river through the trees.
I picked my way slowly through the campground, following the curve of the road to a stretch where the trees were cleared. A bathhouse stood on the corner, closed for the season, and beyond that, a cluster of cabins sat on either side of the road. There were no vehicles parked in front of any of the ten cabins, and they all appeared boarded up for the winter.
A hut sat at the end of the row of cabins. The sign for the trailhead stood beside it, the top of the wooden board iced with snow. The single-lane road came to a dead end in an empty semicircular parking area, but a curl of smoke drifted over the sharply angled roof of the hut.
The wind was still today, but the cold bit sharply down to the bone. I approached the hut and found the door cracked, a set of tracks in the snow leading within.
“Hello?” My call went unanswered, and the deserted campground was still and quiet. It was peaceful, I assured myself, not eerie.
The woman within the hut startled me, but the widening of her eyes betrayed the fact that I had done the same to her. She reached up and pulled a bud from her ear, and I could hear the tinny sound of music.
“Sorry,” she said, smile wide, voice pure Texas drawl. She fumbled in her pocket and the music blaring from the earbud went silent. A set of poles leaned against the bench beside her, and when I glanced at the corner, I saw a pair of cross-country skis propped against the wall. “Come on in.”
The hut was small, perhaps six feet by eight feet, and the door groaned as I pushed it closed behind me. The interior consisted of benches that ringed the walls and an old iron stove in the center of the room.
I extended my gloved hands to the stove, sighing at the warmth that heated my fingers and wrapped around my legs. I glanced around. The hut bordered on ramshackle, the wood unfinished and unadorned. A topographical map was nailed against the far wall, and firewood was stacked neatly under the benches.
The woman finished a granola bar and then pulled one from the backpack on her lap and extended it to me. “Want one?”
I shook my head. “Thank you, though.”
She tucked it back into her backpack and took a long pull from a water bottle. She was young, late teens or early twenties, and I thought she might have been one of the women I had seen last night in the group at the diner.
She flashed that wide, guileless smile at me again and then stood and shouldered the backpack. “Enjoy the trails. They’re fantastic this morning.” She collected the poles and skis and slipped out the door.
My jeans began to feel overheated as the heat seeped into my front. I turned, putting my back to the stove, and saw the coat discarded over the bench. I started to open the door and call out to the young woman, but she had been wearing a coat. And when I caught the sleeve and held it up, I saw how small the coat was. It was sized for a pre-teen girl, a deep purple decorated with pink polka dots. The pattern made me smile, and I folded the garment neatly before placing it back on the bench.
Heated through front and back, I stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind me. One trail branched off from the parking lot, circling around behind the warming hut and disappearing into the woods. I studied the map etched into the trailhead sign, following the loops and fingers of the trails. Faye had assured me the trails were all clearly marked and regularly trafficked, and though I saw no one about, the ribbon of trail was already trenched with the tracks of early-rising snowshoers and skiers. I was less than a mile from the town center, but it felt as if I were a world away in the middle of the wilderness.
I shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold. I was a city girl, born and raised. My grandparents had taken me to museums and art galleries and the aquarium when I was a child, not hiking and camping. The closest I had been to nature was the handful of times I encountered a raccoon or possum when I lifted the lid on the outdoor garbage.
A flash of red in my periphery caught my attention. A fox darted from the cover of the forest and crept along the trail, his burnished fur stark against the smooth stream of white. My breath caught, and those keen ears twitched before the fox stopped and turned its head, staring directly at me. I held myself completely still, unwilling to frighten it into bolting. The fox stood frozen for a moment, black-tipped ears pricked. He watched me as curiously as I watched him for several long moments before he continued padding along the trail.
I followed the fox, and stepping onto the trail was liking entering a corridor. The branches of the spruce and fir trees that girded either side of the trail were heavily laden and bowed under the weight of last night’s snowfall. Even broken, the trail was knee-deep with snow and shadowed by the trees. The way was harder here, each step with the snowshoes careful and deliberate, and soon I was unbuttoning my wool peacoat and loosening the scarf about my neck even as my jeans from the knees down grew icy and caked with snow.
Only once in my life had I ventured into the wilderness. The woods had been deep and stark in the last dying breaths of a Southern autumn. I still heard the moan of the trees off that forest trail in my dreams.
I sucked in a deep breath and ventured deeper into the forest along the trail. I lost sight of the fox as the track veered sharply away from its trajectory toward the river and led deeper into the forest and higher into the surrounding hills. Once I reached the curve in the trail, though, I saw the fox ahead of me. He sniffed the ground near a sagging spruce, glanced back to catch my eye when I came into view, and then continued his amble.
I dug in with my snowshoes, leaning into the climb, and stopped when I reached the sagging spruce. I had seen a fox all of those years ago, in a different forest. I had heard the cry of a bird overhead and tilted my head back to watch a hawk’s glide across the piercing blue sky. And I had known there was a possibility I would not make it out of those woods alive when I heard him approaching.
I shook off the memories. I was not the same after that. There was no way I could be. But I had survived. I had rebuilt my life after coming out of those woods. And now I was determined to follow this winding path without fear suffocating me.
The landscape as I continued along the trail was as stunning as it was otherworldly. Snow muffled the quiet of the wilderness until it was utterly silent, save for my own interloping steps and labored breath. The white was interrupted irregularly with the deep blue-green of spruce trees and the emerald of the firs. The rough, slender trunks of the pines looked as if they might shiver without any needled cloaks.
I breathed deeply. The air was sharp in my nose and at the back of my throat, pure and jaggedly cold. My thighs burned with the exaggerated high step the snowshoes required, and I stripped off my knitted beanie and stuffed it in my coat pocket. The cold had numbed my cheeks, lips, and nose, but it felt like a mother’s soothing hand against my warm brow.
The trail leveled out, and I stopped, hands braced on my hips as I caught my breath. The top of the hill afforded me no vantage point view with the trees dense and tall. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. The line from Frost’s poem came to me as I peered into the trees, watching the fox as he moved with silent grace and stealth away from the trail. I had no promises to keep, though, so I lingered.
The winter landscape was hauntingly stark, and the beauty and wildness snagged on some latent longing
within me. There was nothing to fear here. I could understand why my grandfather had been so enchanted with this land, why he had requested the promise of me. Standing watching the fox, deep in the forest’s embrace, my anxiety was flayed away and, for a moment, there was only quiet, without and within.
The light trill of laughter somewhere nearby was so out of place that it was shocking, as startling as a gunshot. I jumped, took a lurching step backward, and fell when the snowshoes caught with the reverse movement. I struggled upright, dusting snow from my backside, and looked around. A low murmur of voices reached me through the trees, indistinct and distant. Ears strained, I thought the female voice might hold a slow drawl, but I could not be certain. I saw no one on the trail behind me or ahead of me.
I glanced into the trees in search of the fox, but he was gone. Irritation lanced away some of the peace that had enveloped me, and I slogged ahead. The descent was gradual, the trail a lazy serpentine through the trees as it curved downhill. I could hear the river, but I did not realize the trail was leading me back to the water until it twisted around a copse of spruce trees and deposited me onto a stretch of path along the banks.
The river was narrow and shallow here, tumbling white over a rocky bed. Ice was crusted along the quieter water by the banks. Sunlight gilded the water and caught in crystalline fragments in the air. I gasped at the sight. The light sparkled and glinted, as if glitter had been tossed into the air.
I stripped off a glove and reached out, letting my fingers stretch and curl through the diamond dust. I imagined I could feel the tiny pinpricks of ice crystals against my skin as sunlight pooled in my palm. A smile tugged at my chilled lips, and my earlier aggravation slipped away.
And then a scream, high and full of terror, rent the air.
Five
About 750,000 people go missing every year.
HECTOR
I pulled into the front lot of the department. The small law enforcement outpost had been set up in the ’40s when the Northern Pacific Railway had discontinued its service to nearby Gardiner and Raven’s Gap had been a wild, lawless haven for those looking to live on the fringes of civilization. It was remote, the outskirts of town filled with those who still did not quite fit into society, and the canyon leading to Gardiner was impassable some years in the depths of winter.
I had joined the police department thirty years ago for a lack of anything better to do. At thirty years of age, I had a wife I was not entirely certain I wanted anymore who had been keen to move back to her hometown as soon as my career on the circuit was over. I had a new knee, hip, and shoulder courtesy of a bull. I had spent eight months relearning how to walk. I was fresh from rehab with a piss-poor attitude and a bitterness wedged deep inside my gut at the turn life had taken.
At thirty, I was young and angry and stupid. When I had seen the ad in the newspaper, I thought, Why the hell not? I had nothing better to do. I was mad enough at the world that I liked the idea of having a gun strapped to my hip and the authority to use it. I thought myself a real Wyatt Fucking Earp.
At thirty, I had been naive enough to expect a brotherhood. I had been met with a boys’ club. Like me, had the other officers not had a badge pinned to their chests, they would likely have been on the other side of the law. The idea of fraternity was a flimsy thing when you could not be entirely certain the fucker next to you would not shoot you in the back.
Raven’s Gap Police Department never had more than fifteen officers, including the chief, commander, detective, and three sergeants. I had seen a number of faces come and go in the last three decades. Men and women joined the force and then moved up and on. I had never sought promotions or special assignments. I did not care enough about the job to spend more time at it than necessary. I did not want the extra assignments, extra responsibility, or extra paperwork.
I had spent half my life as a police officer. Now at the ripe age of sixty, I just wanted to get through the damn day without needing an antacid or having to put in overtime.
Frank trotted at my heels as I crossed the parking lot and entered the building that served as police department, court house, and city office space. Joan Marsden, the chief’s wife, sat at the police reception desk behind an inch of bulletproof glass.
She grimaced as she reached for something on her desk, but she glanced up when I entered the lobby, and her smile was welcoming. I used my badge to gain entry down the hallway, and she stood, coming slowly around the counter to greet Frank and to offer him a treat from the jar she kept at her desk. The big guy grinned up at her and leaned against her legs as he crunched the treat.
“Officer Lewis.”
I nodded to her as I passed. “Mrs. Marsden.”
Space was limited in our corner of the building, but seniority had its perks. I had my own office and I had my choice of shifts. I had been working the day shift for ten years now. I had done my time as a young pup on graves and swings. But as an old dog, my circadian rhythm had made itself known.
Frank joined me in the office, and the poodle took up his place on the bed beside my desk as I donned my reading glasses and booted up my computer.
Several hours later, the phone on my desk rang.
“There’s a woman up front who would like to speak to someone,” Joan said on the opposite end of the line. “I think everyone else is out on patrol right now.”
I finished scanning the warrant application I had typed up and tossed my reading glasses on the desk. “Did she say what it was in regards to?” I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder.
“She thinks something may have happened at the campground.” Joan spoke around the phone’s mouthpiece, “Go ahead and have a seat. Officer Lewis will be up shortly.” I heard a quiet murmur of response, and after a moment, she lowered her voice and said, “She’s a stranger, never seen her before.”
“I’ll be up in just a moment. I need you to notarize something for me.”
“Bring it on up with you.”
I printed off the warrant application and headed to the front of the building. Joan snagged the papers as I slid them across the countertop and nodded toward the waiting area on the other side of the bulletproof glass.
I pushed through the door into the lobby and paused when I saw the woman seated on the hard slats of the wooden bench. She glanced my way when she heard the door, face tight with concern. She had been uneasy yesterday when I picked her up on the side of the road, and today dark circles still bruised the fragile skin beneath her eyes. She stood as I approached.
“It was Evelyn, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Twin flags of color were raised across her cheeks from the cold, and her jeans were soaked from the knees down. A pale pink hat was clutched between both hands. Her teeth dug into her lower lip.
I pulled a small spiral notebook and pen from my shirt pocket and flipped to a blank page. “Let’s sit. Joan told me there’s been an incident at the campgrounds?”
She returned to the bench, and I pulled a chair over to sit opposite her. A pair of discarded snowshoes lay at her feet. She twisted the hat between her hands, gaze on the worried knit cap, and pressed her lips tightly together before letting out of breath. “Officer Lewis, I—”
“Just Hector.”
Her gaze lifted to mine. Her eyes, highlighted behind the lenses of her glasses, were so light a brown they almost matched the Macallan single malt I kept unopened in the cabinet at home.
“Hector.” Her brow pinched. “I don’t know that I have anything to report. I couldn’t find anything—anyone—when I searched, but I…well, I wanted to make sure no one was hurt. But I’m not sure anyone is.”
“Start at the beginning and tell me what happened to make you think someone may be hurt.”
She told me of her morning trek, of hearing voices at one point, and of the scream that had wrenched the quiet wide open. “I ran back along the trail as quickly as I could. No one answered when I called, and I couldn’t find anyone.”
“You didn’t see anyone on the trail or as you were leaving the campground?”
“There was a young woman, a cross-country skier, in the warming hut when I first arrived. I don’t know if she went back down the trails or if she left. I never actually saw anything.” She shrugged. “I know there’s really nothing for you to go on. But…” A slight shiver coursed over her. “That scream…”
I glanced through the glass sliding doors. The day was a beautiful one, all sunshine and piercing sky and fresh powder. The only thing I hated more than sitting by the side of the road waiting for some dumb fuck to ignore the stop sign was sitting behind a desk in a windowless room for hours on end. A hike on the department’s dime was in order. “Why don’t you tell me where you were on the trail, and I’ll go check it out.”
She slid forward to the edge of the bench, and her knee bounced. A crusting of ice followed the seam of her jeans down the side of her calf. “I was on the main trail, by the river. There’s a long hill, and then the opposite side leads down to the river.”
I tucked the notebook in my pocket. “I know it. The top of the hill marks where the trail enters the park and the state line.”
“Does that make a difference?”
“The park more than the Wyoming line. Yellowstone is federal jurisdiction. But I’ll still check things out, see what I find.” If there was anything, I would pass the information along to the rangers and be thankful I was not the one who would need to deal with the paperwork.
“Will you let me know? Please. Either way.”
I studied her. She was slightly built, just shy of average height and small boned. Her features were elegant, but I thought the fine line of her jaw could probably turn stubborn in an instant. “You staying at Faye’s?”
She nodded.
“I’ll swing by the inn and let you know what I find.” I used my badge to key my entry back into the department’s inner offices. I leaned over Joan’s desk and scrawled my signature across the warrant application. “Will you fax this over to the judge for me?”
Hunting Ground Page 4