November Hunt

by Jess Lourey

  When the clock struck noon, I covered myself in a thick coating of temperature denial, stuck the “Out to Lunch” sign on the door, and hoofed it to the Fortune. Once inside, I grabbed my favorite meal—toasted garlic bagel with Greek olive cream cheese, side of green tea accented with steamed soy milk—complimented Sid on her “Closets Are for Clothes” apron, and learned that the Battle Sacks’ head of Human Resources was currently eating lunch on the far side of the restaurant. Apparently, the HR woman was a regular who always came at the same time, sat at the same table, and ordered the same food.

  So sad, I thought, studying her as I bit into my third toasted garlic bagel with Greek olive cream cheese of the week. She sat with her back to the door, which was a pure survival move in this climate. She was wearing a red, green, and white sweater that had on its front the crocheted outline of two kittens batting around a Christmas ornament. Her stretchy pants were white, with the kitten pattern repeated on her top left thigh. She either sewed her own clothes or bought them at the same underground market that dealt in white purses, bolo ties, and stirrup pants.

  I swallowed the rest of my bagel, grabbed my tea, and approached her. My plan was still a little baggy around the waist. I sensed that uncovering what was behind Jed’s here-today-gone-tomorrow job offer might provide insight into what Clive and Tom had been fighting about the night Hallie had overheard them. The idea that the argument was over the line mechanic position was a long shot, but if it proved true, it could provide Hallie with at least a measure of relief to know the fight had not been personal.

  I was hoping the HR woman could enlighten me as to why Jed hadn’t been hired, but I hadn’t exactly ironed out how I’d convince her to cough up the information. HR people are notoriously tight with their information. Something to do with spending their days memorizing and enforcing rules, I guessed. Hallie could have ordered her to talk with me, but I’d promised to keep my employer as far outside of this investigation as possible.

  “Hi.” I stood over her, my tea in hand. She was reading the Battle Lake Recall, even though it was several days old. What luck! Here was my in. I nodded toward the article. “You check out the recipe column?”

  She grunted and closed the paper. “I use recipes in that column as a warning of what not to cook.”

  Dammit, she was smart. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Yeah, it’s pretty gross stuff. Mind if I have a seat?”

  She looked over her shoulder at the empty tables in our vicinity. “Do I know you?”

  “No.” I tried to think quick, but my brain had punched out to ponder the pros and cons of ordering another bagel. “I’m a friend of Jed Heitke’s. He was wondering why he didn’t get to keep the line mechanic job at Battle Sacks.” Sweet Baby Jesus, I’d told the truth. That’s what a lack of planning will get you.

  She shrugged. “It’s no secret. The job I hired him for was reclaimed. Union rules.”

  I leaned forward, my interest piqued. “Why was it reclaimed?”

  Her eyes drew together and she set her lips in a firm line. “You’ll have to ask Mr. None of Your Business.”

  Ah, I’d crossed paths with him on a number of occasions. He liked to play it coy, but I knew he enjoyed dancing. “That’s got to be public knowledge, right? All I’m asking is why a person would quit their job if they actually wanted it. It makes it hard on the regular people who think they have a shot at the position.”

  “We’re a private company. There is no public knowledge.”

  I forced myself to unclench. “I could find it out easily enough.”

  “Best of luck with that.”

  I wanted nothing more than to tug a loose thread on her kitty sweater, unraveling the whole works into a pile of sad, trembling yarn. She had the upper hand, however. I quickly shuffled the information I had in my head and played my wild card, the Ace of Hunches. “Look, I know you fired the chief line mechanic, and I don’t care why he was rehired. I’m just trying to figure out why Jed couldn’t be given some other job.”

  She shrugged, my flabby reasoning confusing her as to which information to protect. “I don’t know who you heard that from, but we never fired Clive. He quit. Mr. Heitke is welcome to re-apply for another position. We have a number of seasonal jobs opening up to accommodate our Christmas surge in business. You can’t always rely on temp workers, though. I tell you, it gets to be so time-intensive to keep on top of them that I might as well join the factory floor myself.”

  She kept chattering, apparently more than eager to talk now that she could work herself into the story. I wasn’t listening any more, not since she’d dropped her bomb. Clive had been the chief line mechanic, and more importantly, he’d quit his lifelong job right before he’d killed his best friend and boss in a hunting accident, and then he’d reclaimed it immediately after. I shivered involuntarily. Maybe Hallie was on to something after all.

  Eight

  The fifth chapter in Private Investigating for Morons covered surveillance. In reading the book, I’d been disappointed to discover that the author hadn’t taken into account how truly clueless some of us are—The Marginally Ignorant’s Guide to Private Investigation would have been a more accurate title for the tome—but I was grateful that she was clear as to the basic rules of effective snooping:

  1. Verify and crosscheck your subject’s identity through various means, including photographic evidence, Internet searches, and firsthand witnesses. Consider subscribing to a public records directory to assist in this first step; any premium service will efficiently and accurately complete background checks, perform property searches, access criminal record databases, and search for tax liens, bankruptcies, judgments, and court records.

  2. Once your subject’s identity is established, familiarize yourself with his/her normal routine. Stay at least 400 yards distant at all times.

  3. Create a cover story in case you’re made, and always plan your exit. If your role is discovered, your investigation is compromised.

  The records directory sounded like a great idea until I discovered it cost $49.95 a month. I’d deposited my $500 retainer the same day I’d received it. Then, I’d immediately written a check in the same amount and posted it to the student loan bank to keep my account from being sent to a collections agency. I’d have no more disposable income until I received my thin paycheck in a week or completed enough work for Hallie to justify a second installment on my services. I needed to up the ante and produce something on Clive.

  Since I had number 1 covered—I knew Clive by sight already—I moved immediately to number 2. I called Jed to find out the schedule he had been hired to work. My call had woken him. Groggily, he’d verified that he was informed he’d be on call at all hours but that the regular shift was Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, midnight until noon. Once he explained that the line mechanic’s main job was maintenance and that it made more sense to work on the equipment when no one was around, those inhumane hours made sense.

  Today was Saturday, which meant Clive was currently at Battle Sacks, oiling the machines. I’d have plenty of time for light snooping before starting my busy workday at the library. On to number 3: I was a neighbor out walking her dog. What better cover story did I need? All that was left to do was bundle up and hoof it across the prairie to Clive’s property to peek in the windows. I wasn’t sure what I would find but figured it was a good place to start looking. Plus, since the temperature promised to crack zero today, I’d planned to take Luna for her first long walk since this steel-cold trap had seized the county.

  Luna was a sweetheart of a dog, an orphaned German Shepherd-collie mix. Sunny, whose house I was sitting, had almost flattened the poor pup on a country road coming home from work one night. She’d scooped up the shaking puppy and brought her home. That was four years ago. Luna had come with the house-sitting gig, and I was happy for her company. She was loyal, smart, and put up with my cat. I grabbed the little-used leash before we left. She always stayed close by my side when we walked, but I figured l
eashing her would add credibility to our story. Plus, I knew Clive was an avid hunter, and I didn’t want Luna accidentally stepping on any below-the-radar fox traps he might have set on his property.

  The morning was beautiful, the promise of above-zero temperatures causing the snow crystals to reflect sharp rainbows of color back toward the bright yellow sun. The easing of the deep freeze released a range of smells, and I caught the keen scent of frozen trees and cold dust.

  “Not too bad, eh Luna?” She wagged happily at me.

  Clive’s land was a two-mile trek through the woods on the southwest side of Sunny’s property. He’d built his house on seven landbound acres near Whiskey Lake. I’d never had any reason to visit, but I passed his mailbox every time I drove Whiskey Road to work. His house and three outbuildings were far back but visible from the road, though you could only see the roof of the old barn when driving past. I’d never paid much attention, but I had noticed that he kept his house well-painted and didn’t have any junk in his yard. I also didn’t remember ever seeing a dog.

  Luna and I crunched through the oak forest. Although she was initially annoyed by the leash, she got over it and we made decent time. Clive’s red barn appeared through the leafless trees first. To the right stood two white sheds blending into the snowy landscape, and on the other side of the barn was his house. I ordered Luna to sit, and we both listened intently. The only sounds were the soft shuffle scrape of the rare dried leaf scratching against branches and the far-off hum of traffic.

  I looked down at Luna, and she smiled back up at me. I knew our story depended on us walking together, but no one would believe we’d accidentally walked up to Clive’s house, so I might as well let her loose in case we needed to make a dash for it. She wagged and licked my face when I bent down to unclip the leash.

  “Just two gals out for a leisurely stroll,” I told her. I wound the rope up and tossed it over my shoulder. Next, because though I may be dumb I certainly wasn’t stupid, I yelled out. “Helloo! Anyone here? It’s Mira, your neighbor.” I was 99 percent sure Clive was at work, but 100 percent sure that if he wasn’t, I didn’t want to get accidentally shot.

  When there was no answer, we took off toward the settlement. A well-worn path led the way. Given Clive’s reputation as a devoted hunter, it was unsurprising that he’d spend a lot of time traversing his woods. I took care to keep my boot prints inside of his, though given the crusty consistency of the snow and the constant wind rearranging everything, I probably didn’t need to bother. Still, I wanted to get in and out of here without a trace.

  We were nearing the barn when Luna stopped, her hackles raised. A growl, scratchy and black, rumbled out of her mouth. The noise slipped like a wolverine’s claw up my back. I’d never heard her make that sound before. I shot my eyes around the open yard but couldn’t see anything out of order. That’s when I caught the soft clicking sound, a repetitive snap that reminded me of sharp teeth on bone. It was coming from the barn. I sniffed the air and couldn’t pick up a trace of farm animal musk or waste, but I couldn’t help thinking of the town legend that Clive’d fed his family to the pigs. Had it been true? Had I stumbled onto an R-rated horror movie?

  Luna’s growl grew fiercer, more constant, and I reached for her collar to soothe her, my heart racing. She snarled at my touch but did not move her eyes off a spot just around the curve of the barn.

  “Luna, come.” I whispered, my mouth dry. Screw the investigation. This suddenly felt so very wrong. “It’s time to go.” I backed toward the woods, darting my eyes to the right and left but still not picking up anything. The tooth-on-bone click continued from the barn. Luna refused to budge. I was afraid to touch her again. I didn’t recognize this feral side of her, but I couldn’t leave her, so I tiptoed back, unwound the leash from my shoulder, and bent down to slip it through her collar. That’s when a brown shape materialized around the corner, rushing toward us like a two-headed beast.

  Nine

  Luna leapt, and the creature held its shape long enough for me to realize it was an old boxer, so simultaneously scared and thrilled to have company that it was sidling toward us, head and butt moving forward at the same pace.

  “Luna!” I yelled, but I needn’t have bothered. She stood over the boxer, which had rolled immediately onto his back, and waited for me to reach her side.

  “That’s a good boy,” I said, kneeling down to scratch the boxer’s ears and the thin fur on his brown-and-white-speckled belly. As soon as I touched his tummy, his mouth opened up and a big tongue rolled out like a welcome mat. “You had us scared, doggie. But you’re just doing your job, aren’t you? What’s your name?” I reached for the boxer’s collar. Chuck.

  “Well, Chuck, do you think you could show us around? We won’t take anything.” My body was still pumping thick adrenaline, but the flight or fight directive was easing.

  I stepped back and Luna, proud of a job well done, sat on her haunches and stared self-importantly into the distance, too proud to acknowledge the fawning dog on the ground. She’d been spending too much time with Tiger Pop. Chuck jumped up as soon as I stopped petting him and wormed his way around my legs.

  “What do you think, Luna? Should we see what’s making that noise in the barn? Chuck, what do you think?” Chuck thought I should double-check his belly to make sure I hadn’t missed a spot, and Luna was no longer in an aggressive posture, so I made my way toward the nearest window on the old barn. This required me to step off the trail, but the snow was hard-packed enough that my prints barely dusted the surface. The snow also raised the ground level so that I could peek into the windows without straining. I was initially confused by the black interior, but then I caught sight of a tiny scratch on the interior surface that allowed out some light, and I realized that the window had been painted black from the inside. I moved to the next, and the next, and found they were all the same.

  Inside, the clicking continued with such regularity that I realized it must be mechanical. Maybe Clive had built a time machine, and that’s what he didn’t want anyone to know about. It was maddening not being able to see what was going on. At the front of the barn, I saw that the original carriage doors had been removed and in their place was a modern, windowless garage door. Above, the entrance to the haymow had been replaced by a beautiful bay window that let in plenty of light. Unfortunately, it was fifteen feet off the ground.

  I glanced over at Luna and Chuck. All of the boxer’s fear had been replaced by wiggle. He danced around Luna, begging her to play with him. She looked like she was considering it. Since the dogs were okay, I made my way to the house, where I peeked in all the windows just as I had done to the barn but with more success.

  The inside of Clive’s house revealed him to land somewhere between bachelor and hoarder in terms of cleanliness. His dishes were unwashed and pizza boxes and beer cans were piled around, which belied the cleanliness of his yard. Still, he had live plants clustered around the windows, so he couldn’t be all bad. A circumnavigation of the house didn’t turn up a ladder, and the other two outbuildings were also locked and had blackened windows. Frustrated, I returned to the barn and walked around it once more.

  My second complete pass didn’t reveal anything new, but on my third pass, I caught a scent that was distinctly out of place. I followed it to a warp in the wood between the windowsill and the glass. I put my hand up to it and felt a tropical heat even through my mittens. I leaned in and squinted through the crack with one eye and felt the heat on my face, followed by the unmistakable peppery green scent of growing marijuana. The size of the crack limited my view, but in my scope of vision was row upon row of lush and leafy pot plants, all of them at least five feet high and orange sticky on the ends. The clicking noise was louder through the crack, and I realized it was the sound of timed grow lights. The gardener in me envied the set-up. I could harvest fresh tomatoes and basil all year long if I had this going on in my barn.

  I pulled back from the crack and leaned against the building. Bot
h dogs had followed me, and Luna had dropped her cool nonchalance in favor of some mock-serious dog wrestling. Other than their play growls and the occasional car passing by a half a mile away, there was nothing to hear but the click click of metal halide high-intensity grow lights. If what I’d seen was any indication, Clive had tens of thousands of dollars of marijuana flowering in a very expensive environment. I whistled through my teeth. Though I wasn’t personally offended by Clive’s ventures, I knew the law would view him as a criminal. Was he also a killer? I strode to the front of the barn, ready to take my thoughts home to organize them.

  A bird screeched overhead, an angry crow by the sound of it. Both dogs stopped tussling and shot a glance in the direction of the noise. I followed their sightline, but it wasn’t the sleek black bird that caught my attention. It was the surveillance camera hiding just under the lip of the jutting roof, pointing directly at my face.

  Ten

  My first instinct was to shield my face with my hands, but it was too late. The placement of the camera suggested it was operative. If Clive had simply wanted to use it as a prop to scare off trespassers, he would have made it more visible. I cursed my idiocy. There was nothing to do now but hope. If the camera was recording, Clive would know I’d been here.

  Chuck followed Luna and me most of the way home. He probably would have come to live with us if I hadn’t made Luna ignore him after a while. Demoralized by our lack of attention, he eventually slunk back home. I felt bad, but I had already messed with Clive’s boundaries enough without taking his dog, too.

  I’d need to hatch a plan to cross paths with Clive in the next couple days and feel out how much of my visit he knew about. His camera could have been out of tape, or maybe he only checked it irregularly. If either was true, I was still undercover. Even if he saw the recording of me in front of his barn, the angle of the camera wouldn’t allow for him to see the extent of my snooping. I could stick with my original story that I was out walking Luna and apologize for accidentally trespassing. It sounded logical, but I couldn’t escape the chilly thought that I was dealing with a dangerous man.