Cork followed the boot prints away from the resort into the trees and found a trail that led south through the woods. Whoever had been interested in the car and the cabins had come and gone along this trail.
Cork leaned on his cane. His leg throbbed from the effort he’d put into the tracking. A hungry animal he could understand. A man in boots was something else.
24
Stash’s family was a mystery to Ren. He’d been to their house a few times but mostly he hung out in his friend’s big bedroom with the blinds drawn, watching tapes or DVDs or playing video games. Stash’s mother was a slender blonde with nails painted a shiny red like drops of blood at the ends of her fingers. She wore a lot of makeup. Whenever Ren visited, she was cordial but a little tense and seemed to watch them both with uncomfortable concern. His father was like a telephone pole in a suit, tall and silent, and he never laughed. He bent and shook Ren’s hand every time they met, his grip strong and purposeful. Stash didn’t talk about his parents much, and when he did it wasn’t with great affection. Stash had an older brother, Martin, who was seventeen and an athlete. He played for the Bobcats and had lettered in a bunch of sports. Stash sometimes called him Jack Armstrong, All-American Boy, a reference that had something to do with an old radio program Ren had never heard of. To Ren, Stash’s family seemed just fine, but he didn’t have to live with them. That always made a difference.
Stash was in the Intensive Care Unit and not allowed visitors other than his immediate family. There was a waiting room down the hall and Stash’s brother sat there, staring toward the windows that opened onto a vista of Marquette and a sky full of promising morning sunlight. Ren and Jewell were about to step into the room when Stash’s mother emerged from the ICU and came toward them. She looked exhausted.
“April,” Jewell said, “I’m so sorry.”
The woman’s eyes were red, and Ren figured she’d been doing a lot of crying.
“They say he’s stable now,” she said. “All we can do is wait and pray.”
Tears rimmed her eyelids and Ren’s mother took her in her arms. Ren slipped into the waiting room. Martin looked his way.
“Hey,” he said to Ren.
“Hi, Marty.”
Stash’s brother hadn’t shaved. His face was a drawn landscape of sparse stubble and teenage blemish. The television in the corner was on, tuned to CNN, but the volume was turned to a low, unintelligible drone. Ren stood with his hands in his pockets.
“What happened?” he asked.
Marty wore his hair in a buzz cut, like a Marine. He ran his hand over the bristle. “He was on his skateboard, going down Ruby Hill. A car hit him from behind, didn’t stop. He’d probably be dead except some guy was walking his dog and saw it happen. Jesus. That skateboard. I’ve been telling him it’s dangerous. I’ve been trying to get him into a real sport.” He balled his fist, but there was nothing to hit. “Jesus.”
“Do they know who hit him?”
“No. A car, that’s all. It was almost dark. He shouldn’t have been skateboarding so late.” He looked across the room again. The light from the early morning sun washed orange over his face. “I’d love to get my hands on the guy behind the wheel, the son of a bitch who didn’t have the guts to stop.”
Ren glanced at the television, where CNN was running images of damage being done by a tropical storm in Florida: a mobile home with the roof peeling away, a downed power line popping sparks.
“Have you talked to him?” he asked.
“He’s still out. Dad’s with him. He hasn’t left the room. God, it’s killing him.”
“Ren?” his mother called to him from the doorway.
“Gotta go,” he said to Marty.
“Yeah.”
“He’s good,” Ren said, before he left. “He’s really good.”
Marty looked at him, his tired face blank of understanding.
“On his skateboard, I mean. He’s awesome to watch. He’s way better than anybody I’ve ever seen.”
Marty considered this and nodded thoughtfully.
“When he’s awake, tell him I said hi.” Ren turned to leave.
“Ren, come back to see him. He doesn’t have a lot of buddies.”
“Sure.”
In the hall, Ren’s mother put her arm around his shoulders. Stash’s mother was just vanishing back into the ICU.
“I can’t see him at all?” Ren said.
“You can’t go in. But I suppose there wouldn’t be any harm in taking a look from the hallway.”
They went together and stood outside Intensive Care. In a small room on the far side of the nurses’ station, Ren saw Stash’s parents standing beside a bed, looking down at a lump of linen. All he could see of Stash was a bare arm with an IV tube attached to it. Stash’s father put a hand down, and Ren could tell from the way his arm moved that he was stroking his son’s hair. It was such a gentle gesture from a man Ren had always viewed as being as caring as a chain saw.
“Let’s go,” he said, and turned away, thinking that if he ever heard Stash dis his father again, he’d let him have it but good.
25
“What do you think?” Cork said.
Dina’s keen green eyes followed the boot prints as they disappeared down the path through the woods.
“Where does this trail lead?” she asked.
“Damned if I know. But Charlie might.”
Inside Thor’s Lodge, Dina knocked on the door to Charlie’s temporary bedroom.
“What?” came the girl’s surly reply.
“We need your help,” Dina said.
“Bite me.”
Dina opened the door. Charlie lay sprawled on the bed, a comic book in her hands. Her eyes cut into Dina like razor blades.
“Get out,” she spat.
“Normally I would, Charlie, but the circumstances aren’t normal right now.”
“What do you want?”
“There’s a trail just west of the resort,” Cork said, moving in next to Dina. “Do you know what it is?”
“The Killbelly Marsh Trail. It’s part of the Copper River Trail system. Hiking, snowmobiling, that kind of thing.”
“Where does it go?”
“Loops around the marsh and connects with the main trail along the river.”
“Is it heavily used?”
“Heavily?” She rolled her eyes, as if having to think about it was an incredible imposition. “It’s fall. A lot of trolls come up here for the color. The trail’s popular.”
“ ‘Trolls’?” Dina asked.
“People from the lower peninsula,” Cork clarified. “Below the Mackinac Bridge, get it?”
“ ‘Trolls,’ ” Dina said.
Charlie put down her comic book and sat up. “Why do you want to know this stuff?”
“Just curious,” Cork told her.
“So, is that it?”
“Yes, thanks.”
He turned to head out, but Dina held back.
“Hungry yet?” she asked the girl.
“No.”
“Suit yourself.”
Dina joined Cork and closed the door behind her.
In the kitchen, they spoke quietly. Cork leaned on his cane; Dina crossed her arms and leaned against the counter.
“A troll?” Cork said. “Just some curious hiker?”
“It’s possible, I suppose. Someone who stumbled across the cougar tracks and followed them.”
“Or someone who thought the girl would show up here eventually and dropped by to check it out.”
“Or,” Dina added, “someone looking for you.”
Cork shook his head. “He’d have picked me off the moment I stepped out the door. Has Charlie been outside this morning?”
“Not since we’ve been up.”
“Let’s keep her in the cabin.”
Dina nodded. “Maybe I should reconnoiter.”
Cork did a quick appraisal of her outfit: a white sweater, black jeans, white Reeboks. “You’d look like a zebra pranci
ng through the woods.”
“It was my intention,” she said evenly, “to change into something more fitting. And to arm myself appropriately.”
“What are you packing?”
“In addition to my Glock, I’ve got a Colt. 45 with a suppressor. Or I could opt for the Ruger. 44 carbine still in my trunk. How about you?”
“Just the Tomcat you gave me. It’s in my cabin.”
“Maybe you should get it,” Dina said.
“You go on and change. I’ll stay and let Charlie know what’s up, then get the gun.”
Dina headed to the door.
“You’ll be careful?” Cork said.
“At what I do,” she replied without looking back, “I’m the best.”
Cork moved to the front door. He watched her enter Cabin 2, which Jewell had given her to store her things. For ten minutes he stood waiting for her to come out. She never did. It dawned on him that she’d probably left in a way that would be unobserved. A bathroom window maybe.
She was good.
“Where’s the old lady?”
Cork turned around to find Charlie standing near the kitchen counter. His leg was killing him. He sat down at the table and hung the cane on the chair back.
“The lady’s out there right now, making sure you’re safe.”
“I didn’t ask for her help.”
She went into the kitchen, opened a cupboard door, and hauled out a bowl. She opened another door and plucked out a box of Cap’n Crunch. From the refrigerator, she got a carton of milk. In another minute, she was sitting at the table across from Cork, greedily eating her breakfast. She slumped in her chair, her face six inches from the bowl. Cork didn’t know if this was her normal eating habit or done simply to keep her from having to look at him.
“She saved my life on a couple of occasions,” he told her.
“Big deal,” Charlie said through a mouthful of cereal.
“It is to me.”
Charlie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “So she’s, like, what? Your girlfriend?”
“She’s a friend to me in the same way you’re a friend to Ren.”
It was a while before she spoke again. “Do you think she’s pretty?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you like her?”
“No.”
“Right.”
“Charlie-”
Cork’s comment was cut off by the sound of a gunshot outside. It didn’t come from a handgun. Something heavier. Shotgun, probably. He grabbed the cane and pushed himself from the chair just as another report smacked the morning air. He hobbled to the door and scanned the grounds outside where nothing moved.
“Charlie, get into your room. Hide under the bed or in the closet. Just stay out of sight until I come back. Okay?”
She stared at him.
“Move,” he said sharply.
She stood up and turned.
He threw the screen door open and hurried down the steps. Dina hadn’t said anything to him about a shotgun, so he figured it wasn’t hers. The gunfire had come from a distance. He hoped that meant there was time to get to his cabin, where he’d stowed the Beretta. He berated himself for not having grabbed his weapon earlier. He felt exposed, vulnerable, stupid.
The. 32 Tomcat was under his pillow. For safety, should Ren find the weapon, Cork had removed the clip and slipped it under the mattress. He pulled them both from their hiding places and slapped the clip home.
As he started back to Thor’s Lodge, he felt the intense, unsettling quiet of the woods in the wake of the gunshots. Two reports, then nothing. Why hadn’t Dina returned fire? He didn’t want to dwell on that one. He scanned the trees as he limped across the wet ground, leaves sticking to his soles like leeches. Nothing moved. However, a man with a shotgun, a heavy slug, and good scope wouldn’t need to move much to keep the crosshairs on Cork’s chest.
He made the steps, the porch, then stumbled inside. With his back to the wall beside the door, he caught his breath. He risked a look through the doorway, a limited field of vision that revealed nothing. He hobbled to the back room.
“Charlie, I’m here now.”
There was no answer.
With difficulty, he knelt and checked under the bed, then tried the closet. The girl wasn’t there.
“Charlie?” he said again, louder this time. “Charlie?”
How long had he been gone? Three minutes, maybe four? Long enough for whoever wanted her to have taken her?
He limped back to the main room where he bellowed, “Charlie!”
The porch steps squealed under the weight of quickly mounting feet. Cork swung around, the Beretta leveled on the center of the doorway.
Dina stepped into view, saw the weapon in his hand, and spun back instantly out of sight.
“It’s me, damn it,” she hollered.
He lowered the Beretta. “You okay?”
She peered tentatively around the corner of the doorway, her face dark beyond the screen. “Yeah.”
“The gunshots?”
“A hunter. Some guy with his dog shooting at birds, whatever the hell is in season.” She opened the screen door and came in. “Everything okay here?”
“Not exactly,” Cork replied. “I seem to have lost Charlie.”
26
To reconnoiter, Dina had changed into camouflage fatigues of muted autumn gold and brown. She would have blended easily into the woods. Cork was a little amazed at the foresight required to have such an outfit on hand.
He explained what had happened-Charlie’s disappearance-and near the end, he heard the rattle of heavy suspension on the gravel road that led to the resort. They stepped outside onto the porch and watched as Jewell’s Blazer pulled up and parked in the sunshine. Jewell got out, and a moment later Ren followed. Both looked concerned at the firearms that Cork and Dina held. On the steps of the cabin, Cork told them the situation.
“The man with the dog,” Jewell asked, shading her eyes against the morning sun, “was he kind of tall? And was the dog a golden retriever?”
“Yes,” Dina said.
Ren jumped in. “Bill Pothen. He hunts partridge. He’s okay.” His eyes darted around the resort as if he hoped to spot his friend lurking somewhere.
Dina glanced toward Cabin 3. “Is it possible someone came while you were gone?”
“Possible,” Cork said, “but not probable. I was away for three, maybe four minutes at most. I think Charlie would have yelled her head off if anybody tried anything.”
“If she was able,” Dina said. “Maybe she was surprised and didn’t have the chance.”
“Surprised by whom?” Jewell asked.
Ren climbed the steps and put his face to the screen. “Did you look all over inside?”
“I called plenty loud enough that she’d hear me,” Cork replied.
“Charlie!” Ren hollered. “Charlie, it’s me, Ren.”
A brief moment of silence followed, then a distant voice came from inside the cabin: “I’m here.”
Ren flung the screen door open and flew inside. The others were right behind him.
“Where are you?” he called.
“In here.” The words came from the kitchen.
Cork followed the others who moved faster than he.
“Here.” This time it was clear her voice had come from behind the cabinet door below the sink.
They found her contorted around the plumbing. She slowly extricated herself, limb by limb. When she was fully out, she began to twist and stretch her cramped muscles.
“Why didn’t you answer when I called?” Cork asked.
She arched her back. “I didn’t know if someone was, like, holding a gun to your head or what.”
Dina smiled. “Smart.”
Charlie bent low, lithe enough to press her forehead to her shins. “What were the shots all about?”
“A hunter,” Cork said.
“Pothen,” Ren replied.
“Gorgeous George with him?”
“The dog,” Jewell explained to Cork and Dina.
The girl straightened and faced Ren. “So how was Stash?”
“Unconscious,” Ren replied. “His family’s with him.”
“Not all of us,” Charlie said, obviously still resentful.
Ren punched her shoulder lightly. “We’ll go back when he’s awake.”
“It’s a school day, Ren,” Jewell reminded him.
“Not today, Mom. Please. I mean, everything’s so crazy. And I don’t want to leave Charlie. Please.”
She gave in quickly. “All right. I’ll call.” She walked to the phone.
“Could I talk to Charlie for a little while alone?” Ren’s eyes went to Cork and then to Dina.
“Sure,” Dina said. “Why not?”
The two teenagers headed toward Ren’s room.
After Jewell made her call, she came into the kitchen where Dina was making fresh coffee.
“Mind?” Dina asked.
“My kitchen is yours,” Jewell replied. She glanced toward the hallway where Ren and Charlie had disappeared. “How’s she doing?”
Dina began to fill the coffeepot in the sink. “If dinosaurs had that kind of survival instinct, they’d still be around, eating us for breakfast. She’s tough.”
“She’s had to be. Any reporters?”
“No,” Cork said. “I’m thinking the sheriff’s people haven’t released Charlie’s name. That’s a good thing. But we need to talk about those boot prints behind the shed.”
“And we ought to figure what to do about that damn cougar,” Dina added as she poured the water into the coffeemaker.
“Boot prints behind the shed?” Jewell looked confused, and Cork explained to her what he’d discovered near the Dart.
Jewell said, “I don’t like the idea of any animal creeping around out there, human or otherwise.”
Cork hobbled to the dining table and sat down. The bowl from which Charlie had eaten her cereal sat directly across from him. Soggy pieces of Cap’n Crunch floated in the milk. He idly tapped the tabletop with his cane.
“We could contact the Department of Natural Resources,” he said. “They might have the wherewithal to deal with a cougar. But we’d end up with a lot of strangers mucking around. I don’t think that’s such a good idea right now. You know how to handle a firearm, Jewell?”
Copper River co-6 Page 15