“I can’t stay. I have a meeting to attend.” He gave a general wave to all of us and departed.
The light moment of dog cookies disappeared down the dark road of Daniel being a suspect. I hoped we discovered the identity of the killer soon.
“Gotta go, too. Thanks again, Helen.” Stanton ruffled Tommy’s hair. “I’m looking forward to the cookies.”
Stanton left and Tommy got down on the floor and began petting Fred. He stopped and looked at me. “Miss Kelly, I forgot to tell you. There’s something under the windshield wiper of the truck.”
“Thanks for telling me.” Puzzled, I left to check it out.
As I approached the vehicle, I could see a white envelope on the windshield. I pulled it out. It was soggy…probably from last night’s fog. I opened it carefully so as not to rip the wet paper.
Cut out letters had been glued haphazardly. “Stop asking questions or you’ll be stopped.”
Simple.
To the point.
I didn’t play poker, but I knew someone had just upped the ante.
Chapter 18
My phone rang. I saw Daniel’s number in the window.
“Hi, Daniel.”
“Is Stanton gone?”
“Yes, he left shortly after you did.”
“I have something I need to talk to you about. If I come over now, do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure. See you soon.”
I tucked the note in my back pocket. I wouldn’t mention it to Daniel. He had enough on his mind. However, this note gave me something new for Deputy Stanton. It was put on the truck last night. Maybe we were closer to finding out something more than we thought…even though we didn’t know what it was.
I went into the kitchen and found Helen putting away the rest of the supplies Daniel had delivered.
She closed the cupboard she’d been stocking. “There’s one more basket to retrieve. I’ll take care of that, then I promised Tommy I’d take him into town. Someone told him there’s a mushroom-hunting pig in the contest. He’s hoping it’ll be at the kickoff breakfast this morning.”
“He’s right. Her name is Priscilla. She’s black and white and yesterday wore a large pink ribbon on her collar. She’s a kick to watch. I was told she loves attention.”
“Sounds fun. Are you going to go to any of the activities today?”
“I wasn’t planning to. I might drop by where the groups meet for a while,” I said.
“Okay. I’ll see you later.”
Helen left, and I poured myself another cup of coffee. Daniel pulled in before I had any more time to think about the note and its potential consequences. He let himself in the back door. A camera case hung from his shoulder.
I held up a mug. “Would you like some coffee?”
He sat where Stanton had been. “You bet.”
I poured it and handed the mug to him. “What’s up?”
“Remember the sinker log I pointed out to you on our tribe’s sacred land?”
“Sure. I saw it again yesterday when I was out with the canoe group. What about it?”
“It’s gone, and the shore and adjacent land has been ripped up.”
“What?” I put my coffee cup down harder than necessary. “How can that be? How did you find out?”
“Two young men from our tribe went out last night to do a sunset ceremony and everything was fine. They returned to do a sunrise ceremony on the knoll. They saw the damage as soon as the sun came up and called me.”
“That’s where Ned Blaine was killed. Is that why you didn’t want to say anything in front of Stanton?”
Daniel stared into his coffee, as if searching for answers in the dark liquid. “I went out to see for myself. The less said connecting me, the reporter, and the site of his murder, the better.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“I took detailed pictures.” He pulled his camera out of the case, turned it on, made some adjustments, and handed it to me.
I studied the photos he had taken. The damage to the land was horrific. It was as if some giant, raging monster had slashed its way through, intent on destroying as much as possible.
“How awful, Daniel.”
“There’s no way I can drive down there in my bus. I’ve walked in before, but it takes a couple of hours. There’s an emergency tribal meeting this morning to discuss what happened and what can be done to restore the site. I took these pictures to show the elders.” He sighed. “I’d like to see it up close. Maybe there’s even something there to indicate who is responsible.”
“I have a thought.” The day’s schedule of events had been posted on the bulletin board. I took it down and found the number of the canoe company. It was nine fifteen. If they had room, I could still make it on time.
I called them and lucked out. They had a space and, if I could get there by ten, they’d be happy to have me.
I joined Daniel at the counter. “Like I said, yesterday I saw the sinker log when I paddled down the river. The damaged area is where we pulled out the canoes. I’ll go and take more pictures and see if I can find anything.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked. “There’s a murderer on the loose and that’s near the area where it happened. I know you’ve been asking questions. Someone might not like it.”
A prickle of unease ran down my back. I know someone doesn’t like it.
“The guides stayed in that area yesterday while the mushroom hunters took off. I’ll stay in sight of them.”
Daniel had a worried frown. “I don’t know, Kelly.”
“Daniel, if someone wants to hurt me, there will always be opportunities, short of barricading myself in my room. I’m not going to do that. I’m also not going to take unnecessary chances. I won’t wander off into the woods by myself.”
“You’re right. If someone really wants to hurt you, that’s not hard to do.”
Thanks, Daniel.
“The sooner we can bring an end to what’s going on, the better for everyone,” I said.
He shifted on the stool. “You can say that again.”
“I’ve got to get moving if I’m going to make it to the canoes in time.”
He finished his coffee. “Right. I need to get to the meeting.”
He left, and I rushed to my rooms. I put the note in my desk drawer, changed into shoes appropriate for canoeing, and headed for Paddler’s Paradise.
People had their life vests on and were beginning to get into the canoes. One of the guides from yesterday saw me and waved. He reached down and picked up a vest and handed it to me when I got to him. I picked up an oar from the stack next to him.
He pointed to the last canoe in the row. “There’s space in that one. We’ll work out the payment when we get back.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
A red-haired man with a full beard, wearing a blue Paddler’s Paradise T-shirt, addressed the group. “My name’s Tim O’Brien. I’m the lead guide today. Please listen up, everyone. There is bridge maintenance being done upstream. Debris that’s collected on the piers is being broken up and is floating down the river. This shouldn’t create a problem for anyone. I’m going ahead to check our landing area and clear it if necessary.”
He got in a canoe and paddled off with strong, swift strokes.
I settled in the bow of the canoe and a heavyset man, wearing a long-sleeved denim shirt and blue jeans, took the middle position. A young dark-haired guide pushed the canoe into the water and got in the back. I put my hand in the river and delighted in the feeling of the cool silkiness of the water rippling against my fingers.
The trip was smooth and fast. Sticks and some leafy branches floated past that weren’t in evidence yesterday. Our guide easily navigated around them. I recognized a few of the people who had been with my group yesterday. The canoes glided around a corner and
came to the landing area.
Our guide abruptly slowed. “What the…”
The smooth sandy beach had disappeared. Large gouges and wide ruts led down to the water’s edge.
Tim had beached his canoe and waved to us. “Over to the right,” he yelled.
There was a short, undisturbed section of beach up against a row of bushes. We couldn’t go in as a group. No more than two canoes could unload at a time. The guides paddled in circles to wait their turn as people got out and the canoes were quickly pulled up on the land.
We were the last to land. I disembarked and grabbed the side of the canoe. The heavyset man did the same on the other side. Our guide took hold of the back. This part of the shore was steeper, and it took some muscle from all of us to get it securely on land.
The mushroom hunters had gathered together and were gazing at the destruction.
A slender man I recognized from yesterday’s group appeared stunned. “What happened?” he asked the guides, who were surveying the beach.
“I have no idea,” my guide said. “What a mess!”
Indeed it was. Bushes were flattened, their branches crushed. Part of the shore had caved in. The narrow tracks the mushroom hunters had used as paths yesterday were now wide strips of torn-up earth, with broken limbs hanging down from the surrounding plants. My stomach felt queasy at the destruction before me.
“Okay, there’s nothing we can do about this except report it later. I know you want to get on with your hunting. You have an hour.” Tim urged them on and away from the disturbing sight.
I went over to the shore and studied the damaged land. Several different-sized tire tracks had left their imprints in the mud. I reached for my phone to take pictures.
The sound of an approaching engine from the newly widened road stopped me. Several of the hunters who were about to go down the track stepped aside. A red truck, jacked up so high you could see its undercarriage, emerged. A winch and a spotlight were bolted on the front bumper. The oversize tires churned through the mud and sand, flinging it into the bushes.
Joey.
He drove toward me and pulled into the area I’d been about to photograph. He backed the truck up and did a three-point turn, positioning the vehicle for him to be ready to leave. Joey jumped out, wearing a Giants baseball cap, his wispy blond ponytail protruding from the back. The passenger door opened and Peter emerged. They waved to the guides. Being locals and men of the outdoors, it didn’t surprise me they knew each other.
“Hey, man,” Joey said to one of the guides. “I heard the place was messed up. I’m working this afternoon, but I had the morning off and wanted to see the area for myself. Any idea what happened?”
“None. What about you? Anything on the grapevine?” Tim asked.
Joey shrugged. “A lot of people knew about the sinker log here. Wondered if there could be a connection.”
I already knew the answer but went with the group anyway as they walked to the river. We went as close to the bank as we dared. No log rested on the bottom of the river. Drag marks marred the shore. A musty, earthy smell filled the air.
“There’s the answer,” Peter said. “Someone finally nabbed it.”
The red-haired guide nodded. “Heavy equipment did this damage.”
The ruts revealed tire track patterns I guessed to be about two feet wide. I took a couple of pictures and put my phone back in its case. The men continued talking, and I wandered over to where I’d been about to take photos before Joey and Peter arrived. I had seen several different tire tracks. Now the only clear prints were those of Joey’s truck.
Peter and Joey were both in the wood business. Did they have anything to do with the theft? Splatters of dried mud covered the truck, including the windshield and up onto the roof. Windshield wipers had cleared the view for the driver. Had this happened on their way here or last night? Had Joey intentionally driven his truck over the tracks?
I walked farther out but didn’t find any more tracks. The area became grassy, with clumps of bushes and the beginning of a stand of redwood trees. The grass was matted here, as if something heavy had rested on it. I walked slowly, examining the area. I made wider and wider circles but found nothing. My last pass brought me to the river’s edge. No damage here.
I glanced over at the guides. The men sat on the same logs as yesterday, situated in a grassy portion of the landing area at the back of what had been a sandy beach. They were in clear sight. The only place I was going to find anything was where there was evidence of activity…and I didn’t see any here.
I stared down at the river, only a few feet away. Suddenly something bumped me hard from behind. I grabbed at a branch of a young redwood tree, but it slipped through my fingers. I teetered on the edge of the bank and then plunged facedown into the cold river.
Chapter 19
The shock of the cold water took my breath away. I flung my head back and gulped in air. The current pulled me away from the shore. Fortunately, I was a strong swimmer and instinct kicked in. I treaded water and scanned the bank where I’d been standing and didn’t see anything or anyone.
I began to swim back to land, using a breaststroke so I could keep my head above water and my eyes on where I’d been pushed off. As I got close to shore, I pulled my legs under me and felt the ground. I shuffled a couple of steps, almost neck deep in water, then couldn’t move my right foot. It had become entangled.
I twisted, pushed, and pulled, but it was held fast. My bouncy weightlessness didn’t give me any leverage. Taking a deep breath, I held it and went under water. I grabbed my calf and tried to tug my foot free from whatever held it. No luck. I pushed upward and my head came out of the water. I breathed deeply for a few breaths then went under again. This time I was able to grab my foot and pull. I felt a tangle of roots encasing it. I had to go back up for more air. By now I was panting.
A stick poked my cheek, causing a flash of pain, then was sucked away by the current. I looked upstream and saw some good-sized branches getting close. Beyond them was a much larger one that could do serious damage. Fear shot through me. I needed to get to shore.
“Help!” I yelled.
The closest branch punched my upper arm and floated away. I was surprised at how much it hurt. The current gave it some strength. What I’d thought was a large branch I now could see was a small tree, its ragged end pointed at me. It was big enough to possibly knock me out, and the branches could force my head underwater.
My heart raced. I willed myself not to panic and cried out again. “Help!”
Joey appeared on the bank. “Person in the water!” he shouted. He took off his hat and tossed it on the ground. He lowered himself into the water, using an exposed root for support, and started walking toward me, using his arms in a swim-like motion to help him move forward. I could tell he was feeling his way along with each step.
He stopped a couple of feet in front of me.
“My right foot is caught,” I called to him.
The water came up to the middle of his chest. “Got it.”
I glanced up the river. The tree and its companions were getting close.
Joey took a deep breath and dropped under the surface. I felt his hands trying to push my foot free. He surfaced with an explosive exhale, took another breath, and went under again. This time I felt tugging around my foot. He was going after what was holding me in place. The rope of roots loosened, and I was able to push my foot out and to freedom.
Joey stood with another loud release of air.
“That did it,” I said.
I took a step forward, and he moved to my side and grabbed my arm, helping me navigate the slippery mud. Two more steps. The branches of the tree raked my back as it passed.
The guides and Peter lined the shore. We reached the bank and Joey let go. The men reached out and pulled us onto the land.
I was trembling f
rom cold and fear, adrenaline still racing through my body. My soaked clothes clung to my skin, driving the chill of the river deep into me.
“What happened?” Tim asked as he took Joey’s place and steadied me.
We slowly walked to where the canoes were beached. The rest of the group formed a small crowd around us. Someone threw an oversize sweatshirt over my shaking shoulders and pulled the hood over my soaked hair.
“Something bumped against me and the next thing I knew I was in the water.”
Tim frowned. “What could have hit you like that?”
“I have no idea. I haven’t seen any large animals in the area,” I said.
Other than the human kind. I figured it was a who, not a what. I shot a glance at Peter and Joey. They had their heads together. One of them, I figured, after Peter’s threat and Joey’s displeasure.
The guides looked puzzled but had the courtesy to not look skeptical.
“Did any of you see anything?” I asked.
Unanimous shakes of the head gave me the answer.
Tim led me to one of the canoes. He supported me as I sank down on a nearby log.
He took a plastic box out of the front of the canoe and opened it. “We have towels, a thermal blanket, and a medicine kit in here.”
He pulled the blanket out. I removed the sopping wet sweatshirt and draped the blanket around my shoulders. It didn’t help much, considering my sodden clothes, but I appreciated even a little extra warmth.
I took a towel and dried off the best I could. Rolling my pant legs up to my knees, I massaged my wet, clammy skin with the towel, hoping to get the blood flowing and the return of some warmth. I vigorously rubbed my hair, then finger combed it.
“Do you have any injuries?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I put the blanket on the ground. “I got hit pretty hard by one of the sticks.”
I took off my fleece jacket and pushed up the sleeve of my top. There were no cuts, but a red spot on my upper arm probably would develop into a fist-sized bruise later. I took off my right shoe and sock and discovered numerous scrapes on my ankle from my struggles.
Murder at the Mushroom Festival Page 13