Murder at Granite Falls

by Roxanne Rustand

  It was amusing to observe her inability to protect herself, to clearly identify danger, even in this innocuous setting.

  He smiled to himself. He had time. He’d nose around, and find out exactly what was going on out at the Wolf River Rafting Company. And when he was ready, he’d pay her a little visit so she’d receive a taste of what was to come.

  He could hardly wait.

  It felt so good—so normal—to walk into her classroom the next morning, that Carrie smiled to herself. She hadn’t slept well at all last night, with the grocery clerk’s words running through her thoughts in an endless litany and her ears attuned to the slightest sounds outside. That stranger hadn’t just been casually looking for her around town. He’d wanted to find out where she lived. Had someone blithely shared the information—and sent that prowler to her door?

  Since Monday night she’d felt restless during the day, too. Wary. Repeatedly had a crawling sensation at the back of her neck at odd times and would whirl around, only to find that nobody was there. But here at school, surrounded by all of the kids and teachers, she could finally relax.

  Just ten feet inside the door of her classroom, Carrie saw a creased piece of paper on her desk.

  Ordinary typing paper. Nothing unusual. Except that even from a distance, the carnage drawn on it sent a flutter of distaste through her midsection and unsettled the peanut butter and marmalade toast she’d eaten on the way into town.

  Some fifth-grade boys liked to doodle in the margins of their notebooks…weapons and bombs and war scenes. That was nothing new. But as she drew closer, the exquisite detail and blatant suffering in the characters’ eyes were too real, and an entirely different slant from the norm.

  One monstrous, semihuman figure had a look of pure evil on its face, with oversize sharp teeth, and was bedecked with multiple guns and swords and knives. Several bodies lay dismembered on the rough ground, blood flowing from them to mingle and form a river of crimson that ran to the edge of the page.

  She shuddered as she stared down at it, an uneasy feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.

  It was fifth-grade-level art, in style and execution, but the artist must have spent hours on the fine detail. Granted, this was a humanities enrichment class focusing on art appreciation. Maybe the child had been proud of his work and wanted to share it. She leaned closer, then turned the paper over.

  But if so, why hadn’t he—or she—signed it?

  “What’s up?”

  At the unexpected voice behind her, Carrie startled and spun around, a hand at her throat.

  Marie grinned. “Sorry—I thought you heard me say hello from the doorway.”

  “I didn’t. I was studying a picture left on my desk.” Carrie handed her the drawing. “Creepy, isn’t it?”

  Marie gave it a superficial glance and rolled her eyes. “Boys.”

  “I know. But this is more than that. Look at the faces, and amazing detail. There aren’t just X’s for the eyes of the dead. These people are hurting.”

  “Yeah, well…you’re the art teacher. This was probably done by some kid who’s a little more advanced. So, would you like to meet for lunch this afternoon?”

  Advanced in artistic skills, true…but also possibly troubled. Carrie dropped her gaze to the drawing once more. Just holding it gave her a sense of the child’s intense emotions. Please, God, don’t let this mean that this child is suffering through a bad situation.

  She closed her eyes, visualizing each of the twelve students in her class. All of the boys wore T-shirts and shorts or faded jeans; most of the girls wore pretty summer tops. Had she seen any bruises? Unusual behavior? Nothing that she could recall.

  “Uh…Carrie?”

  “Sorry. Yes—lunch sounds wonderful.” She slid the drawing into the top drawer of her desk and dropped her purse into the bottom drawer. “Any place you choose.”

  “Silver Bear Café, south edge of town. Best place in town, and the tourists haven’t found it yet. There’d be a half-hour wait at any of the touristy places. By the way,” she added with a lift of an eyebrow, “I hear you had some excitement on Monday night.”

  Carrie’s heart sank. “News sure traveled fast.”

  “Courtesy of my police scanner.” Marie chuckled. “Everyone has one around here—it’s faster than just heading down to the feed store or café to hear the latest news. Memorize all those official code numbers, and it’s a wealth of information.”

  “Great. So now the whole county knows the new school-teacher makes unnecessary 911 calls, and is apparently afraid of the dark?”

  “Just because there wasn’t a prowler still out there when Rick showed up doesn’t mean you didn’t have one.”

  At the ruckus emanating from the riverbank, Logan set aside his camera, took a last disgusted look at the massive rip he’d just photographed as evidence for the insurance company—too straight and even to have been from natural causes—along the deflated, fifteen-foot side tube of one of the larger rubber rafts, and strolled over to check out the latest fishing disaster.

  Sure enough, the Nelson twins were in the thick of things—teasing and chortling over the tangled lines of two younger boys. Another two ignored the others as they sat on the bank tossing rocks into the water.

  “Dylan, Austin, lay off,” Logan said mildly as he took hold of the fistful of tightly knotted filament. It was too tangled to ever pull apart. He eyed the two younger boys, both with nearly white-blond hair, who had come out just a couple times with the older ones. “Looks like you tried to get this apart, and it just got worse. Right?”

  The boys nodded.

  “Some days are just like that. Let’s see. You are…Robbie and Danny?”

  They both nodded.

  “Fifth grade?” Logan guessed high, hoping to elicit a smile.

  “Third.” Danny’s lower lip trembled. “Robbie’s in fourth.”

  “Do your parents know you’re out here?”

  “We rode our bikes,” Danny said evasively, dropping his gaze to the rocky ground.

  “Mom has to work on Saturdays. She don’t care,” Robbie added with a defiant tilt to his chin. “Just so we get back for supper, is all.”

  “I see.” Logan pulled a knife from the sheath at his belt and cut away the mass of fishing line, then reattached each hook and bobber. “There you go, boys. What did you say your last name was?”

  “Jensen,” Danny piped up as he eagerly reached for his rod.

  “Now he’s gonna tell, stupid,” Robbie hissed, elbowing his younger brother in the ribs. “See if we get to go fishing then.”

  “I don’t care if you’re here, but your mom does need to know and give her permission. Okay? The river can be a dangerous place.”

  “Nobody owns the river,” Robbie shot back. “We learned that in school.”

  “You’re right,” Logan countered, hiding a smile at the boy’s spunk. “But the land is mine, and since I’m the responsible adult here, I just want you to be safe. And for your mom to say it’s okay.”

  “But…but this is the best spot on the whole river. Clear back to town.”

  “I know. It slows down along this stretch, and there are nice deep trout pools close to the bank. There’s a good one just a dozen yards down from the raft launching area.”

  Robbie’s brow furrowed with intense concentration. “Can we come again if we bring a note?”

  “That would be good, though I also need to tell her that I can’t be responsible for you. All of the other moms had to do the same thing—talk to me, and write a note, if their boys wanted to be here.”

  Robbie and Danny looked at each other.

  “Phone number?” Logan prodded gently. He punched the numbers into his cell phone as the older boy recited them, then hit Send.

  It didn’t take long to discover why the boys both looked so crestfallen. After he explained the situation, there was a brief silence, then the decibel level of their mother’s voice rose with each word, until he had to hold the phon
e well away from his ear. She disconnected before he could say a single word in the boys’ defense.

  “Sorry, guys. She says you can’t be riding your bikes down the highway, and you are not allowed near the river.” He smiled at them, trying to soften the news, though the quiet snickers of the Nelson twins from a few yards away didn’t help matters.

  Danny’s eyes glistened with tears, but Robbie’s face reddened. “Never?”

  “She says you can’t come here alone. But maybe when you’re older, okay?”

  “Are we grounded?” Danny whispered, a tear trailing down his cheek.

  For a lifetime and a half, if his mother’s voice was any clue.

  Logan ruffled the boy’s hair, wishing he dared give him a hug. Knowing it would be improper and even dangerous to offer that comfort. “She didn’t tell me. She only said that she’d be here in fifteen minutes to take you both home. Do you have a dog?”

  “Mom doesn’t like dogs. They’re messy,” Robbie muttered.

  “Want to see mine?” Logan held two fingers to his mouth and sent off a piercing whistle. A few seconds later, Murphy appeared at the door of the boathouse, blinked at the sunshine, then ambled over to sit at Logan’s feet.

  “He’s just a lazy ole dog,” Robbie said.

  “You think? Take a look.” Logan silently signaled and Murphy rolled over. “Ask him a simple math question. Kindergarten level.”

  A smile glimmered on Danny’s face. “One plus two?”

  Murphy waved his tail furiously, and with each of his three deep barks, the child’s smile grew. “Wow.”

  Even Robbie was showing more interest now. “What else can he do?”

  “Do you have a good arm for throwing?”

  “Yeah.”

  Logan searched the ground, picked up an old yellow tennis ball and lobbed it into a high, long-distance arc. The old lab tore across parking lot and was there to catch it as it fell.

  Now all the boys were watching. One of the Nelson twins tried to intercept the dog when it returned, but it neatly circumvented him and stopped at Logan’s feet. Logan handed the ball to Robbie. “Give it a try. And don’t worry about throwing as high as I did—grounders are good, too. He’ll do this until he gets too tired.”

  True to form, Murphy chased after the ball for Robbie several times, and then Danny, until both boys were grinning and cheering Murphy on.

  “Nice job,” Carrie said quietly. “You handled that very well.”

  Logan turned and found her perched on the top of a picnic table in front of the boathouse. He reined in his automatic flash of pleasure at seeing her there. “I didn’t know you were out here.”

  “You were occupied. Very well, by the way. You could’ve been a great teacher. Or a counselor.”

  “Thanks. I once thought about teaching at a university—livestock production or horse management, maybe. But…well, things changed at home and my sister and I both headed back to the family ranch after we graduated from college.”

  “So where is home?”

  “An hour or so from here.” He hitched his shoulder a little, brushing aside the raw memories of struggling to save the ranch. “My mother won a fierce battle with cancer, but my dad ended up having to sell out to pay off her medical bills.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. She’s in remission, and my dad would’ve given the earth to make her well.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Florida. She’d always dreamed of retiring there but never thought it possible. Now Dad manages a quarter horse breeding farm south of Tampa, and Mom has a part-time job in a gift shop. They say it’s like living a second honeymoon every single day.”

  She smiled at that. “Sounds like a happy marriage.”

  “It is.” He angled a rueful look at her. “Kinda hard to follow an act like that. They still hold hands at sixty.”

  “So you’re one of those guys looking for perfection?” she teased.

  “I’m just not looking,” he shot back, softening his words with a quick grin. But it was the truth. He’d stored away his wounded heart long ago, after Janie died, and he had no intention of getting into any conversations about it. How had they gotten onto this topic?

  He shifted uneasily, thankful to hear the sound of a vehicle coming up the lane. As it came into view, he could see Montana plates—and from the duet of groans from the two boys, knew it probably belonged to their mother.

  The SUV pulled to a hard stop, and a slender woman stepped out, her jaw rigid. “Boys—get your bikes over here right now. We’ll put them in the back.”

  With a faint nod in Logan’s direction, she marched to the rear, lifted the tailgate, and helped the boys load the bikes. Their eyes were downcast as they climbed in, though Danny braved a quick, longing glance toward Murphy before he pulled his door shut and slumped into his seat.

  Their mother paused at her own door, clearly unhappy and torn between a swift getaway and common manners. The manners won when she finally looked up at Logan for a split second before her gaze darted away. “The boys will not bother you again.”

  “They weren’t a bother. I just want parents to know when their kids are out here. I can’t be responsible for them while I’m working, and that river current is dangerous.”

  “As I said, they won’t be back.” She slid into her seat, hesitated, then her gaze locked on his. “Sheryl Colwell was a friend of mine. I’m sure you understand.”

  The SUV left in a cloud of dust.

  The other kids had wandered back to their fishing poles as soon as Murphy tired of fetching and plopped down under a tree.

  Now Logan could feel Carrie’s curious gaze on his back. He could sense that she was turning the woman’s words over in her mind, wondering what it all meant.

  Unless she knew already, in which case this just confirmed whatever gossip she’d heard in town.

  “When I walked over here, I saw you studying the raft. What’s going on?”

  Surprised at the change of topic, he looked over his shoulder. “Damage. Tina and Penny don’t remember hitting any sharp boulders on the river during the evening float trip yesterday. They couldn’t have reached the landing site downriver unless it happened during the last few minutes anyway. And when they hauled the raft back here, it was still fully inflated.”

  “So it happened here. On the shore.”

  “Vandalism.”

  She moved closer to the raft and bent down to inspect it. She reached out to touch the damaged area and her hand brushed against his.

  She jerked her hand back as if she’d touched fire, a flash of confusion crossing her face, and he knew she’d felt it, too—an electric sensation that had shot up his arm and landed somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

  “Um…” She blinked. “A knife, maybe?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  Frowning, she straightened and shaded her eyes with her hand as she studied the boys along the riverbank. “Think it was any of those kids?”

  “The four here now all come from the Sundown Trailer Court—and that’s not the trailer park with the fancy security fences and beautiful landscaping. Sundown is shabby, with beer bottles and trash thrown around. It doesn’t sound like the boys get much parenting, so they’re probably just glad to have a free place to hang out.”

  “Still…”

  “Nope. They hang around quite a bit, and they’re all good kids. Now, anyways,” he added with a grin. “We had to discuss manners a few times early on.”

  Carrie bit her lower lip, her eyes troubled. “If not them, then who? Why would anyone want to cause you trouble?”

  “Believe me, this wasn’t the first time something happened here during the past year. And it probably won’t be the last.”

  She appeared to be oddly relieved at the news. “I thought the prowler on Monday night was stalking me, but maybe not.”

  “Stalking you?”

  “I know, it probably sounds silly. But my ex-husband, Billy,
wasn’t all that happy about our divorce, even though he initiated it. I get threatening calls from him now and then.”

  Logan frowned. “Worrying about something like that doesn’t sound silly at all.”

  “But he couldn’t know where I am right now.” She flipped a hand dismissively. “I made sure of that when I left my brother’s ranch.”

  “Still…”

  “So, do you think that prowler was the one who damaged your raft?”

  “Nope.” He ran a hand over the damaged surface. “We would’ve noticed yesterday when we tried to put it on the river. But it was fine.”

  “What if he was just scoping things out, and came back last night?”

  “Maybe.”

  She pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her khaki slacks and offered it to him. “You should call the sheriff’s department.”

  He sighed, thinking of the other suspicious events on the rafting company property and his cabin over the past twelve months. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? You’ll need a police report to file an insurance claim, right?”

  He laughed at that. “I took photos, but my insurance company has become a little testy when I call.”

  “But that’s their job. Answering your calls. Taking care of your claims.”

  “Within reason.”

  “Well, if I were you—” Her eyes widened with sudden understanding. “This isn’t the first time you’ve had trouble.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “But…why?” Her gaze swept the dense forest of pines crowding in on three sides of the clearing. “And why doesn’t the sheriff’s department help?”

  He thought about all the ways they’d failed to properly investigate. The morning after someone shot out a window in his cabin. Or the day he’d found his tires slashed. Or the other, more subtle events that illustrated exactly what local opinion was regarding his character.

  Given the offhand attitude and smirk on the face of the deputy who’d responded to his calls, any amount of trouble at Wolf River Rafting Company was what Logan deserved, and more.