Murder at Granite Falls

by Roxanne Rustand

  It was damp, the black leather deeply worn at the folded edges, slick with mud. She tried to quell the shaking of her hands as she took it from him and tried to marshal her numb fingers.

  But even before she opened it, she knew…whether from some sort of residual scent, or a feeling deep in her heart. But she knew.

  The credit cards, driver’s license and cash were gone. All the rest of the detritus that a billfold tended to accumulate over the years—the ticket stubs and receipts and outdated membership cards—was missing, too.

  But there was one more place to look.

  Drawing in a ragged breath, she snagged a thin, hidden flap along the inner wall of one of the pockets meant for credit cards. She lifted it back, then awkwardly pinched at the edge of a faded photo, trying to snag it. Her head started to spin as the damp leather held on to it…then finally, it began to move.

  If there’d ever been a question about Billy’s death being caused by a random hunter, this would put those thoughts to rest.

  Because this was his billfold, no doubt about it, and someone had tried to hide all evidence of his campsite, as well.

  So who was behind all of this—and why?

  “Yes, sir, I understand. No problem. Maybe we’ll see you next year.” Logan cradled the office telephone and looked over at Penny, who was glaring at her computer screen. “Another cancellation.”

  “I figured.” She didn’t look up. “Maybe you could give me some good news for once. I need it, because there’s nothing I hate more than this bookkeeping.”

  “I see there are two more late July reservations that came in through the website.”

  She angled a glance at him. “Great. Until those people come into town, pull into a gas station or café, and ask for directions or otherwise mention Wolf River Rafting. Maybe we should just save everyone the trouble and add a line to our website, like, ‘By the way, we’re really nice folks but every year, the cops suspect our owner of murder. So when you arrive, he may be at another trial.’”

  Logan set his jaw. “I’m not letting it get that far this time.”

  “On that note, I got a call an hour ago. The BCI and the sheriff have gone through the woods near that scout camp with a fine-tooth comb, and found nothing more than we already knew—that Billy had camped near there. Nothing that ties him to any crimes in the area or association with a bad element. Nothing that points to his killer.” Penny’s eyes glistened. “How can there be so many dead ends? Right now, I’d bet that our county sheriff is busy trying to prove himself right about you. Since we live on this property, I have no doubt they’ll find evidence that you were in the vicinity of the murder at some point. With Carrie’s shotgun still missing, how are we going to prove anything?”

  “I’m going back out to search for Dante, for one thing.”

  “And if that loony old guy gives you a statement, what will that prove? A prosecuting attorney could blast his testimony apart in seconds, just on the basis of his mental history.”

  “But he has gone into hiding. If he didn’t kill Danvers, maybe he saw something and he’s frightened. If he could even give me a hint, maybe I can find out the truth before it’s too late.”

  “That’s our sheriff’s job.” Penny made a sound of disgust. “And I wish he’d do it right. The man should’ve retired years ago.”

  “I don’t trust the Lawler County legal system to get this right, either.” Logan drummed his fingers on the desk. “Remember those articles in Newsweek, about how many people are put in prison, then exonerated twenty years later based on DNA evidence? When this is over, I want to push for a review of all of the convictions since Tyler was elected.”

  “And I’d back you a hundred percent.”

  He glanced at his watch. “That said, I need to get going.”

  At the sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside, they both looked up.

  “That’s odd. Carrie’s not due back yet.” Penny stood and went to the window. “And she definitely doesn’t look happy. I wonder what she has in that box?”

  He looked out the window, then headed toward the door. “I’ve got a feeling it isn’t good.”

  Carrie had her foot on the stairs when they came outside. She backed up and rested the box on the picnic table by the door, then turned to face them. “Bad news. I lost my job.”

  “Oh, no,” Penny exclaimed, a hand at her throat. “What happened?”

  She pulled a sad face. “I have to admit that the principal and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. But this is just beyond.”

  “Because of the murder?”

  “Apparently gossip is really flying in town, and a number of parents view me as a Very Bad Influence, or something. Most of my students have been withdrawn, so it’s almost a moot point. But, I’m on unpaid leave. Presumably until I’m tried, convicted and hauled away for murder—or so Grover implied.”

  “But there aren’t even any charges yet!”

  “He pulled out the old ‘moral turpitude’ clause, hinting that if I wasn’t involved, then I might be associating with those who are. So for the safety of the children and to maintain positive influences for them, I shouldn’t be there.” She managed a faint smile. “Though of course, if everything ends up well, he may let me come back. As if I’d want to work for him again.”

  Penny sat on one of the benches and propped her elbows on the table. “That’s just so unfair. You should fight it, Carrie.”

  “With what? I can’t afford to.” She wearily sank onto the bench opposite Penny, next to the cardboard box of her possessions. “If only my shotgun hadn’t disappeared. Talk about a red flag.”

  Logan leaned a hip on the far edge of the table. “Agreed. But the BCI combed the murder site and far into the forest, plus the roadsides for several miles in either direction. They didn’t even find any shell casings.”

  “Which make it look like either you or I might’ve used it, then hid it very, very well.” She idly thumbed through the contents of the box at her side. “I am so going to miss my students. The scary thing is that I might never get to teach again. Even if I’m not charged with anything, I can only imagine what Ed Grover would say to any future schools looking for a reference.”

  “And that you could fight, too. He’d have no right to do that…and I’m sure he knows it, too. You shouldn’t have to give up the career you love.” Penny leaned forward and peered at the top of the box. “What’s that? There—that piece of paper poking up behind the blue folder. Is that from one of the summer art projects you did?”

  “This?”

  “No—the one behind it. The one with the really fine detail. Pen and ink.”

  Carrie twisted the box to face her and plucked out a sheet of paper, and laid it on the table. “This?”

  Penny’s eyes widened. “Brother. Someone is into carnage here.”

  “I didn’t realize I still had one of them. The older versions were in a folder that disappeared from my desk a few weeks ago.”

  “Someone stole them? Why? I mean, every inch of the paper is plastered with detail and this must have taken hours, but it isn’t exactly a Monet.” She peered at it more closely. “And it’s kind of creepy, if you ask me. Who did them?”

  “The boy’s family is pretty sensitive about his emotional issues, so I’m not really at liberty to say. The student left them on my desk one day after another, unsigned. I was afraid that the level of violence shown might be an indication of an abusive situation. My pal the principal disagreed, though. He apparently thought I was nuts to be concerned.” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “The boy who drew them is indeed…troubled. I understand he has terrible nightmares, so it’s no surprise that he might express himself this way, poor child.”

  Penny looked closer. “Look at it—the only thing in color is the river running red, so I suppose that’s blood. And those bodies…eeuuuww.” She looked away, then turned back and cocked her head. “Hey, Logan. Does this look at all familiar to you? Look at the
precipice. And that waterfall.”

  He’d been tuning out for the past few minutes, barely catching their conversation. Now, he shook off his thoughts about the Danvers case and glanced at the drawing. “Kids’ stuff.”

  But then he took a second look. Leaned closer, and studied the detail. The angle of the cliff, the comparative height of the falls. The largest corpse, among many, was sprawled on the boulders at the base of the cliff.

  His heart faltered.

  He’d been on the search-and-rescue team the day after Sheryl’s murder. He’d been the one to find her body, and with nightfall looming and four-footed predators lurking in the area, he’d made a judgment call and photographed the scene with his cell phone from just one angle before a wave splashed him and ruined the phone. So he hadn’t been able to call for assistance, either.

  Then he’d struggled to retrieve the body, and it had taken twenty minutes to load it into his two-man raft given the swift, changeable currents and turbulent water at the base of the falls.

  A massive grizzly had lumbered into view just a minute later, grunting and sniffing the blood on the rocks.

  No one had been there to help him.

  No one else had seen her body, sprawled on those boulders.

  But the child who’d drawn this had gotten every detail exactly right—and given the gory details on the rest of the page, had been terrified and deeply disturbed by what he saw.

  He turned to Carrie and fought to keep his voice level. “Who drew this? Did you ever find out?”

  She bit her lower lip. “I can’t say.”

  “You can’t, or you won’t?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I have to know, Carrie. Tell me.”

  “There…was a lot of trouble over this. The child’s guardian was really upset when I tried to figure out who did it.”

  “You had twelve students. If I have to ask every one of them, I’ll try to track them down.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Look at this picture—right here. And there.” He touched the paper in several places. “This is no random drawing. This is Granite Falls, up in the mountains. The one this town was named for. The kid got the details exactly right—including the exact positioning of Sheryl Colwell’s body.”

  Carrie drew in a sharp breath. “You mean…”

  “I was the one who found her body, and I was the one who retrieved it—alone. If this kid saw her body, maybe he also saw her die.”

  Carrie paled. “How horrible.”

  “And the last thing a killer wants is a witness,” Logan added grimly. “If he ever finds out about these drawings, this kid could be next.”

  “I…I…”

  “If I were you, I’d be mighty careful about keeping this drawing locked away, and I wouldn’t mention it to anyone else.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And I’d also contact the sheriff and the boy’s mother, because if you don’t do something, and word gets out to the wrong person, the child’s blood could be on your hands.”

  She shuddered.

  “So,” he said on a long sigh. “Are you going to let me know who he is, or not?”

  SEVENTEEN

  Carrie swallowed hard. “I can’t tell you the name of this boy. Both the principal and his…his family were adamant about that.”

  “Even if it means the kid’s life?”

  Her last visit to Noah’s cabin rushed back into her thoughts.

  His father had practically slammed the door in Carrie’s face. Linda had clearly wanted Carrie to leave and never come back. But had Carrie misunderstood? Did they know what Noah had seen and fear for his safety? Had they been threatened?

  The first day of summer school the kids had all filled out their contact information on index cards, so Carrie could call their parents about any last-minute changes of planned outings. She glanced inside the wooden recipe box she’d brought home from school and sifted through the contents. Bingo.

  “I’ll call his house tonight, so I can see his f—” She hesitated, stumbling over the fact that Noah didn’t have a mother any longer, and revealing that fact would give away exactly who he was. “His family.”

  “When you go, I want to go along. If I’m right, this boy is in danger.”

  “But only if the killer knows about the final drawing and actually sees how accurate it is. Right? And I won’t let that happen. So he’s safe for now.”

  “So who else has seen them?”

  “Me. Marie, one of the other teachers. She’s a nice lady in her fifties, and has lived here all her life. And the principal—who is paunchy and about as flabby-looking as a middle-aged guy could be. He’s also a bit of a whiner.”

  “You said he’s a difficult man to deal with.”

  “Not in an aggressive, dangerous way. I certainly can’t see any woman wanting to have an illicit affair with him—or see him having enough energy to trudge up into the mountains and throw Noah’s mother over a cliff. I hear that his wife rules their home with an iron fist at any rate, so she probably doesn’t let him stray out of their yard. Not only that, but both Marie and Grover just blew off the other drawings as normal kids’ stuff, and were incredulous over my concern.”

  Penny had been listening quietly, her eyes filled with concern. Now, her cell phone rang and she startled at the sudden noise, then glanced at the caller ID and took the brief call.

  When she pocketed the phone, she looked up. “I told some friends that I want to talk to Dante, on the pretext of wondering about the best trails up to Sumner Peak. One of them spotted him this morning not too far from here, over on Liberty Ridge. There’s an older trapper’s cabin up there, right?”

  Logan nodded, reaching for the keys in his pocket as he started for the truck. “I’m on my way.”

  Carrie jumped up. “Me, too—just let me put this box upstairs.”

  He didn’t miss a stride. “It’s better if you don’t come along. Those are some advanced trails up there, and it’s a long hike from the parking area.”

  She hurried up the stairs, shoved the box under a pile of camping gear in her closet, then raced back down to climb into the passenger side of the truck. Logan was already behind the steering wheel, an elbow resting on the open window at his side and the motor idling.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Penny called out. “I’ll just stay here all alone…and bored…and try to fend off the sheriff and his posse.”

  “If we’re lucky, this will all soon be over,” Logan retorted. “And when we’re vindicated, we’ll be back to being too busy to even think about being bored.”

  The closest parking area for Liberty Ridge was along the highway to Battle Creek. The poorly marked, rarely used six-mile trail rising above that point wound through boulders and up steep, rocky trails more suited for mountain goat than man.

  At roughly the halfway point, Logan pulled to a halt. “How are you doing?”

  She frowned. “This has to be terrible for your back. I’m more concerned about you.”

  “I’m good.”

  Which wasn’t exactly true, but if these six miles up meant finding some answers, it would be worth every Ibuprofen and hot, steaming shower it took to ease the pain that would follow.

  She’d brought a backpack with her, and now she reached inside and offered him bottled water, then took one out for herself. “I’ve got four more, plus a box of granola bars.”

  He grinned at her. “What are you, a Girl Scout?”

  “I was. So I’ve also got…let’s see. Matches. A two-man nylon tent that folds as small as a paperback book. Water purification tablets. A matchbook-size sewing kit, with scissors. One of those all-purpose, multifunction, folding Swiss army pocketknives. And…folding cups. Oh, and a first-aid kit. And bear spray.”

  Now, he couldn’t help but laugh in appreciation. “How did you pack so fast?”

  “Since I’ve been living out here, I just keep it ready. I go hiking quite a bit, actually.”

  He eyed
the pack, which had to weigh ten or fifteen pounds. “You should let me carry all that from here on out. The rest of this trail is a lot more rugged.”

  “Nope. I brought it, I lug it.” She studied him, her humor fading. “And you don’t look all that comfortable as it is. Are you able to go on? You could wait here until I get back.”

  “Maybe Dante is harmless, but the bears aren’t. Let’s go.”

  He set a slower pace, figuring that she had to be getting tired, until he looked back and found she was right on his heels, giving him an impatient flutter of her hand as a signal to step aside.

  She disappeared up the trail after that.

  He continued on, tensing his muscles to protect the vertebrae in his lower back and counting the steps he took, one by one. Whatever progress he’d been making with his healing was being compromised, along with his chances for returning to rodeo, with every time he took over a white-water float or ended up hiking on these rough trails. And then where will I be, God? Just another time in my life where things are going totally wrong, and there’s no way to stop it.

  Twenty minutes later Carrie was still out of sight, but now he thought he could hear faint voices far up ahead.

  The trail opened up into a small, grassy meadow strewn with wildflowers in a riot of color—blues, pinks, yellows, violets—set against a backdrop of the snowcapped Rockies rising massive and uncompromising on every side.

  He turned slowly, humbled and awed by the contrast of such grandeur and the tiny, delicate rainbow of flowers at his feet. The place seemed to overwhelm his minuscule existence.

  Maybe a thousand people had trampled through here before, but being here felt like a message, just for him. Be still, a voice whispered in his heart. And know that I am God.

  It was a verse called up from his memories of Sunday School long ago. And that he’d remembered it at this moment, at this perfect time, gave him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Carrie’s voice drew closer, chattering words he couldn’t make out, and then she appeared at the edge of the meadow with Dante following a few steps behind her.