Backcountry

by Pamela Beason

  The keys! She couldn’t find her keys. Breathing hard, she frantically ran her hands over her clothes, finally located the keys in the teensy front pocket of her pants, and thrust her fingers in. The keys jammed in the crease of her thigh and torso and would come no further. Why the hell didn’t she have one of those new keyless cars?

  Heart thundering in her chest, she shoved the door open with her left arm and leapt out.

  Nick leaned across the seat. “Hurry, hurry! Omigod, hurry!”

  As if she didn’t already have sufficient motivation.

  She yanked the keys out of her pocket.

  Tom Lewis thundered out of the woods behind her.

  She’d just managed to slam the door shut when the fingers of his left hand clutched at the handle, trying to yank it open again. Clutched in his right hand, the pistol clunked against her window glass, and for a second she was terrified that the barrel would shatter the glass or the gun would fire and she’d lose the top of her head. She pulled on the door handle from her side, afraid to move her hand to reach the lock button.

  Tom let go of the driver’s door and reached for the back door. Sam slapped at the door lock and heard the clunk of the locks closing, but Tom already had the door behind her open.

  “Nick!” he growled.

  She jammed the car key into the ignition. Tom’s right hand clamped around the back of her headrest, and for once she was thankful that she was petite. Otherwise, he’d have her by the hair or the back of her neck. Twisting the key and pressing the accelerator to the floor, she peeled out onto the road, the tires spitting gravel.

  “Nick!” Tom yelled, slipping backward as his feet were dragged on the road. “Don’t do this. Sam! Goddamn it!”

  And then, with a clunk and a rasp of fabric, the clutching fingers were gone from her headrest. The passenger door banged in the wind. The door open light on the dash kept flashing its red warning in her face, along with the seat belt sign. She remembered to turn on her headlights. The stop sign at the end of the gravel road seemed miles away.

  “You okay, Nick?”

  The boy hunched over in the passenger seat, his head below the dashboard, his arms clutched around himself, sobbing, “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

  In the rear view mirror, she saw the red flash of taillights as Tom Lewis backed his pickup out of his driveway. Then two high beams came her way at an alarming speed, like a tyrannosaurus bearing down on her.

  “You might want to put your seat belt on, Nick.” She was approaching the T intersection way too fast.

  Like the good kid he was, Nick was reaching for the belt when she slammed on the brakes and skidded around the stop sign, taking a right onto the pavement. They both slid left, Sam banging her elbow on the door, Nick sliding into her, then reversed right, rebounding back more or less into position. The back door slammed shut, and Sam’s back and neck cracked. Reckless driving might be a drastic form of emergency chiropractic treatment.

  When the tires stopped squealing, she asked, “Where’s the closest police station, Nick?”

  He sat up and finally jammed the shoulder harness into the buckle. Sam wished she had time and another arm to do that on her side of the car.

  “The closest police station?” she prompted again.

  “I don’t know,” he sobbed. “Why would I know?”

  They both watched the rearview mirror as the headlights rounded the corner and sped their way.

  “Won’t that thing know?” Nick pointed to the GPS unit suction-cupped to her dashboard. The blue start screen was on, showing her, as usual, its warning about needing map updates. Like a writer-wildlife biologist-field guide had money to download new data every time any piece of GPS info changed. But he was right, the device should know, and surely police stations hadn’t moved around much in the last ten years.

  “Nick, press that Skip button.”

  He did. The screen switched to show multiple options available for setting routes.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “Voice command!” she ordered.

  Nothing happened except for Tom’s headlights getting closer. There was a four-way intersection ahead. Three choices.

  “Voice command!” she shouted again.

  “Speak a command,” the GPS device calmly responded.

  “Police station!” she yelped.

  “Did you say Lee Session?” the device politely asked. “I found two Lee Sessions.”

  “That’s a person,” Nick informed her, checking the screen. “There’s a Lee and a Lisa.”

  Whoever imagined this damn technology would be useful? “Back!” she shouted. “Po-leez stay-shun!” she enunciated loudly.

  She was at the four-way stop sign. With no instructions forthcoming, she chose to blast straight ahead. The lights moving at a steady stream in the distance had to be the highway.

  “I found two police stations in Ev-er-ett,” the device announced.

  “Tap the closest one, Nick,” she murmured softly so as not to confuse Miz GPS again.

  “Snohomish County Sheriff or Everett Police?”

  “Whichever is closest!”

  The pickup headlights bounced off her rearview, blinding her. She slapped the mirror upward as she sped onto the on-ramp. A feeble horn honked behind her as she cut off a Prius.

  “Nick, what will your father do if he catches us?” she asked.

  “Drive five miles on Eye-Five,” the device instructed.

  Tom’s headlights swung around the Prius and moved up the inside lane. Sam increased her speed, but there was no way her Civic could match the horsepower of the big pickup. Fortunately, a Mercedes was hogging the inside lane and haughtily refused to respond to Tom’s flashing headlights.

  Flashing headlights. Excellent idea. She punched the red button in the middle of the dash to turn on her emergency flashers. Now surely everyone on the highway would be on their cell phones, calling in the maniac woman driver speeding down the road with her flashers on. The driver ahead of her switched lanes to the left, further backing up Tom.

  “My cell’s a lot faster than this thing,” Nick murmured, his face blue in the GPS light.

  Then why the hell don’t you have your cell, she wanted to scream. But who knew how GPS Lady would interpret that.

  “Nick,” she said again, her voice shaky but soft, “What will your father do if he catches us?”

  “In one hundred feet, exit right,” the device commanded. “Then keep right.”

  The SUV driver in back of her had slowed, no doubt alarmed by the emergency flashers, and Tom’s pickup slid in behind her, only a couple of feet from her bumper.

  “Nick?” she prompted.

  He folded over again as if having an appendicitis attack. “Oh God, I don’t know! He’s my dad.”

  That didn’t make sense, but then not much about the situation did. She peeled off the exit at the last minute, feeling the car’s weight shift momentarily onto the two outside wheels as she rounded the curve. With luck, Tom might roll his truck as he screeched onto the exit behind her.

  No such luck.

  “Drive six miles,” GPS Lady told her.

  The pickup tapped her bumper. What the hell did Tom Lewis expect her to do, anyway? Pull over so he could conveniently kill her and take his son? Surely he wouldn’t shoot into her car while Nick was beside her.

  There were cars ahead, stopped at a red light, blocking the intersection. She was going to have to stop.

  “I could just jump out,” the boy suggested. “Then he might leave you alone.”

  Like he’d left her alone in Fossil Bay? “No. He might shoot you.”

  “He wouldn’t. He’s my dad.”

  “Well, then he’d have no excuse not to shoot me.”

  Nick’s jaw clenched, his face grim as he acknowledged her logic.

  The red light turned green and the cars ahead of her moved across the intersection. The pickup bumped her again. There was no way they were going to make it to the police station be
fore he caused her to crash.

  “Hang on, Nick.” She careened into the intersection and jammed her foot on the brake, yanking the wheel around. The Civic slid into a turn before halting. The pickup slammed into her left rear fender before sliding off and crashing into a light pole on the corner.

  The seat belt forced the air from her lungs, and as she tried to inflate them again, Sam watched Tom open the pickup door and exit, the gun clutched in his right hand. His left was pressed against his head and he staggered, fell to his knees, then got back up again, waving the gun wildly.

  Nick was slumped in his seat, but she saw no blood. Had he banged his head against the window?

  Above her, the traffic light changed. The Civic was blocking the intersection. As Lewis lurched toward her car, Sam jammed her hand on her horn and kept it there. Headlights from two different directions illuminated the car’s interior. Her emergency flashers strobed across the scene.

  Whatever was about to happen, there would be plenty of witnesses.

  Chapter 28

  Nick Lewis sobbed and crossed his arms, hugging himself. A young boy, trying to be a brave man. Sam, Nick, and Detective Greene were seated in mismatched, excruciatingly uncomfortable chairs as they waited around a scratched metal table in a worn interview room.

  The closest police station had turned out to be the Snohomish County Sheriff’s headquarters. Sam immediately asked for Detective Greene and was surprised that the officers had complied with her request even though she was wearing handcuffs at the time. A medic cleaned her wounds and plastered some gauze over the worse scrapes and the gash on her forehead.

  Her image in the women’s room mirror was shocking. Still, for a dead woman, Sam Westin looked pretty good.

  Greene, haggard with hair escaping from her bun and a couple of buttons out of place, had arrived shortly before they began the interview. Sam felt empathy toward the woman. It was after midnight, and she’d had an extremely long day herself.

  “We were hunting for bears. I didn’t want to shoot a bear; I didn’t want to shoot anything!” Nick’s eyes gleamed with tears as he stared first at Sam, and then at Detective Greene. “But Dad was ragging on me, telling me about how his dad used to take him hunting and how it made him feel like a man to put meat on the table. He told me he’d enrolled me in Washington Wilderness Quest to help me sort things out. Sounded like he was going to ditch me just like Mom did.”

  Sam wanted to reach out to the boy, but she’d only been allowed into the room on the condition she would say nothing. The detective nodded at Nick, encouraging him to continue.

  “So, we’d been trampin’ round and round out there and all we saw was a squirrel and a deer, which my dad acted like he wanted to shoot but it wasn’t the right time. He said we’d stay out there all day to get a bear if we had to.”

  He gulped, nervously swept a finger over his sparse mustache, and then returned his hand to his lap. “And then I finally saw something move across the valley on the hillside. I couldn’t see it very good through all the leaves, but I could tell it was brown and it looked pretty big.”

  A tear escaped his right eye and rolled down his cheek. He impatiently wiped it away. “Dad kept saying, ‘Well, is it a bear? Is it? Have you got it in your sights? Don’t let it get away! Be a man, shoot that bear!’”

  Nick paused, catching his lower lip under his front teeth. After a second, he continued, “And so finally, I just pulled the trigger.”

  He started to rock in his chair. The squeaking of the cheap metal chair was painful in the hushed room.

  Detective Greene prompted, “And then what happened, Nick?”

  “And then we heard a scream. I wanted to run back to the truck, but Dad said, no, we’ve got to go see about that, and so we hiked toward the screaming.” His nose began to drip, and Nick raised an arm to wipe away the mucus on the back of his sleeve. His eyelashes were spiky with tears. “And, and... and when we got there, a woman was holding this other one and crying. And the one she was holding was wearing a brown shirt and she was wearing a green one, which is really stupid in hunting season.”

  Anger flashed across his face and then quickly dissipated into sorrow again. “There was blood everywhere, and when we got there, the green woman took one look at us and yelled, ‘You shot her! Call 9-1-1! Get help!’”

  Raising his hands, he yanked on the top of his hair as if trying to rip out handfuls, and began rocking again. “But the blond woman in her arms had all this blood pouring out of her chest, and there was like this lake of blood spreading out around them. We all knew she was going to die.”

  Sam’s breath lodged painfully in her chest. Kyla’s death had not been instantaneous.

  Nick paused to swallow and wipe his nose again. “The woman screamed at my dad, ‘You murdered my daughter!’ and then...” A strangled sob slipped from his lips.

  Sam could see the blood, she could feel the terror. Her throat was closing up, and she pressed a fist to her lips and bit down on a knuckle to prevent the same strangling sounds escaping from her mouth.

  “...then Dad looked at me and we both knew I’d done it.” Nick slapped a hand against his chest. “I killed that lady. And then...” He froze and his eyes went blank as he stared at the scratched metal table top.

  “And then...” Detective Greene murmured.

  Nick’s eyes were fixed on the table. He took a ragged breath, the sound loud in the quiet room.

  “And then?” Greene asked again.

  “And then my Dad pulled out his revolver and shot the screaming lady, right in the head.” Nick raised his face then, his gaze moving from Sam to Detective Greene. “There was this echo that went on forever; it still wakes me up at night. Then it was super quiet for a little bit. And then my Dad shot the bleeding one in the head, too, just to be sure, I guess.” Picking up the water bottle from the table, he took a swallow.

  Greene asked, “What came next?”

  “We just hiked back to the pickup.”

  No wonder the kid wanted a do-over.

  “Do you still have the casings from those bullets?” Greene asked.

  Nick shook his head. “Dad ejected them from the guns and then told me throw them out along the roads, one at a time. So I did.”

  Clasping both of his hands together as if praying, he turned to Sam. “I didn’t know they worked at Wilderness Quest. Dad didn’t, either. He never let me watch the news or read the paper or even use the Internet before I went there.”

  * * * * *

  By the time Nick’s interview was over, all the adrenaline had drained from Sam’s system and her tortured muscles had stiffened. She was certain she was shambling like Frankenstein when she walked out of the interview room with Greene. The detective offered her a cup of coffee.

  “Can I have a bottle of wine instead?”

  The detective laughed. “I can’t help with that, but maybe you’ll take this.” She gestured down the hall, where two familiar figures waited.

  Blake, dressed in his late evening sweat pants and stretched-out sweater, gave her his hands-out, what-the-hell stance.

  Maya’s expression was unruffled, as usual. “You look like you’ve been run over by a truck,” the girl observed.

  “It was a speedboat and a pickup.” She joined them for hugs, wincing when Maya embraced her enthusiastically. “Not so hard, please.”

  “Simon wanted to come, but he had an appointment with a mouse,” Blake told her.

  Behind them, the door to the men’s room opened, and her housemate continued, “But we found a stand-in.”

  Chase gently enfolded her in his arms. “Hola, querida.”

  He kissed the top of her head, then raised his head to pluck a shred of bark from his lower lip. “Still using the same shampoo, I see.”

  She gazed up at him. “What are you doing here, Chase?”

  “I’ve been in the area for a few days.”

  “And you didn’t even call?” She was stung.

  “I wanted to
surprise you with something, but as usual, you stunned me instead.”

  “Actually, Chase,” she told him, “I’d love to quit doing that.” Examining each of their faces, she asked, “What are you all doing here?”

  Chase said, “Blake called me when you didn’t come back from kayaking.”

  Her housemate added, “Another boater found what was left of your kayak. I thought you were dead.”

  “Then, when Blake told me you’d asked him to impersonate Tom Lewis with the state wildlife agency, I figured you’d gone after Lewis.” Chase crossed his arms.

  Sam turned to Maya.

  “Don’t look at me,” the girl said. “I knew you wouldn’t die that easy. I just came along for the ride. And then some cop called and said you were here and you needed a ride home.”

  Sam put a hand on Chase’s arm. “What were you going to surprise me with, anyway?”

  Detective Greene was back, standing beside them, Sam’s cup of coffee in her hand.

  “Later,” Chase murmured.

  “Since I’m not going to inherit the house, again.” Blake theatrically grimaced. “Since it’s another false alarm, again, I’m going back to my bed.” He pulled his car keys from his pocket. “Coming, Maya?”

  “And miss the drama?” The girl turned to Chase. “Can I catch a ride back with you?”

  “Sure.” It turned out Chase had driven his personal car from Salt Lake, further deepening the mystery of his presence.

  Detective Greene directed a disappointed Maya to the waiting room, and then invited Chase and Sam to watch the interview with Tom Lewis. She gestured for Chase to precede her down the hall.

  “I was right,” Greene whispered over her shoulder. “He is a hunk. If you don’t want him, I do.”

  “Hands off,” Sam told her.

  * * * * *

  When confronted with his son’s confession, Tom Lewis broke down. Sam and Chase watched the proceedings piped into an adjacent office from a video camera in the interview room.

  “When Nick shot that woman, I knew I couldn’t let him take the rap for that. He didn’t mean to. I shouldn’t have been yelling at him to take the shot. Why the hell was she wearing brown? And the other one had on green and her hair was brown. It was hunting season, for chrissake!” He pounded the table with both hands, his handcuffs banging metal against metal. “It was so stupid! Nick’s only fifteen, I couldn’t let his whole life get ruined, and I could tell that other woman wasn’t ever going to say it was just an accident.”