by Sharon Sala
* * *
It was sometime after 3:00 p.m. and Fraser was dozing when he heard a commotion outside the tent. Without thinking, he jumped up with his rifle in hand and walked out to find Snake holding a chunk of firewood and arguing with a gun-toting man wearing a uniform. His back was to Fraser, so his badge wasn’t visible, but Fraser was 99 percent sure the guy was a forest ranger.
His heart stopped. They were gonna get arrested, and when that happened, the outstanding warrants on his head would throw him right back in prison and he would die of old age in his cell.
He didn’t even wait to hear what he and Snake were arguing about. He just took aim and shot the ranger in the back.
The man dropped facedown less than three yards from where Snake was standing, and the shock on Snake’s face quickly turned to rage.
“Why the fuck did you do that?” Snake screamed.
Fraser waved his gun and shouted back, “He was gonna arrest us, and I’m not going back to prison, that’s why.”
Snake threw the chunk of firewood at Fraser, barely missing his head.
“He wasn’t going to arrest us. He was just telling me that there’s no camping here.”
Fraser frowned. “You two were yelling. I heard you. And I come out and see you holding that stick and ready to fight. What was I supposed to think?”
“We weren’t yelling, we were arguing. And I wasn’t gonna fight him with no damn stick. I was about to build a fire when he walked up. Now you’ve gone and shot a Fed. We’ve got to hide this body and move our camp or we’ll be running for the rest of our lives.”
Fraser shrugged. “What about going after the woman?”
Snake threw up his arms. “Not now, you stupid fuck. We have to get out of the area. There’ll be a search party looking for this guy before daylight tomorrow, and the last place we want to be is here.”
“Well, shit,” Fraser said.
Snake was already throwing things in a duffel bag and cursing beneath his breath.
“Where should we hide the body?” Fraser asked.
“You killed him. You figure it out,” Snake muttered, and kept on packing.
Fraser put the ranger’s gun in the back of his waistband, threw the man’s lifeless body over his shoulder and walked out of the camp.
* * *
It was just after 4:00 p.m. when Dallas called a halt to the day. Both the plastic bags were full, her water was gone, and all she wanted to do was get home and take a bath. She loaded up her things in the backpack, grabbed the two bags of ginseng with her good arm and the shotgun with the other, and started back down the mountain.
The wind was up, the air smelled damp, and she was thinking they might get rain tonight when she stumbled and barely caught herself before she fell. As she did, the sudden noise spooked a rabbit. It darted across the path and into the brush, and in seconds it had disappeared.
“Sorry, little guy.”
She got a better grip on her things and kept moving, grateful that she was going downhill.
When she finally crawled into the pickup, the thought of what was left to be done at home made her groan. Then she reminded herself this dig was temporary. There would be plenty of time to rest when it was over.
As soon as she crossed the cattle guard, she took a left toward the barn and parked out front. She put the freshly dug roots into the cooler with the ones from the day before, and then walked up to the chicken house.
The little hens were chasing down the occasional bug, and any other hen that got too close to their spot of ground, clucking to each other and squawking their disapproval of imagined infractions. The henhouse hierarchy was her entertainment as she went about refilling feeders and putting out fresh water.
The old broody hen was still sitting on her ceramic egg, but the peck she aimed toward Dallas’s arm was halfhearted.
“You missed,” Dallas said, as she got the still-warm egg from underneath the hen, leaving the ceramic one behind.
Dallas noticed that one hen in the flock had a bloody place on the back of her head, a sign she was being pecked by some of the others. As tired as she was, she spent minutes trying to catch her so she could doctor the wound, then more time trying to hold the hen still to smear a nasty purple salve on the sore.
“Poor little girl,” Dallas said, as she turned the hen loose.
It wasn’t just women who gave other females in their group a hard time. Even hens could be bitchy to their own.
By the time the eggs were gathered, the wind had grown stronger and cooler. She glanced up at the dark clouds rolling in and wasted no time getting back to the barn with the eggs. Too tired to clean and sort them, she left them on the table in the cooler, then locked it up. The cows hadn’t come up, and it looked like it was going to pour, so she wasn’t putting out feed that would get ruined before they ate it. Obviously they’d taken cover somewhere and could wait until morning for their hay. She got back in the truck and drove up to the shed. Her feet were dragging by the time she got into the house with her gear. The door lock clicked, and for a few seconds it was the only sound in the house.
Dallas stood in the silence, absorbing the safety of her home as the first raindrops hit the roof. She was so tired she could hardly think. Her clothes were filthy, her hair windblown and, again, sporting some of the mountain’s best greenery. She went into the utility room and stripped by the washer, dumping in clothes as she went. After starting the laundry, she walked bare-assed naked through the house, cradling her arm like a sling to ease her shoulder pain.
It was almost five o’clock. Trey wouldn’t be home before six at the earliest. She had just enough time to clean up and then think about food after.
* * *
Trey’s last text from Dallas had been just after two. She’d been fine then, and he had no reason to assume she wouldn’t still be fine when he got home. Even so, he was worried. Dealing with the aftermath of the Pryor brothers’ fight was a vivid reminder of the dangers of cultivating ginseng.
It started raining just as he stopped by his apartment to pick up some more of his things and then head out to the farm, suddenly anxious to see her face. He was certain she was already home, so he picked up the phone and called her. When it went to voice mail, he told himself she could be in the shower or the phone could be in another room. There could be any number of reasons why she didn’t pick up, but he accelerated anyway.
The house was dark when he pulled into the yard and parked, and that made him nervous. He ran through the rain, his heartbeat going double time. And then he walked in and stopped, letting out a sigh of relief, and closed the front door.
She was sprawled out on the sofa in a pair of sweats, with an old T-shirt draped across the upper half of her body like a blanket. Her hair was still damp, and her feet were bare. It looked like she’d just sat down and passed out.
He shed his wet jacket, then moved closer to where she was lying, and saw medicine for her shoulder on the coffee table and guessed she’d left the T-shirt off on purpose, waiting for him to come home and help her doctor the wounds.
Her hands were skinned, the knuckles scraped and one a little bloody, and even though she’d obviously bathed, there was still a faint tinge of dirt beneath her nails from a long day’s digging. It hurt him to see her so beat-up, but at the same time his admiration for her grew. He thought about their lives down through the years and knew that, no matter what they were dealt, she would not shy away.
He scooped her up and carried her to her bedroom.
She whispered his name and rolled over when he laid her down.
“Love you, baby,” he said softly, then pulled a blanket over her shoulders and left her to rest.
* * *
Dallas woke up in the dark and for a moment couldn’t think where she was. Then she smelled bacon and fresh-brewed coffee, and remembered she’d been waiting for Trey to come home, which obviously, he had.
She threw back the blanket and got up, slipped into a pair of house shoes,
and took the T-shirt with her when she left. She walked into the kitchen just as Trey was taking a pan of biscuits out of the oven.
“Oh, my Lord, that smells good. I’m sorry I passed out on you.”
He set the pan down and went to hug her. Even from where he was standing, she smelled wonderful, like bath powder and the lavender scent of her bedroom. And the fact that she was still carrying that T-shirt made for an interesting view.
“There you are,” he said, as he slipped his arms around her. “This making out half-dressed could catch on.” He gave her a quick pat on the butt. “Turn sideways for me, baby, so I can look at your shoulder.”
“It hurts, and it’s my own fault,” Dallas said. “I carried a backpack today. The weight aggravated the wounds. Just tell me they’re all okay.”
“Yes, I think so. None of them look infected, but you do need the ointment. It’s still on the coffee table.”
She went to get it, and as soon as he doctored the wounds, he helped her on with the T-shirt, then washed up and began putting dinner on the table.
“What can I do?” she asked.
“Sit down and eat all this food I made.”
“Gladly,” she said, and glanced out the window as he sat down with her. “It’s still raining.”
“Yes, and it’s plenty cold. Even if it stops raining, you’re going to have a muddy dig tomorrow.”
“Don’t remind me,” she said, as she lifted a biscuit from the plate in front of her and took a bite. “Oh, my Lord, on a happier note, your biscuits are way better than mine.”
He grinned. “You’ll be pleased to know that I excel at a whole lot of things.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m well aware of the vast scope of your skills. Pass the butter, please.”
When he scooted the tub of butter toward her with his fork, she laughed.
He smiled, and the meal progressed as he related the latest installment on the Pryor brothers’ story, and then he listened in awe as she told about the big buck coming out of the fog.
They were almost through cleaning up when Trey’s cell phone rang. Dallas was standing by it and saw the caller ID. “It’s your mom.”
He winked at her as he picked it up. “Hey, Mom.”
“Are you home?” she asked.
“I’m at Dallas’s place, why?”
“I just wondered if you’d heard.”
“Heard what?”
“Bobby Ramsey is missing. He didn’t show up at the ranger station, and he hasn’t called home. His wife has been calling him ever since it started raining, and he hasn’t answered. I heard they were organizing a search party. I thought you might be involved.”
There was a sinking feeling in the pit of Trey’s stomach. He and Dallas had grown up with Bobby.
“Well, hell, this doesn’t sound good. Thanks for telling me. I’m sure the Park Service is in charge, but I’ll find out what’s happening. If there’s a search party, I’m going.”
“Let me know if you hear anything more. And my best to Dallas. I haven’t heard from her in a couple of days. Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, Mom. She’s just been working around the farm, kind of reacquainting herself with everything here.”
“Good for her. I don’t suppose she’s said anything more about her future plans?”
“Hey, Mom, I’m getting another call. Talk to you later.”
He switched calls as Dallas slid underneath his arm.
“Something bad happened, didn’t it?”
He nodded. “Bobby Ramsey is missing.” Then he held up a finger to indicate his other call was on the line. “Hello?...Yes, I just heard. Where are they organizing the search?...I can be there in about twenty minutes, give or take....Okay. Thanks.”
Dallas shuddered. “Isn’t he a forest ranger?”
“Yes,” Trey said. “Walk with me while I change, so we can talk.”
She followed him to his room. “What was he doing when he went missing?” she asked.
“They said he went out on a call and never came back. They’re organizing search teams at the ranger station on the national park side of the mountain. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
Dallas was already digging through his closet, pulling out work boots and a sweatshirt.
“I know you’ll have your poncho and your coat, but put this sweatshirt on over your shirt or you’ll freeze.” She was trying not to panic. “It would have to be raining.”
“Trouble doesn’t wait for good weather,” he said, as he changed back into his work boots. He had a winter coat back at the apartment, but there was no time to go get it, so he pulled the sweatshirt over his shirt, grabbed his heavy jacket, and put his service revolver and holster back on.
This was the first time she’d been faced with the reality of his job, and it made her anxious. “If you get a chance, call and let me know you’re okay.”
“Don’t wait up,” he said. “There’s no telling how long this will last.”
He gave her a hard, hungry kiss and headed for the front door, grabbing his hat off the hall tree as he passed.
“Where’s your rain gear?” she asked.
“In the car. Lock up behind me, and say a prayer that we find Bobby with nothing worse than a broken leg and a dead cell phone.”
“I will,” she said, and then he leaped off the porch out into the rain, and moments later he was gone.
She locked the door behind him, and as she turned around, a shiver suddenly went up her spine.
There would be no sleeping in this house tonight.
Seventeen
Trey arrived just as they were dividing the searchers up into groups. The captain at the ranger station quickly caught him up on what they knew and where Bobby had been seen last.
“He radioed in that he was heading toward the northeast side of the mountain, that someone had spotted smoke from a campfire and called it in the day before.”
All of a sudden Trey was remembering the lights that Dallas had been seeing from her side of the mountain and wondered aloud, “No camping allowed there, right?”
“Right,” the captain said.
“Do you know where Dick Phillips’s farm is?” he asked.
“Yes, I do, actually. My son-in-law, Larry Sherman, buys eggs from him...or did before Dick’s death.”
“Well, his daughter is living in the house now, and more than once she’s seen lights up on the mountain after dark.”
“Exactly where would that be on this map?” the captain asked.
Trey scanned the topographical map, and then pointed. “This is the location of the farm, and this is about where she was seeing lights.”
“That’s in the general vicinity of the report Bobby was following up on. Do you know the area?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then go with the blue team.”
“Yes, sir,” Trey said, and took his place with the group.
“Okay,” the captain said. “You all know what to look for. Find his truck, and then spread out. He probably won’t be able to hear over the rain, and any signs to lead you to his whereabouts are long gone because of it, too. It’s the best we can do in this godforsaken weather until daylight. You’ve got your radios. Let’s find him.”
* * *
It took two hours of slogging through cold rain and mud before they found the government-issue truck but not the man who drove it. The searchers regrouped at that location, then fanned out from there, moving in four different directions.
Trey found the remnants of a campsite about twenty minutes into the search, and another man found a ranger’s hat nearby. The fact that the campsite had been dismantled but for a circle of rocks and a stack of unused firewood was disheartening.
Trey had a sick feeling. This looked like a confrontation gone bad. The only positive thing about the search so far was that the rain was coming to an end.
The men were wet and cold to the bone, but thinking about Bobby Ramsey out in this weather with less pro
tective gear than they had kept complaining to a minimum.
“Fan out and pay close attention. We know he was here, so he shouldn’t be far,” Trey said.
Their faces were grim as they set out on another search, but this time they didn’t have to go far.
Trey walked up on an outcropping of rocks, flashed his searchlight down into the darkness and saw Bobby Ramsey’s broken body about twenty feet below.
He keyed up his radio, shouting as he ran, “Found him! Below an outcrop about a hundred yards northwest of the campsite.”
He circled the jutting rocks and followed the descent until he reached the body. His heart was pounding, and he knew before he felt for a pulse that Bobby was gone. He wouldn’t let himself think about the memories he’d shared with this man, or the fact that his wife, Holly, had yet to find out she was a widow. He swept the searchlight over the body twice before he saw the hole in the back of the jacket.
Trey eased the body over on its side long enough to confirm the exit wound and the watered down blood stains on the front of Bobby’s shirt. His heart sank.
“Son of a bitch.”
The first of the searchers to catch up was the captain. “I can’t believe he fell,” he said.
“He didn’t fall. He was shot. There’s a bullet hole in the back of his jacket. I moved him just enough to confirm an exit wound in the front.”
The shock on the captain’s face was evident. “We have a crime scene.”
“You have a body dump. I’d bet money the crime scene is the campsite where he lost his hat.”
The captain was on the radio, calling in the searchers and sending out a message to dispatch a crime scene investigation team and notify the coroner.
Trey looked at his watch. It was almost 3:00 a.m. A long miserable search had just come to a sad and tragic end. He was heartily glad he wasn’t the one who had to notify Bobby’s wife.
* * *
When she wasn’t pacing the floor or peering through the rain into the darkness, Dallas was trying to catnap on the sofa. Her vigil lasted all through the night and into the early morning before she gave up on sleep and went to make coffee. Too many years as an investigative reporter had given her a bad feeling about incidents like this. They rarely had a happy ending.