by Dan Padavona
“Roger that.”
After the radio call ended, Lambert strolled to Thomas and glared at the workers, his strong forearms folded over his chest.
“That one has an attitude bigger than Texas,” Lambert said, lifting his chin at Dr. Stone.
“Give them space. If she bites your head off, remember how important she is to this investigation.”
“You think it’s that girl who went missing several years back? The one whose parents swear she’s still out there?”
“Skye Feron.”
“That’s her.”
Thomas moved his eyes across the woods. The shadows deepened inside the forest, blotting out the sun. A shiver rolled through his body when he pictured the seventeen-year-old girl fleeing an unseen attacker toward the creek. Maybe she stumbled over the rocks in the dark, allowing the killer to close in.
“I hope this isn’t Skye Feron. But Dr. Stone seems certain the skull belongs to a female.” Thomas searched the woods for Darren. The forest ranger had circled up to the ridge trail. “Darren believes the Harmon Kings are running drugs through the park. This is a good place to make somebody disappear. Could be we’re dealing with a gang hit. Darren wants cameras inside the park, ones that will trigger if someone walks by.”
“Trail cameras,” Lambert said, nodding. “I’ll talk to him. You don’t want to go cheap with a trail camera. The good ones have night vision and fast triggers. Anything wanders by—a bear, raccoon, or Bigfoot—and the camera will capture it.”
A branch snapped inside the forest, pulling their gazes. It might have been an early morning hiker.
But sometimes a killer returned to the scene of his crime.
CHAPTER THREE
Monday, August 9th
10:20 a.m.
Chelsey Byrd lowered the windows on her green Honda Civic and invited the musty, humid morning into the car. The new car smell still clung to the interior, and this Civic replaced the car she’d wrecked chasing Mark Benson last month after Benson kidnapped Chelsey’s partner, Raven Hopkins. Same model, same color. She was a creature of habit.
Half the home improvement store’s parking lot sat under water. Though storms Friday night brought flooding rains, poor drainage was to blame here. Barricades cordoned off the left side of the lot, forcing vehicles to crowd together on the right. That was an advantage for Chelsey, as the tightly packed vehicles allowed her to blend in. But people kept walking past her Civic, forcing her to set the binoculars and camera aside.
She peered through the binoculars and swept the storefront for Herb Reid. The overweight dirt bag was suing Middleton Construction after he hurt his back on the job. His boss, Carl Middleton, hired Wolf Lake Consulting to investigate Reid for worker’s compensation fraud. She hated defending a creep like Carl Middleton. The owner of Middleton Construction became a suspect in last month’s murders before Thomas determined Thea Barlow, Father Fowler’s assistant at St. Mary’s Church, had killed Lincoln Ramsey and Cecilia Bond.
Thinking of Thomas caused Chelsey’s chest to clench. She’d dated Thomas through high school before major depression crippled her. After she’d pushed away everyone she cared about, Chelsey traveled from one failed relationship to the next, never staying in the same town for longer than six months. Her circular life brought her back to Wolf Lake, where she founded the private investigation firm. When Thomas returned to the village, she avoided him, worried she’d relapse into depression if their relationship rekindled. After she found the courage to try again with Thomas, she saw him embracing his neighbor, Naomi Mourning, beside the lake. So she gave up and ended the day with too much wine.
Setting the binoculars aside, she studied her reflection in the mirror. The circles under her eyes darkened each day. She couldn’t recall the last time she exercised, nor could she explain why she appeared soft and fat in the mirror despite her drawn cheeks. Instead of brushing out her hair, she’d thrown a baseball cap on her head this morning after waking up late. Her palm ached from slamming the snooze button too many times.
A bearded, rotund man shuffled between the automatic doors with a cart stuffed with tools. Chelsey raised the camera and zoomed in on her quarry. False alarm. It wasn’t Herb Reid. This was her sixth day attempting to pin fraud on Reid. It was funny how the man hobbled like a ninety-five-year-old after knee replacement surgery whenever he emerged from the doctor’s office, yet had an easy bounce to his step when nobody else was looking. That he was at the home improvement store sounded an alarm in Chelsey’s head. People with ruined backs didn’t rush to Home Depot to complete a major repair project.
The heat built inside the car and turned the interior into a kiln. She considered raising the windows and turning on the AC, but didn’t want to waste gas. The needle sat a tick above empty. Not that she couldn’t afford fuel. Chelsey procrastinated about everything, even simple tasks like filling the gas tank. She never went out. Even Raven gave up asking Chelsey to join her at Hattie’s on the weekend. She reached for the Coke bottle and took a swig. The carbonation hit her nose and made her cough, causing her to spit cola down her shirt. God, she was a mess. After the coughing fit, she guzzled the remnants and tossed the empty bottle into the backseat. She groped for another bottle. Soft drinks weren’t healthy. Hell, she wasn’t even thirsty. She just needed someway to pass the time. Next, she dug into a bag of barbecue potato chips and found only crumbs. She scooped the residue into her palm and shoveled it into her mouth. When your world fell apart, you clung to familiar comforts.
In the row across from hers, a woman in a sun hat loaded mums into a Jeep. The open trunk blocked Chelsey’s sight line to the store. Cursing under her breath, Chelsey tapped her foot as the woman rearranged the potted flowers. The pots were all the same. Why did the order matter? Chelsey’s hand poised over the horn, prepared to blast the incompetent lady with an angry honk, when she finally closed the trunk and backed out of the parking space.
Chelsey spotted Herb Reid pushing a cart with a wonky front wheel through the parking lot. The bad wheel kept pulling the cart to the right, forcing him to overcompensate with his back and legs. Guess the back wasn’t bothering him. A boxed lawn mower shifted on the cart. The push mower had a cutting width of twenty inches and enough horsepower to chew through a forest. How was the injured man going to lift the box into his pickup truck? Chelsey shot a dozen photographs in rapid succession as Reid weaved the cart between two vans and emerged behind his rusted, beaten Chevy.
Chelsey set the camera aside and recorded video with her phone. The supposedly injured man hoisted the box without bending his knees, shrugged it into the bed, and abandoned the cart in an empty parking space. Oh, this was good. She had all the photographs and video she needed to prove fraud. It didn’t make her happy knowing Carl Middleton would benefit. But the law was the law, and Herb Reid wanted to fleece the system.
Reid jammed the key into the lock and paused. His head swung to Chelsey’s Civic as she raised the windows. The man’s mouth twisted into an angry rictus before he stomped in her direction. Dammit. He spotted her.
Chelsey slipped the phone inside her purse and pretended to check her makeup in the mirror. Not that she wore makeup this morning. As she fiddled with her hair, he kept coming. A meaty fist pounded against her window. She raised her palms as if she had no idea what Reid wanted.
“Lower the window, honey. I know what you’re up to.”
After she refused to comply, he pounded harder.
“Hey, I’ve seen you following me all week. Did Middleton put you up to this? Lower the goddamn window, or I’ll drag you out of the car.”
Chelsey pressed the button on her side console. Humid air poured inside the car as Reid leaned his forearms on the sill. She looked at him over her sunglasses.
“Mr. Reid, I’m warning you to step away from my car.”
“Or what?”
Good question. She knew how to handle a gun, and she wasn’t afraid to take down a female suspect. But she wasn’t a rugged fighter
like Raven. Reid would squash Chelsey like a grape if she challenged him.
“Or I’ll press charges. You’re harassing me.”
He leaned his head back and laughed.
“That’s a good one. You follow me around town, taking your little pictures, and I’m harassing you?” He pointed at the DSLR camera on the passenger seat. “Give me the camera.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Lady, if you don’t give me the camera, I’ll take it and smash it against the blacktop.
“I’d like to see you try.”
Mistake. Never test a man with nothing to lose.
Reid reached inside the car. She clutched his forearm and prevented him from snatching the camera. The man was even stronger than he looked. It was all she could do to keep hold of his arm as he tugged and shoved, squashing her between the seat and the steering wheel.
“You bitch. I want the pictures, and I want them now.”
As she wrestled him, her head struck the steering wheel. The car interior spun, and her vision blurred. She felt her heart spin out of control, and suddenly she couldn’t catch her breath. The car seemed to fill with water, Chelsey drowning beneath the current as they fought. She grabbed her chest and peered in the mirror. Her face turned purple, and her heart smashed against her chest at an alarming rate.
He backed away and glared.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
She opened her mouth. The words refused to come. Panicked, she pointed at her chest and glanced at him with imploring eyes. This was it. She was going to die in a sunbaked car, surveilling a fraudulent loser. Reid swung his head left and right.
“I didn’t do shit to you,” he said. “You can’t blame me if you have a heart attack.”
Was she having a heart attack? He searched for witnesses. Seeing none, he sprinted for his truck, gunned the motor, and squealed out of the parking lot.
Chelsey opened the door and stumbled out of the car. Her hands and knees landed upon the scalding blacktop as she sucked air into her lungs. Chelsey’s chest heaved, and the soda and potato chips spewed from her mouth. She collapsed and curled into a ball, the unforgiving sun torching her. Footsteps approached as a woman yelled for help.
Chelsey wiped her lips and cried.
CHAPTER FOUR
Monday, August 9th
1:35 p.m.
Raven Hopkins tied her braids into a ponytail and adjusted the cap atop her head. She’d spent too much time in the gym working her upper body and ignoring her legs, and now her hamstrings protested as she climbed the Wolf Lake State Park ridge trail. Darren glanced over his shoulder and grinned, clearly enjoying that she was out of breath and struggling to keep pace. Usually, it was the other way around. If he accompanied Raven to the gym or ran beside her, he was the one out of breath. But she didn’t care. She was happy to spend the day with the ranger and relieved to see him smile. He’d been a fitful mess since the hiker discovered human bones hidden in his park.
“Can’t keep up, hotshot?”
“Don’t slow down and let me catch you,” she said, glaring at him in warning.
She thanked the gods when he paused atop a steep hill and lifted himself onto a boulder. He scooted over to give her room and helped her climb up. Their legs dangled over the side, the cooling breeze replenishing her energy reserves. Tall pines loomed over the trail while dappled sunlight poured through the needles and painted textured patterns over the earth. Everything here smelled green and perfect, like Christmas with humidity.
“Happy you took the day off?”
“I am,” she said, propping an elbow on her knee.
Raven had three weeks of vacation time to burn before winter and didn’t want to waste it. More so, she needed time away from Chelsey. She loved her boss and friend. But Chelsey was impossible to be around and had been since last month. Surly and forever glowering, Chelsey made work miserable.
Habit tempted Raven to call work and check into the Herb Reid investigation. She forced herself not to. Today was Raven’s day with Darren, and she didn’t wish to be anywhere else. Though she’d known the ranger in passing since last year, they’d only started dating recently. Now she couldn’t imagine life without Darren. He made her laugh, and the only time she felt safe and content was when she was around him. Ever since Mark Benson and Damian Ramos kidnapped Raven, she’d become anxious whenever she was alone, always sensing someone watching from the shadows. The worst times were when she was at the office, a converted two-bedroom, single-story house that creaked and groaned whenever the wind blew.
“I still can’t believe it,” Darren said, peering west through the trees. He was talking about the skeleton. She’d hoped to keep him distracted with exercise and small talk. “How do I reconcile this in my head? It’s my responsibility to keep people safe once they set foot in my park.”
“This isn’t on you. That body predated your arrival by several years.”
“God, I hope a kid didn’t see those bones.”
“Did they identify the victim?”
“Last I heard, the forensic anthropologist brought the remains to the medical examiner’s office. They’re reconstructing the skull first, then the rest of the skeleton. Even then, I can’t imagine how they’ll identify the victim.” A shiver rolled through his shoulders. “All this time, I walked these trails and lived on state park grounds, and a dead person lay beneath the mud beside Lucifer Falls. The falls get thousands of visitors every year.”
“Kids party in the gorge.”
“I’m aware. I’ve cleaned up after them.”
“Perhaps some kid got drunk and fell in.”
Darren scrunched his face up.
“That’s a comforting thought.”
“I’m just saying we can’t jump to conclusions about gang hits and murderers in the forest.”
“I hear you. But I still want to speak to LeVar.”
Raven removed the cap and brushed the hair from her eyes.
“LeVar left the Kings in April. He had nothing to do with this.”
“But he’ll know if the Kings trafficked drugs through the park, or dumped bodies.”
“LeVar never killed anyone. That darkness isn’t inside my brother.”
Darren hopped down from the boulder and offered his hand. She studied him for a moment before accepting his aid. Her thighs screamed now that she was on her feet again.
“I believe in LeVar. But he spent time around some bad guys.”
“Don’t remind me.”
He rubbed his neck.
“Ready to call it a day?”
“I have another two miles in me, Ranger Holt.”
“Sure you do.”
“I mean it. Don’t slow down on my account.”
He draped an arm over her shoulder.
“How about we walk back to my cabin and pull the curtains over the windows?”
Heat flickered through her body.
“That’s my kind of exercise. Lead the way.”
Darren led Raven off trail and through the woods, taking a shortcut back to the cabin. Dried leaves crunched underfoot, and chipmunks scurried in their wake. Ten minutes later, Raven recognized where they were. A line of cabins poked out of the trees, where families enjoyed the forest on a pristine summer day. The ranger’s cabin sat at the end of the row, a stone’s throw from the welcome center. As their hiking shoes scuffed through the grass, a perturbed voice called from behind.
“Ranger, if I may have a word with you.”
Darren swung around. The man waddling past the charcoal grills was on the wrong side of two-hundred pounds. The wide-brimmed hat covering his bald head hadn’t prevented his face from turning pink beneath the sun. He wore tacky shorts covered with an explosion of plaid.
“Who’s that?” Raven whispered.
“Paul Phipps,” Darren said from the corner of his mouth. “He rented cabin six with his wife. They both have a lot of Karen in them.”
“They always wish to speak with the man
ager?”
“And I’m the manager.” Darren cleared his throat as Phipps strode to them. “Mr. Phipps. Everything satisfactory with cabin six?”
“I should think not. My wife had two-hundred dollars stolen from her wallet. What sort of establishment do you run here?”
Darren flashed a look of concern.
“You keep your cabin locked while you’re away, I hope.”
“Of course I keep it locked. Did someone paint buffoon on my face?”
Raven coughed into her hand so Phipps wouldn’t see her laughing.
“You’re certain she didn’t misplace the money?”
Phipps drew in an exasperated breath.
“The cash never left her wallet until now.”
“When did this happen?”
Phipps yanked the hat from his head and slapped it against his leg.
“How should I know? It could have happened while we were asleep, or while we sat beside the lake. Don’t you have security cameras?”
“We don’t have issues with thievery inside the state park.”
“You could have fooled me.” Phipps placed his hands on his hips. “I suggest you stop wasting time and phone the police. Every minute wasted makes it easier for the thief to get away.”
Raven shared a glance with Darren. If someone stole money from the wife’s wallet—and Raven wasn’t convinced Phipps’s wife hadn’t misplaced the cash—the thief wouldn’t stick around. Before Darren replied, a sheriff’s department cruiser pulled in front of the welcome center. Phipps gave Darren a confused look.
“They’re working on another case in the park,” Darren explained.
“Well, this is the last time my wife and I visit Wolf Lake State Park. Seems the park is nothing but a criminal activity playground.”
Deputy Lambert, frazzled and sheepish, crossed the lot to where Darren and Raven stood.