Chattering Blue Jay

by Paty Jager

  A flash of tan between the bushes confirmed his reaction. A cougar was checking them out.

  “I’m going to fire my gun. We’ve got a big cat playing with us.”

  “A cougar?” the woman said on a gush of air.

  “Yeah.” Hawke pointed his Glock in the air and pulled the trigger twice. The shots rang through the gorge for several seconds. He spotted the cougar a hundred yards up the side of the cliff.

  Dog’s hair relaxed on his back. Hawke unhooked him from the leash and pivoted to the woman. “It’s gone.”

  She rubbed her arms. “In all the years I’ve hiked the Hells Canyon, I’ve never had my hair stand up on my arms.”

  “Then you never came this close to a cougar before.” Hawke holstered his Glock. “Come on. Let’s get to the cabin by dark.”

  They hadn’t gone a quarter of a mile when the cracking and snapping of more than one person hurrying through the brush grew in volume.

  Hawke stopped and waited.

  Mathews and two other men came into sight.

  He waved and they slowed their pace.

  He and Ms. Cox continued toward the three men.

  “We heard the shots and thought we’d better come see what was happening,” Mathews said.

  “We had a cougar tailing us. I warned it off.” Hawke continued. Mathews fell into step beside him. The other two walked alongside Ms. Cox.

  “Did you pick up Sheridan?” Hawke asked.

  Mathews shook his head. “He disappeared about two hundred yards from where they dumped your supplies.”

  “Damn!” Hawke had hoped the man was in custody. “Ms. Cox is a witness to his killing White. We need to get her out of here tonight.”

  “Can’t do that. The boat is coming back in the morning. They had to deal with something up river so they dumped us off here.” Mathews led them to what was called the cabin.

  It was an old rundown single-story house that had once had a life of its own. Hawke had heard stories of the families who’d lived in this area and how they had endured the rattlesnakes, weather, and terrain to grow crops and raise cattle and sheep to live. The two-bedroom home was made of weathered boards, had a pitcher pump, an old spindle-legged table with four chairs, and four old spring cots with cotton ticked mattresses. The land and building were purchased by the Forest Service as part of the Hells Canyon Recreational Area.

  Hawke dumped his pack inside the door of the cabin. Ms. Cox would get one of the bedrooms. Since the Search and Rescue group had pitched tents around the cabin, he’d take the other bedroom. Then again, to make sure Sheridan didn’t get to the woman, he’d have Mathews pitch his tent under her window and he’d put a cot in front of her bedroom door.

  He didn’t like the idea of Sheridan out there somewhere, possibly trying to get close enough to kill the woman. Or, if they were lucky, Sheridan could be headed out of here.

  Ms. Cox sat down on one of the chairs at the table. “What now?”

  “Pick the room you want and make yourself to home. I’ll put you on the boat in the morning with Mathews.” Hawke gave the old hand pump water spout a pump. From the wet spots in the basin it was in working condition.

  “What about you? Aren’t you leaving, too?” She peered at him. Her blonde hair had come loose from the band, holding it into a ponytail, a long time ago. The honey colored locks hung over her shoulders, bits of grass and weeds poked out like insects clinging to branches.

  “I’m going to hike back to my truck and go home.” He hadn’t had a shower in a week and was sick of eating jerky and granola bars. He wanted a cup of coffee, bacon, and a large stack of pancakes.

  “Where’s your truck?” she asked, fiddling with a bottle of water.

  He studied her. Why would she care where his truck was? “Where I left it.” Hawke walked to the door and stepped out, taking in the bustle of the search and rescue crew making meals and settling in for the night.

  He walked over to the small campfire surrounded by Mathews and a couple other deputies. “Mind if I heat up some water for coffee?”

  “If you have a cup, we have a pot brewed,” one of the deputies said.

  “Be right back.” Hawke returned to the cabin and his pack. The door to one of the bedrooms was open. Ms. Cox stood by the bed, digging through her pack. He ignored the woman and retrieved his tin cup from his pack along with a small aluminum pan and two packages of freeze-dried stroganoff. He’d eat well tonight.

  Back at the fire, he sniffed the coffee after the deputy poured and wondered at how just the scent awakened his senses.

  “Keep a lookout for anyone wandering around here tonight,” Hawke said, before sipping the coffee.

  “You don’t think Sheridan is long gone?” Mathews asked.

  Hawke shook his head. “Ms. Cox is an eyewitness to his killing White. After listening to him for several days, I don’t think he’d like her to get out of here to testify against him.” He peered at Mathews. “When she goes to bed, I’ll set my cot in front of her door. It would be a good idea for you or one of your men to set a tent outside her window. It’s the one in the south east corner.”

  Mathews nodded. “I’ll do it. Get your belly full and a good night’s sleep. We’ll be out of here in the morning.”

  He didn’t bother to tell Mathews any different. The deputy would find out in the morning that he was headed to Saddle Pit for his truck. And as much as he’d like to wipe his hands of this assignment and murder, he knew, he’d be checking out the background of Sean Sheridan right after he took a shower.

  «»«»«»

  Hawke’s stomach hadn’t felt so full since leaving Boise a week ago. Even Dog was stretched out, content and full, on the floor beside the cot. The coffee hadn’t been a good idea, considering he had a soft place to sleep.

  His mind raced over the events of the last week. Something was nagging at his brain. Something he should be grasping and wasn’t.

  Dog’s soft snore, the springs creaking as the woman rolled on the bed in the room behind him, and the muffled sound of the Snake River churning through the canyon as it had for thousands of years, slowly relaxed his mind, allowing him to forget his thoughts and fall to sleep.

  «»«»«»

  The creak of the rusty hinges on the outside door woke Hawke. He didn’t move, only stared at the door. It wasn’t open as if someone had walked through. Had the creak stopped whoever planned to come in? He rolled to the edge of the cot, trying to keep the springs from squeaking. The bit of moonlight filtering through the dirty windows revealed Dog’s silhouette, sitting, facing the door.

  Hawke eased to his knees on the wood floor and slowly stood. One foot lightly placed in front of the other, he crossed to the door and pulled it open.

  Nothing but moonlight and the shadowed mounds of the search and rescue team’s tents. He knew he hadn’t been hearing things because Dog had been alerted. Nothing moved in the shadows. The sound of the river and the rustle of leaves from the slight breeze were the only sounds.

  He closed the door and faced the room. Shit! The bedroom door behind his cot was open. He knew before he stepped over his cot that the room would be empty.

  How had the woman maneuvered over him and Dog without waking them up? Damn! Damn! Why had the woman left the safety of the search and rescue team?

  So much for getting a shower. He dug through his pack for a flashlight, shoved his feet into his hiking boots, and laced them up. A grab for his pack, and he headed for the door.

  “Come,” he said to Dog and left the cabin.

  Chapter Ten

  The early glow of dawn allowed Hawke to turn off the flashlight and still see the tracks the woman made. She didn’t seem to be worried about hiding her trail. He knew he wasn’t very far behind her even after telling Mathews the woman had fled and he was going after her.

  But he couldn’t seem to catch up, no matter how hard he pushed. Her prints revealed she was jogging. She was half his age. Stronger lungs and legs. If he jogged, he wouldn
’t be able to keep his eyes on the tracks and he’d be out of breath when he did catch up to her. What surprised him was the fact she hadn’t headed to the peaks. She traveled upriver just high enough to not be seen from the water.

  If she wanted to hide from Sheridan, she would have taken off over the peaks to civilization. Her file had said she knew this country well. Why she was staying low and heading upriver, had him wondering if she knew where Sheridan was headed. There was a definite purpose in her strides. They weren’t the frantic splayed dirt and debris of someone running to get away. They were even, balanced strides of someone moving at the pace they wanted. She knew the direction she wanted to go and was covering the ground quickly. If she did know where Sheridan was headed, she appeared to plan to meet back up with him at some point.

  Which made Hawke think, once again, that she and Sheridan had planned the murder of White together.

  What he wouldn’t give for a file on Sheridan. The bits and pieces he’d garnered from brief radio contact and what Mathews knew didn’t explain the man at all.

  Hawke stopped to drink and eat a granola bar. He pulled out the radio.

  “Mathews, are you listening?” Hawke asked the radio.

  “I’m here. What’s your location?”

  “She’s jogging upriver out of sight of the water. Can you take a boat, head toward the dam, and pull in at McGaffee, maybe try and intercept her?” It was the only way he knew to stop the woman from meeting back up with Sheridan and for the officials to question her.

  “Copy.”

  Hawke clicked the radio off, ate his bar, tossed Dog a biscuit, and finished off the water.

  “Let’s go.” Hawke stood and continued over the rocks and grassy patches Ms. Cox was traversing.

  He heard several boats out on the river but didn’t always have a good view of the water to see if one was Mathews. As he walked, he contemplated why Sheridan killed White. If it had been self-defense, he would have probably come away with hardly a blemish on his record. But Ms. Cox said Sheridan shot right after stepping into the open cave.

  What was the connection between the three?

  Dog stepped in front of him, his ears perked.

  Hawke stopped, grabbed Dog’s collar, and heard the sound of an agitated rattlesnake.

  “Easy, Dog,” Hawke backed himself and Dog up, listening to the sound to determine where it came from.

  Down the cliff.

  He leaned out and peered down. Twenty feet below them, on a rock outcropping, Ms. Cox stood still as a tree. A rattlesnake, head up, facing her, coiled five feet in front of her.

  “Stay,” Hawke ordered Dog and worked his way down the side of the canyon, kicking debris and rocks, which rolled down ahead of him.

  The snake had stopped some of the debris. The rocks and sticks had confused the creature. It no longer reared back with its attention on the woman.

  Hawke picked up a long stick on his descent. When he was within reach of the snake, he scooped the creature with the stick and flung it farther down the canyon wall, stick and all.

  He grabbed Ms. Cox’s wrist before she could take off in the other direction. “Why are you hurrying away from safety?”

  She raised a hand to push her wild hair out of her face and grimaced. “I wanted to get home.”

  He grinned and shook his head. “You’re headed the wrong direction. I read your file. You live and work in Pullman, Washington. That’s north, not south.”

  “But my vehicle is in Boise. That’s south.”

  He laughed. “I know it was your car that drove White to this area. And I would guess it’s parked somewhere north of the homestead where I found you. Going with Deputy Mathews this morning would have gotten you to your car faster than jogging alongside the Snake River.” He studied her, waiting for a response.

  She glared at him before her gaze turned speculative. “Do you want to find Sean?”

  He released her wrist, scrutinizing her. She had something on her mind. “Law enforcement would like to find him to discover why he shot White.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Not law enforcement. You.”

  It was his turn to narrow his eyes. She didn’t appear to know he was law enforcement. Sheridan must not have told her he was Oregon State Police. “Why would I want to find Sheridan?”

  “He was with you when he shot the person you were tracking. Don’t you want just a little bit of the satisfaction of finding him?” Her posture relaxed. “After all, you could be named an accomplice in Felix’s murder.”

  Hawke returned the woman’s smug gaze. “If anyone is an accomplice, it’s you.”

  She didn’t drop her gaze. Ms. Cox held his gaze as if it were a staring match like he’d played as a child. He’d be damned if he’d look away first. He wasn’t the one who was running from the law.

  He did feel he’d let his boss and Mr. Childress down by having the person he was tracking get shot before they could bring him back. That it was the boastful Sheridan who’d slipped away and killed him had been grinding in his craw ever since it happened.

  The woman finally squirmed. “I’m not his accomplice either. That means both of us want to find him to make sure he pays.”

  “He’s long gone. It’s going to take more than me to find him.” Hawke said it as if he didn’t care. But in his gut, he’d love to bring the smug, talkative man in. He was pretty sure the woman had other motives for finding Sheridan than making sure the law got a hold of him, but he’d keep that to himself if he could get her to help him.

  “What if I told you, I know where he is?” Ms. Cox nodded her head.

  “How would you know that?” He studied her. Was that where she’d been headed when the rattlesnake trapped her? She’d been backtracking, heading back down the river. That was why she was hurrying to get ahead of him. She’d planned to sneak past.

  “He told me his plans. But I won’t tell you anything other than I know where you can find him.” She held out a hand. “Want to work together?”

  He had a feeling working with her would be the same as working with the cunning coyote, but his curiosity had been piqued. Why would this woman want to go back to Sheridan when he had her hands tied and would have shot her given a chance?

  Hawke knew better than to shake hands. Even if you shook hands or even signed papers, it was a given that the other person wouldn’t keep their word. His ancestors learned it the hard way, and he always kept that in the back of his mind in any dealings.

  “You can take me to Sheridan? And why do you want to find him?” Hawke whistled for Dog to join them.

  She glanced up at Dog, running down the side of the canyon. “We have unfinished business.”

  “What kind?” Hawke put a hand on Dog’s head, watching the woman. She was good at concealing emotions.

  “The kind women don’t talk about but men brag about.” She stared at him as if he were the man who’d done wrong by her.

  “I take it he’s downriver, since you were sneaking around me?” He motioned for her to go ahead of him.

  She didn’t say a word, just headed back the way they’d traveled half the night and half the day.

  They would have been at McGaffee in another hour. Now he’d have to wait and see where they were headed to contact Mathews again.

  «»«»«»

  It was dark when Ms. Cox finally stopped and acted like she was ready to end the day. They’d covered more ground in the last eight hours than they had the first eight hours.

  Hawke was tired, hot, and hungry. He opened his pack and stared at the freeze-dried meals that needed hot water to be edible. He should have specified jerky and granola bars for supplies.

  Ms. Cox set out a small backpacking camp stove. She glanced over at him. “I’ll share the stove, but all you put in my pack were granola bars.”

  He tossed her two packs of freeze-dried stew. “I have food to share and no way to cook it.”

  She grinned, walked to the creek flowing nearby and filled a small aluminum pan w
ith water. Back at the stove, she lit the burner, placed the pan on, and sat back. “This baby doesn’t take long to boil.”

  “You have a small pack for staying out for very long,” Hawke said, hoping to get her to talk about her uncle and growing up hiking this area.

  She wrapped her arms around her drawn up legs. “I love it out here. If I could find a way to live here and make money, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

  “You’re a writer. I thought writers could work anywhere?” He leaned back on his pack, sipping on his last purified water. He’d refilled his other two bottles and added purification drops as soon as they’d arrived at the creek.

  Ms. Cox shook her head. “If I wrote novels. I write for newspapers. You have to be where the stories are.” She stared across the canyon to the Oregon side. “One of these days, I plan to write a book, but I have to have enough money saved up to live on before that can happen.”

  “What called you to writing for newspapers?” he asked as the water in the pan started to boil.

  She ripped the tops off the two freeze-dried packets, poured water in, and stirred them with a fancy spoon that had fork tines on the opposite end.

  Hawke watched her, wondering if he should invest in the fancy packing items she had for cooking. The small stove would be easier to make a cup of coffee when the woods were too dry to build a campfire.

  She handed him one of the packets. “Hope you have your own spoon.”

  “I do. Thank you.” He took the packet, dug in his pack for a spoon, and scooped up a mouthful of the stew. It wasn’t as good as his mother’s or the canned brand he liked, but it filled his empty stomach.

  “You aren’t planning to sneak away during the night are you, Ms. Cox?” Hawke asked when he’d finished his meal.

  Her eyebrows rose. “You may call me Tonya. No one calls me Ms. Cox. And no, I won’t sneak away. You’ve proven to be helpful. My uncle always told me not to hike alone.”

  “Your uncle sounds like he was a smart man.” Hawke watched as she poured the leftover water into a tin cup.

  She glanced up. “Have a cup for whatever hot beverage you have?”