The group leader, who introduced herself as Marge, wore knee-high green hiking socks and sturdy boots that had the wear of many miles on their fabric. Marge’s graying hair was tucked into a navy-blue Brewster Store hat, and strands peeked through the rear hole more with every movement she made. Marge held a map before the smaller group, which had broken off from the others who had all gone their separate ways.
“We’ve been assigned a section of the forest. It will be roughly half a mile long from start to finish. We’ll then loop back and make a return trip.” Marge’s face was torn between smiling and frowning. “You will each be partnered up and we’ll move slowly through our path, using our compasses to maintain a straight line.”
Rachel had been instructed by the mayor to bring a compass, and although she didn’t have one in her small weekender bag, she’d assumed that her phone would work just as well. Marge seemed to agree, but mentioned that a real compass might be more comfortable to hold. Rachel looked around the group and wondered who she would be partnered with. It suddenly felt like the first day of Chemistry in high school, where lab partners were chosen and every single student nervously looked around to see who was looking their way. Rachel had always hoped for an odd number so she could just work alone, but on the one occasion that occurred, she had to do her lab experiments with the teacher instead. This group, however, was a solid mix of seven individuals, with Marge making eight.
Marge repeated once more that they were looking for any of the three missing people or anything that would seem to indicate they’d been there. “This includes noticeable barefoot or shoe prints, discarded clothing, a cell phone or watch or even the remnants of a recent campfire.”
Rachel’s hand shot up before she could think to put it back down. Marge nodded towards her, “Yes?”
“Could you share once more what they had on? What they looked like?” Rachel’s voice squeaked.
“It’s all in your packet, ma’am,” Marge said.
Rachel lowered her reddened cheeks and opened her packet once again. A young man tapped her on the shoulder from the group. “Looks like we’re paired up. I’m Griffin.”
Griffin stood just over six feet tall with an unimpressive mustache lining his upper lip. His freckled cheeks were puffy and marked with the distant remnants of acne. Rachel thought his neatly trimmed buzzcut looked military-made and assumed he was fresh out of basic training.
“Rachel Spokes,” she said. “Great to meet you. I have to share; this is my first search party.”
“Same here,” Griffin said with a straight face. “I wasn’t able to get out yesterday because I was being questioned in the police’s interrogation room.”
Rachel’s eyes grew wide. She tried to corral her eyebrows as they shot to the middle of her forehead with surprise. She decided to wait until they were doing their search of the lands to push him to share more.
Griffin led her to a part of the trail marked with a small yellow folded piece of paper that had “7C” scribbled in marker. Rachel tried to zoom out and picture the search from above. The land was split into one massive grid, marked north to south with numbers and east to west with letters. The organization of such an undertaking was impressive to Rachel, who had seen buildings built with less care or planning.
Griffin read over his packet before stepping into the brush. “Brown hair, yellow bikini. Gray hair, blue swimming cap, black swimsuit. Brown hair, yellow bikini. Gray hair, blue swimming cap, black swimsuit.”
Rachel interrupted his repetition as they walked, “What about what the man? What was he wearing on his run?”
Griffin had the packet folded and nestled in his back pocket. “Aaron had on a black singlet, dark gray running shorts, and black Nike shoes. He also had a Garmin GPS watch that he guarded with his life.”
Rachel followed and felt the leaves crunch under the weight of her work boots. “Did you know him? Aaron?”
“I do,” Griffin sighed. “I was running with him when he disappeared.”
Rachel felt her stomach drop as her light-hearted comments reverberated in her ears. She considered apologizing, but figured that the hole was already dug. She just mumbled, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay, it’s not your fault, you didn’t know. I just hope we can find him, yeah?” Griffin spoke as his eyes scanned the thicket in front of them.
Stray branches of rhododendrons and winterberries thwacked at their knees as they pushed through. The humid air hung around them, filled with clouds of mosquitoes pecking at their skin. Griffin held head-level branches aside for the shorter Rachel and she thanked him for his chivalry and care. They hit a tall pine with a wide trunk and each stepped to either side of it.
“So, is that what the police wanted to know? What happened?” Rachel broke the silence.
“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t have much to say. One second he’s here, the next, poof, he’s gone.” Griffin kept his eyes laser-focused on the ground in front of him. Rachel could hear the guilt and regret in Griffin’s voice. Just hearing it made her wish with all of her might that a clue appear before them.
“I can’t even imagine how scary that was for you,” Rachel said. Griffin nodded, looking down at the creeping bracken fern on the ground. He pointed ahead and to his left, “Poison ivy. Watch yourself.”
Rachel sidestepped the leaves of three and followed Griffin’s path. She hadn’t even thought about the presence of the poisonous leaves that had once left her bedridden and itchy as a child during a summer in New Jersey. She still had small pockmarks on her chest from the nastiest part of the rash that had seemed to persist for weeks on end. None of the neighboring kids would play with her in the ocean because of the grotesque marks that covered her body.
The tangle of branches subsided, and a small clearing appeared ahead. The flat barren land looked out of place. Griffin moved closer, and Rachel could barely see beyond his broad shoulders. Instead, she tried to match his every step and avoid the thorns that encased the sides of the haphazard pathway. Suddenly, she saw Griffin’s feet come to a complete stop.
She sidestepped him and followed his gaze. In the far part of the opening, a small plastic sign was stuck into the ground with blue and red lettering that read, “Baxter Construction Site.” Rachel saw that it wasn’t the sign Griffin had stopped to stare at. It was the items below.
Next to the sign’s wooden post sat a pile of neatly folded clothing. They walked closer and Rachel’s fears were realized. She regretted her earlier wish for a break in the case.
Under the sign sat a Garmin GPS watch, a blue swimming cap, and a yellow bikini.
SEVENTEEN
Tuesday, August 7th
After an hour, Casper’s focus had been broken by Ian’s interruptions five times, but he had a baseline understanding of the facts of the case before him. He looked up and waved his hand to capture Ian’s attention, which of course was now elsewhere. Casper wrapped Hoagie’s leash around a pillar of the building and a bell rang above his head as he stepped inside the restaurant.
“I don’t give a shit what time it is. I just want a god-damned omelet with hash browns,” an angry voice yelled in Ian’s direction. The man shouting had patchy brown hair and a week-old beard. A pink baseball cap was folded in the back pocket of shabby, torn jeans. Casper hung back, waiting for an opportune moment to step in and hand over the cash the mayor had left behind for the bill.
“Look, Morris. I want a dreamy girlfriend, but I ain’t going to get it when it’s just not in the cards. We stop our breakfast menu at eleven and sent those cooks home.”
The angry man groaned and noticed Casper behind him.
“Got a problem, city boy?”
Before he could respond, another man stood from a booth by the door and put a hand on the irate man’s shoulder. “Lay off him, Morris. Can’t you see he’s just here on vacation?”
The newcomer had greasy brown hair and a paint-stained t-shirt. Ian looked at him with a sense of dread. “Hey, Tommy. I’m su
re we can whip something up that Morris would like. Let me go check.”
Casper shook his head and then handed over the cash to Ian. He waved goodbye and made his way toward the door. He could feel both men’s eyes staring daggers at him as he left, but tried not to let it sour his early impression of Brewster. Hoagie had fallen asleep on the concrete patio, but he begrudgingly made his way toward the car.
Casper’s cell rang as he drove past the Brewster General Store, and he pulled into the pebbled parking lot to answer. The number wasn’t one he had saved, but he answered anyway, fingers crossed for a new client. The voice on the other end clarified that was not the case.
“Mr. Kelly?” The female voice on the other end was breathy and low. The background noise sounded like the person was running or walking briskly, with the wind blowing into the speaker of the phone.
“Yes, who is this?”
“I’m Detective Delaney Shepard, Mayor Peck gave me your number and suggested I reach out.”
Casper had hoped to have time to explore the site before the police colored the story with background and details that may be misleading. Still, Casper found the voice more welcoming than most of his past police liaisons.
“Ah, yes, hello, Detective.”
“I was hoping to have you come to the station, but we’ve had a development and figured you might as well just meet us there.” The detective sounded firm. It sounded like she was in a car.
“Okay, what kind of development?”
The car ignition turned over before she replied. “Great, I’ll send you the coordinates and you can just plug that into your phone. You’ll have to drive down a dirt road for a stretch, so be careful. See you soon.” With that, the phone clicked, and the call ended.
Casper looked blankly at his phone and saw an incoming text message from the Detective’s number. He clicked to save her as a contact, but immediately forgot the name she’d given. Elaine? Danielle? Crap. He just saved it as Detective Brewster and clicked on the GPS coordinates. The phone automatically pulled up his Maps app and launched it to navigate him to the spot. From a glance, it looked like it was in the middle of a forest. He hit “Go!”. The app came to life and the friendly robotic voice said, “You will arrive at your destination in eight minutes.”
Casper veered left at the blinking yellow traffic light just past the library. He’d noticed the library because it stood out amongst the neighboring houses with its ketchup and mustard decor and grand rooftop. Casper could barely recall the reading he’d given in those very book-laden walls. It felt like a different person had read those stories.
The visit to the library was thankfully before his diagnosis. Before the anxiety and fear really crept in like a fog at dawn. As he passed the library, he thought of the narrow corridors and tightly lined bookshelves with barely three feet of space between them. Even the Brewster Store looked cramped and tight, with one way in and one way out. Casper made a note to avoid visiting the shop if he could.
After the blinking light, Casper saw the homes receded a bit behind a border of trees, usually dogwoods or arborvitaes. The GPS had him turn left onto Run Hill Road, which he wound through with his foot heavy on the gas. There wasn’t a moment to lose when the police, who knew these streets better than Casper, were already on their way. The road narrowed suddenly and an oncoming car nearly sideswiped Casper’s beat-up sedan. He hung closer to the edge during the next narrow stretch and bumped into a hanging branch from an oak that left a green leaf on his passenger seat.
Run Hill Road ended without notice, but the GPS had Casper stay straight down a gravel road. His tires sank into the ground a bit, but he could keep moving through. With one minute left in the drive, Casper veered left onto another dirt road marked with a handwritten sign that said “Punkhorn Road.”
After a few hundred yards, Casper saw other cars through the trees to his right and the brush opened up. The GPS instructed him that his destination would be on the right and so he reached to click it off, but his foot slipped from the brake to the gas. He drove over a small ditch on the side of the road and the bottom of his car thunked against the soil below. All the people at the crime scene stared.
Casper reversed out and parked off to the right, next to two police cruisers, and climbed from his vehicle, approaching the crowd. He had cracked the rear windows so Hoagie could still get fresh air but decided it was best to leave him behind on an active crime scene. Casper made it two steps before retreating to his car and grabbing his moleskin notebook and pen from the center console. Within a millisecond of opening the car door, Hoagie had busted out and was in a full sprint toward the police gathered ahead.
Casper sprinted after him. Hoagie settled himself in front of a group of uniformed officers and a woman in a pantsuit, who he assumed was the detective that had called. Casper willed himself to remember her name this time as he attempted to catch his breath.
The detective leaned down and rubbed Hoagie’s belly. “And you must be the private eye we hired! They didn’t mention in the memo you were so cute!”
Casper chuckled and interrupted. “Aw, thanks. I usually ask them to leave my good looks out of their updates to the police.”
Just as Casper finished speaking, he wished that he could catch the words with a net and stop anybody from hearing his pathetic attempt at a joke. He let out a massive sigh when he saw the detective’s lips curve to a tiny smile.
“I’m assuming you are Mr. Kelly?” The detective asked. She had thick, black-coffee hair which fell just behind her ears and rested atop athletic shoulders. Freckles lined both of her cheeks like small constellations of stars.
“Call me Casper, please,” he replied and outstretched a hand.
Her face scrunched. “Casper? Like the ghost?” She took his hand and shook it. “That’s a funny name.”
Casper felt himself go pale as he let go of her warm, bony hand. He had been told countless times that his name was weird or silly or stupid, but it never failed to be a gut-punch when a pretty girl said that right off the bat. Casper forced a smile anyway. “Parents, what more can I say?”
She brushed it off. “And who is this little guy here?”
“This is Hoagie.”
“Hi, Hoagie! I’m Delaney. It’s really nice to meet you!” Casper found her high-pitch dog voice irresistible.
A uniformed man that resembled a Mr. Potato Head doll waddled over and interrupted with a vice-grip like handshake. “I’m Chief Slimmer, thanks for coming by. Shep here will be your lead from our end on this case. I trust you two can handle this mess? I need to go update the families.” Casper nodded and realized as the man staggered to his car that he hadn’t even introduced himself. His mouth agape, he watched the chief exit the lot.
“Detective Shepard, we’ve got what we need. The scene is yours,” a crime scene tech who had a camera on a strap around his neck interrupted.
“Thanks, Reggie,” the detective replied warmly. “Casper, care to walk over with me? I’ll fill you in on the way. Hoagie can come too if you’ve got a leash for him.”
Casper pulled his notebook out and attached Hoagie’s leash as he followed. His love for the texture of a moleskin notebook outweighed its practical use. It was nearly impossible to walk and take notes at the same time without a hard surface to press against. Every case had left Casper with a three-pack of composition notebooks in his Amazon shopping cart, but he never pulled the trigger.
The detective walked fast and Casper did his best to keep up. Hoagie had no trouble with the pace, he was walking step for step with Delaney. “We got a call from the search team. Volunteers found the victim’s clothing, some of it at least.”
Casper’s mind raced. Why would the clothing be returned? Was it a threat? A clue? Some sort of reminder to the police that these accidents are related? That they aren’t accidents?
“Are they damaged at all?” Casper asked the detective.
“No, in fact, they’ve been folded and neatly placed next to a signpost. No blo
odstains, rips, tears, anything. Might as well be sitting on a shelf in a department store.”
“You said some of the clothing? Things are still missing?” Casper asked. The detective stopped walking and was looking straight ahead, towards an opening in the field. The signpost was just a few yards away.
Casper read the sign aloud. “Baxter Construction. That’s the developer who bought the land?”
Still no response from the detective. Casper tried again. “Detective Shepard?”
She shook her head and released her stare. “Sorry. Sorry, Casper. Just struggling to process all of this. What did you ask?”
“No apologies necessary. I was just asking if there’s some clothing missing still, and if Baxter is the company that bought the land,” Casper restated.
“Yes, and yes. Minor pieces from each of them, but we’ve been able to confirm without moving the evidence that these are in fact the same type of clothing that each of the victims was wearing during their accident.”
“Detective, I don’t want to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong but, I think it’s time that your team came around to admit that this was no accident,” Casper whispered.
Her face turned as white as a picket fence, then she let out a deep sigh. “I know. You’re right. I know this is more your world than mine from what I read about you, but this still gives me the creeps,” She continued, “I just don’t know how we can say this was all the result of one person. One bad, twisted person.”
“Detective, how thick are these woods? Could somebody just be hiding out in the Punkhorns waiting for us? Like some cruel prank?”
Delaney laughed. “Casper, Sasquatch could hide in these woods and he’d be safe as could be. In fact, I don’t think we can count him out as a suspect.”
Casper chuckled at what he hoped was a joke. Somehow, folks in every case he’d worked had managed to bring up Big Foot or the Tooth Fairy when they were questioning his work. “I’ll make sure to write that down. What’s your best guess? Based on what you’ve seen so far, what is going on here?”
Welcome to the Punkhorns (Shepard & Kelly Book 1) Page 9