by Jeff Shelby
I straightened, peering into the woods to see where the trail of prints led. It was impossible to see, as the trees suddenly closed up on themselves, a thicket of trunks and branches and brambles all melded together like some impenetrable fortress.
I walked alongside the prints, stepping lightly. I didn’t know why; maybe I thought walking this way would make my own tracks less likely to be noticed. This was ridiculous, of course, since the snow was fresh and powdery. A leaf falling from a tree would leave its mark, the snow was so light and fluffy.
A twig snapped just ahead of me in the thicket and I stifled a scream. Another sound, the rustling of dried leaves still clinging to branches. My heart thundered out of control. Something was moving in the brush. Something alive.
I knew I should turn around. Run back and find Mack.
But my feet were frozen in place, my eyes locked on the bushes and trees directly in front of me.
A branch shifted, and then another. I saw gloved fingers, a flash of red fabric, and my hand flew to my mouth.
A woman stepped out of the thicket, leaves and snow clinging to her hair.
It took me a moment to realize who it was.
“Margaret?” I said.
She shrieked and jumped back, landing on her behind.
I took a tentative step forward. “Oh my goodness, are you okay?”
She pushed her hair from her face, which sent snow showering down on her. “You scared me to death!” she said. Her face was pale, her eyes wide.
I could accuse her of the same thing. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
She got to her feet, brushing the snow from her backside. “What...what are you doing here?”
It was a fair question, but I really didn’t want to get into specifics. I thought quickly, focusing on what I’d learned about her during our brief interaction at the Wicked Wich.
I folded my arms across my chest. “I asked you first,” I said firmly.
Her gaze darted to the ground and I saw the color blossom in her cheeks. “Oh,” she said, swallowing. “I...uh...I was looking for some information.”
“Information?” I raised my eyebrows. “In the woods?”
She nodded.
“About what?”
She swallowed again, and when she looked at me, her eyes were filled with tears. “About my stepsister.”
I instantly felt bad. “Miranda?”
Margaret nodded again.
“I heard the news,” I said, gentling my voice. “I’m so sorry.”
She slashed at the tears running down her cheeks. “Me, too.”
“Can I ask why you are looking for information here? In the woods?”
She hesitated.
“I won’t say anything to anyone,” I said quickly. “I just was...surprised to see you here.”
She wiped at her eyes again. “It’s silly,” she murmured.
“Try me,” I suggested.
“I went to Miranda’s apartment this morning,” she said. “To see if she was there. You know, like you and your boyfriend suggested.”
I was about to correct her but then thought better of it. It didn’t matter who she thought Mack was.
“Did you...find anything?” I knew what she hadn’t found: her stepsister.
Margaret hesitated, then nodded. “She’s always left a key outside, for as long as I’ve known her. I found one under the mat and...well, I let myself in.” She said this a little sheepishly, as if she were embarrassed to be admitting this.
I tried not to sound too eager. “So you went inside?”
“Yes.” Fresh tears appeared. “I guess I just wanted to be close to her after...” She sniffled.
“I understand,” I said, nodding.
“I looked around a little bit while I was in there. Everything looked so normal, you know? There were dirty dishes in the sink. Socks on the living room floor. Make-up on the bathroom counter. It was like she’d left to go on an errand.” She sniffed again, louder this time. “Not like she’d left forever.”
I didn’t know what I could possibly say that might offer any kind of comfort. I’d been so focused on helping to clear Mack’s name—and my own—that I hadn’t really thought of Miranda as a person. I mean, I knew she was, but I’d treated her as this anonymous person and here I was, standing in the middle of a forest, talking to someone who had known her and who was missing her. And who would never see her again.
I stopped that line of thought and came back to one component of it.
I was standing in the forest.
With someone who had information about Miranda.
“It sounds like you spent a little time there,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Did you notice anything that might indicate what happened to Miranda?”
Her expression darkened, and she suddenly didn’t look meek or timid. She looked ferocious.
I shrank back.
“Yes,” she said, her voice like ice. “I did.”
I raised my eyebrows and waited.
“She kept a journal,” Margaret said. She rubbed her arms with her gloved hands, and I didn’t know if she was trying to comfort herself over some awful memory or if she was simply trying to warm herself. “By her bed. I didn’t mean to look through it, but it was there and...”
I pounced. “And?”
She swallowed. “I read the last few entries. She was pretty vague, but she seemed to be worried that someone was following her. She was getting creepy voicemails, and hang-ups when she answered her phone.”
My skin prickled with goose bumps. I thought about what Mack had told me about his conversation with Miranda the night at the hotel bar, the things she had asked about. Mack had speculated that she might be having issues with someone stalking her, especially if the vague questions she’d asked could really be related to things she was going through.
Based on what Margaret was telling me, it sounded like he was right.
“Was there anything else?” I asked. “Anything that indicated who might be doing those things?”
Margaret shook her head. “No.” She paused, thinking. “But she did mention a name in one entry. A boyfriend.”
I stood up straight, waiting. “Who?”
“They broke up a few weeks ago,” Margaret said quickly. “Something about them not being on the same page and wanting the same things.”
I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted a name. “Who?” I repeated.
“I don’t know his last name,” she said slowly.
I was getting impatient. “It doesn’t matter.”
She gave me a puzzled look. “It doesn’t?”
“No,” I said. “What was his name?”
Margaret glanced at the ground. “Tim. His name was Tim.”
THIRTY NINE
Mack had been right about Tim.
“Tim?” I repeated, just to be sure.
Margaret nodded. “I thumbed through a little bit more of the journal and found something about him living out in the woods, close to the Fuhrman’s property.”
I didn’t know the Fuhrmans but I assumed they lived nearby.
“Anyway, I thought I’d come see if I could find him.”
“Why?” I asked. I was genuinely curious, especially since she didn’t seem to suspect him in her sister’s death and clearly didn’t have any information indicating that he might be involved.
She offered a small shrug. “I don’t really know. I guess to talk to someone who knew her, who was close to her. She and I haven’t spent much time together over the last few years—I’ve been gone and when I got back to Winslow a month or so ago, I tried to be better about our relationship, being a good sister and all. We never really got along when we were younger and I wanted to reset our relationship, you know? Try again.” She sniffed, and I could tell she was on the verge of tears again. “I guess I was too late.”
I didn’t want to get into the details of her relationship with Miranda. Not now, not when we had more reason than ever to
try to find Tim.
“So you came out here looking for him,” I said, trying to bring the conversation back to the topic at hand. “And were you successful? Did you find him?”
She shook her head. “No. All I’ve been doing is walking in circles out here. At least that’s what it feels like.” She gestured at the trees and brush she’d just emerged from. “I think I’ve seen that at least three times. I can’t feel my toes, my hands are freezing, and now my butt is wet.” At least she had thought to bring gloves, which was something I’d forgotten.
So she hadn’t found Tim’s camper. Or Tim, wandering through the woods.
I tried to hide my disappointment. “You should probably get someplace to warm up,” I told her.
“I would, but I don’t know where I am,” she admitted.
I pointed behind me. “The road is that way. Straight back, about a hundred or so yards. Where did you park?”
“Somewhere on the road,” she said, a little uncertainly.
I hadn’t seen her car parked anywhere, but I’d also pulled off immediately after leaving Tim’s.
I dug my keys out of my pocket. “My car is there,” I said. “You’re welcome to wait for me inside if you want.”
She frowned. “Wait. What are you doing out here?”
I looked away. What reason could I possibly give for trekking through the woods on a cold winter afternoon?
I pasted on a bright smile. “I’m...hiking.”
“Hiking?”
I nodded. “Yes. It’s something new I’m trying. A New Year’s resolution, to get out in nature more.” I glanced around at the trees and then the fallen logs that littered the ground, half-covered in snow. “I thought the woods would be a good place to start.”
Margaret stared at me for a minute, and I wondered if she could tell that I was lying through my teeth.
“I’m also learning how to track,” I added hastily. If I were Pinocchio, my nose would have been about ten inches long at this point.
“Track?”
“Yes. Animals.” My smile grew brighter. “That’s what led me to you. The prints you left. I was looking for wildlife but instead I found you!”
At least that was a partial truth. Her prints were what had led me off the path I’d been on and toward her.
“Wow,” she said, shaking her head. “My resolution was to eat more vegetables.”
I held out my keys to her. “Take these. Go warm up.”
She looked at the keys. “How long are you going to be?” she asked.
Until I find Tim, I thought.
“Not long,” I said instead.
Margaret hesitated but finally took the keys, folding them into her gloved hand and slipping them into the pocket of her red ski jacket.
“You sure you don’t mind?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Not at all. Go.”
“Thank you,” she said. Her eyes were welling up again. “Not just for the keys, but for listening.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” I told her.
Not yet, I thought.
Not until I found Tim and had him confessing to his role in Miranda’s death.
FORTY
I waited until Margaret disappeared from view before I pulled out my phone.
“Did you find him?” Mack asked.
“No.”
He sighed, and I knew he was wondering why I was calling him then.
“But I found someone else.”
There was a pause. “Who?”
“Margaret.”
“Who?”
I stepped over a log, my boot slipping on a patch of ice as I brought my foot back down. I reached out with my free hand and steadied myself by grabbing at a tree. Pieces of bark scratched my hand.
“The woman from the Wicked Wich,” I told him. “Miranda’s sister.”
“A Miranda’s sister, not the Miranda’s sister,” he reminded me. “We don’t know they are related.”
“Well, we do now,” I said.
I slowed my pace and filled him in on what Margaret had told me.
He let out a low whistle when I was done. “So Tim is our man.”
“Seems that way.”
“Where are you?” Mack asked.
I frowned. “Uh, in the woods. Same as you.”
“No,” he said impatiently. “I mean where in the woods?”
My frown deepened. “How on earth would I know? I kept walking, remember? Away from you. Why does it matter?”
He sighed. “Look, we now know that Tim is probably dangerous. You shouldn’t try to confront him on your own.”
I bristled. “Do you really think I’m going to march up to him if I find him and accuse him of murder?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Mack said. “You have a temper, you know.”
My mouth dropped open. I had a temper??
“Look, just stay where you are. Keep talking. I’ll head toward where you were when we split up and listen for your voice. Maybe you can send some sort of signal.”
“Like a smoke signal?” I said, rolling my eyes.
“You smoke?”
I sighed. “No, Mack, I don’t smoke. It was a joke.”
He didn’t laugh. “Just stay where you are, Rainy. I’ll find you. And then I can take care of finding Tim.”
“What?” My voice shook with anger. “You don’t think I’m capable of handling this on my own?”
“I just said you shouldn’t do anything without me.”
“Because you don’t think I’m capable.”
“I never said that.”
He didn’t have to.
I held the phone limply to my ear. His words stung.
I thought for a minute, trying to decide what I wanted to do.
It took me all of three seconds to make a decision.
I ended the call and stuffed the phone back in my pocket.
I wasn’t going to wait for Mack Mercy.
I was going to keep going, on my own if necessary.
Because I didn’t need a man to tell me what to do.
FORTY ONE
Five minutes later, I was deeper in the woods and feeling hopelessly lost.
Mack had called me, over and over, but I’d refused to pick up. The ringer was on silent but the phone vibrated in my pocket, and I tried to squelch the guilt I was feeling over hanging up on him.
He had deserved it, I reminded myself. He’d basically told me he didn’t think I was able to handle things by myself.
Looking around at the looming forest and the darkening sky, a tiny voice in my head whispered that he might have been right.
I brushed it aside. Or at least I tried to.
All I was doing was looking for Tim. I wasn’t going to apprehend him and I wasn’t going to question him.
I just wanted to find him.
A squirrel darted out in front of me, scampering up the side of a tree, and I startled, my heart leaping inside my chest. Light from the sinking afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of firs and bare-branch trees, casting eerie shadows on the snow. My senses were alight, tuned into every sight and every sound.
And every smell.
I sniffed, frowning.
I sniffed again, more deliberately this time.
I knew what I was smelling.
Nothing in the world smelled quite like it. There was no mistaking it.
It was the smell of bacon cooking.
Why was I smelling bacon in the middle of the woods? I took a tentative step, turning in a slow circle as I tried to figure out where it was coming from. There were no buildings visible, no homes at the edge of the forest. I thought about what Margaret had said, something about the Fuhrmans. Maybe I was close to their home and just didn’t know it.
I kept walking, letting my nose lead the way. The smell became more pungent and my stomach growled. I should have eaten more than a banana for breakfast, a meal that felt like it had been consumed hours ago.
I scanned the woods for sign
s of life, for any indication that I was nearing civilization, but there were none. I was still surrounded by trees and brush, the snow fresh and unmarred by prints of any kind. It looked like no one had stepped foot here in weeks, if not months. There weren’t even any animal tracks, which sort of gave me the creeps. I was surrounded by the smell of bacon in a section of a forest that looked completely abandoned.
There was something definitely creepy about that.
I reached into my pocket, my fingers closing around my phone. I knew reassurance was the push of a button away. I could call Mack and tell him what was happening, keep talking to him until he found me.
And I was sorely tempted to do just that.
But something stopped me, the same thing that had caused me to hang up on him in the first place.
“You are fine,” I whispered to myself as I plodded my way deeper into the woods. “So you smell bacon. So what?”
I kept my eyes on the ground, scanning my surroundings for obstacles in my path and keeping my eyes peeled for any signs of prints. There were none.
The smell continued to grow stronger, to the point that it felt as though I were mere feet away from an open kitchen window.
I frowned. Where on earth was the smell coming from?
I took another step forward, and my foot hit something slick. A patch of ice, I thought, desperately trying to right myself as my leg slid out from underneath me.
I landed on my rear with a loud thunk.
“What the...” I winced as I shifted my body. My tailbone was smarting, and my leg was still bent at an unnatural angle. I’d have some sore and tender muscles for sure tomorrow.
But that wasn’t what was concerning me. I stared at the pine needles littering the snow and immediately brushed at them with my hands. I wasn’t sitting on the ground. My rear end hadn’t landed on the ground.
No. I was sprawled out on something large. Something metal.
I swept away more of the pine needles and dead leaves, and then gasped when I realized just exactly what it was I had landed on.
Somehow, some way, I’d discovered something buried in the woods. A very large something.
A shipping container.