by Ed Robinson
The devil on my left shoulder told me to call Avery County. He knew I wanted to see Angelina again. The angel on my right shoulder had a different opinion. He knew that I didn’t need the type of temptation that she would bring. Both of them were right.
I’d have to let things play out with the Beech Mountain Chief of Police and hope that he had integrity, or that Rominger could somehow get involved. They were the law, and I was not. At least Rominger had told the Chief what to look for. It would be hard for him to make the beer can disappear at this point. He could replace it with another one though, if he were that devious. I was letting my past interactions with a crooked cop influence my opinion of the man. I needed to step away from the whole thing and let the real authorities do their job.
Brody was finally starting to share my frustration. She’d been certain that we’d find more clues by working that list of properties. It was a well-thought-out plan, I gave her that, but our part of its execution was now over.
“I hate coming up short,” she said. “If I had a police force under my control we would have solved this case by now.”
“Maybe the unannounced intruder will turn out to be our guy,” I suggested. “In that case, we were integral in solving the crime.”
“I’m starting to smell something funny about the situation up there too,” she said. “It’s not the same as your gut feeling, but the fact that the Chief knows the homeowners is highly suspicious.”
“We’ll know more soon,” I said. “Rominger will stay on him about it.”
“You still planning on chasing a ghost through the wilderness?” she asked.
“You’re welcome to tag along,” I said. “Work on your backwoods skills.”
“I’m almost inclined to accept your invitation,” she said.
“Almost?”
“But I know what will happen,” she continued. “After a while, you’ll be dressed like Jed Clampett and sleeping under a log. I’m going to have to pass.”
“For starters, I’m just going to do some hiking,” I said. “Maybe take Red along on a few trips. Get to know the land, find my way around.”
“I can deal with that,” she said. “But as soon as you get too serious with your Zen stuff, I’ll stay home.”
“Deal,” I said. “We’ll take tomorrow off to do something fun. Start the next day.”
“You want to drive down to Looking Glass Falls, or maybe Dry Falls?” she asked. “Make a day of it?”
“Sure, sounds good,” I said. “Give our minds a break. Enjoy life.”
Looking Glass Falls was near Brevard, in the Pisgah National Forest. It took us over two hours to get there, but it was worth it. It was easy to access and arguably the most beautiful waterfall we’d seen. We still had plenty of time left in the day, so we drove on to Dry Falls, near Highland. It was just off the side of Highway 64 and a short walk. The water runs off a high cliff, allowing you to walk behind it without getting wet. We could feel the power of the rushing water as we stood behind it. It would have been even more fantastic if we didn’t have to share with fifty or so other folks. Still, both falls were well worth the drive.
We enjoyed the scenery on the way home, talking about anything other than the dead girl on Beech Mountain. We discussed ways we might improve life at our little creekside cabin. Brody wanted a garden, but we lacked flat land that wasn’t pure rock underneath. I wanted a woodshed. We could keep our firewood dry without lugging it up to the porch. A snow blower would be nice to have, but it wasn’t deemed a necessity. We’d only been snowed in a few times, and we weathered those events just fine.
We decided to stop for dinner at Stonewalls in Banner Elk. During the height of the ski season, you couldn’t get in the place without a reservation, but traffic had slowed and we were able to get a table. The special was Chilean Sea Bass, which was excellent. Brody got the shrimp scampi. I paid eight bucks for a craft beer, which irritated me to no end. I could drink six beers at home for that and have a few bucks left over. It was a nice experience though. The ban on talk of the dead girl stayed in effect.
It was late when we got home, but I built a fire anyway. I took Red out to do his thing. When I came back in, I found Brody in sexy negligee lying on a blanket in front of the fireplace. Red got locked in a bedroom. The next twenty minutes were spent trying to add some steam to the heat of the fire.
The heat from the fireplace kept the light sweat we both had on our skin from causing a chill. It created an odd sensation of cooling off while keeping warm that I can’t say I’d experienced before. It stimulated us to go for round two, something we hadn’t accomplished in quite some time. It was satisfying enough to eliminate the need to try for round three.
We put on robes and stowed the blanket away before letting Red out of jail. He was happy that we were both home. We gave him some good doggy loving before turning in for the night. It had been a long and enjoyable day, the kind of day we’d moved to the mountains to experience. I don’t know about Brody, but I got the best night of sleep I’d had in forever. I had dreams, but they were all pleasant.
Nightmares had haunted me in the past. They all involved death. First, it was the death of my wife, Laura. Later it was a dead woman in my arms on the streets of Miami. Then it was the man I’d beaten to death down in Guatemala. They came back to torment me in my sleep. Since the move to the Blue Ridge Mountains, they’d stopped, for which I was grateful. To me, it meant that I’d successfully run away from my past.
One of the dreams that night involved the Beech Mountain Hermit. Again, he looked like my dead friend Pop. We sat and talked by a clear mountain stream like we were old friends. I sensed no danger in his presence. At first glance, he looked old and feeble, but when he moved it was quick and lithe. It was also silent. He was so light on his feet that he could have been weightless.
That part of the dream stuck with me after I woke. I wanted to go track the man down, but how? Could he really move like that? If he was that good, how could I expect to find him? The depth of my sleep made me a bit sluggish. It took an extra cup of coffee to shake it off. I told Brody about how well I’d slept, and about the hermit dream.
“You’re super curious about this guy, aren’t you?” she asked.
“I am,” I said. “I admit it. I admire people like him. I don’t want to live like that, but yes, I’m curious.”
“Good, because if you want to sleep in caves, you’ll be doing it by yourself.”
“You’re the reason I don’t want to live like that,” I said. “I not only want to be with you, but I also want you to be comfortable and happy.”
“I am both,” she said. “Let’s keep it that way.”
After a leisurely breakfast, we got a late start up Beech Mountain. I wanted Brody to participate, so I didn’t push her. We started at the park by the lake and made a quick swing through the area I’d already searched with Angelina. I showed her the spots we figured the hermit had been. From there we followed the trail Red had been on before losing it at the water’s edge.
“It’s almost like you were close to him, actually on his heels,” she said. “He went into the lake to shake you off.”
“Except there was no water in the lake at the time,” I said. “We’d have seen footprints in the mud.”
“Then he went so far as to lose a tail that he didn’t even have,” she said. “Like he knew someone would come after him soon.”
“He couldn’t know I’d come with a hound dog,” I said.
“He’s been surviving here for years without being seen,” she said. “He’s got to be extremely cautious.”
“That is pretty extreme,” I agreed. “He’s moving through the area but takes steps to hide his trail even though no one is after him. That’s a whole new level of precaution.”
“You are a tracker,” she said. “One with special skills. You found his little stopover points, but it’s not likely anyone else would have.”
“He covered them well,” I said. “I got lucky.�
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“You make your own luck,” she said. “We know that. You found clues of his existence once; you can do it again.”
“There are thousands of acres to hide beyond here,” I said.
“This is what you’ve been wanting,” she replied. “What do we do next?”
“I think we need to cover some ground,” I said. “Stay aware but not focusing on the little things. He’s not holed up near here. He’s got to have a safe place away from civilization.”
“Let’s get hiking,” she said. “Before we come back we need to figure out more access points. We’ll end up many miles from the lake eventually.”
“We still have that map,” I said. “We can figure out the roads. We’ll just need to find a place to park.”
We got to the place where Red had lost the trail. Trees grew right to the edge of the lake. The undergrowth was too thick to push through. I wasn’t up to wading in the water, but I guessed that the hermit simply went around this section of thicket to a more navigable part of the woods. We backtracked and looked for a dry way around the obstacle. We ended up going far out of our way to get back down to the water again, but we found the going much easier. I stopped to study the bank and soft earth beside the lake. I almost didn’t notice it, but there it was; a footprint.
The reason I nearly missed it was because there was no tread imprint. It was a flat, featureless shape of a shoe, just barely indenting the ground.
“What kind of shoe has zero tread?” I asked Brody.
“Dress shoes for one,” she said. “But I’d say we can rule that one out. Moccasins maybe?”
“Those slipper things that Indians wore?”
“They still make them,” she said. “They’re all the rage with the hipster crowd.”
“The Hipster Hermit of Beech Mountain,” I said. “I don’t think it will sell.”
“Maybe he has Indian blood,” she said. “That’s where his skills come from.”
“Or maybe he saw a nice pair in someone’s vacant cabin and couldn’t resist.”
“Either way, it’s our first clue,” she said. “He came this way.”
“At least we think he did,” I said. “A casual hiker wouldn’t use the lake to go around an obstacle like this. It’s a good tactic though. Plus it shows how well he knows these woods.”
“Just a few hundred thousand more acres to search,” she said. “Piece of cake.”
“Let’s think about this,” I said. “He wouldn’t want to walk twenty miles to get to town. He’d want to be somewhere far from the nearest house, but close enough to keep his commute manageable.”
“How did Pop get food and the occasional necessity?” she asked.
“He was less than five miles from Banner Elk,” I said. “But in a place with no houses nearby. Cody Banner’s place was the closest, but it was a hunting camp, not a full-time residence.”
“Richard and us were his closest neighbors then,” she said.
“No doubt about it,” I said. “But we were several miles away.”
“We’re several miles from downtown right where we are,” she pointed out.
“True enough,” I said. “But not from the nearest house. Plus the park has a lot of traffic. You’ve got the lake and the community center right there. He has to come through here to get to those cabins, but he’s not living here.”
“Then how do we know which way to go next?”
“We don’t,” I admitted. “Let’s slow this down and start paying closer attention. See if we can’t pick up another clue nearby.”
“Split up?”
“Yes, but stay close enough to communicate,” I said. “No point in one of us getting lost out here.”
We fanned out and began searching the immediate area, looking for another print or some sign of habitation. If we could find a broken branch, discarded apple core, anything that would reveal the previous presence of a person, we could refocus our efforts. Two hours later Brody whistled. I went to her, and she pointed down at the ground.
“What?” I asked.
“I think that’s a partial print,” she replied.
“Where?”
She got down on one knee and stuck her finger in an impression in the ground. I could barely make it out, but it was half of the same imprint we’d seen earlier.
“How’d you ever find that?” I asked.
“It jumped out at me,” she said. “Just lucky I guess.”
“Damn good find,” I told her. “You’ll be a full-fledged woodsman yet.”
“I think it’s a woodsperson these days,” she said. “Wouldn’t want to be non-PC.”
“You found another clue,” I said. “He came this way. Look back towards where we found the first one and figure out which way he was going.”
That was harder than it sounds. We were on mountainous terrain in thick woods. The lake was below us, but we’d taken a circuitous route to get here, wandering around looking for any hint of the hermit. I went back the way we’d come for a few hundred yards, leaving Brody standing at the new print. I used my arm like I was sighting down a rifle. I examined the woods behind her, trying to determine the most likely path.
“Almost straight up from where you are,” I said. “See that line of rocks going up to the ridge?”
“I’ll go up on the left,” she said. “You take the right.”
She started up before I got to her, so I continued up the hill on the right side of the rocks. They were a jumbled mess of jagged edges and slick moss-covered surfaces. As a hiker, I wouldn’t try to use them to walk on. Either side of them would be a much easier travel lane.
“Don’t go too fast,” I said. “Keep your eyes down. Look for another footprint.”
“Got it.”
I followed my advice. If we found something, we’d have reason to stay on track. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t know if he came this way or not. We’d have to go back down and look around until we discovered some other trace of the man. If I’d been by myself, I’d have to go back down and try again on Brody’s side of the rocks. I was glad to have her with me.
I was three-quarters of the way to the ridge when I thought I’d found something. It was so faint I could have imagined it. The soil was no deeper than an inch, but my eyes made out the toe portion of that moccasin print, with no heel. I climbed a few more steps, watching my feet and how they landed. Sure enough, only the forefoot and toe touched the ground. I went back to the semi-print and called Brody.
“I may have something,” I said. “Can you climb over or do you need to go to the top?”
“Give me a few minutes,” she said.
“Nice and easy,” I said. “Don’t take any chances.”
She made it over the rock line with care and caution. I showed her what I’d found.
“That’s less obvious than the last one,” she said. “Good eye.”
“So we know he came up this side,” I said. “We keep putting the pieces together, step by step.”
“Except it’s getting late,” she said. “We’ve still got to walk all the way back to the car.”
“Let me get on top of the ridge and look around,” I said. “Then we’ll head back.”
“Coming with,” she said.
Eight
We climbed the last two hundred feet together and stood up on the ridge. It felt like we could see for a hundred miles. Out in front of us was a vast wilderness. An occasional cabin was set back in the woods or on top of a rise. The town of Elk Park, North Carolina, was to our south. Roan Mountain, Tennessee was to the southwest. Watauga Lake was to our north. Directly to our west was a whole lot of nothing. Our hermit was out there somewhere.
Finding him seemed an impossible undertaking, even more so than before. Thousands of acres of untouched wilderness spread out before us. There were few roads, and we weren’t able to figure out where they came from. We’d need to drive through there to find new places to embark from if we could discern where they were. I took mental bearings on the small
towns and the big lake. I felt that I could figure it out with a good map, but a handheld GPS would really be the ticket. Shouldn’t be hard to find in an area where hiking was the number one pastime.
I was satisfied with what we’d learned and what we’d found so far. It had been a productive day, much more so than I had expected.
“So this is how you do it?” asked Brody. “Walk around looking for clues and bam; there’s a footprint?”
“I use Zen mode when I know I’m closing in,” I said. “I start hearing, seeing and smelling on a higher level.”
“This guy is going to challenge that ability,” she said. “Just getting close to him is going to be difficult.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said. “I’ll worry about his skills when the time comes. We’ve got a lot of land to cover first.”
“Do you think he could be here right now?” she asked. “Watching our every move?”
“I suppose it’s possible,” I said. “But I don’t sense it. We’re not close, yet.”
“Your gut talking?”
“That and jumping to some logical conclusions,” I said. “There’s no cover up this high. He’s down below us, probably in the middle zone between and away from populated areas.”
She pointed down to the valley below us, moving her finger back and forth.
“If that theory holds, it certainly narrows the search area,” she said. “Do you think Red could help?”
“He needs something to go on,” I said. “A piece of clothing. He prefers socks.”
“Or a fresh trail, right?” she asked. “If you come upon a recent track, he can follow it.”