Bonegrinder (22 page)

“Did you pack the sandwiches?” Kelly asked.

“First thing,” Alan told her. “Local-butchered ham I bought in Colver. Let’s stop playing Did You Forget or we’ll forget to go.”

They left the cabin, locking the door behind them. Alan was slightly surprised by the intensity of the heat, but they would be in the woods from time to time, shaded and cool.

Kelly trailed him as they followed the lake road for about half a mile. Then they cut onto a faint grassy path into the woods where the ground was flat. A rabbit broke from its camouflage of brown stillness in front of them and made the cover of high brush in three long bounds. The trilling chatter of birds sounded from every direction. Among the trees it was shaded enough for Kelly to be grateful for the sun’s warmth when they passed through areas of light.

In a small clearing they sat at the base of a huge elm for a while, talking and joking while Alan prodded the hard ground with a gnarled stick he’d picked up and proclaimed to be walnut. When they rose to walk on, he took some photographs of the clover-dotted green clearing, which was almost too pastoral to be real.

Soon there was no semblance of a trail, and the woods grew thicker and more shadowed. Kelly didn’t worry about being lost. Alan was an experienced hiker, and always carried a compass in the backpack. He walked loosely with his hiker’s stride in front of Kelly, casually easing the way by swishing at the brush with the gnarled walnut. Around them was constant, subtle movement, birds flitting, the scurrying of unseen animals. But the day was too clear and warm to be menacing. There really was nothing frightening here, within the shadows that had seemed so foreboding to Kelly from outside the woods.

Alan stopped suddenly and pointed with the gnarled stick. Through the trees they could see the flat blue-green plane of lake water.

“I thought you knew where we were,” Kelly chided him.

“I do. I just didn’t know where the lake was. I know where we’re at in relation to the motel.”

They changed direction to angle away from the lake. Alan tried to remember the contour of the shoreline in their vicinity, but the map he’d seen had shown a line too irregular to recall in detail. For that matter, the lake was so large and undefined that he was sure there’d be coves and bends to the shore not shown on the map.

They walked on for another twenty minutes, through woods that suddenly had become almost too thick to allow passage. The sun was only occasionally visible through the intertwined, leafy branches above. And the ground had become uneven, a series of rocky washboard hills that made passage difficult.

Then they were out of the woods into brilliant sunshine, standing in another clover-strewn clearing, this one larger than the last. And beyond the clearing, on the other side of a sparse growth of wind-sculpted trees, the lake again, its flat surface almost unnaturally tranquil in the still air.

“The shoreline must curve south to west here,” Alan said. He looked at his wristwatch. “It’s almost noon, and I can’t think of a prettier place to have lunch.”

“Don’t try,” Kelly said. She skip-ran to a spot near the edge of the clearing, where the ground was perfectly level in the shade of the tallest of the nearby trees.

Alan walked over to join her, squared his shoulders and wriggled out of the canvas straps so he could lower the aluminum-framed backpack gently to the ground.

While Kelly got the sandwiches and cheese from one of the backpack’s canvas pockets, Alan walked toward the lake, gazed through his camera viewfinder, checked the angle of the sun over his shoulder. He turned then, and though the light and range weren’t right, he took a shot of Kelly spreading a large red-and-white checked cloth napkin on the bent grass.

Kelly sensed too late that she was being photographed, and she gave him a mock-angry grimace and then smiled, motioned with her arm that it was time to eat lunch.

The ham sandwiches were as good as Alan had predicted. He and Kelly ate slowly and deliberately, savoring the surroundings as well as the food.

When they were finished with lunch, Alan lay on his back with the canvas backpack for a pillow, experimenting with the wine bladder to see how high he could hold it above his open mouth and still be accurate with the steady stream of sweet strawberry wine. Kelly sat back, supporting herself with stiff arms in an oddly little-girl posture, watching him with amusement tempered by the knowledge that she would have to wash his shirt. Both the shirt and the backpack were already soaked with wine.

“I hope you drown, if it’s possible,” she said.

He started to laugh, choked and sat up, swallowed. “It’s possible!” He lay back down and resumed his game. “We can’t stay at the motel forever, you know” Kelly said, “even though the rates have come down.”

“It’s deductible.”

“As long as there’s something to deduct it from.”

“There will be,” he assured her, holding the wine bladder again at arm’s length. This time he was accurate. “Enough talk of room rates and taxes,” he said, placing the cork in the wine bladder while he was ahead. “Why don’t I photograph my favorite model?”

“Does this come under the category of work?”

“More pleasure than work, in this case. But if enough comes of it to make the deductions worthwhile …”

“You’ve made your point,” she said with a laugh. She stood and brushed her slacks with both hands, building up a rhythm.

“Not here,” Alan said, stuffing the remains of the picnic lunch into the backpack. “We’ll walk to where there’s better light and background.” He got to his feet with the effort of a man well fed and hoisted the backpack onto his shoulders, working his arms through the straps.

Alan and Kelly walked past the opposite edge of the clearing, beyond the wind-bent trees.

Kelly quickly removed her clothes. Alan had taught her something about modeling, and she obeyed his instructions smoothly and efficiently, striking practiced poses, accentuating the smooth, tanned lines of her body for the camera.

“Down by the water,” Alan said, “just barely into the water.”

Kelly walked down the bank until her feet were submerged to her ankles. The water was pleasantly cool, moving with a gentle tugging motion not discernible on the surface.

“Good,” Alan said. He squinted at her through the camera’s viewfinder, then walked down to her. He stooped and applied handfuls of water at strategic spots on her body to bring out the highlights, rubbing clinically so there would be no droplets. Kelly stood very still. Back up on the bank, he checked again through the viewfinder.

“How about ‘September Morn’?” she asked half jokingly, assuming the classic nude pose.

He waited until she broke the pose before triggering the shutter, freezing her graceful natural movements. The trick was in the surprise. He tripped the shutter several times, rapidly.

Sidestepping a few feet to his right, he studied Kelly again through the camera. “Use any pose—”

A low, rasping sound came from the thick woods near the bank on Alan’s left.

“Alan!” Kelly moved up onto the bank. Alan lifted an open hand for silence.

Kelly felt suddenly cold, exposed and vulnerable. On her arms she noticed the most exaggerated gooseflesh she had ever seen. She had never felt more nude.

The woods near the bank were silent; perhaps nothing—

Again the sound came, softer this time, but just as unidentifiable.

Kelly moved closer to Alan. He was examining his camera. “Three more frames …” she heard him mutter.

“Alan, let’s—”

“Be quiet!” His voice was a sharp whisper, alive with fear and hope. He looked hard into her eyes, his own reflecting the blue-green glare of the lake. “Stay here where you’re safe, Kel! Promise me you’ll stay right here!”

“For God’s sake, Alan—”

But he was walking softly away from her, toward the woods, toward whatever they both had heard. Kelly watched his back, the camera strap dark against the red tan of his neck. She wanted to scream his name, knew that if she did he would never completely forgive her. Her body was bent with cold trembling, and she knew what people meant when they talked about flesh crawling.

Without turning his head Alan disappeared into the woods.

Her back to the calm lake, Kelly stumbled to where her clothes were folded on the grass. For the first time in her life she began to put on her shoes before anything else. And the shoes were suddenly too small, unyielding to her frantic efforts. She’d managed to get the left one on, unlaced, when Alan screamed.

Kelly stood erect, paralyzed. A loud thrashing sound came from the woods near the bank, where Alan had disappeared. Kelly took a step toward the sound, another—she had to help him some way.

The thrashing grew louder. Kelly stopped and felt an icy explosion of horror in her heart. Through the trees she could see a huge, dark form in violent motion. Alan screamed again, in an old woman’s voice, a mindless, trailing shriek.

Backing away, Kelly stepped on something sharp with her bare right foot. She hardly noticed the pain. Behind her there was a sound like a large branch snapping.

Her breath shrieking in soft mimicry of Alan’s final scream, she ran.

Web Hooper saw her running down the lake road toward his red pickup truck. In his surprise he stepped down so hard on the brake that he rose partway out of his seat as the truck stopped. He watched Kelly with intrigued amusement until she drew nearer, then he was stunned by the terror in her eyes.

Wintone got the story out of her with difficulty. Kelly’s lips were so rigid and distorted with fear that she could hardly talk, and when she did manage to pronounce words, they burst in almost incoherent disorder from her. She sat on the bed in her motel cabin, wrapped in the dirty wool blanket that Web Hooper had thrown over her.

Luke Higgins was there. With Wintone’s permission he gave Kelly a glass containing a good measure of apricot brandy and coaxed her to drink. The scent of the brandy mingled with the scent of grease from the blanket.

The brandy seemed to help, and the shivering lessened.

Craig Holt stood at the foot of the bed, puffing on his pipe and calmly watching Kelly through the smoke. He had been in the cabin with Luke Higgins when Wintone arrived. “Do you remember where it happened?” he asked around the pipe stem.

Kelly didn’t answer, stared at Wintone. She was fighting going into shock, trying to comprehend what had happened.

“It might help if you took us there,” Wintone said.

“I don’t … know if I can.”

“Would it be easier if we drove back to where Web picked you up?”

She started to speak, then nodded.

Wintone helped her to her feet, watched her get some clothes from one of the dresser drawers and make her way into the tiny bathroom. A full five minutes passed before she emerged dressed in brown slacks and a faded striped blouse. Wintone reminded her that she was wearing only one shoe, and she nodded, walked to the closet and put on a pair of light tan sandals.

“If you want,” Web Hooper said, “follow my truck an’ I’ll show you where I found her.”

Holt rode in the truck with Hooper, Wintone and Luke Higgins following in the patrol car with Kelly. Wintone stayed well back, away from the dust raised by Hooper’s old red pickup, as they turned onto the lake road and drove for about a mile and a half. Kelly sat quietly, her hands clasped between her thighs just behind her knees.

Then Hooper’s truck pulled to the side of the road, and Wintone parked the patrol car behind it.

“I came out of the woods farther up that way,” Kelly said, pointing through the dust-smeared windshield. Wintone honked the car’s horn, motioning to Hooper to drive farther along the road. When Kelly pointed a second time, Wintone tapped the horn ring again and braked behind Hooper’s parked truck.

As they got out of the car, Wintone looked at the woods where Kelly had pointed. This was a particularly wild area, not half a mile from where the Larsen boy had been killed.

Kelly led the way, pausing from time to time to get her bearings. The walking, the mental game of backtracking her panicky flight, seemed to help her regain her composure. Wintone knew she was steeling herself for the fear that would grow in her as she approached the spot where she’d last seen her husband.

It took them over an hour to find the clearing on the lake bank. Kelly stood in the center of the grassy clearing, in bright sunshine, and pointed toward thick woods at the edge of the bank.

Wintone told Web Hooper to stay with her, then walked forward with Holt and Higgins on either side of him. The only sound was that of the tall grass whipping at their boots.

When they entered the woods, Wintone felt the chill of the sudden shade. Immediately he saw what looked like trash strewn about the ground among the trees just ahead. As they approached slowly, he made out some bits of brown paper, a torn red-and-white checked strip of material, shredded pieces of canvas. In the center of the scattered debris was a large, shapeless mound of what looked like more rubble, tattered canvas and twisted pieces of aluminum. Extended almost straight upward from the midst of this was something mottled red and slightly crooked. Wintone stopped without being conscious of it, stood staring as he realized he was looking at an arm minus the hand.

“Merciful God …” Luke Higgins said in a strangled whisper.

“Best not let that girl see this,” Wintone said. A tangy, coppery taste was coating the sides of his tongue, creating saliva. Alone, he walked forward to examine the body more closely.

He saw that the bent aluminum had been the framework of a large canvas backpack, which was shredded now with its contents spread about the ground. Alan Greer’s badly crushed and torn body lay on its side in an awkward death posture, his ruined face frozen in a grotesque expression of horror.

Higgins and Holt walked over slowly to stand by Wintone. Higgins’s face wore nearly the same expression as the dead man’s. Holt appeared almost bored, but the flesh near the left corner of his compressed lips was ticking rapidly.

“What do you suppose? …” Luke Higgins said.

“I can’t suppose anything,” Wintone told him. “Don’t move around here, neither of you. Back off the same way you walked to the body.”