The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5) (14 page)

My personal rain cloud magnified and grew stormy. “Dadgum, I should have stayed on that guy. I could’ve camped outside his door.”

“Not really your job, is it?”

“What if Lesley’s intent is to do us harm?”

Jeff eyed my troubled features. “Don’t worry. Lesley’s spent plenty of time here at Big Rack. He can be a nuisance, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone. I don’t think he went anywhere, even if he tried. He can’t get far without a vehicle. These woods are thick as molasses. If he’s on the trail, we’ll spot him.” With a nod, Jeff turned to bark more orders at his crew.

I looked at Todd. “If Lesley or someone else is trying to stop this hunt with ‘accidents,’ that hog is not the only thing that’s going to be stalked in those woods.”

Twenty-One

T
he trip to the bunkhouse included two plodding hours of bumping and jerking through the cold and wet, plus an extra hour tacked on for pushing the side-by-sides out of deep mudded ruts. The forest seemed devoid of any life, including one Lesley Vaughn. I hoped he had given up his hog tracking and gone back to his room to dry off and warm up like any sensible person would. Unfortunately, Lesley didn’t strike me as sensible.

The roar of the UTV motors and churning of wet clay made discussion impossible. In the first hour, the hunters and guides hooted joyfully at each tree-root bump and fling of mud. By hour two, we huddled miserably, fearing each mud bog might be a side-by-side’s last. No one wanted to end our travel with a long trek through steady rain, even if it meant the possibility of sneaking a peek at the Great Pig.

I gave up on friendzoning and clung to Todd for warmth and for fear that I might get bucked into the downpour. Huddled betwixt Todd’s amply muscled pecs and guns, I grasped his damp coat with one hand and the edge of the seat with the other. He held me tight with both hands. I could only imagine such stability derived from clenching the seat with his well-defined glutes.

A picture I tried to pass from my mind unsuccessfully.

After too much time alone with my thoughts, the path curved and presented a break in the forest. A tin-roofed cabin, wide and long with a low overhang and deep porch, appeared. White Christmas lights had been strung along the rafters and a fresh wreath hung on the door, welcoming us with a bit of holiday cheer. My heart, sore butt, and stiff spine gladdened at the sight. Immediately, my stomach woke, shouted, and scared Buckshot into a barking frenzy.

The side-by-sides slowed to a stop, spitting mud against the porch railing.

Max turned in the front seat and eyeballed us. “So cozy.”

The man didn’t suffer a drop of mud splatter and had remained as cool as whipped topping through each jostle and mud stick.
Beside him, Buckshot also turned to observe our backseat clinch. She gave a happy yelp of approval and climbed over Max to bound into the surrounding bushes.

“Very funny,” I replied, prying my stiff fingers off Todd’s coat. “And now I understand why we’re staying in the bunkhouse. But if this place doesn’t have hot water, I’m walking back.”

“It’s got hot water all right,” muttered our outfitter. “I suppose y’all might call it roughing it, seeing as how we’ll share bedrooms and there’s no TV, internet, or cell phone service out here. Other than that, most folks could live pretty comfortably. Better than my kin, anyways.”

“It is these comforts that make me happy to be American,” mused Max. “At home, the hunt weekend means to sleep in open air. Maybe a tent. In America, you have the house for sleeping everywhere. Even in, as you say, the middle of nowhere.”

“Only Americans with your size of wallet, Bear.” I turned to our bearded driver. “I’ve been thinking you look real familiar. Hard to tell staring at your back and with you covered in camo. But didn’t I meet you at the Double Wide last night?”

“Yes, ma’am. Caleb Guterson.” Hopping from the Gator, he ducked his head against the rain and followed the cluster of outfitters to the porch, where Jeff Digby stood, handing out orders.

“A Guterson working for Big Rack?” I said. “That doesn’t make sense. Don’t they hate the Woodcocks’ takeover of this area?”

“I reckon a paycheck’s a paycheck,” said Todd. “The lodge probably called out to local hunters as extra guides for this weekend. And if they poach, I imagine he knows the lay of the land pretty well.”

“I don’t like it,” I said. “All these weird incidents, with the last one almost killing someone. Lesley Vaughn could be on the loose, looking to protect his monster pig. The
Bob
Bass haters haven’t come out of the woodwork to protest, but there’s always that possibility. And now one of the Big Rack enemies is employed for the hunt? What is Mike Neeley thinking? He should have called this off.”

Max turned to study the man working a key in the lock of the door. “Mike Neeley strikes me as the man with the concern for others more than himself. He must keep Big Rack going. Too many lives depend on the jobs. He has not worked here long. Less than a year.”

“Mike Neeley is going about this all wrong. With a cancellation,
Bob
Bass might have spread bad press for Big Rack, but the lodge may never get over the publicity of two deaths.”

The Bear twisted to shoot me a hard look.

“Two deaths?” said Todd.

“Don’t you see?” My voice worked into a furious whisper. “It’s all I could think about on this ride. Now we’re out in the wilderness, where someone can easily hide. And unless we turn around and go back as a group, we’re trapped. We’ll be spread out in the deer stands like sitting ducks.”

“Artist, you must save your creative expression for the artworks.” The Bear reached over the seat to rub my knee. “Do not worry so much. I will not let anything harm you. Besides, we’re all armed.”

“That’s exactly why I’m worried. Everyone’s armed and there’s a nutjob on the loose.”

As
promised, before sundown we found ourselves sitting in deer stands with enough night vision equipment and arms to supply a CIA mission. After deliberating over whether to stay in the warm bunkhouse with Viktor or huddled next to a space heater in a deer stand with Max’s team, I chose the stand as my first watch. I didn’t like leaving Buckshot behind but trusted her to remain vigilant with a whispered word to watch Viktor.

After thirty minutes of non-hog sightings, the walkie-talkie squawked.

My ears perked and I listened to the garbled, whispered report from the Group Two guide.

Our team outfitter, Tennessee, reported our status and fell back to watching the quiet forest through thermal imaging binoculars.

“Tennessee,” I said, scooting across the wooden box to his side of the blind. “Please translate that message. Did someone get hurt?”

“Mrs. Sparks twisted her ankle, ma’am.” Tennessee gave Max a look of marked impatience. Having tired of shushing me himself, Tennessee looked to the other male group members for assistance. Max and Todd knew me better than to try. This was the very reason my brother had rarely taken me hunting.

“Twisted her ankle running away? Or fighting off someone?” I listed ten other desperate means one might twist an ankle until Tennessee interrupted to call the Sparks team leader for more information.

“Mrs. Sparks twisted her ankle jumping out of the deer stand when she went back to the Gator to get a thermos of coffee,” reported Tennessee. “The ankle’s swelling and they’re taking her back to the bunkhouse.”

“She has coffee?”

“Maybe you’d like to join her, ma’am.”

“If only it was possible, Tennessee. Somebody’s got to remain alert for intruders.”

He delivered a look that told me Tennessee would have trouble maintaining female companionship. Turning back to the window, he resumed his pig watch.

Max snorted. “It is for this reason I am glad I persuaded you to not bring your gun, Artist.”

“An oversight on my part, Bear.” I looked at our guide. “I’ve got a Remington Wingmaster, Tennessee. My daddy’s shotgun. She’s a classic.”

“You could use a twelve gauge, but I wouldn’t try for more than a hundred, hundred fifty yards.”

“I’m not interested in shooting Hogzilla. This would be for protection.”

This seemed to only increase Tennessee’s irritation. He jammed the binoculars into his sockets with an intensity that would cause bruises.

“Cherry,” whispered Todd.

I crawled to the opposite window.

Todd also had binoculars trained through the blind’s opening. Scooting close to him, I squinted through the window. “Do you see anything?”

Todd dropped the binoculars, slung an arm around my neck, and set his mouth to my ear. “No. Actually I’ve been thinking about what happened at the clay shoot.”

“You don’t think it was a glitch either?” Relief whooshed through me. Knowing I’m right amidst naysayers was a cross I often bore, but this weekend’s cross had become a heavy burden on my small shoulders. I scooted closer to face him. “How could they have done it? Jeff Digby and Mike said the building and fence hadn’t shown signs of breaking and entering.”

“Their system could have been hacked from the outside,” said Todd.

“They can do that? I thought that sort of thing was just done to big sites.”

“I think so. I know somebody who hacked into an online poker site.”

“Why?”

Todd shrugged. “Mess with the odds, I reckon
.
”

I studied his relaxed expression. Often used at poker tables. “It wasn’t you that hacked into the poker game, was it?”

Todd started a “now baby, of course not” lament.

I placed a finger to his lips to stop the frenzied whispering. “Can the skeet software people find evidence of a hacker?”

“If they know to look for it, I guess.”

“I think we need to tell Mike and Jeff Digby so they can report it. Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

Todd cut his eyes away. The skin covering his sculpted cheekbones darkened.

“Lord Almighty, Todd. Since when did you let men like Jeff Digby shake you up? I’ve never seen you like this.”

His clear blue eyes swept back to mine. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

Vanity shot an electric current through me, causing my pulse to speed and my hands to creep up Todd’s shoulders. I leaned toward his ear. “Really? Like what?”

“Like you’re crazy. I didn’t want to mention hackers because it would set you off and he’d never believe another word out of your mouth.”

I pushed off Todd’s shoulders, forgetting to whisper. “The hell.”

A sound much like a cat suffering strangulation emanated from Tennessee’s position.

“Artist, perhaps you and our mutual friend would like to take the coffee break in the bunkhouse?” said Max. “The rain has slowed. Take the small jeep-like vehicle. Mr. Tennessee and I can radio when we want to return to camp.”

I glanced at Todd, my pride-induced anger ebbing. “We do need to report some important information to Mike Neeley.”

Crossing the small room, I stopped next to Max’s chair, my eyes fixed on the leg he had propped on a tub of supplies. My heart squeezed, cinched by the thought of ruining Max’s weekend in my desire to root out a criminal. “I hate to leave you. What if you need something? I don’t want you running up and down this deer stand. Just look what happened to Jenny Sparks and her ankle.”

“Thank you, but Mr. Tennessee can assist me. I insist you leave.”

Placing my hand on his shoulder, I bent toward his ear. “Please be careful. I know you don’t believe me, but there’s a nutcase out there. Maybe they’re just a crank, but I fear the worst.”

“You often do.” Max’s lips slid into a wry smile. He took my hand and squeezed. “If I see the psychotic, I promise to shoot first.”

“Are you crazy? Don’t shoot anybody.” I gripped his hand. “I’m thinking about worst-case scenarios and in them, there’s a gun fight.”

“I make the joke. Much shooting will scare the boar.” Max gathered my other hand in his large paws. “Artist, you must calm yourself. The pranks were most likely made by the
Bob
Bass agitator. Bass said they will not make the scene unless it is public. We are deep in the woods where no one can see us. Go to the bunkhouse. This weekend was to relax you.”

Todd approached and settled a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll see she gets some rest, Mr. Max.”

Max quirked an eyebrow. “Good luck to you then, McIntosh. To make this one rest is the Herculean task. You may have a similar strength, but I fear this weekend makes for stimulation not relaxation in the case of our artist.”

I rolled my eyes and climbed out of the stand. Back into the shroud of cold and wet that now accompanied darkness. Perfect weather for hunting hogs.

And those that might hunt hog hunters.

Twenty-Two

Dr
eary weather had absconded the daylight. The dark swooped in and swallowed the forest, like the burgeoning darkness in El Greco’s
View Of Toledo
. The arduous drive back to the bunkhouse meant a crawl, searching for tree markers in the gloom that felt as ominous as Hansel and Gretel’s missing bread crumb droppings. I tried the thermal imaging binoculars, but the forest became even murkier but for the bright spots of critters hiding in the trees. Mud sucked at the tires and the engine whined. Todd parked the Gator to better examine the overgrown path.

“I guess we’re not helping the hunt with all this noise. That hog will surely have hit the county line by now,” I said. “Jeff Digby better have sweetened those feeders with something pretty remarkable to keep Hogzilla around.”

“Do you see another marker?” Todd cut the Gator’s lights to shine a flashlight on the surrounding trees.

I picked up the binoculars again, adjusted the focus, and skipped my achromatic vision from tree to tree. White fuzzy movement in my horizon line caught my attention. I scooted forward on the seat and searched for the darting form. “Something’s out there.”

I felt Todd’s muscles tighten. “Is it the hog? How big?”

My binoculars caught the object. I followed its zig-zagging path between trees. “It doesn’t move like an animal. I think it’s human.”

“Can I look?”

I handed him the binoculars and directed his gaze where the form had moved. “Do you see it?”

“Yeah.” Todd adjusted his seat to follow our prey. “He’s coming closer. Kind of round.”

“It’s got to be Lesley. Give me your phone. Maybe I can reach Rookie Holt. We may need the police out here.”

Todd plucked his phone from inside his coat. “No bars.”

I tried 911 without success. “We’ve got to do something. Haul ass and catch him.”

Todd dropped the binoculars. “Are you kidding me? This thing doesn’t haul ass. Between the mud and the trees, the best we can do is mosey.”

“Then I’m going after him on foot.” I scooted toward the side of the Gator and hopped out.

“Wait. You don’t haul ass very well either.” Todd slipped off the seat next to me. “I’ll wear the binoculars and guide us. I’m taller so I’ll be able to spot him easier.”

“You don’t have to rub it in.” I handed him the binoculars. “What is that man up to?”

“Okay, got him. Lesley makes a pretty good target.”

We took off, stumbling in a jerky gait after a figure I could not see. Prickly weeds snagged my jeans and wet branches slapped my face. Trees suddenly loomed as Todd jolted me to and fro between the dense vegetation. Granite erupted from the clay, stubbing our toes and threatening our ankles.

Todd jerked to a stop, yanking me back. “The land falls off a bit. I almost missed it.”

I inched my boot forward and lost my toe to empty space. “Falls off a bit? Thank the stars you caught us in time.”

“Lesley’s leaning against a tree over there.” He pointed to a dark spot in the dark. “We’ll have to go around this gully, but I think we can catch him. He must be dog tired.”

He wasn’t the only one dog tired.

We continued our journey, more stumble than trot, following the edge of the low ravine. At a gentle slope, we crossed. In the ankle-deep water, mud sucked at our boots. Flashes of quicksand memories left from my childhood’s Saturday morning television viewing had me clinging to Todd’s arm, ready to climb him bodily to reach some overhead Tarzan vine.

I hopped out of the ditch minus a boot. Todd retrieved my boot while I stood on one foot, cursing Lesley Vaughn for attempting to save ridiculous hog monsters from their villainous fate. Shoving on my boot, I took a step and fell over a tree branch.

“Cherry?” Todd yanked me to my feet. “What do you plan to do with Lesley once we catch him?”

“Probably sit on him. At least until I catch my breath.” I swiped at a wet leaf stuck to my face. “I hope Lesley gets chiggers. It’ll serve him right.”

“I was just thinking...”

Previously, I had held dubious feelings when Todd uttered that portentous sentence starter. However, having been elucidated on Todd’s basic computer-hacking knowledge (which eclipsed my own), I raised my hopes. “Yes?”

“Instead of grabbing Lesley, maybe we should just follow him. We might catch him in the act, so to speak, and then you won’t look so crazy.”

I narrowed my eyes at the man I could barely see. “You have a fair point, although I do think you’re overstating the crazy part.”

“Besides that, I don’t know if I can find the Gator, and I haven’t seen a tree marker in ages.”

“You mean we need to follow Lesley because we’re lost and he might know where he’s going?”

“Yep.”

We continued our trek. Unable to mask our heavy tromping or my reflective clothing, we kept our distance. After another thirty minutes, a glimmer of light shone in the distance. The light grew to reveal a familiar building and the growl of an approaching UTV.

“Lesley’s headed for the bunkhouse,” I whispered, now pulling Todd back into the trees edging the drive. “Let’s hide a bit and see what he does. But if it looks dangerous, I’m rushing to stop him.”

We hurried to the clearing, halting behind a thicket of pines. A Gator pulled in the drive, slamming to a stop before the bunkhouse porch. A guide jumped out and ran around to the passenger side. Holding his arm, Rick slid out, scooted past the outfitter, and waited while the guide fumbled with the doorknob.

“What happened there?” I said. “Looks like Rick got hurt.”

I worried my lip, scanning for Lesley, who had disappeared at the approach of the side-by-side. “Where’s Lesley? I am not searching these woods for him again.”

Backing out of the pine thicket, we followed the edge of the tree line to the far side of the clearing. No Lesley Vaughn. Defeated, we turned our back on the wet, cold treachery of the forest and headed toward the bunkhouse.

“You know what I’m thinking?” I looked up at Todd. “If you’re right about the skeet system hacking, Lesley Vaughn would get my vote for most likely to know how to hack.”

“If it was Lesley, he was aiming for
Bob
Bass’s head.” Todd grabbed my hand. “Or yours.”

Todd
and I slogged across the gravel drive and met another side-by-side pulling away from the bunkhouse. Clinton Sparks hollered a hello, explaining their return to the lodge. Jenny Sparks reclined in the back, her ankle wrapped, iced, and propped on the seat. Caleb Guterson slouched in the driver’s seat, jiggling his leg and refusing to make eye contact.

“How bad is the ankle?” I asked.

“Viktor thinks it may be a fracture.” The fret lines crisscrossing his face betrayed Clinton Sparks’ hearty voice. “These things happen, but I wanted to get Jenny back before the mud gets worse.”

Viktor thinks?

“Good luck,” said Todd. “Be careful on the drive back.”

“Thanks,” said Clinton. “It’s a shame. We’ve had many happy weekends here. Jenny and I had been thinking about buying Big Rack. Retirement investment. This weekend’s soured us some.”

“I didn’t realize the owners were interested in selling,” I said. “With all the changes they’re making, I thought the Woodcocks had dug their heels into the lodge for good.”

Clinton shrugged, then turned in his seat at Jenny’s wince.

“We best get,” said Caleb Guterson. “It’ll be slower going in the dark.” He peeled out, spray
ing mud.

I glanced at the dismal state of my jeans, now dirtier thanks to Caleb Guterson. “I spied a washer and dryer in that bunkhouse and I think it’s going to get some use this weekend. I’m about out of dry clothing.”

“Wonder if Caleb’s ticked because he can’t participate in the hunt,” said Todd.

“Wonder why his momma didn’t mention her son was acting as a guide for the tournament,” I said. We continued our trudge toward the bunkhouse. “You don’t think Caleb planned on causing trouble, do you?”

“If the Gutersons were behind any of those hog head messages, Caleb doesn’t get the chance to do anything now.”

“I hope you’re right, Todd.” Reaching the porch, we shook off the wet and wiped off our boots.

“And wasn’t that fascinating,” I continued, “learning the Sparks were interested in buying out the Woodcocks? You think folks around here knew that? Do you think that’s the reason Mike has been so determined to continue with this hunt?”

Todd pushed open the front door. My brooding over Caleb Guterson and the Sparks fled. Although warm and dry, the bunkhouse was steeped in tension only out-thickened by Viktor’s bubbling soup. Buckshot charged forward, barking an anxious greeting. I bent to pet her while casting a sidelong glance at Rick. He sat on a bench at the long pine table in the center of the room. A bloody shirt and thermals had been tossed aside and a first aid kit lay open on the table. His rangy, pale torso revealed a barrage of old scars and his left arm lay on the table, oozing blood from a long cut. Behind him, his guide hovered, ashen and fidgety. At the opening of the door, Rick had glanced in our direction, flashing a face marked with a dozen bloody cuts, before dropping his gaze back to the table.

Viktor looked up from the package of sterile bandages he held. “Ah, good, a second vehicle has returned.”

“Sorry, Chef. We hoofed it from some point between our deer stand and here.” I peeled off my wet coat and hung it on an antler hook. “What’s going on? Looks like a field hospital.”

“His rifle exploded,” said Viktor, dabbing the gash with a wet cloth. “The Litt
l
e Joe has done an admirable job. He brought Rick here quickly.”

Todd and I exchanged a long look.

Another accident. This one more dangerous than the clay shoot.

“I swear I didn’t touch the Winchester, other than to hand it to him,” said the green-faced guide.

“They said it was a new rifle.” Rick ground the words between his teeth, sucking in his breath at each touch of the cloth. “Lil Joe, you must have dropped it. Got some mud plugged up in the barrel or something.”

Lil Joe mopped his face with his hand. “I swear I didn’t do anything. I was real careful with all the firearms.”

“Misfires happen,” I said cautiously. Leaving my boots and wet socks at the door, I barefooted it to the young guide and jerked my thumb toward the first set of bedroom doors. “Why don’t you clean up? Maybe a quick hot shower? That’s my plan when you’re done.”

Lil Joe obediently slipped into the bedroom and disappeared.

“I don’t like that guy,” whined Rick.

“I’m sure he didn’t do anything to the gun,” I said, trying to calm Rick. “Where’s Mike?”

“Mike Neeley left before Mr. Miller arrived,” said Viktor, dabbing ointment on one of Rick’s bigger facial cuts. “He hiked to Team Two’s deer stand. It’s not so far. The Sparks left, so Mike goes to clean it out.”

“You’ve got a good touch, Viktor. Maybe you should have been a doctor instead of a cook.”

Viktor cut me a sharp glance. “The good chef must know the first aid in the case of a kitchen accident. How is it you arrived without vehicle? Where is Avtaikin?”

I glanced at Todd, who still worked at peeling the bibs from his long legs. I wanted to wait for Mike to talk about Lesley’s appearance. “Does Rick need to go to the emergency room too?”

“No. No hospitals.” Rick cringed.

I felt annoyed at my distaste for his weakness and sought to change the subject. “What were you shooting at?”

“We saw the hog.” Rick’s voice rose and his trembling subsided. “Tusks as big as my arm. I fired a round at him.”

“Rick, you’re lucky to be alive,” I said. “My uncle told me about a similar accident where the man died. Used it as a gun safety story. Are you sure it wasn’t the ammo you used? The casing could have had a flaw.”

“It nearly would have killed me.” His shoulders relaxed and Rick warmed to the story. “I let go when the gun blew up. The Winchester fell out the window and busted to pieces on the forest floor. Scared that hog away too.”

I glanced at the wall clock made from interwoven antlers. “Maybe you better hang it up for the night. Take some painkillers and rest.”

“I agree,” said Viktor.

“As soon as Lil Joe cleans up, we can send him back to gather up the busted gun and whatever else y’all left,” I said, hoping the misfired rifle might offer some clues.

Todd
ambled through the bedroom door to explain the plan to the guide.

“I could join LaToya and her guide,” Rick said. “She’s really sweet, don’t you think?”

“Quiet now.” Viktor threaded a needle then applied it to a deeper cut in Rick’s face.

I winced. “Stitches? I doubt that’s a skill most chefs have.”

Viktor glared at me. “And not many artists organize hunt activities. Leave me so I can concentrate.”

Cleaned up, Lil Joe reentered the main room in his weatherproof bibs. Donning his coat, he slipped out the front door. Buckshot trotted from her fireplace nest to prowl between the front window and door. A few minutes later, Lil Joe reappeared in the doorway.

“Close the door, Little J
o
e,” said Viktor. “You make it cold in the room.”