The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5) (16 page)

The line crackled. I held my breath. The whine of a UTV grew and headlights shone in the darkness.

“Team Four? Digby, what’s your location?” Mike’s voice trembled.

A massive splash accompanied the Mule’s entrance into the lighted drive. I squinted beyond their headlights and saw the two-seater held Team Five’s outfitter and LaToya. The UTV swung around, spewing an arc of water and orange mud, then pulled before the bunkhouse. LaToya reached between her feet, pulled up her gun case and backpack, and dashed up the porch stairs.

“Oh my, is it getting bad out there,” she said. “We could barely see and got stuck twice. I hope this storm blows through quickly. I thought I sighted that hog coming to our feeder, but thunder cracked and it bolted.”

I tried to smile. “Go on in and warm up, LaToya.”

Her excitement shone through any disappointment or discomfort. “I’m starving.”

Shaking off the water, her guide hurried up the porch steps and set their supply tub on the floor. He looked over at Mike’s pacing and agitated barks at the radio, then at me. “What’s going on?”

“Team Four is not answering their calls.”

“Shit,” said the older man. “We’ve got another problem. I didn’t want to use the walkie because I didn’t want to scare the girl.”

“What’s wrong?” Goosebumps flooded my skin and I wrapped my arms tighter around my body.

“I need to grab a couple men and go back out there.” He reached for his rifle pack and slung it over his shoulder. “Who’s all here?”

“Lil Joe, Mike, and Viktor. My friend, Todd. Rick’s injured,” I said.

“Shit, I really need Jeff Digby.” He glanced over at Mike. “What in the hell is going on?”

“What happened?” I asked. “Don’t worry about scaring me. I’ve grown up with hunters.”

“This is different.”

I eyed his fidgeting, the worry lining his face, and the grim set to his mouth. “I’ve also helped on some Forks County Sheriff’s Department cases.”

He looked me over, drawing a quick character assessment the way older men do, and somehow found me worthy. “There’s a man out there.”

“Watching the bunkhouse?”

“No.” The outfitter shot another side glance at Mike, still pacing and shouting in the walkie. “The man I saw was dead.”

Twenty-Four

A
second body in the woods. I couldn’t help the comparison between Abel Spencer and Lesley Vaughn. Both had fallen into a rocky gully. Although, while Abel’s upturned body had blocked a gentle stream, a torrent wrapped Lesley like a flowing shroud. He lay like a large, dark rock in the foaming rapids.

With the rain splattering our hooded heads, we stood, shining our flashlights over Lesley’s still form at the bottom of the steep hill. Buckshot trotted along the edge, ignoring the rain and burying her nose in accumulations of wet leaves at the promise of each enticing new scent.

LaToya’s outfitter, Big Clem, had pointed out the broken branches and the washed-out section where Lesley must have slid or skidded back and fallen.

“Caught my eye,” he said. “Thought maybe the hog had done it, so I stepped out of the Gator to check.”

“God Almighty.” Mike covered his eyes with one hand and squeezed his temples. “Big Clem, go farther down the embankment and see if there’s an easier way to get to him.”

“Better wait for the police before you touch the body.” I flashed my light on Big Clem’s generous-sized boots. “Maybe you could throw a tarp over him for now. And keep your eye out for evidence while you figure out how to get to the body.”

“Evidence of what?” Big Clem’s gruff voice sounded confused.

“Of what caused him to fall.” I thought again of Abel and his hat. “And where his pack landed. I don’t see it on him.”

“I can’t see the police getting out here anytime soon, but I guess that makes sense.” Big Clem threw an uncertain look toward Mike.

“You called it.” Todd glanced at me, and I tapped my finger against my lips to keep him from continuing.

“She called what? This artist is some diviner?” Viktor leaned around Mike to serve me a vicious glare. “Why can she boss around the outfitters like the police? She’s not the police.”

“Diviner? Cherry does like to eat,” said Todd. “But I meant she said someone else was going to die.”

“Thank you, Todd,” I mumbled. “So, so helpful.”

Mike dropped his hand and jerked around to face me. “You thought someone was going to die?”

I blew a loud sigh through my nose. “This weekend feels jinxed, is all. With everyone on edge and Lesley skulking around, I feared he might get accidentally shot.”

“How did you know this Lesley is creeping around the woods?” Viktor’s flashlight beam caught me full in the face.

I blinked back the spots. “We caught him sneaking into the preserve last night. Then Todd and I saw him after we left the deer stand.”

“You followed this Lesley? This is why you left the utility vehicle in forest? You lied.”

I raised my hand to block the beam. “I wanted to see what Lesley was doing. I thought he was behind the pranks back at the lodge and I was worried what else he may do.”

“And you did not tell us this?” Viktor’s flashlight beam swung to Mike Neeley. “I suspect this woman of cutting tires. She also abandons the utility vehicle and chases this man. Who is now dead. And she finds the other dead man. Who died in the same way.”

Evidently I wasn’t the only one to draw comparisons between Abel and Lesley.

“What are you getting at?” Mike shoved the flashlight away.

The beam of light smacked me dead-on in the face. “I find this woman much suspicious.”

“She does get pretty suspicious,” said Todd. “She’s been real suspicious of Lesley, poor guy. And of what happened to Mr. Abel.”

“Abel Spencer’s death was an accident,” said Mike.

“Maybe for one lil minute, y’all want to focus on the dead man lying at the bottom of this hill and not on me?” I stepped toward Viktor and swatted his flashlight. “Point your beam on the forest floor and see if there are any footprints that haven’t been washed out by the rain or trampled by the Cherry Inquisition.”

“You are not police.” Viktor flipped the beam back toward my face. “Mike Neeley, place this woman under house arrest. If she is chasing this man in woods, maybe that is why he fell. And who else could slash the tires?”

“Miss Tucker, maybe we should take you back to the bunkhouse. Just stay there until we get some of this figured out,” said Mike. “I still can’t get Jeff Digby on the walkie and Avtaikin’s team is stuck at his deer stand. I need to think. This feud between you and Viktor isn’t helping.”

“I’m not the one trying to feud,” I gasped. “Todd’s been with me the whole time. Ask him. We didn’t chase Lesley, we followed him. Lesley didn’t even know we were tracking him. I don’t think. And I didn’t slash those tires or do any of those other things.”

“No sign on peacock coop?” sneered Viktor. “Artists have paint.”

“Viktor, you are slandering my very name.”

“I know who is your sponsor, artist. Max Avtaikin. The Bear. You are the associate of the known criminal. He worked for the casino boss. I was cook at the same casino restaurant. You think I do not know what he does?”

“Dammit, I don’t even know what the Bear does.”

“Calm down.” Mike waved his hands. “Cherry, go on back to the bunkhouse. Viktor, go with her.”

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “I’m liable to find myself at the bottom of a ditch with my neck broke.”

“If I want to break your neck, I would not do it without an alibi.”

“That’s comforting.” I snatched Todd’s hand. “I’m bringing Todd.”

“Actually, we might need Todd,” said Mike. “With Lil Joe back at the bunkhouse with LaToya and Rick, I could use him. Todd’s got some heft and we may need it to move Lesley.”

“Do not mess with the crime scene,” I cried. “It’s a suspicious death until the police rule it an accident.”

“Cherry.” Mike sighed. “The poor man deserves to be hauled out of that gully before the water carries him away or buries him. I’m sure this is real upsetting, seeing two accidents in one weekend. Unfortunately, coincidences happen.”

But coincidences were something I found difficult to believe. I struggled to grasp, let alone assume, that two men were fated to fall to their death in the same area, on the same weekend, and in the same company.

I made Mike promise to radio the police upon reaching the cabin, then insisted on Buckshot’s accompaniment. As awkward and uncomfortable as it was, I refused to speak to Viktor on the long, rain-soaked hike back. I liked to think Max had reformed his ways, but I sure as hell didn’t trust his past associates to have settled old scores.

Viktor had just written his name on my shit list in indelible ink.

T
he bunkhouse should have been cozy and comforting after the raw, wet woods. A fire hissed and sparked in the stone fireplace. A small Christmas tree blinked. The antler clock ticked, proving my stomach right in thinking the time was near dinner. However, I felt anything but comfortable.

LaToya kept her eyes on a book. Lil Joe entertained himself by tossing trash into the fire. Rick, I assumed, still slept in the second bedroom. Viktor, having returned to the small kitchen, occasionally shot me malicious looks as Buckshot and I prowled the area near the front door.

Could Lesley have slashed the tires before his accident? The steep hillside where we had found him wasn’t far from the bunkhouse. In different weather, it would have been a pleasant walk.

Was it an accident? That question nagged me more than the first. What would have caused him to tumble over that ridge? Lesley’s spill made more sense than Abel’s. Heavy rain, slippery conditions, unknown territory. The ridge wasn’t far from the bunkhouse if he was spying on us. But why did Abel wander off a path known to him since childhood? I hadn’t gotten any closer to learning the truth. I hoped Rookie Holt had found something.

I almost wished I had never seen that spot of blue.

“Artist, sit or go in bedroom,” called Viktor. “You are driving peoples crazy with the pacing.”

I snatched my coat, more comfortable with the wet and cold outside than the chill I felt from the guests indoors. Buckshot pawed the door, ready to accompany me.

“You cannot leave,” said Viktor. “We do not trust you where we can’t see you.”

My face flamed. “I’m going to wait on the porch. If I do something suspicious, I’m sure Buckshot will alert you.”

Outside, the rain had subsided, but the damp and dark still seeped beneath my layers. Buckshot bounded off the steps, then slunk back to the drier confines of the porch. Smoke from the bunkhouse fire hung heavy, reminding me of past campfires. Back at Savannah College of Art and Design, I had often joined friends for bonfires on nearby Tybee Island.

There had been a night like this in late fall. Windy, cold, and damp with the mist from the ocean. Someone had introduced me to a tall, dark, and gray-eyed criminal justice major from Southern. He had a girl hanging on his arm, some idiot who had worn a bikini top with her jeans but refused to put on a sweatshirt. We had ditched her behind the pylons at Tybee’s pier and walked the length of the beach before heading back to his truck for romance that didn’t include angry turtles or sand fleas.

After coming up for air, Luke had brushed the hair from my cheek, twining a cornsilk strand between his fingers. “I remember you from high school. You were a freshman or sophomore when I graduated.”

I ran a hand up his arm and toyed with the string from his hoodie. “I know. You’re Luke Branson.”

“I’m no Branson. I didn’t take
his
name when he married my mom. My dad fought in Iraq.” The fingers released the strand.

“That suits me fine,” I said. “Because as much as I’m enjoying this night, I couldn’t date a Branson.”

“Who said anything about dating?” His low voice teased and he lowered his head to my earlobe. “And if you’re so against dating Bransons, how’d you end up in my truck?”

“Poor judgment after too many beers.” I sucked in a breath and held it until his mouth had moved from my ear to my neck. “I liked talking to you. I had previously thought all Bransons self-involved and self-serving.”

His lips moved slowly, following the curve from my chin to shoulder. “I told you I’m not a Branson. Besides, Ballards have a reputation too. I always heard y’all were easy to sweet talk into trucks.”

I jerked upright, popping him in the nose with my shoulder, and slid off his lap. The chuckling behind the hands holding his nose irritated me even more than his words.

“I’ll tell you something, high and mighty Luke ‘I’m-no-Branson.’ If you think all it takes is some lively conversation and good looks to charm your way into my pants, you’ve got another thing coming.”

The hands had dropped from his nose and I was pleased to see a smear of blood on his finger. “Lighten up, sugar. If I was looking to score that easy, I wouldn’t have ditched Dee back at the pier. I’m just showing you why you shouldn’t judge someone by their name.”

The memory faded.

Now that I was older and a bit wiser, I wondered if Luke and I had hooked up just to prove that statement true. If that was the case, I hadn’t done well in proving him wrong about the questionable moral standards of my family name.

But at least we were ethical.

That these people believed I would slash a vehicle’s tires for no apparent reason ticked me off to no end. Couldn’t they tell the difference between a curious, albeit willful, gal asking pertinent questions and someone with malicious intent to scare and possibly harm folks?

I halted my front porch pacing, causing Buckshot to perk her ears and raise her head. Why would someone want to flatten all the tires on the Gator? If it was Lesley trying to prevent hunters from getting to their blinds, wasn’t there a simpler method?

Pulling the flashlight from my coat pocket, I hopped from the porch to the Gator. I squatted before the first flat tire, beaming the flashlight over the slick rubber. No cut appeared in the sidewall. Surprised, I held the flashlight against my knee to catch my balance. Tread would be much harder to cut. Why go to the trouble and not just do some other stupid act?

Reluctant to stand and expose myself to more chill, I gazed at the mud-splattered rim for a long second. I moved the flashlight beam to circle the metal rim. Pulling my left hand from my coat pocket, I felt along the wide lip, closest to the tire, until my fingers touched the rough edge of a rubbery protrusion.

“He cut the valve core.” Startled by my own words, I dropped the flashlight.

Buckshot yipped and rushed to save me, knocking the flashlight under the Gator. The beam illuminated a rocky puddle beneath the tire. Dead set in the circle of light lay the jagged remains of the tire valve. An efficient means to quickly flatten a tire. The tire-cutting idiots I had known in my youth generally tried a puncture in the sidewall. Usually in revenge against an ex who had gone looking for love in the wrong places.

I grabbed the flashlight, received a face lick for my efforts, and used the side of the Gator to hoist my stiffening legs to standing. Bending to pet Buckshot, I murmured praise for finding the tire valve while my mind worked on a motive. This tire cutting didn’t seem like a mere act of vandalism. More of a means to hamper our transportation back to the lodge. Which made no sense, since Lesley would want us out of the woods. Not trapped in the forest.

Maybe cutting the tire valves was meant to trap us at the bunkhouse.