The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5) (17 page)

Maybe whoever had cut the tire valves wasn’t Lesley.

I shivered.

Buckshot pawed at my jeans, craving more comfort.

“Lesley had denied his involvement in any of the lodge pranks,” I told Buckshot. “Maybe he was telling the truth.”

The pranks took a sinister turn in my mind. Was someone else out in the woods with us or had one of the hunters or guides turned on the party?

I started toward the porch steps and halted. In my peripheral, I thought I saw a light flicker.

Turning to face the drive, I squinted past the ring of light streaming from the porch. The flicker had glinted in the timber northwest of the bunkhouse, the opposite direction from where the party rescued poor Lesley’s body. The wall of trees loomed in the thick gloom, concealing what lay beyond our small bastion of civilization.

Buckshot’s ears flattened. Drawing back on her haunches, she pulled her head back and uttered a low growl.

Another light flickered in the murky depths of the forest. I dashed for the porch with Buckshot on my heels. Cracking the door, I felt for the light switch. Inside, a barrage of “heys” rang out as I hit the wrong switch. Correcting my mistake, I cut the lights to the porch. The Christmas lights lit the rafters but left the porch floor in darkness.

At my feet, Buckshot tucked her tail, snarling.

I squatted to stroke her and squinted into the dark.

The solar-powered security lights offered a dim glow onto the drive. The starless sky shrank, binding the bunkhouse and surrounding forest in the cold, damp skin of early winter.

The flickering light had disappeared. Other than the hum of the bunkhouse generator, the forest sounds had stilled. Inside, I could hear the clink and rattle of bowls and imagined the tick of the antler clock, hammering long minutes. I tuned my ears to the dark, hoping to hear a Gator.

Instead, the dark projected a dull thudding accompanied by the soft squelch of footsteps. Quickly drowned out by Buckshot’s deafening bark.

Twenty-Five

I
’m
not normally spooked by what my deceased Granny Jo called the boogerman. I relished Flashlight Tag and Ghost in the Graveyard and never needed a nightlight to sleep. However, these malicious pranks and deadly accidents made me hesitant to expose myself, not only to some evil trickster, but also to a thousand-pound hog with tusks the size of my leg.

My first thought was to grab a gun from inside the bunkhouse, but Viktor would try to stop me. It would also rile the hunters into action. And something other than a monster hog might get shot. Like poor Buckshot.

Safety first, as Uncle Will always said.

Whatever crept toward the bunkhouse approached slowly. I continued to squint and squat on the dark porch, avoiding the light pouring out the windows where I could see the small crew enjoying Viktor’s soup. Someone had thrown new logs on the fire and the smoke billowed from the chimney, luring night travelers toward our small beacon in the woods.

Buckshot had calmed.

I stroked her and murmured happier thoughts. We huddled and watched the dark for a good ten minutes when light bobbed along the rutted drive.

The indistinct form seemed to clump, then break. I wasn’t sure if I saw it with my eyes or my imagination. Strains of a familiar brassy whine caused me to pop from my squat. Buckshot burst off the porch, baying. I ran after her, sloshing through the drive.

“Where is everybody?” hollered
Bob
Bass, beaming his flashlight on me. He wore two rifle packs slung over each shoulder and his fleece collar had grown dingy and matted.

Buckshot danced a circle around the group, panting and stopping before each newcomer in turn.

“Man, what a night.” Jeff Digby carried a large duffle with his rifle pack. Setting the duffle on the ground, he gave Buckshot a quick ear scratch. However, the grim set to his features betrayed a chink in his stoic armor.

“Where’s your Gator? Mike’s been trying to reach you.” I left the latest emergency for a later discussion. “I was on the porch and heard you coming.”

Looking more bedraggled than a wet cat, Peach trudged behind Bob. In the beam of my flashlight, her back bowed with the weight of her pack, and I reached to take it from her. She clamped a hand on the strap. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

“You look exhausted,” I said. “Let me help you.”

“I’m good.”

“Here you go.”
Bob
shoved the two rifle packs at me, took Peach’s arm, and hurried her toward the bunkhouse.

Buckshot yapped and trotted after them.

While I hoisted the heavy packs over my shoulders, Jeff watched the pair escape. “We tried to get to Team Three, but a tree had fallen, blocking the easiest route there. Tried another way to get through and got stuck. Ended up leaving the Gator for now. Bass pitched a fit, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“What happened to your walkie?” Another tendril of worry unfurled within me.

“Damnedest thing. I thought I had left it in the Gator while we got out to move that fallen tree. Couldn’t find it when we got back. Hunted around by the tree, but it was too dark to find my own feet, let alone anything else. Plus Bass was bellowing to get moving.”

“Someone took it from the Gator?”

“Took it? This isn’t the city. You think a raccoon’s gonna want a walkie-talkie?”

“Somebody’s up to something.” I explained the tire valve cutting and Lesley’s fall.

Jeff uttered a few curses, apologized, then cursed more. “Damn fool. I told him it was too dangerous to hike around in these woods.”

He stared at the bunkhouse. “Mike’s gotta be beside himself. Did he radio the lodge to tell the sheriff’s department? It’d take them a good while in this weather. Not until tomorrow at least, and it smells like we’ll get more rain. Damn forest is clogged in mud. No one wants to hunt in this shit.”
He expelled more curses. “Pardon, ma’am. I should have talked Mike out of this hunt, lodge be damned.”

I waved away his apologies. “It gets worse. I don’t think Lesley cut the tire valves. It doesn’t make sense. Besides, before we reached the bunkhouse, Todd and I saw Lesley disappear into the woods not far from where we found his body.”

Jeff shone the flashlight near my face. “What are you saying, girl?”

“That someone else might be out in the woods.”

“Nobody’s out in the woods.”

“Then someone in our party cut those valves. It wasn’t me or Todd. Lil Joe and Rick were the only team at the cabin. They had returned because Rick had a rifle accident. The Sparks and Caleb Guterson left when we arrived.” I hesitated. “There is Viktor. He was alone at the bunkhouse all day. Everyone else was with their team.”

Jeff’s silence made me talk faster.

“I know you think I’m crazy. But look at what all’s happened. Abel’s fall. Signs and threats warning us away from the hunt. The clay shoot accident. Rick’s misfire. Tire valves cut. Lesley’s drowning. That’s a flippin’ lot of accidents in one weekend.” Not to mention I had been personally warned to stop questioning Abel’s death. If only I could see the connection between Abel and the other incidents.

“It had to have been Lesley.”

“I don’t want to malign the dead, but I certainly hope so. Because it looks like we’re going to be trapped here until some of this mud dries.”

“Let me get on the horn with the lodge.”

I hurried my steps to follow him, my shoulders aching under the heavy packs. “They’re moving the body. I told them not to, not before the police could examine Lesley.”

Jeff stopped and spun. “Why are you so concerned about all this?”

I jerked to a stop before I smacked into his chest. “I just am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He waved an arm toward the bunkhouse. “Do you see anyone else creating conspiracy theories? Telling grown men how to do their jobs? Giving opinions on police procedures?”

“No.”

“Then why you?”

“I just want to help.” I chewed my lip. That was a lame reason. “Growing up, I saw my uncle wanting to help victims but getting frustrated that even as sheriff, he was limited by the law. As a citizen I can go places he can’t, talk to people who usually clam up at the sight of a badge.”

“But why would you want to?”

“Because
I
’m not afraid to cross boundaries to do what’s right. Or care much if crossing those boundaries ticks people off.”

Jeff snorted and turned toward the bunkhouse.

Maybe
I had said too much. “Liking to help” sounds much nicer than not caring about ticking people off. And after what had happened thus far, maybe I should worry more about ticking people off. I feared this time I had gone too far, but it was too late to back out now.

Both here at Big Rack and back in Halo.

I scurried after him, dumping the wet rifle packs and shedding my coat in the entrance. I followed Jeff to the kitchen area, where he questioned Viktor on Lesley’s fall, then opened a closet door at the far end of the kitchen. Instead of a pantry, a small desk had been built inside. On the desk sat a black box with a glowing LED panel and a CB-style microphone.

Jeff grabbed the mike, pressed a button, waited, then pressed the button again. After the third unsuccessful check for a signal, Jeff began calling on each channel. “Bunkhouse to Lodge. Come in, over.”

“I don’t think you’re getting a signal,” I said, leaning against the edge of the closet door.

Viktor peered over my shoulder. “No signal.”

Jeff extended a look that made no bones about what to do with our mouths. Pulling the box forward, he examined the wiring in back, then fiddled with more buttons.

“Dammit.” He tossed the mike on the desk, shoved his hands on his hips, and stared at the ceiling. “Antenna must have gotten hit in the storm or knocked over. I’ll have to climb up and check it in the morning.”

“That sounds dangerous,” I said.

“Maybe something happened to your connection.” Viktor looked at me. “Maybe someone sabotaged this radio.”

“You better not be implying I had something to do with this.” I folded my arms. “I’m the one who wants to get the police out here.”

“Enough.” Jeff dropped to a squat and hunkered beneath the desk for a long minute. Crawling out, he stood, shut the closet door, and leaned against it. His voice lowered. “The connection looks fine. I don’t know what happened. But we’re not contacting anybody tonight.”

He glanced across the room to where LaToya, Peach, and Lil Joe rested before the fireplace, listening to
Bob
Bass’s bombastic account of their nighttime trek. Pulling his gaze off the guests, Jeff’s eyes fell on mine. A gleam of maybe-the-crazy-girl-is-right brightened his deep brown ochres.

“I think we should go out and examine the antenna wire,” I said. “If it’s intact, then we know there’s an issue with the antenna itself and it’s just a coincidence.”

Jeff blew a sigh out of his nose and Viktor nodded.

I still didn’t believe in coincidences. But I also didn’t want to believe that someone didn’t want us to call for help.

Twenty-Six

It
felt like I’d never again be dry or warm. Or clean. Once again, I donned my coat and exited into the cold and wet. We circled the bunkhouse past the noisy diesel generator, tramping in the weeds and muck. On the back wall, we found the kitchen exhaust, then located the antenna cable running from the closet outlet to the roof.

The cable had split.

“I wonder if we’ve got electrical tape?” Jeff fingered the shredded end of the black tube emerging from the wall.

“Does not matter.” Viktor waved his flashlight beam between the split pieces of cable. “These ends would not touch
.”

Jeff reached for the cable dangling from the roof and pulled the halves together. Six inches gapped the divide.

“Shit.” Jeff dropped the cables and rubbed his hands on his bibs. “Unbelievable.”

I glared at Viktor. “I did not do this. Stop looking at me like that.”

“I am just thinking of the difficulty of cutting this wire. Maybe you cannot do such a thing.”

I caught myself before I did my usual sass-ridden, “I can do whatever I set my mind to,” and realized the defense resting before me. “Well, I didn’t. And wouldn’t want to. Whatever you think of my friend, Mr. Max, you should know that I have practically grown up in a sheriff’s office.”

Viktor shrugged. “Where I am from, police are corrupt. Who knows what you have learned in this sheriff’s office.”

“You’re a real horse’s patoot—” I stopped at Jeff’s growl.

“I need to talk to Mike about this. Not another word between you. You’re both driving me crazy.”

I offered Viktor my fiercest glare. Combined with my customer service smile for Jeff’s sake. “He’s right. Instead of throwing accusations around, let’s get my sketchpad and a map and figure out if Lesley could have done this or if we’ve got an even bigger problem on our hands.”

Either way, we were trapped for the night.

Wh
ile Jeff hiked to the scene of Lesley’s accident, Viktor and I retreated into the empty bedroom where we wouldn’t be overheard. With the map of the preserve spread out on the floor and with the occasional lick from Buckshot, we plotted the bunkhouse, the five deer stand positions, and the area where Lesley fell. An empty bowl of mushroom and rice soup sat at my feet. I ate to stave off hunger, but found pleasure in the savory and thick yet delicate broth. That still smelled slightly of dirt.

Buckshot agreed after sniffing the empty bowl. She backed away, leapt on a bunk, and settled on a pillow.

“Approximately is here, your all-terrain utility vehicle lies abandoned.” Viktor made a dot on the map. “In the morning, you can fetch.”

I flipped open my sketchbook to the page of illustrations I had made of all the lodge crew and guests.

Viktor sucked in a breath. He pointed to a beady-eyed, giant-mustached chef wielding a Psycho-styled knife. “This. It is me?”

I slapped my hand over the characterization. “Let’s just jot down your schedule over the last few days. How long were you alone in the bunkhouse? We left for the deer stands before four. That leaves you and Mike Neeley here until Jenny sprained her ankle. Wasn’t that around four thirty?”

Viktor smoothed his mustache. “Correct. Mike left to clear their deer stand around five. Their stand is close. Rick and Lil Joe arrived before half-past five, just as the Sparks leave, and you and your friend soon arrive. So I am never alone.”

“No time to go out and walk around the bunkhouse?” I raised my brows.

He lowered his. “No. I do not enjoy tramping about in this weather. I let Mike Neeley do the tramping while I amuse myself with the baking and the cooking.”

“And drinking.” I touched my nose. “Vodka doesn’t hide as well as you think.”

“It settles my nerves. The hog is not repulsed by fermented corn or grain,” he replied stiffly.

“The hog is no longer our concern. Our concern is preventing another ‘accident.’” I made quote signs with my fingers. “By the way, why are you so suspicious of Max Avtaikin
?”

“I told you. As cook at the casino, I see all. Your friend and I began working there about the same time. We were children. I scrubbed the pots. The Bear ran notes between croupiers and pit boss. Soon, I am training as sous chef and he is training under the big boss.”

I shook my head. “You have him confused with someone else. Max doesn’t know you.”

“Your friend pretends not to know me. And he knows I know him. He is the dangerous man. I am fearing for my life.”

“You don’t need to be afraid of Max. He’s reformed. I couldn’t be friends with a real criminal. I even made Todd quit card sharking and he’s got a serious poker addiction.”

“I am not believing this for the second. Where is your friend while these accidents occur? I saw the pig’s head and ‘squeal’ message on the peacock cage. I know this American expression. The Bear sends that warning to me. If he didn’t send you to cut the tires and trap me at this bunkhouse, then he did it himself. How do we know he is still in the deer stand? Only from the guide, Tennessee. You think this Tennessee is impervious to bribes?”

“No way. Max blew his knee out a few months ago. He’s not leaving that deer stand in this weather, much less lurking in the timber to corner you. Although, I wouldn’t put it past him to skulk around the woods to bag Hogzilla before
Bob
Bass gets it.” I worried my lip, wishing my brain had halted my mouth before stating the last bit.

“Aha,” cried Viktor. “You admit the Bear would leave the deer stand to win this contest. Think how much more motivated he would be to stop me.”

“Stop you from what?”

A sly look slid from Viktor’s raw umber browns. “I know many things about the Bear. Information that could cause him much trouble both here and in the old country.”

I rolled my eyes. “Y’all need to get over yourselves and your ‘old country’ shtick. Max’s already been investigated by the IRS and Homeland Security. Mostly thanks to me. And here I am, invited on a cozy weekend by the Bear. Do you see me worried?”

“Maybe he’s not just after me.” Viktor raised his heavy brows. “Maybe he’s thinking of the accident in the woods for you too.”

I gave Viktor my best you’re-crazier-than-a-sack-of-wet-cats look. “Anyway, I’m ruling out the other guests too. How would they know about the antenna cable? Although, the Sparks hunt here often enough.” I put a question mark under their names.

“Jenny Sparks’ ankle has the sprain.”

“But they want to buy the lodge. And they could get it cheaper if word gets out about a bunch of accidents.”

Viktor raised his brows. “The Woodcocks are selling?”

“Let’s focus on suspects. You can worry about your job later.”

“As for the antenna, anyone might have asked,” said Viktor. “The cell phone signal does not reach this far. As a guest, I would ask what is the equipment for the emergency.”

“Most Americans trust the people in charge will take care of them. I doubt anyone asked if there would be a radio with a wire to cut. Let’s look at the lodge staff.”

“You are too suspicious of the lodge staff. They have all worked for some time. Why act the crazy now?”

“Mike’s fairly new. You’re new staff too.”

“And what is your point?”

“I don’t know.” I tapped my pencil on the pad. “It seems everyone has an alibi since we’ve been in the forest. Each guest has been with an outfitter.”

“Except when you and your friend, Todd McIntosh, were alone to abandon the necessary vehicle and chase the dead man.”

“And you and Mike Neeley were alone in the bunkhouse,” I spat back.

“Touché
.” He rolled his eyes.

“Someone else could be stalking us.” I pointed at the map, north of the bunkhouse. “We saw Lesley here and followed him to about here.” My finger dragged to a point farther southeast, closer to the bunkhouse. “This is about where he fell. Big Clem saw his body just before he and LaToya arrived around seven. Would Lesley have had enough time to cut the tire valves and get to this spot to fall?”

“Possibly.”

“But he wouldn’t have reached Jeff Digby’s Gator to steal their walkie-talkie, which I don’t believe for a minute Jeff Digby lost.” I leaned back against a bunk, reaching behind me to scratch Buckshot’s muzzle. “And if someone did tamper with Rick’s gun, I can’t see how it could have been Lesley. Maybe if they find Lesley’s pack, that will tell us something.”

“What is the motive?”

“For Looney Tunes Lesley? To stop our hunting of his precious super pig.”

“No. For other peoples.”

“I don’t know, but the accidents are becoming more and more dangerous.
Rick
’s already been harmed.
Bob
Bass or I could have been killed at the clay shoot. And now Lesley.”

In the main room, the front door slammed. Excited voices clamored. Buckshot bounded off the bed and scampered to the bedroom door.

I hurried my words. “I think you’re right about the accidents. They are meant to scare all of us or one of us.
Bob
Bass thought it might be one of his fanatics. Rick didn’t believe it was protestors. The Sparks wanted to buy the lodge until this weekend. Or maybe Max is the target.”

Viktor’s voice dropped. “If there is other people in the forest, Lesley may have seen them and for this, they could push him off the ridge.”

I met Viktor’s eyes. “If that’s the case, we need to find this mysterious person. Because he’s not just stalking us. He’s intent on killing again.”