The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5) (24 page)

The dab of bright orange grew. The person ran at a good clip.

I darted a look for better hiding spots and rushed toward the tireless side-by-side. Crouching in the muck behind the driver’s side, I watched from over the top of the utility vehicle, my cold fingers clinging to the slick metal.

Seconds passed. From my squat, I couldn’t see that side of the forest. I tried to slow the breathing that burst from my nose in shots of white vapor.

Who was running? Why were they running?

I could hear them now, crashing through the vines and dying weeds. A walkie-talkie squawked. I couldn’t distinguish the walkie’s voice or the words, but the person speaking was agitated. Feet pounded and splashed in the mud. I dropped to the ground to peer from under the Gator.

Jeans brushed the top of black boots. They paused in the drive, turned toward the bunkhouse, stopped again, and faced the opposite direction. I wracked my brain to place the boots, then realized the lack of camouflage held the answer I sought. Popping up, I settled the barrel of the gun on the hood of the UTV and called to Viktor.

He started, then spun toward me. “What are you doing here? They are looking for you. Where did you get that gun? Put it away.”

“No offense, but I don’t trust anyone.” I squinted through the gun sight.

“I don’t have a weapon.” Viktor raised his hands. “Put it away, please. You know I have nothing to do with this.”

Sweat broke on my damp neck. “Dangit, Viktor. I’ve gone in circles all weekend. Everything I think I know has been challenged. My nerves are close to short-circuiting and my gut is screaming not to trust you.”

“You are very tired, I know. You must put the gun down before you cause the terrible accident.”

“I’m not putting the gun down,” I said, but moved my chin above the sight and my finger from the trigger.

“Where is
Bob
Bass and Peach? They are missing.”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

“Did you kill them?”

“What?” I exploded. “Of course not. I’m trying to save them.”

“Jeff Digby found Buckshot’s leash at the campsite. And much blood. Who is this blood?”

I leaned my forehead against the side of the utility vehicle and gulped air. Shit, shit, shit, I thought. Where was Jayce’s body? Did someone move it? Was he alive? I rolled my head to the side and studied the bunkhouse. Should I have trusted Peach? She said a guy had told Jayce about Bob’s invitation to the hunt.

A man wanted to disrupt the contest.

A man? That narrows it down, genius
.

Boy, could I use some advice from my Deputy McHottie.

I could also use the backup.

“Dangit.” I jerked away from the Mule’s cold frame and raised my eyes to Viktor. My head buzzed from exhaustion and I blinked to wet my eyes.

Viktor watched me. He had unclipped the walkie from his belt and raised it near his mouth.

“Don’t,” I said.

“What did you do?” He lowered the walkie slowly, but didn’t let go. “Whose blood is in the tent?”

“Jayce Deed’s. Who left the bunkhouse early this morning? Who told everyone that I went to Max’s deer stand?”

“Where is the dog?”

I jerked my chin toward the bunkhouse. “She’s inside, resting. I’d never hurt Buckshot. I wouldn’t hurt anyone. Who told everyone I left?”

He narrowed his eyes. “LaToya told us you fought with Peach. You ran out after the fight. Now we know where you really went.”

“Peach and I are good now. She might have told some lies about me earlier, but that’s all fixed. Sort of. Why were you running?”

“Because Mike reported Peach and
Bob
Bass are missing. He and Rick wished to move farther out. When he went to tell them this, he could not find them. I ran back to search the bunkhouse.”

“Where’s Max?”

“He is looking for you,” said Viktor. “Or so he says. The Bear has been out all night as well. Did you meet him at this camp? Did he kill the man staying there?”

“No,” I hollered. “Get off your flippin’ high horse about Max. He’s not doing anything.” My feet ached from my squat. Gravity drew me toward the ground, making my thighs and back scream in pain. I shook out a hand, rolled my shoulder, and replaced my hand on the gun’s stock.

“I don’t believe you are a bad person, Miss Tucker,” Viktor murmured in a sorrowful voice. “I think you are tired and confused and scared. I can help you. But you must lay down your weapon.”

“A man invited Jayce Deed to camp during the tournament. He knew Jayce would use pranks and disturbances to scare
Bob
Bass. They also knew it would disrupt the hunt and we’d have to return to the lodge. But not all of us. One hunter would be left with a staff member...”

Viktor waited.

I jumped to my feet. “Rick.”

Thirty-Six

“
Where
’s Jeff Digby?” I yelled, scurrying around the side of the Mule with Peach’s rifle.

Viktor’s hands flew back in the air. “After we find the leash and blood, we split up. I came back to the bunkhouse to find Peach and
Bob
Bass. Jeff is tracking you.”

“Damnation and hellfire.” I clamped a hand on my forehead to stop my head from spinning, then pointed at his walkie-talkie. “Can you radio on separate channels on that thing? Warn Mike and Tennessee that Jeff Digby is dangerous. He wants to kill Rick. He’ll probably try and stop me first. I know too much. Just like Lesley and Jayce.”

“Cherry.” Viktor’s voice soothed and he strolled forward, holding out his hands. “Give me this gun. Let’s go inside the bunkhouse. I’ll make anything you want to eat. Anything at all. And you can rest in front of the fire. It is nice, no?”

“Dammit, Viktor. Like I could think about food at a time like this.” I swung the stock away. “If you aren’t going to warn Rick and Mike, I’ll find them myself.”

I spun from him and ran diagonally toward the northeastern border of the drive. Into the dying canopy I dove, not looking to see if Viktor followed. The morning mist continued to thicken with the rising temperature and trapped moisture. I leapt over the olive green roots of shriveling poison ivy and crashed through a raw umber clump of leafless viburnum. My feet pattered over wet pine straw turned coppery Indian Red Lake. While my eyes sorted color and shape in the fog, my ears attuned for the sound of shots, and my mind flashed over what I knew about Rick. The abuse of Jessica’s daughter. Jeff slipping into the bunk room to watch Rick sleep.

I shook off a tear stuck on my nose. I didn’t want to protect a repulsive piece of crap like Rick. Hell waited for scum like that.

“A miserable son of a bitch that deserved worse than death,” Jeff had said.

Justice wasn’t served. Jeff burned with revenge. It took a year of planning. The hog would have been the excuse he needed. Charge a ridiculous amount for tickets that no local could afford, but offer one winning ticket in a lottery that Rick would win. Get the Woodcocks to announce it on the news before the rest of Swinton found out and protested. And like a magic trick, provide a big distraction like Jayce Deed’s Ban Sapiens to keep everyone’s eyes off Rick.

A hunting accident was the perfect cover for an act of country retribution. At the clay shoot,
Bob
had switched places with Rick and then I had gotten in the way. Had Jeff set up the teals to launch at Rick’s position? Rick’s borrowed gun had exploded, but he hadn’t been killed.

Did Jeff expect these accidents to kill him or only injure? A bullet might be too swift and merciful for Rick’s death, but that exploding gun could have maimed him for life. Traveling at ninety miles an hour, a clay disk would have given him serious brain damage if it hadn’t killed him.

In the old days, they would have strung Rick from a tree and left him there to warn other men who hungered for young girls.

I couldn’t condone his plan, yet I understood Jeff Digby. But somehow his scheme had spun out of control. Why would he kill Abel, Lesley, and Jayce? That wasn’t vigilante justice. Was Lesley also invited to the lodge to provide a distraction? Were Jeff’s earlier attempts to stop Lesley from entering the forest a ruse? Lesley had made it clear he didn’t trust Jeff. But Jeff hadn’t expected Lesley to catch a ride into the woods with Jayce.

If I hadn’t interrogated Jayce or detained Lesley would they have died?

I cringed at the thought, but continued moving forward.

And what about Abel? Abel had become a splinter lodged deep in my heel. Everywhere I stepped, his death pricked at my conscience.

Vaporous tendrils of fog choked the forest like an invasive case of kudzu. Visibility grew worse and my run became a bumbling gallop. With lungs threatening to explode, I halted my not-so-speedy gait. Trembling, I rested a hand against a sweetgum and searched the milky landscape for swatches of florescent orange. My ears thudded with my heartbeat, and I gulped in moist air that tasted of pine and mildew.

Footsteps pattered on damp pine straw.

My breath caught mid-pant and the hairs on my arms rose, chilling my flushed, damp skin. I swung the harness of Peach’s rifle off my back, grasped it in both hands, and lifted it to my shoulder. Sliding behind the tree, I searched the fog for the intruder and strained my ears for the direction of the footsteps.

The padding slowed and stopped.

I dropped to a crouch, my finger on the rifle’s safety. With a burst of speed, the footfall slapped against the pulpy leaves. I let out a breath, braced myself against the tree, and steadied my eye through the gun sight.

Breaking out of the mist, Buckshot galloped, charging toward me.

My finger flew off the safety and I almost dropped the gun. Slinging the harness over my shoulder, I stood and wiped the dew from my forehead with a shaky hand.

“I almost shot you, for mercy’s sake. Go on home. Get. I don’t want you here.”

She slowed to a trot, but ignored my order.

“Buckshot,” I hissed. “Go home.”

Reaching my side, she dropped to a sit and gazed up at me, panting. I sighed, reached to pet her, and pointed once again toward the bunkhouse. “I can’t have you here. It’s dangerous. This is a one-woman show.”

Unfazed by my tizzy, she circled my tree, wagging her tail with doggish glee.

“Seriously,” I said. “I don’t need nor want a partner. I don’t know what’s going to happen. We’re dealing with a dangerous individual. Jeff could easily take you hostage. Hell, you’d probably jump into his arms willingly, and then what could I do?”

She bent to shove her nose in a thick entanglement of greenbrier and pulled out with a snort.

“You want to chase rabbits, do it on your own time.” I kicked a pile of leaves at her. “Get out of here.”

Buckshot’s head drooped and she fixed me with those sad eyes that reminded me of Abel’s other dogs waiting for his return. The knife twisted deeper, but I steeled my gaze and showered her with another clump of leaves. The wistful look continued and her haunches remained glued to the ground. I pushed her and swore. Stomped my feet. Threw a stick. Finally, I leaned a forearm against a loblolly and buried my head in a camo’d crook.

“Why don’t you just leave?” I cried. “I’m so flippin’ tired. I can’t deal with protecting you too.”

She nosed toward my belly, wedging her head between the trunk and my legs, then shoved her body into the gap. Her moist doggy breath further dampened LaToya’s coveralls.

“Why don’t animals ever listen to me?” I wiped my eyes against my arm, but left my weary head to rest. Exhaustion tricked my eyes into closing and I pulled in a deep breath. “Just give me a minute.”

Buckshot yipped and darted from the protection of my body.

“Where are you going?” I wearily lifted my head from my arm, stepped back, and smacked into the barrel of a gun.

“Give me that rifle,” said Jeff Digby.

He jerked the sling off my shoulder, caught my arm, and freed the gun with a yank that caused pain to shoot from my neck to my fingertips. The barrel of his rifle punched the bruise left by the Super Swine and I staggered into the tree, smacking it with my forehead.

“Jeff, you’ve got to listen to me,” I said, rubbing my head. “I know how much you hate Rick. I understand. But it’s not too late. He might confess.”

“Can’t you just shut your mouth for once? None of this is your business. Why don’t you just do as you’re told?” He grasped my arm and whipped me around to face him. Both rifles hung from his broad shoulders and his large hands gripped my forearms, pinning them to my sides. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing.”

The roughly carved face appeared murderous with rage. A flush darkened his bearded cheeks and the set of his jaw reminded me of Hogzilla’s horrible grinding teeth.

“What are you going to do?” I whispered.

“I don’t have time to deal with you now.” His mutterings seemed more for himself than for me. “What did you do with Peach and
Bob
Bass?”

My hands clenched into fists and I sought to steady my breathing. “Why do you want to know?”

He shook me. “Where are they?”

My vision swam and I bit my tongue. “Just calm down, Jeff. We can work all this out.”

“There’s nothing to work out. I need to know where they are. You tell me. Now.”

I clenched my teeth, shook my head, and popped my knee into his groin. He bent over, loosening the grip on my arms. I jerked my elbows away, turned, and ran. My arms pedaled the air and my boots slid in the mud and leaves. Gasping lungfuls of the cold damp air, I plunged forward.

Buckshot had disappeared. Behind me, Jeff’s boots hammered the spongey forest floor. He made no attempt to muffle his footsteps now. They grew closer. I pushed myself into a sprint. The burn in my thighs matched my lungs. The cold air chapped my face. I could hear Jeff’s puffing gasps. Fingers brushed my back and a shot of desperation jolted me forward.

His tackle sent me sprawling headlong into a drift of sodden leaves and brambles. A spiky sweetgum ball bit into my cheek and the barbs of a greenbrier vine pricked my hands and wrists. I rolled, but Jeff grabbed my legs and yanked me towards him, then sat on my chest while he hogtied my hands and feet.

“You’re not going anywhere. I’ll come back for you later.”

He left me thumping the ground and cursing.