Bitter Past, page 16
She took a deep breath. She was safe. For now. But who had been out there? One of Myrtle’s visitors? Or had someone else driven up in the cover of night?
Joelle considered going outside to investigate. But she’d promised Olivia she’d be careful. So even though it was uncomfortably warm in the cottage, she shut and locked all the windows. For now, it seemed safer to stay inside.
*
It was the ravens Zak noticed first. Their dark forms flying above the trees, all headed in the same direction, as if summoned by a dinner bell. It was twilight. Soon his team would have only their headlamps and flashlights to guide them. He called in his group—Sierra Two—and told them he was modifying their route. “I want to see what’s attracting those ravens.”
Most likely it was a carcass. But from what sort of animal? A bear, a moose…or human?
Zak felt a spike of adrenaline. One thing he’d learned about himself since he’d started working at the Sheriff’s Office: at times of crisis, he stayed cool. He could cut off his emotions and engage his mind. He kept his pace steady, methodical, and within fifteen minutes he could smell the pungent odor of decaying flesh.
The others did too. He heard someone cough. Another volunteer made a sound of disgust.
He closed his mind to thoughts of what they might be about to find. Instead he focused on his footing. It was hard work avoiding all the deadfall, exposed roots, and ferny undergrowth. Around him he heard occasional curse words as various volunteers tripped over the obstacles. Otherwise, his twelve-person team was silent, burdened by the gravatas of their task.
As twilight ended, the darkness was absolute. No moon to guide them on this dark summer night. Now needing to rely on the readings from his compass and his GPS, he slowed the pace of the group. About ten minutes later he started picking up on a new sound. The croaking and snapping and cawing of ravens.
Abruptly he found himself in a clearing. His headlamp picked out a wooden structure in one of trees about twenty feet from where he stood, and he immediately thought of the hunter’s blind that Joelle Medler had described to him earlier.
The ravens were gathered about midway between him and the blind, greedily devouring some scattered remains on the needle-strewn ground.
“Get out!” He flapped his arms and chased after the scavengers. Some were surprisingly reluctant to leave their prize. “Don’t come too close,” he warned the others in his group. This could be a crime scene, and he wanted to preserve as much evidence as possible. He clipped his high-powered flashlight off his belt and shone it at what was left of the ravens’ prize.
It wasn’t much. A couple of rib bones, part of a pelvis. Definitely human. Hiking boots were strewn nearby. Seemed the legs had been gnawed off, leaving the feet still inside the boots. Surprisingly little in the way of clothing. Then his flashlight caught a flash of gold.
Zak did his best to take photos in the dark, then bagged the gold object. It was a man’s watch. Not far from where he’d scooped up the watch was a partially eaten wallet. God, what animal had done this much carnage in so little time? Something had been here before the ravens—that was for sure. His headlamp picked up animal tracks in the dirt, and he snapped pictures of those as well. Then, with gloved hands, he picked up the wallet and studied what was left of the contents.
The driver’s license was mostly intact. The name and matching photo turned his gut into a block of concrete. So much for Sam meeting another woman.
“We’ve found him,” he announced to his fellow searchers. Then he pulled out his radio to call it in.
*
Despite a bad case of the jitters, Joelle did eventually fall asleep, waking shortly after dawn. Trix seemed agitated as Joelle went about their morning routine. She refused her breakfast and instead went to the front door and whined. There was no ignoring the urgency of her request, so Joelle leashed her up, threw a sweater over the T-shirt and gym shorts she’d worn to bed, and opened the door.
Trix lurched forward so fast, Joelle almost fell. And then she saw why the dog was so worked up.
Neck twisted at an odd angle, a bird lay limp on the welcome mat, clearly dead. It was her friendly woodland neighbor, the whiskey jack.
*
Back in the cottage, Joelle leaned against the wooden door with her heart thumping. Sometimes birds broke their necks flying into windows at night. But there were no windows on the cottage’s wooden door. No, the dead bird had been left there as a message to her. She felt sad for the bird. And worried for herself. She wasn’t one to be scared off easily. But enough already. Enough.
After getting dressed, she took a deep breath, gathered her courage, then went outside to take a picture of the “message” on her welcome mat. She’d show this to the Sheriff, and he could add it to her file.
Next, she grabbed a dustpan and a garbage bag and dispatched the poor creature. Was she partially to blame for its death? By feeding it crackers and dog treats she’d created the impression that humans could be trusted. That they could even be considered friends.
As she deposited the bag in the bear-proof garbage bins, she noted that there were two different vehicles parked by Myrtle’s SUV this morning. One was her son Shawn’s truck; the other was the Sheriff’s Tahoe.
Had they found Sam?
Hurriedly she checked her favorite news feeds for Montana and soon found a relevant bulletin. Sheriff’s Department in Lost Trail, Montana, confirms human remains have been found about two miles off the popular Ancient Cedars trail network. The victim’s name is being withheld pending notification of next of kin.
Joelle felt sick. Was that what Zak was doing at Myrtle’s right now? Notifying the next of kin? Her gut twisted as she remembered the pain of finding out about Brent’s death. Her sister’s anguished phone call, then the tense drive to Lakeside, only to face Olivia and the twins’ utter devastation. Poor Myrtle and Shawn…were they going through that torture now? The initial disbelief. No. He can’t be dead. He can’t.
And then the searing pain…
Joelle forced a deep, shaky inhalation of air. She couldn’t bear to relive that day. And she couldn’t face staying in the cottage all alone either. She craved normality and safety…even if they were only illusions. What she needed, she thought, was a trip to the Snowdrift Café. Quickly she refreshed Trix’s water, and opened a few windows, hoping to catch whatever breeze was available. Then she hurried to her Jeep.
*
“That’s Sam’s watch,” Myrtle confirmed, not needing Zak to remove it from the evidence bag. “He got it as a high school graduation present. Wore it every day.”
“I tried buying him a modern GPS watch. I thought he’d love all the features,” Shawn said. “But he told me to take it back.”
There were tears in both Myrtle’s and Shawn’s eyes. In Zak’s too. He’d been dreading this from the moment he saw the ravens circling the body. Somehow he’d known it was Sam. And that he would have to be the one to tell his wife and his son.
“You said you had Dad’s wallet?” Shawn said. “Do you have it with you?’
Zak hesitated. “It’s pretty damaged. Anyway, neither the wallet nor the watch is conclusive. We’ll need a DNA match for that.” But the hope he was offering was slim, and both Myrtle and Shawn understood that.
Shawn fixed his red-rimmed eyes on Zak’s. “I guess that means there isn’t enough of him left to identify?”
“That’s correct. I’ve never seen a scavenger work this fast before. We can’t even tell the cause of death.” Zak turned to Myrtle. “I’m sorry if I’m being too graphic.”
She dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “Don’t sugarcoat on my account. I want to know everything. I need to know.”
Maybe. But Zak still didn’t want to show her the ravaged wallet or the pictures of what little remained of her husband. Instead he pulled up a photo of the animal tracks, one that included Sam’s watch. “With this watch to compare it to, you can see that these animal tracks are about six inches long and four inches wide. Can you identify the animal?” he asked Shawn.
Shawn took a closer look. “Holy shit. Those are wolverine tracks. Five toes in an even arc, with strong, thick claws. And the pattern of the tracks is distinct as well. No doubt about it.”
Zak squinted at the photo, trying to see it through Shawn’s eyes. “Wolverine. Those are pretty rare, right?”
“Rare, but we do have a small population in Northwest Montana. No wonder you can’t ID the remains. Wolverines are vicious predators with teeth capable of crushing through teeth and bones. They’re also notorious for decapitating their prey.”
Myrtle winced, and Shawn said, “Sorry, Mom.”
“They’re special animals,” Myrtle said. “Some Native Americans believe they provide a magical link to the spiritual world.”
“Dad called them the most skilled and fierce hunters in the forest,” Shawn said.
“Have you ever seen one in person?” Zak asked, looking from Shawn to Myrtle. Both shook their heads.
“I’d love to catch a photo on one of my trail cams. But even Dad, who spent a lot of his life tracking and hunting, told me he’d never seen one in the wild.”
“Never?” Zak asked. “Are you sure?”
Shawn nodded. “He would have told me if he had.”
“He must have tracked one recently. According to Edward Cocker, on the night your dad went missing, he’d claimed he’d seen a female and her kit in the forest. It was Edward’s theory that Sam went out that night trying to get a picture to prove his point.”
“If Dad really wanted to track a wolverine, he would have asked for my help.”
“I’m not so sure,” Myrtle countered. “Sam had his wild side. And he could be damned stubborn if he was trying to win an argument.”
“That’s true,” Shawn conceded.
“Is a wolverine capable of killing a person?” Myrtle asked.
Zak turned to Shawn for the answer, glad that Myrtle had saved him from asking the gruesome question.
“Probably capable,” Shawn said. “But there’s never been a reported incident. They’re private, nocturnal animals. They avoid humans and civilization, which is one of the reasons they’ve become endangered. They’re running out of habitat.”
Both Myrtle and Shawn looked at Zak then, and he knew what they were wondering. If a wolverine hadn’t killed Sam then what—or who—had?
Chapter Twelve
The Huckleberry Festival wasn’t due to start until tomorrow, but already there was a lot of activity in town. More vehicles than usual parked on the streets, more people hustling from place to place. Barricades were already up partitioning off a four-block strip of Tumbleweed Road, so Joelle had to settle for parking on a residential street and walking two blocks to the Snowdrift Café. She felt uncharacteristically exposed, as if every person she passed was secretly watching her and whispering behind her back.
Which she knew was paranoid. The vast majority of people in Lost Trail had never heard of Brent Culver and therefore would have no interest in her either. But the events of the past five days were getting to her, and not even the canister of bear spray in her bag gave her much comfort.
As she turned onto Tumbleweed, she could see a slew of volunteers were grouped around Vera, who was holding a clipboard and commanding their attention.
She noticed Rosemary Masterson among the volunteers, as well as Cassidy Hardy, the town commissioner, but they were focused on Vera’s commanding presence and didn’t even glance her way.
There was a longer queue than normal at the Snowdrift, no doubt a combination of visitors and volunteers lured by the rich aromas of coffee and freshly baked cinnamon buns. As Joelle waited her turn, she could feel her nerves settle. The cozy, welcoming café felt like the safest place in town. Slowly she worked her way up in line. No one joined behind her, so she must have arrived at the tail end of the rush.
Eventually she made it to the counter. Patsy’s face was flushed, and she looked tired, but she greeted her with a smile.
“Hey there, Joelle, you’re getting to be a regular.”
“It’s crazy busy in here today.”
“Lots of visitors in town for the festival,” Patsy explained. “I love the extra business, but I’m glad it’s slowed down a bit. Now what can I get you?”
“An iced latte and a cinnamon bun, please.”
Patsy rang up the order, and while Joelle tapped her phone to pay, Patsy lowered her voice. “Have you heard about Sam Ward?”
“I read a news report from the Missoulian. Also the Sheriff was parked outside Myrtle’s house this morning. I figured he was there to break the news.”
“Poor Myrtle. My husband was in the search and rescue group that found the remains. It was a grisly sight. Hardly nothing left of him.”
Joelle tried to block the mental picture. “How horrible.”
“Vera’s out there talking to the volunteers. Despite the tragedy, the show must go on and all that. There’s going to be some mighty sad folks though. Including Vera’s husband. Edward and Sam have been best friends since grade school.”
“It’s an awful thing,” Joelle agreed.
“You’ll be coming to the festival?”
“I promised Myrtle I’d cover her shift at the kiddie craft table.”
“That’s kind of you. But then I’ve heard your family suffered a loss recently too. Was it your brother-in-law?”
Joelle nodded. Word did get around in a small town. But Joelle could tell by the genuine compassion in Patsy’s eyes that she didn’t know about the questions that surrounded Brent’s death, or the real reason Joelle was in Lost Trail. To Patsy, Joelle was just a customer, a newcomer to be welcomed. Which was a relief.
“They say time heals,” Patsy said. “I hope for both your family’s sake, and Sam’s, it’s true.” She handed Joelle her order, then gave her another kindly smile before dipping back into the kitchen.
Joelle settled with her iced beverage and the freshly baked cinnamon bun at the farthest booth from the door. Noticing it was almost noon, she sent her sister a smiling emoji, which Olivia immediately loved. It felt dishonest not to tell her about the dead bird, or more importantly, Sam’s death, but it wasn’t fair to worry her either. She’d just keep doing what she’d promised—being as careful as she could.
There was a poster for the Huckleberry Festival on the wall by her booth, and as she enjoyed her deliciously gooey cinnamon bun, she perused the line-up of events. Saturday morning began with a pancake breakfast and live music at the firehall, followed by a parade through the main streets of town. Booths and vendors opened after the parade at ten, and throughout the day there would be more live music, clowns, and a pie-eating contest.
The Sunday schedule was just as busy only it featured a horseshoe-throwing competition, various fun races for children under thirteen, and a town scavenger hunt for teenagers.
Joelle heard a commotion outside and glanced out the window. Vera’s talk had ended, and the volunteers had been mobilized. Some of them were setting up tents for the vendors’ booths, while yet more volunteers were assembling a stage for the performances.
A tall young woman in a blue-and-white-checkered sundress, cowboy boots, and hat caught Joelle’s attention. She’d seen her before, she knew, but it took a few seconds to realize this was Amanda’s daughter, Candace. The teenager, carrying a clipboard tightly to her chest, crossed the street, heading toward the café, with long, purposeful strides. Seconds after she opened the door, setting off a jingle of bells, she marched up to the counter.
“Hey, Mrs. Larkin.”
Patsy came out of the kitchen, drying her hands. “Hi, Candace, how are you doing, love? Excited for the Huckleberry Festival tomorrow?”
“I am. That’s why I’m here, actually. Bruce and I are helping Grandma set up the scavenger hunt. One of the clues is to go to the place that serves the best cinnamon buns in town and grab a business card. Do you have enough to spare?”
“Well, thanks for that bit of free publicity, and sure I do. Chris had some printed for me when I opened my shop, and so far, I’ve only used about twenty from the box of one thousand.”
“Awesome. Keep them handy tomorrow. We’re expecting about fifty teenagers to participate in the hunt.”
“Will do. Thanks, love.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Larkin.” As Candace spun around to exit the store, her gaze fell on Joelle, and she paused. “You’re that journalist who was talking to Mom the other day.”
“Joelle Medler. Yes.” She’d only met Candace briefly the other day, yet something about her felt so familiar. Was it her eyes? They were a lovely color, not quite blue, not quite gray, but some color in between.
A second later the teenager was gone, hurrying down the street, no doubt headed to the next stop on the scavenger hunt.
“A real go-getter that one,” Patsy said. She had retrieved a box of her business cards and was setting them out prominently on the counter in front of the cash machine. “The Flint Creek Ranch will be in good hands once she takes charge.”
“That won’t be for a while, will it? Wyatt and Amanda are still pretty young.”
“That’s true. But Amanda’s happier with her books in the library, than dealing with the crazy ups and downs of the cattle business. And Wyatt. Well…” Patsy sighed. “His health isn’t the best.”
“I heard he’d been recently diagnosed with MS.”
“Yes. It’s a cruel and very unpredictable disease. They say he’s in remission. I hope he stays there a long time.”
*
Zak went home hoping to squeeze in some time with his son, but he found Nadine alone in the house and dressed for work. She was at the kitchen counter, filling a thermos with coffee. When she was done, she kissed him, then swept his hair back from his forehead and studied his eyes. “You look tired.”
He shrugged. He’d kept her abreast of the happenings via text messages. So she knew the score. “Where’s Jett?” Normally Nadine didn’t go into work until three o’clock on Fridays.
“I dropped him at day care. I figured you’d need me to examine the remains and fill out my report.”
