The Dead Season (18 page)

“Of course not,” I replied wearily. “Cisco went straight to the scent he had been told to find—Heather McBane’s. And it didn’t hurt that she had spruced it up with a little peanut butter. She obviously hid it there on her way to conceal herself for the demo. If Cisco hadn’t found it, she knew we’d all come back that way and she could pretend to find it herself.”

“Why would she do that?”

I shrugged. “You’d have to ask her. Maybe to spook Paul and Rachel. Maybe to see if they could be spooked. I don’t know.”

“Did Miss McBane tell you how she came to be in possession of the phone?”

“She had spent all of the autumn searching the trail. Remember, she was on video chat with Brian when he said he was going to hide the phone. She might have recognized some landmarks.”

“If the phone contained evidence like she said, why wouldn’t she just turn it over to police?”

“Because it didn’t contain evidence. After all this time, even in a protective bag, the circuits were shot. Have you been able to get anything from it?”

Ritchie glanced at Agent Brown, then gave an almost indiscernible shrug of conciliation. “Not yet.”

Agent Brown searched among his papers until he found a topographical map of Angel Head mountain. “Can you show us the approximate area where you found the phone?”

I studied the map until I got my bearings and pointed out the site. “We were still in North Carolina.”

“And what time did you reach the gorge?”

I thought about that. “A couple of hours. The snow slowed us down, not because it was thick, but because it was something different and the kids were distracted. In a way I guess that was a good thing. The mood was pretty bleak after the scene with Lourdes, but after awhile it picked up again—for everyone but Lourdes, that is.”

Detective Ritchie said, “You mentioned the hatchet. Did you see what Mr. Evans did with it after he used it to cut firewood that morning?”

“No. I assume—”

“You’ve answered the question,” my attorney reminded me gently, but firmly.

“So you didn’t use it yourself after he did, maybe to go back and get more firewood?”

“No.” This time I kept it brief. My throat was starting to hurt from talking, anyway, and I still had a lot more to say.

“Would you be surprised if we found your fingerprints on it, then?”

“I’d be surprised if you found anyone’s fingerprints on it,” I returned with an impatient scowl. “The temperature never got above twenty the whole day. Everyone was wearing gloves.”

I could see the lawyer was trying not to smile. “My client will be happy to supply a set of elimination fingerprints, of course.”

Agent Brown turned a page on his notepad. “So you’re now in South Carolina, is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“You weren’t too happy when you saw the bridge, were you?”

Mr. Willis said sharply to me, “Don’t answer that.”

Agent Brown persisted, “Didn’t you have a big fight with Paul Evans there on the edge of the gorge?”

The door opened just then and a female voice chorused with Mr. Willis’s. “Don’t answer that.”

I twisted in my chair. “Sonny!”

She unwound a cable-knit scarf and removed the smart felt hat that covered her long silver braid as she came into the room. The men got to their feet, because Sonny had that effect on people, and she plucked off a glove and extended her hand first to Ritchie and then to Agent Brown, announcing briskly, “Sonny Brightwell, Ms. Stockton’s attorney. I’m sorry to be late.” She nodded to Mr. Willis. “Bryson, thanks for your help. Raine, do you need anything?”

I could have cried, and from nothing more than the joy of seeing a familiar face. “Oh, Sonny, I can’t believe you came all this way! How did you get here so fast?”

She smiled at me, shrugging out of her coat. “It pays to have friends with private planes,” she replied  and took the empty chair beside me. “Are you okay?” Her hand, still cold from the outdoors, closed over mine. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Cisco,” I blurted. I sounded a little desperate, but I knew she would understand. “Can you check on Cisco? They told me some vet has him and he hates the vet. I don’t want him to stay there. Can’t you—”

“The best thing you can do for Cisco is to finish up this interview and get out of here,” Sonny told me firmly, and though I knew she was right, her response chilled me. Usually Sonny would have some quip about what Cisco was thinking or feeling; her empathy with animals, although I often made fun of it, was one of the main reasons we were friends. Her brusque, lawyerly demeanor made me think I was in bigger trouble than I had imagined.

She sat back and flipped open her briefcase. “Bryson, is there anything I should know?”

“We seem to be right on track,” the other lawyer assured her and passed a couple of papers across the table to her.

Agent Brown looked at me sourly. “For an innocent bystander, you certainly do have a high-class legal team.”

I of course opened my mouth to protest, but Sonny simply smiled pleasantly at him. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “I always try my best to be high-class. Could we get some fresh coffee in here?”

Detective Ritchie went to the door and spoke to someone, then resumed his seat. “Now if everyone is settled…” He glanced around the room with an exaggerated expression of politeness. “Let’s pick up where we left off. What happened when you got to the bridge?”

I stared at the oily black remnants of coffee in my cup and saw my own pale features reflected there. I swallowed hard. It was still hard to think about the bridge. But the story was almost done. I had to go on.

So I did.

CHAPTER S
IXTEEN

A
couple of inches of snow had accumulated on the trail by the time we reached the gorge, less in places where the ground was leafy or shaded by trees. It frosted Cisco’s coat and rimed my wool hat, but it wasn’t so bothersome as to obscure vision or obliterate the trail. At this point it was hard to tell whether this was going to be a real weather event, or just one of those pretty snowfalls that blows away by morning. These kinds of snows are pretty typical of the winter weather we get in the mountains, so I didn’t see anything to be particularly worried about. For a while the snow even made the temperatures feel warmer, and I’ll take snow on a hike over rain any day.

Heather and Lourdes were just ahead of me for most of the hike. I could tell Heather was speaking quietly to Lourdes in her counselor voice, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I stayed far enough behind, in fact, so that I did not
have
to hear what she was saying, because the next time I spoke with Heather I wanted privacy. Cisco and I were therefore the last ones to arrive at the bridge. The kids had slipped off their backpacks and were taking advantage of the short break to limber up their shoulders and have a quick snack. I placed my pack and Cisco’s on the ground beside the others, shook the snow off my cap, and took stock of our surroundings.

The gorge was only about fifteen feet wide, a relatively narrow fissure in the earth in terms of the gorges we have in this part of the country, but it was at least thirty feet deep, lined with sharp rock shelves and spiky winter-dead trees. It was spanned by a rope-and-slat suspension bridge that would have been risky to cross under ideal circumstances. Under no circumstances would I attempt to take Cisco across.

I looked around until I spotted a footpath to the bottom of the gorge, and another one ascending the opposite side. Whoever had built the footbridge had used the paths to cross the gorge, and the metal handholds they had used for guides were still in place. The path was steep and hard to see, and I knew that the longer we waited the more risky it would become.

Paul had gathered everyone around and was lecturing them on safety procedures while crossing the bridge. I edged my way through the kids to stand beside him, and interrupted him in mid-sentence by closing my hand around his jacketed arm. He glared at me, but the snow was coming down harder now, and there was no time to waste.

“There’s a footpath that’s safer,” I said, gesturing. “But it won’t be for much longer.” I swiped a hand across my face, clearing my eyelashes of snow. “This bridge is already starting to ice up and who knows how old that rope is? I wouldn’t trust it under these conditions.”

His eyes were as cold as the leaden sky overhead, and at least as unforgiving. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, Miss Stockton.”

“Yes, you did,” I insisted, “when you hired me. That footbridge is not safe.”

“I’m the one who decides what’s safe, and in my opinion the bridge is safer than the path. We’ve trained for the bridge and the program will not be complete without it.” He looked from me to Cisco
with disdain. Cisco shook the snow from his coat and returned his gaze pleasantly. “If your dog can’t make it, leave him behind.”

I gave one incredulous shout of laughter and turned away. “Maybe Cisco and I should l leave
you
behind,” I tossed back, and it was such a childish thing to say that even I was embarrassed by it. I added grudgingly, “We’ll be waiting on the other side. Cisco, let’s go.”

That was when I realized that everyone had been listening to our exchange.
Their faces were red and chapped and their lips cracked with cold, their eyes dark and scared-looking. “Hey,” Jess said worriedly, “you’re not really leaving are you?”

And Tiffanie added, “He can’t really make you leave your dog here.” But her brows were drawn together and she actually looked uncertain.

“Get your packs on!” Paul called behind me. “Jess, you’re in the lead.”

Heather cast an uneasy glance toward the bridge, “Do you really think it’s unsafe?”

Rachel said loudly, “You heard Mr. Evans! Get your packs! Line up behind Jess.”

But Jess didn’t move. Neither did anyone else.

I looked from one scared, half-frozen face to the other. There was nothing particularly safe about taking a slippery, rocky footpath down into the gorge and back up the other side, either, and if I had had my preference I would have camped here until the weather cleared. But with the lodge on the other side of the gorge only a few hours away, staying here in the elements did not make sense either. “Look,” I said. “Cisco and I are taking the path. It’s longer and harder. Anyone who wants to come with us is welcome to.”

Paul shoved in front of me, glaring over the group. “Anyone,” he said distinctly, “who refuses to cross that bridge will not graduate from the program. Are we clear?”

There was a rumble of outrage, but he shouted over it. “Are we clear?”

A gust of wind flew down from the mountain peaks at that moment that almost knocked me off my feet. The hood of my coat blew up around my face and Cisco staggered and squinted his eyes against it. The rope bridge canted at a forty-five degree angle before swinging back the other way. When I saw it my heart dropped to my stomach, but not as drastically as it dropped when I saw the sudden flash of terror on the young faces before me. On the one hand, they were convinced they would die on that bridge, and I have to admit I’d done my share to contribute to that impression. On the other hand, they faced a fate worse than death for many of them—that of being forced to stay in the New Day program another six weeks.

The northern blast died down and was countered by a lesser gust from the west. Rachel stepped forward in a way that could not be construed as anything else than threatening. Each word was spoken loudly over the wind, and with over-emphasis. “Get. Your. Packs.”

The kids started to scramble toward their packs. I turned to Rachel. “Listen, I’m not kidding,” I said urgently. “In this wind the bridge isn’t stable. You can’t—”

She said fiercely, “I think you’ve caused enough trouble. If you’re not going to help, get out of the way.”

Another gust of wind caused her to clutch her hat around her ears and duck her head while her hair lashed across her face. Over the sound of it, Paul shouted, “In line! Now!”

At this point there was a lot of confusion. The kids were trying to sort out their packs, Paul was shouting orders and, yes, I think I shouted back at him. It was stupid. The kids were already scared, the bridge was icy, the wind was kicking up; it was a disaster waiting to happen. All I wanted him to do was to consider some options. But the more insistent I became, the more obdurate he was. And suddenly a clear, shrill voice cut through the noise.

“Stop it!” Lourdes screamed. “Stop it, everyone!”

Several heads turned toward Lourdes, including mine, although I couldn’t see much through the crowd. Paul ignored her.

“Jess,” he barked, stepping onto the bridge, “Let’s go.”

“You don’t have to!” Lourdes pushed forward, her face scarlet and her cap and hair frosted with snow. She held something up in her clenched fist, but I couldn’t tell what it was at first. Her eyes were a dark blaze that chilled even me when I looked at them.

“I’ve got nothing to lose,” she said, shoving through the others. Her eyes were fixed on Paul. “I’m not taking it anymore. And the rest of you don’t have to either.”