Shadow Creek (33 page)

“Mine,” Henry said.

“Yours?”

“Well, it belonged to my parents. They left it to me when they died.” He resumed walking. “Car crash,” he said, tossing the words casually over his shoulder before she could ask.

“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. But I guess that’s life, you know. Sometimes terrible things happen to good people.”

Brianne slowed her pace, wondering if she’d be so cavalier if something were to happen to her parents. “So, were you there last night? In the cottage, I mean.”

“Yep.”

“And you never saw Tyler? No one came banging on your doors and windows?”

“Must have been a different cottage he was talking about,” Henry said as they trudged up the dirt road toward the cabin.

“I guess.” Brianne looked around. She didn’t see any other cottages. So where the hell was Tyler? “And you never heard anyone calling for help?” she asked, watching the ranger shake his head.

“No one but you.” Henry laughed. “That’s quite a set of lungs you’ve got there, girl.”

But if Tyler hadn’t reached the cottage, and if he hadn’t miraculously found the main road, that meant he was still out there somewhere, wandering blindly through the woods. And if Henry had heard her screaming from more than a mile away, surely Tyler had heard her, too. Why hadn’t he responded to her screams? “Oh, God,” she said, stopping suddenly. “What if that bear gets him?” And then, an even worse thought: What if it already had?

“The hand isn’t Tyler’s,” Henry said, as if reading her mind.
“That hand’s been there longer than a few hours. I promise you, Brianne. It’s not his.”

Brianne nodded, although she wasn’t completely convinced. She continued to look warily over her shoulder as they drew nearer the cottage, which she saw was made of large pine logs painted dark brown and trimmed in white. A row of orange and white impatiens ran around the base of the cabin and a set of copper wind chimes hung from an overhead brown canvas awning, tinkling in the breeze. The sound of a creek babbled playfully in the background. All that’s missing is the gingerbread, Brianne found herself thinking. “You like living out here all by yourself?”

“Love it. Besides, I’m not alone.”

“You’re not?”

“I’ve got the birds and the deer and the flowers and the creek. And, of course, there’s Nikki,” he said as the door of the cottage opened and a young woman wearing a scowl and a floral dress that was at least several sizes too big for her stepped outside.

“SO WHAT DO we do now?” Val was asking.

“
You
do nothing,” the senior ranger told her in no uncertain terms. His name was Mike Jones, and he was as straightforward as his name suggested, tall and barrel-chested and square of jaw. Everything about him screamed “hero,” from his brown wavy hair and large chocolate brown eyes to his straight nose and full, if unsmiling, lips. Only a faded mustard stain on the cuff of his neatly pressed beige shirt reassured Val he was human after all, and not a refugee from a Disney cartoon. He’d appeared sometime in the last half hour, seemingly from out of nowhere, but more likely from one of the rooms at the back Val
hadn’t noticed until now, and had effortlessly assumed control of the investigation. Although what exactly he was investigating still wasn’t clear. “We’ll take it from here.”

“What exactly are you taking?” Val asked.

“We’ll do everything we can to locate your daughter, Mrs. Rowe. I’ve assigned a team to start searching the woods …”

“Have your search teams been successful in their search for David Gowan?”

Mike Jones looked toward the other rangers present. “We’re pretty convinced that Mr. Gowan is no longer in the area.”

“So, the answer is no, you haven’t found him.”

“We’re pretty certain that come Monday morning, he’ll be back at work …”

“Just like Henry Voight showed up for work today?”

“We’re getting off topic here, Mrs. Rowe.”

“I don’t think we are,” Val said forcefully, continuing before he could object. “Look. Three people are missing: David Gowan, Henry Voight, and my daughter, all of whom have mysteriously vanished in the last few days. What’s more, there is someone patrolling the woods impersonating a park ranger and wearing a uniform that likely belongs to the missing Henry Voight. Which, I don’t know, kind of suggests the possibility of foul play to me.”

“I don’t think we should be jumping to conclusions …”

“This man actually talked to my daughter and my friend here,” Val interrupted, indicating Jennifer, “last night.”

“And Miss Logan has given us a description of the man she talked to,” Mike Jones interrupted, “and we’ll be circulating that description …”

“Fine,” Val said, realizing this was the first time she was hearing Jennifer’s maiden name, that she’d gotten used to thinking of her as the other Mrs. Rowe, that they were, in some perverse
way, related. “What else are you doing? Have you called the FBI?”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary at this point.”

“When
will
you think it’s necessary?”

“Mrs. Rowe, I understand your concern,” Mike Jones said. “I really do. I have teenage daughters of my own, so believe me, I know the kind of hell you’re going through right now. But let’s look at the facts. The first fact is that yesterday afternoon your daughter was found by our rangers having sex with her boyfriend in a public place.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me of that.”

“Fact number two is that she snuck out of the campsite last night at midnight to go meet this boy. Quite willingly, from what I understand.”

“Yes. I’m not arguing with you …”

“Fact number three is that there was a fight with this man’s son,” Mike Jones continued, nodding toward Gary, who was standing ramrod straight at Val’s side. “A fight that left him unconscious at the side of the road.”

“Brianne wasn’t responsible for what Tyler Currington did to Hayden,” Val said, looking to Gary for support. Gary quickly looked away, unwilling to hold her gaze. What did that mean? she wondered. That he
did
consider Brianne at least partly responsible, that he might decide to press charges against her after all?

“Be that as it may, Mrs. Rowe, your daughter then drove off in a car with this boy. So, at the very least, you can see why she may not be in a hurry to come back and face the music. She may be afraid …”

“Brianne’s not afraid of anything,” Val said.

Fearless
, she heard Gary say. Again, she glanced in his
direction, wondering if he was thinking the same thing. But he was staring at the floor, and didn’t look up.

“I’m just saying that the odds are that your daughter is just too embarrassed to face you at this time. Just like David Gowan is too embarrassed to face his wife …”

“And Henry Voight? What’s he embarrassed about?”

“We’ll be looking into that.”

“And, in the meantime, we’re supposed to just sit around here and wait?”

“Actually, I’d suggest going back to the campground office. That way, you’ll be there should your daughter decide to return, and I can reach you by phone as soon as I hear anything.”

“And if you don’t hear anything?”

“Suppose we give it to the end of the day. If your daughter still hasn’t turned up, we’ll notify the state troopers.”

“Why can’t we do that now?” Val pressed.

A phone rang. Seconds later, Steve Severin approached, leaning in toward Mike Jones. “They’ve found Tyler Currington’s car,” he announced.

“I KNOW YOU, don’t I?” Brianne said to the girl, taking several steps forward and shielding her eyes against the sudden reappearance of the sun.

Nikki looked from Brianne to Henry and then back again. “I don’t think so.”

“Yes, I do. I saw you at the lodge,” Brianne continued, recognizing Nikki as the young woman who’d plowed into her mother at the elevators when they’d first arrived, almost knocking her down, then giving them all the finger.

“No. I don’t think so.” Again, Nikki looked toward Henry.

“It could have been you,” Henry said easily. “We go there sometimes for dinner.”

“Yeah. Sometimes my grandmother gives us money, tells us to go live it up. She’s cool that way.”

“Your grandmother?”

Nikki indicated the cottage behind her with a lazy flick of her thumb. “This is her place.”

Brianne’s eyes shot toward Henry, watching him flinch. Hadn’t he said this was
his
cottage, that his parents had left it to him when they died?

Sometimes terrible things happen to good people
, she distinctly recalled him saying, although it was entirely possible she’d misinterpreted his remarks. She was beyond exhausted. Not to mention weak from hunger and dying of thirst. Under the circumstances, it was easy to get confused.

“Anyway, I don’t remember seeing you there,” Nikki was saying now.

“I was with my mother and her friends.”

“Sounds like lots of fun.” Nikki made no attempt to mask her sarcasm. “Come on in.” She opened the cottage door and stepped inside.

Brianne followed the girl into the cottage, Henry right behind her. Immediately she became aware of a vaguely unpleasant smell. She tried to identify it, but failed. “What’s that smell?”

“We think it’s a dead animal,” Henry said, glaring at Nikki. “I thought you were going to spray.”

“I did,” Nikki said testily.
“English Garden.”

“A bunch of raccoons were fighting with each other last week,” Henry said. “We think one of them might have crawled under the cottage to die.”

“Kenny keeps saying he’s going to go under there and dig them out but—”

“Who’s Kenny?” Brianne asked.

Nikki paled.

“Friend of mine,” Henry said. “He doesn’t mind doing that sort of thing. He’s just been a little busy lately.”

“We don’t really notice the smell so much anymore,” Nikki said. “It’s worse when the wind blows a certain way.”

“You’ll forget about it in a few minutes,” Henry added.

Brianne’s eyes skipped across the room. This place is a mess, she thought in her mother’s voice. There was dust everywhere. Dirty dishes filled the sink. Cutlery was scattered everywhere, including the kitchen floor. The pillows on the sofa were hopelessly askew. A large rug had been rolled up and left in front of a stone fireplace that was filled to overflowing with ashes, the underside of the rug filthy and covered with stains that looked fresh, even damp. She couldn’t imagine anybody’s grandmother living in such a mess.

Not even her own.

Of course her mother paid a woman to come in once a week to keep her grandmother’s apartment relatively neat and clean. Neat and clean were clearly not priorities in this cottage, where everything appeared more than slightly
off
. Including this girl, Nikki, Brianne thought, in her oversized floral dress with the old-fashioned rhinestone brooch pinned carelessly into the folds above her left breast. “Do you think we could try calling the campground?” she asked. “My mother is probably half out of her mind.”

“Already on it,” Henry said, holding up his phone and punching in a series of numbers. “Babe, you think you could get our guest something to eat?”

“There’s not a whole lot of stuff left,” Nikki said.

“That’s okay. I don’t need much.” Brianne’s appetite had pretty much evaporated the instant she walked through the
door. “Actually, just a glass of water would be great. I’m dying of thirst.”

Nikki laughed, as if Brianne had just said something very funny, and walked slowly into the kitchen, searching haphazardly through the cupboards for a glass, as if she wasn’t quite sure where to find them.

Please let there be a clean one, Brianne prayed, relieved when the girl finally retrieved one from the back of a cupboard directly over the sink. She watched Nikki fill the glass with water, then return to the main room, arm extended, a thin, wriggly red line snaking from the underside of her elbow to her wrist, like a tattoo. Or dried blood, she thought. Had Nikki cut herself?

“Don’t know how cold it is,” Nikki said as Brianne raised the glass to her lips, drinking the water down in one gulp.

“Easy there,” Henry advised. “You don’t want to get sick again.” Then, into the phone, “Yes, hello. Yes, this is Henry Voight with the park rangers. I’m trying to locate a Mrs.…?” He looked toward Brianne.

“Valerie Rowe,” Brianne told him quickly. “R-O-W-E.”

“Valerie Rowe,” he repeated. “I believe she and her friends stayed with you last night. Yes. R-O-W-E. That’s right. Of course, I’ll hold.”

“Do you think I could have another glass of water?”

“Why don’t you make Brianne some of your cranberry and peach tea?” Henry suggested. “Tea is very good for you.”

“No, that’s fine. Really. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. Water’s already boiled,” Nikki said. She pointed toward the sofa. “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

Brianne didn’t have to be asked twice. Despite the mess and the smell—or maybe because of them—she was having trouble staying upright. She collapsed onto the sofa, fatigue settling
across her shoulders like a heavy blanket, weighing her down. Had she ever been so utterly exhausted in her entire life? Her head swiveled toward the bedrooms at the back of the cottage, wondering again what had happened to Tyler and thinking how nice it would be to stretch out in a nice soft bed, get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep before having to confront her mother. “Is your grandmother still sleeping?” she asked.

“My grandmother?” Nikki dropped a tea bag into a mug and filled it with water from the kettle, surreptitiously slipping three Percodan into the mix.

Brianne wondered absently how long the water had been sitting there, if it was still even hot. “I’m sorry. I thought you said this was her cottage.” For the second time that morning, Brianne was starting to think she might be hallucinating, that this whole interlude was part of another vaguely sinister dream.

“She’s away for a few days. Here,” Nikki said, handing her the tea. “Drink up.” She watched closely as Brianne swallowed most of the tea in one long sip. “How is it?”

“Great,” Brianne said, although in truth, the tea was merely lukewarm and tasted more bitter than sweet. Still, she was so thirsty she finished the rest of it without further prompting. “Thanks.” She glanced toward Henry. “Have they located my mother yet?”