Back of Beyond (21 page)

Cut-ups,
Cody thought. Or liars. A three-man team of killers from the East? He shook his head. The idea didn’t grab him, and seemed much too cinematic and far-fetched. He moved on.

Rachel Mina was single. She didn’t indicate whether she was divorced, widowed, or never married. A hospital administrator on leave from Chicago. She was thirty-seven and weighed 115 pounds. In Cody’s experience, that meant he should add a few years and at least ten pounds, so he scratched in “40” and “125” on the page. Mina indicated she was a vegetarian (fish was okay) and intermediate rider. She wrote: “Discovery tour.”

He wondered what “on leave” meant. His first thought was she seemed to be the only one of the clients thus far who might have had the free time—and means—to visit homes in four states and leave bodies and ashes behind. But a woman, and a single one at that?

Discovery tour,
Cody mouthed, squinting through smoke at the page. It sounded phony and new-agey, he thought. Or facetious. And an interaction between a hospital administrator and Hank Winters seemed possible.

He placed her application aside from the others into what he thought of as the hot stack.

Tristan Glode was the president and CEO of The Glode Company of St. Louis. Cody didn’t know what the company did but planned to find out. Glode was sixty-one and claimed to be an expert rider. He’d indicated he weighed 211 pounds and had written in the margin that he had bad knees and would prefer a Tennessee walker for a horse. In the margin, someone (Jed?) had scribbled, “Call Pat.” Cody guessed Pat, whomever he or she was, knew of a walker that could be leased for the trip.

In the space for what Tristan was seeking, he wrote, “TBD.” To be determined.

“What the hell does that mean?” Cody grumbled, thinking the man sounded arrogant. Asking for a specifically gaited horse, claiming to be an expert rider, listing his weight at 211 pounds. Anyone normal would write “210,” Cody thought.

He put Glode’s application in the hot stack with Mina’s. Now he had two prime suspects.

Then he read the next application: Donna Glode, sixty, St. Louis, 130 pounds. Another expert rider. For what she was seeking she wrote, “Yellowstone by horseback. A peaceful journey.”

So, husband and wife. Cody reached over and pulled Tristan’s application and put it on the cold pile along with his wife’s.

Ted Sullivan, forty-five, was divorced and lived in Minneapolis. He was a 185-pound software engineer with a firm called Anderson/Sullivan/Hart. He’d scratched an “X” between beginner and intermediate, slightly closer to beginner. Very precise and engineerlike, Cody thought. And in carefully printed handwriting, Sullivan said, “I hope to gain a closer and more intimate relationship with my daughters, Gracie and Danielle. I hope it will be the greatest shared experience of our lives.” He listed his emergency contact as his ex-wife.

Nice, Cody thought. Heartfelt. He skimmed over the applications for Sullivan’s daughters, ruling them out immediately.

He started to toss the three documents on the cold pile, then stopped himself. He retained Ted’s app and looked it over again. At first, he’d thought there would be no way for the father to have done the crimes with teenage girls around, and based out of Minneapolis. But because the man was divorced, that meant it was possible the girls hadn’t been with him until recently. Cody had never heard of Anderson/Sullivan/Hart but the fact that it was simply a string of surnames and that they apparently felt no need to add “software” or “consulting” or “business solutions” to the end of it indicated that they either wanted to be thought of highly or they
were
prestigious. Meaning it was a good likelihood Sullivan traveled. Cody often saw men like Sullivan in airports; road warriors who were constantly on their Bluetooth cell phones and computers, those things hanging out of their ears, talking to clients all over the country and checking in with their colleagues to form strategies and solutions.

But would a cold-blooded killer pause to take his daughters on a wilderness pack trip? Cody asked himself. His answer was, not likely. Still, though, he couldn’t rule him out and he put the application between the hot and cold stacks.

Cody looked at the last application and whistled. As he read over it he started to nod. Jesus:

K. W. Wilson, fifty-eight, Salt Lake City, Utah. No marital status indicated. No occupation listed except “transportation.” One hundred seventy pounds and an intermediate rider. Under dietary restrictions Wilson had scrawled, “No cheese.” For what he was seeking, Wilson had written, “Fishing and adventure.”

Cody said to the application, “Congratulations, you’re now number one,” and placed it on the hot stack.

Doubts remained, however, if he was even on the right track.

*   *   *

Cody remembered seeing a business
center in the lobby with two computers for guests. He gathered the applications back into the file to take them downstairs. He’d find more about all of the names, as well as get some background on The Glode Company, Anderson/Sullivan/Hart, Rachel Mina’s hospital, and anything he could locate on K. W. Wilson.

His cell went off and danced across the surface of the desk since he’d set it to ring and vibrate.

He checked the display: Larry.

“About time,” he said.

“Are you sitting down?” Larry asked.

16

Gracie wished she’d unpacked
her heavier jacket because when the sun doused behind the mountains the temperature dropped a quick twenty degrees or more within minutes, as if the thin mountain air was incapable of retaining the afternoon heat. She thought about going back to her tent to dig out her hoodie, but the instant darkness didn’t encourage a trip and the warmth and light of the campfire held her in place as if it had strong gravitational pull.

She was sitting on a smooth downed log with Danielle and Justin. She couldn’t stop staring into the fire, which was mesmerizing. The meal had been huge and consisted of things she normally didn’t like that much: steak, baked potatoes, baked beans, half a cob of corn dripping with butter. She’d wolfed most of it down, leaving only a quarter of the steak. She had no idea why she’d felt so hungry, or how the food possibly tasted so good. The apple cobbler baked in a jet-black Dutch oven was one of the best things she’d ever eaten, and she’d had two helpings of it. Her mouth still tasted of cinnamon from the cobbler and hot fat from the meat. Now, the entire meal sat in her stomach as heavy as a rock, and it made her sleepy and uncomfortable.

Normally, Gracie hated it when portions of food touched each other on her plate. This time, though, she didn’t care that the steak tasted of bean juice and the potato turned pink because it sat in pooled grease. It was all so wonderful she’d nearly forgotten about what had happened earlier. But not completely.

Earlier, when Dakota had twirled an iron bar around on the inside of a battered metal triangle to signal dinner, they’d all stopped whatever it was they were doing and lined up at the portable aluminum kitchen station holding empty tin plates. One by one, they presented their plates so Jed McCarthy and Dakota could serve the slabs of meat and plop down the sides. The line was interrupted once when Tony D’Amato whooped—and jumped back—when he saw a snake slither through the grass between his feet.

“Damn,” he shouted, his voice high-pitched. “It went over my
boot
.”

Dakota reacted quickly and tossed her spoon aside and chased down the snake. She grabbed it behind its head and held it up, asking if anyone wanted it for dinner. D’Amato and his friends laughed at that, and he seemed embarrassed by his outcry. Danielle, who was standing in line in front of Gracie, had turned and said, “Great. Snakes, too. This place
sucks.
”

“It’s harmless,” Gracie said. “It’s just a snake. Maybe we should try it.”

“Just a snake,” Danielle said. “Jesus, you’re weird.”

*   *   *

Gracie sat quietly while
Justin and Danielle talked. She eavesdropped halfheartedly, absorbed with re-creating the incident up at the latrine that Danielle seemed to have already forgotten. Something had happened up there that bothered her, because it suggested someone on the trip had an agenda besides the adventure itself. It reminded her that people could be evil, something she believed more and more the older she got.

Danielle, however, was at her charming best. Subjects ranged from their schools to Facebook pages to sports, television shows, and bands. Gracie found herself rolling her eyes each time Danielle and Justin discovered more and more common bonds. When Danielle mentioned their parents were divorced, Justin said, “Shit, mine too.”

Justin was handsome and well built but shallow, Gracie thought. Exactly Danielle’s type. Gracie wanted to warn him now, before it was too late. But she didn’t think he wanted to know what her sister could be like, how she collected and discarded boys like him. And, Gracie thought, maybe he wouldn’t even care. It wasn’t like he was on the trip to establish a meaningful relationship, was it?

The more Gracie stared at the fire, the more interesting it was. Unlike her sister and Justin.

“So your dad has you for the summer?” Justin asked Danielle.

“Sort of,” her sister said, keeping her voice low so only Justin—and Gracie, unfortunately—could hear her. “My dad’s had a bug up his butt about this trip for a year. It’s like a father-daughter bonding thing, I guess.”

Justin said, “Same here, only Walt is my stepdad. He thinks we’ll become lifelong buds after this or something. He thinks fly-fishing is, you know,
religious
or something. And it’s all right, I like it and all, but Walt is kind of old and everything. So I don’t know.”

“What’s your real dad like?” Danielle asked, leaning closer to him. “Is he around, I mean?”

Justin hesitated, then shook his head. “He’s okay. He’s a cop. He’s tough to figure out. Sometimes he’s a great guy, and sometimes he’s just an asshole.”

Danielle acted like that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard, and covered her mouth while she leaned back and laughed, making sure to grasp Justin’s thigh to keep her balance.

“He’s in Montana,” Justin said, “but he calls me and stuff. He never knows what to say and neither do I. He sends me stuff—fishing rods, computer games, CDs, things he thinks I’ll like. But,” he said, leaning even closer to her and lowering his voice, “sometimes he forgets to take the evidence tags off. I mean, I’ll get a set of walkie-talkies with a piece of tape on ’em that says ‘Exhibit A’ or some damned thing.”

Which made Danielle squeal with laughter. Gracie tried to tune her out.

After a few minutes, Danielle shoved her and nearly knocked her off the log. Justin chuckled.

“What?”
Gracie said.

“I was talking to you,” her sister said softly, not wanting the others to overhear.

“I thought you were talking to Jason.”

“Justin,” she corrected. “And I was. I was telling him about what happened earlier up on the mountain and I said you were there as my witness.”

Gracie looked over. Their faces were lit with firelight. Justin
was
good-looking, but the way his eyes reflected the fire made him look kind of creepy. And, she wondered, was it him? Then she dismissed it because he’d been fishing with Walt at the time.

Justin leaned toward her, resting his hand on Danielle’s knee. Her sister didn’t seem to mind.

“So you think it was that Wilson guy?” Justin whispered.

“I don’t know,” Gracie said. “But I noticed he’s wearing moccasins tonight so we can’t see his boots.”

Justin started to turn his head to confirm it but Danielle clasped her hands on both sides of his face and said, “Don’t look, silly. He’ll know we’re onto him.”

Then she stood up. “Now just keep an eye on him. I’ve got to go pee.”

“Again?” Gracie said.

Danielle narrowed her eyes at her sister and said, “This time I’m not going up to that stupid toilet. I’ll be back in a second. Don’t try to steal Justin away, as if you could.”

After she was gone, Gracie and Justin sat together uncomfortably. Or at least Gracie did.

Justin said, “Your sister seems nice.”

“She isn’t.”

Justin chuckled. “I guess what I mean is she could be nice, if she tried.”

“Don’t count on it,” Gracie said, warming to him. “I know her.”

“There’s good in everybody, Gracie.”

She looked over to see if he was serious. He was. He said, “I always expect the best out of people. I think when you do that, you get the best most of the time. I just kind of bump along, expecting the best, and good things just happen. That’s my secret.”

She said, “Why are you telling me your secret?” She was flattered. She thought a strapping, good-looking guy like Justin would be unapproachable in every instance. He was too handsome, too confident, and too cool.

“I’ll tell anyone who will listen,” he said softly. “What I can’t figure out is why everybody doesn’t do it. Look for the best, I mean. It’s easy, and it makes life go easier.”

Gracie just stared. He was too good to be true, she thought. Her instincts were not to trust him.

“That’s a nice thing, I guess,” she said to her shoes.

“Sure it is. Just accept yourself and look for the good in others. It’s not complicated.”

“Do you see good in me?” Gracie asked.

He smiled. He even had a nice smile. “Of course. You watch out for your sister and your dad, I think.”

“So who watches out for me?”

“I will, if you want,” he said sincerely.

Gracie shook her head. She’d never met someone so comfortable in their own skin. It weirded her out. There must be more to him, she thought. A dark side. But when she looked into his open face and that impossible smile, she couldn’t see it. No one was that good. Maybe he was a
sociopath
. And she felt immediately guilty for thinking it.

“See how it works?” he said, as if reading her mind.

Gracie was grateful when Danielle suddenly reappeared and grasped Justin’s face between her hands before sitting back down.