Last Track, The (13 page)

“I never would have thought you had work done,” Jessica said. She meant it. Cara looked like an all-natural, pampered woman.

“The best surgery looks like nothing was done at all,” Cara said. “And costs a fortune.” Here she giggled.

Shifting gears, Jessica said, “Andy had a good time playing with your girls today.”

“My daughters won’t stop talking about it,” Cara said. “Any time you need me to watch him this week, just holler.”

“That’s so nice of you!” The invitation surprised Jessica.

“We mothers have to stick together,” said Cara. “And that way, you have a shot at some grown-up time with you-know-who.”

Jessica stared at her blankly.

“E-R-I-C-H.” Cara rolled her eyes.

Jessica was at a loss for a response. Despite avoiding thoughts like this, here the truth found its target. Smacked her right in the face, even.

Erich was a great-looking diversion, but there was no guarantee he actually liked her. He could certainly flirt, and like any good business owner he could charm a client. Erich might be nothing more than a fisherman who strung lines of compliments together like lures. He might not even care which particular net worked, only that one did. And each time she heard his name in conversation, the possibility that he was married or gay grounded her.

Finally Jessica spoke. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Maybe you’re thinking too much.”

07:02:58 PM

Very little daylight remained for the searchers. Mike could track through most weather events and conditions, save a blizzard or thunderstorm. But working at night over an area with no clear boundaries—the kind investigators established at crime scenes—greatly increased the odds of a mistake. They would need to stop soon and rest.

Mike mentally took their inventory. A bit of provisions, the core supplies still intact, and they had suffered no injuries. A good start. By Mike’s estimates and the GPS waypoints, they had gone close to twelve miles today. If not great navigation skills, the boy had stamina. Signs of their progress abounded, though there were miles still to travel before they slept. Even then, rest meant finding shelter first, a spot up on higher ground that offered a bit of cover.

They hiked for some time with only their footfalls between them.

Out of sight, water pulsed through a streambed, and roared above the background noise. Hearing it at once, both men stopped and glanced through the canopy toward the sound.

“I’m going to check out that running water,” Dagget said. “Maybe there’s some fish. I’ll top off the canteens.”

Mike agreed. He wanted to speak with Jessica without Dagget eavesdropping. “Let’s meet back here in fifteen minutes,” he said. “While you’re gone, I’ll scout out a potential campsite.” So there was no doubt about the rendezvous point, he jammed two reflective markers in the soil, and formed an X beside Dagget’s boots.

Jessica’s phone rolled calls straight to voice mail. He gave a quick overview of the search, and then wished her and Andy a good night. He hoped they returned the message soon.

Tapping
end
with his thumb,
number unknown
flashed on the screen. He answered.

“Mike Brody,” a voice said. “I have a business proposition for you.” The electronically altered voice could be male or female. It was nearly monotone, with the identifying inflections removed.

“Actually, I’m on vacation right now,” Mike said. “Let me give you my office number and you can speak with Erin Sykes, my associate. Whatever sort of excursion package you’re looking for, she can help.”

“Ms. Sykes can’t help me find a missing boy, can she?”

Mike stopped, suddenly wary.

“Who is this?”

“You have something I want, Mike, and I have something you want. That’s much more consequential than introductions.”

“I don’t understand,” Mike said.

“Bad things can happen in the woods, my friend. You know, two men disappeared last spring a few miles from where you’re standing right now. They were never found.”

“What is it you want?” asked Mike. He had a sinking feeling about what the voice was after.

“For you to do what you were recruited to do. Find the boy,” said the voice. “And when you reach him, you let me know first. I’ll take it from there.”

“First off,” Mike said, “tracking is a best-effort situation. I never make any guarantees that I will find anyone. I can’t. Only a fool would promise that. Second, if I find Sean before the rest of the searchers, the only place he’s going is to a hospital with his parents, not off with some stranger.”

“You’re more motivated than the others, Mike. This is why you will succeed.” A long pause on the other end. “
The Velveteen Rabbit wears a brown skirt
is quite an unusual expression, wouldn’t you say? Cryptic, like a code.”

The code phrase,
Mike thought, clearing his throat.
The key to Andy’s trust.
How did they get that?
Only three people in the world knew it. And yet somehow this stranger did, too. It was disconcerting.

The voice continued. “When I first heard the expression, I wasn’t sure what to make of it without some context. But since it’s scribbled on a recent photograph of your son, it probably means something. By the way, Andy is a real cute boy,” the voice said. “Now about our deal . . .”

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” Mike said. “And I don’t do business with nameless people who hide in the shadows.”

“This can go hard on your family, Mike, or this can go very easy. Take the easy road.”

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t even think about going to the cops with this, or it’s over for them right now.” Another beat. “You can call me the Partner. We’ll talk again soon.”

07:21:37 PM

At the bonfire, tall flames licked the air and lobbed embers into the blackness. Wood crackled. The scent of seasoned wood, domestic beers, and barbecued pork encircled the group. Children played flashlight tag, whooping in the night beyond the clutches of their parents. A full moon drifted westward across the sky. Near the buffet table a horde of people surrounded a cooler the size of a coffin.

Loaded with ice and chilled beverages, the red-sided cooler held more booze than sodas or water. Nearby, Jessica drank from a long-necked bottle and chatted with those who approached. She might have felt anxious, but her actions suggested otherwise. No matter what bothered her inside, Jessica could work a crowd. Her station, so natural looking to the other guests, was deliberate.

She knew precisely where to stand: close to the action without obstructing the beverage line. As people fished through the ice, she matched faces to brands, and committed both to memory.

Once the alcohol took hold of the group, her real work began. Circulating, Jessica met everyone she could, on the hunt for a hook she might use in her article. Many great quotes were accidents, offhand statements from unexpected places. A modern day Lao-tzu probably floundered among the crowd, and awaited discovery; she saw it as her job to unearth that diamond.

Less-experienced drinkers lost coherence by the sip, so she targeted them early. Jessica appeared at the proper moment. Right as a guest finished his beer of choice. And before he drew from a nearly empty bottle, Jessica stepped up with a fresh replacement. No one refused her. With a rapport established, she drew them into a conversation. And though her lead-in questions varied throughout the night, her purpose remained the same: to unravel what a particular guest thought about the Pine Woods Ranch.

Jessica said to a couple from Minnesota, “I’d just love to hear your impressions of the ranch.” Simple declarative statements concealed her questions.

“This is the only vacation where it doesn’t matter who you are. However important you are out there, for a week in here we all share the same experience,” said a man with a suntan that looked like it came from a bottle.

Moments later Jessica asked a couple who said they were from New Jersey, “You’ve visited many times; what keeps you so interested?”

“What keeps me coming back?” the male half of the couple said. “It’s got nothing to do with the office. No one asks about the office. No one even mentions it.”

Jessica suspected that, deep down, the man actually wanted to be asked about his job, that he was a workaholic. She fought back the urge to confirm this suspicion.

Moving among the guests revealed a mixture of viewpoints. Some came for the fresh air. Some enjoyed the horseback riding and personal instruction. Others liked the blend of ruggedness and personal amenities.

She checked on Andy. For her sanity, and perhaps her conscience, she had set Andy up with an activity that kept him close: trapping fireflies. The twin girls played too, racing after insects then clamping the metal lids against the mason jars. Jessica checked on the bug-catching crew every few minutes. Periodically she ditched the main party and brought the kids snacks and sodas.

On one pass, she ran into Chappy, who held a plate of food, and a beer. “You’re hungry,” Chappy said. “I can tell.”

“How did you know exactly what I wanted?” she said glibly.

“I got a sense for people’s tastes,” Chappy said. With a nod, he gave Jessica the plate, and took her empty bottle. After tossing the glass in a recycling container, he returned from the cooler and drank deeply from a bottle of his own.

“So are you enjoying my fire?”

“It’s fantastic,” Jessica said. “Very nice job.”

“I loved starting the bonfires,” Chappy said. “Back when this was all mine.”

“Really?” A part of her had trouble imagining Chappy as a business man.

“Uh-huh,” Chappy said. “Biggest mistake I ever made was losing the ranch. I’m working on the financing to get it back, though.”

Several times Jessica caught herself avoiding Cara. Not because Jessica disliked the woman. In fact, Jessica considered Cara engaging. And she really admired Cara’s fashion sense. But she avoided Cara because it meant girl chat, and Jessica was unprepared; there was no news. An hour into the bonfire, Erich remained at large—a bit disappointing.

For now, Jessica worked the crowd, watched, and listened. Hearing all those stories, in the words of the speakers, made the evening pass more quickly. The large group thinned a bit; the chatter persisted on in small groups. Jessica moved closer to the fire, holding her arms across her chest for warmth.

Cara appeared, bearing two fresh beers. “We need more drinks!”

“Okay,” Jessica said, “but this is my last.” Three beers in two hours seemed like a good cutoff point to Jessica. Sensible without being prudish. “I feel so out of touch without my cell phone. I can’t believe it.”

“Well, I can’t believe Erich skipped his own party,” Cara said. “You can use my phone if you need to.”

“Let’s give Erich a chance,” Jessica said. “He has a ranch to run.”

Cara winked and said, “You’ll give him more than one chance, I bet. I would.”

The fire cooled. Cara left to check on her twins. With a massive black poker, Chappy rearranged a few logs. Flames rose higher. Embers sparked into the night. Then the fire settled.

Andy raced by with his jar, the girls in tow.

“A fire is like a life, you know,” Erich said, behind her. “We burn bright, we burn fast, and someday, we burn out.”

She liked the line and would use it somehow. Best of all, it came from someone who arrived at the right moment. She faced Erich.

“I have something for you,” Erich said. He held yet another beer. Unlike the others, this was her brand of choice.

“Sorry. I’m at my limit for the evening.” A reaction purely of reflex, it was a refusal she regretted instantly.

“I’d say you want one more,” Erich said.

“Would I?” She gave him points for confidence, and wondered if it was real or a front. She wanted it to be real. She wanted him to be genuine. “Is that your opinion?”

“I’m quite open with my opinions around you.” Erich grinned.

“You know,” Jessica said, “sooner or later everyone gets the face they deserve.” Her words sounded harsher than she intended. Silently she cursed her clumsiness; she had meant something else entirely. Something flattering. What she said was anything but.

His smile disappeared. Flatly, Erich said, “Never fashioned you for a plagiarist, Jessica.”

If there was one charge that rattled a journalist to the core, it was the theft of another’s words. Particularly a seasoned reporter like Jessica. “Come again?”

“Henri Cartier-Bresson said that about aging. As you are an avid photographer, I presume you’ve heard of him,” Erich said as a statement of fact, with no trace of condescension.

“Of course.” Bresson’s photography was brilliant. She enjoyed his work and was a major fan of his black-and-white studies. The actual quote as she recalled it:
after a certain age, you get the face you deserve.
An insightful admonishment, much like the man. More interesting to Jessica was that no one had ever recognized the source of the quote before, much less corrected her oversight. Instead of being offended—like she expected—she was impressed. “Really though, I don’t make a habit of non-attributed quotes.”

“I understand,” Erich said. “So, are you finding everything you’re looking for at the Pine Woods Ranch?”

A tight opening line still eluded her, though she was having fun. “I think I can figure out what I need to.” This she said a bit coyly.

“I’m sure you can.” Erich nodded. “And how about this beer?” He still held the opened bottle in his left hand. Positive there was no wedding band, she checked his ring finger again anyway. All clear. To be safe, she checked the right hand, too. His manicured hands were bare, the skin smooth.

“Normally,” Jessica said, “I’d refuse, but since you are so very thoughtful . . .” The bottle was warm from where his hand had gripped the glass.

“Before I go, I have a confession,” Erich said.

“There’s a dangerous thing to say to a reporter.” Jessica sipped.

“I was watching you tonight,” Erich said. “What a clever way to meet everyone. I’m impressed.”