On Deadly Ground. Lauren Nichols
the site.
She blew out a breath. “Really, Maggie. All this over a few elk?” Her yard was a constant stopover for animals making their way from the woods west of her house to the clover and trefoil across the highway. She loved to see them come through. They were shedding their winter coats now, and the bulls had just begun to sprout velvety antlers. Soon, they’d be stately and majestic again. But obviously Maggie wasn’t as impressed with them as Rachel was.
“Come on,” she grumbled. She gave the leash another tug, then gingerly crossed the stones and climbed the steps behind the now-unconcerned dog. “Back to bed with you. You have the luxury of staying up all night and sleeping all day. I don’t.”
At least this little foray took care of a question she’d been pondering. No way was she getting a dog of her own. Chronic insomnia was bad enough without having a four-legged nutcase sound the alarm every time a few elk showed up. Nope, no dogs or guns for her.
Sweat flowed from his pores as he scrambled frantically on the ground, trying to be quiet, feeling one-handed for the keys he’d dropped in the ferns and undergrowth. In the other hand, he gripped the handle of the pick and prayed he wouldn’t have to use it. Where had that dog come from? She didn’t have a dog!
He touched something cold and mushy in the vegetation—a disgusting slug!—but he kept his hand moving, moving. Then his fingertips bumped his key ring and his heart nearly burst in relief as he snatched it up. Fifty yards away, lights on the elevated side deck still blazed. The inside lights, too.
Jamming his keys deeply into his jeans pocket, he retrieved the pick, shovel and bag beside him and waited for the house lights to go out. He’d stopped the construction temporarily, but the problem remained. So did he stay or leave? This time, she’d blamed his nosing around on the mutt’s interest in the elk. But if he alerted the dog again, she could call the police, and that could start a more diligent investigation. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed. Swallowed again. Maybe … maybe he was out of options.
The house went dark.
Then slowly, painstakingly, he picked his way through the woods to the logging road where he’d concealed his SUV … trembling as an anxious little voice hissed at him, whispered things he doubted he was capable of … murmured that desperate times called for desperate measures. He resisted at first. But in the end, he knew what he had to do. There was only one way to ensure his freedom, and that was to make sure the land stayed as it was. Natural, unspoiled, covered by grass and weeds.
She wouldn’t need a mini golf course if she was dead.
The next morning, Rachel smiled as Maggie nosed her dog food dish aside and padded over to the stove where Rachel was frying scrambled eggs.
“I don’t blame you,” she said, stirring another egg to the pan. “No slumber party I ever went to ended with Kibbles ‘n Bits.” She gestured with her spatula. “Not that you deserve anything better after waking me up last night. But being a nice, Christian woman, I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.” In a minute, she filled two plates, put Maggie’s aside to cool, then set hers on the table next to her fruited yogurt and tea. She’d just asked the blessing and picked up her fork when the phone rang.
Rachel strode to the phone to check the caller ID and could tell by the number that it was a cell phone call. She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“So how did the slumber party go? Did she make a pest of herself or did she behave?”
The sound of his voice brought a smile to her lips and a little leap to her pulse. “We had a very nice evening. Your girl was a perfect lady. Although I have to tell you, she’s not much of a conversationalist, and she really doesn’t like the local wapiti.”
“She barked at the elk?”
“She did, and she wasn’t shy about it. They couldn’t have cared less, though. They just went about their business.”
“That’s surprising,” he returned. “She’s flighty sometimes, but she usually ignores the elk.”
“Maybe she didn’t appreciate their being so close to the house.” Rachel laughed. “Or maybe she’s just on edge because of the P-R-O-W-L-E-R. Anyway, she was great company. We were just about to have breakfast.”
“Then I won’t keep you,” he said, and her spirits fell. “I’ll pick Maggie up around five or six, depending on construction traffic. It’s a real mess down here.”
Rachel smiled against the receiver. “Okay. See you then. Travel safely.”
“Yep, see you.”
She’d just settled at the table again when two honks and the sound of an approaching vehicle drew a sharp bark from Maggie. Rachel sighed. Obviously, God thought she liked cold eggs.
“Sorry, girl,” she said, heading outside with Maggie trailing. “It’s not him. He can’t be in two places at once.”
A shiny black truck with a gun rack in the back window rolled down the drive and came to a stop. Tammy Reston got out, carrying a hefty package. Tammy was a pretty blonde with the long, teased and sprayed hair of a country singer, dancer’s legs and—according to the bumper sticker on her truck—a proud member of the NRA. Her camouflage skirt, tank top and cropped vest seemed to bear that out. Tammy ran Charity’s sporting goods store, had a sideline parcel delivery business and sold more blue-ribbon pies out of her backroom kitchen than the bakery did.
Rachel descended the steps to meet her.
“Hey, Rachel,” Tammy said. “Got a package for you.”
“Thanks. It’s probably my new microwave for the store. But you didn’t have to deliver it.” Usually Tammy sent a postcard letting her know a package had arrived. “I could have picked it up when I went to town for my mail.”
“Nah. I have a package for your gorgeous neighbor down the road, too, so I was going to be in the area anyway.” She spotted Maggie then, and added wryly, “But he’s not at home is he?”
Rachel hid a smile. That certainly answered her question about special deliveries. “He had a meeting.”
“Probably just as well,” Tammy replied, laughing. “It’s hard to go home to meat loaf when you’ve had a peek at ambrosia.”
This time Rachel did smile. “Now, now. Your Joe’s a nice-looking guy.”
“But he’s not Jake, is he?” She looked away and got quiet for a moment, then turned back to Rachel. “I think Joe’s fooling around again.”
Stunned that she’d share such personal information, Rachel remained silent.
“Come on,” she said quietly. “You’ve heard the rumors. Everyone has.”
A few years ago, yes, but Rachel hadn’t heard anything lately. “Why do you think he’s seeing someone, Tammy?”
“Because he didn’t come home a couple of nights ago. He said he went out with the guys after bowling and knew I’d be mad, so he crashed down here at our camp.” She drew a breath. “Then last night, I ran into Ellie Sennett at the Quick Mart, and she mentioned that her boyfriend had subbed for Joe Sunday night. Did you see his truck down here? It’s a dark gray Silverado.”
Sunday night? The same night someone vandalized Tim’s bulldozer? Could there be a connection? “Tammy, I’m more than a hundred yards off the highway. Unless someone drives down here, or I’m out walking the road, I rarely see anyone. Especially at night.”
“You’d tell me if you had?”
She couldn’t lie. She didn’t involve herself in other people’s business. It was tough enough to handle her own sometimes. “I don’t know.”
Tammy seemed to consider that, then nodded and moved toward her truck. “I checked the camp. Someone was definitely inside since I was there last. Things had been moved around. Maybe it was Joe. But I can’t