C Box - Trophy hunt

"Okay, Mrs. Pickett."

Marybeth turned in her seat, stern. "You girls be home in time for dinner. Stay away from those buildings in the back. And if Marie isn't feeling well enough to bring you home, you call me and I'll come get you, okay?"

Lucy nodded. Sheridan mumbled something, averting her eyes.

"What was that, Sherry?"

"Nothing."

But Marybeth had heard what Sheridan said. Like you're going to cook dinner, was what she mumbled.

Stung and hurt, Marybeth watched her girls skip toward the old house. They were leaning into each other, conspiring again. For the second time that day, she felt tears well in her eyes.

So how much farther is it?" Hailey Bond asked boldly, but there was a tremor of false courage in her voice.

"Right up here," Jessica said. "And don't talk so loud. Maybe we'll catch him in the shack."

Sheridan reluctantly followed the three younger girls. She couldn't believe she had let Lucy talk her into this. But Lucy had begged her older sister to accompany them, and Sheridan felt an obligation, and also responsibility for Lucy's well-being. If there was something to this crazy story, Sheridan thought, she wanted to be there for Lucy. It made her uncomfortable to be with the younger girls, with their chattering, and she wondered if she had ever been like that. Probably not.

"It's right up here," Jessica said, stopping and turning, holding her finger to her lips to shush everyone. "From now on, just whisper."

"You're trying to scare me," Hailey said aloud.

"Whisper!" Jessica admonished.

Hailey shrugged, trying to act brave.

This is silly, Sheridan thought. Lucy would get it for this later.

But Sheridan noticed Lucy looking at her with a false, frightened smile. Even if it was silly, Lucy was taking it seriously. Sheridan nodded to her, go on.

The shack seemed to morph out of the thick timber, as if it were a part of it. The shape of it seemed partly blurred, because it fit in so well with the trees. It was older, smaller, and more decrepit than Sheridan had imagined.

Jessica took a step ahead of the girls and turned, wide-eyed. She gestured toward the open window near the front door of the shack. This was as far as she and Lucy had been before. There was something in the air, maybe just the silence, but it got to Hailey Bond. Hailey shook her head, no.

"I'm not going closer," Hailey said in an urgent whisper. "You guys are just trying to scare me."

Sheridan noticed the smirk of satisfaction on Jessica's face. Sheridan hoped that the whole thing wasn't a setup, and that she had been asked along to legitimize it. If that turned out to be the case, Lucy would really get it later. But it didn't seem like something she would do. In fact, she had stepped back and was standing next to Sheridan, clutching at her hand.

"Let me look," Sheridan said, shaking off Lucy's hand.

The three younger girls stared at her, their eyes wide.

"Step aside," Sheridan whispered.

The girls parted, and Sheridan strode past them. She tried to walk with confidence, with courage. But she felt her knees weaken as she approached the window. She remembered Lucy saying that she and Jessica had trouble seeing in. For Sheridan, that should be no problem. Her chin was about the same height as the bottom of the windowsill.

She slowed as she neared the window. It was dark inside. She never even considered opening the door and walking in.

She approached the windowsill, stopping a few inches from it. She leaned forward, holding her breath.

There was a sleeping bag on the floor, all right. With nobody in it. There were magazines, papers, empty cans. A small gas stove. Books- hardbacks, thick ones. And, on a square of dark material, what looked like silverware. A lot of silverware.

She didn't exactly lose her nerve, but when she turned around toward the younger girls she saw them running. Hailey was gone, Jessica was disappearing into the timber. Lucy held back, fear on her face, waiting for her older sister.

Sheridan was about to tell her sister there was nothing to worry about when she noticed that Lucy's eyes had shifted from her to the side of the shack. Sheridan followed Lucy's eyes, and felt her own heart whump against her chest.

He was a tall man, thick and dirty. Sheridan saw him in profile as he came from around the shack. He was looking at Lucy. He had long, greasy hair and a wispy beard. His nose was hooked, his mouth pursed, his eyes black and narrow. He wore a heavy, dirty coat. His trousers were baggy.

"Get the HELL out of here!" he snarled at Lucy. "Go away!"

Lucy turned on her heels and ran a few feet, then stopped again. Sheridan knew why. Lucy wouldn't run without her sister.

The man hadn't yet seen Sheridan, who was now hugging the side of the building.

Sheridan hoped he wouldn't turn his head and see her.

But he did.

For a second, she looked into his eyes, which were dark and enraged. Maybe a little frightened, she thought later.

"G-g-get out of here, you l-l-little b-b-bitch!" he screamed. Her eyes slid down the front of him, at his coat. The name "Bob" was stenciled above a breast pocket.

He took a step toward her, and Sheridan ran. She had never run faster, and she overtook Lucy in seconds. She reached back, found the hand of her younger sister, and didn't let go as they weaved in and out of trees, around untrimmed brush, until they collapsed within sight of the Logue home.

An hour and a half away, after calling Marybeth to tell her that he'd be getting home later than usual, Joe drove up the two-track on the Longbrake Ranch toward the treeline where Tuff Montegue was killed. He wanted to retrace the route of Tuff Montegue, to be there in the same place and at the same time of night that the coroner suggested Tuff was killed.

There was a crisp fall chill in the air. The beginning of dusk had dropped the temperature a quick twenty degrees. The chill, along with the last of the fall colors in the aspen pockets that veined through the dark timber, seemed to heighten his senses. Sounds seemed sharper; his vision extended; even the dry, sharp smell of the sage seemed to have more of a bite. Maybe it was because just prior to darkness the wind usually stopped, and it was the stillness that brought everything out.

He was placing himself right square in the middle of it, using himself as bait. Marybeth wouldn't approve.

The grass around the murder scene was still flattened by all of the vehicles that had been up there, so it was easy to find. He stopped and killed the engine. Maxine eyed him desperately, her excitement barely contained.

"Yup, we're going to get out," he told her, "but you're sticking close to me."

With that, she began to tremble. Dogs were so easy to please, Joe thought.

Pulling on his jacket, he swung out of his pickup and drew his twelve- gauge Wingmaster pump shotgun from its scabbard behind the seat, loaded it with double-ought buckshot, and filled a jacket pocket with more shells. He pulled on a pair of thin buckskin gloves, clamped his Stetson on tight, and walked the perimeter of the crime scene. It had been cleaned up, he was glad to note. No cigarette butts or Coke cans in the grass. Max- ine worked the area as well, nose to the ground, drinking in the literal cornucopia of smells-wildlife scat, blood, maybe the bear, a dozen Sheriff's Department people, the ME, the coroner, anything else that clung to the grass.

He turned and faced east, studying the shadowed tree-line above him, wondering what it was that Tuff and his horse had seen that caused the problem. Walking very slowly and stopping often, as if he were hunting elk, he moved up the slope. He had learned that moving too quickly dulled too many senses in the wilderness. If his breathing became labored, all he could hear was himself. By walking a hundred yards and then stopping, he could see more, hear more. As the light filtered out, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The sky was brilliant and close with swirls of stars. A quarter moon turned the grass and sagebrush dark blue. Maxine stayed on his heels.