Terri Reed - Buried Mountain Secrets

Brady’s bike. The teenager had ridden down Main Street this morning. Alex hadn’t thought much about it at the time. Now it made sense. Brady was trying to find the Delaney treasure. The map that had been released this morning, though pretty generic, could arguably have some similarities to the mountain trail ahead of him. Alex climbed out of the SUV and met Chase at the bike rack.

“What now, boss?” Chase asked.

Alex tried not to flinch at the word boss . He wasn’t the boss. He knew there were those in the department and in town looking for Alex to step into the role of sheriff when the old man retired, which he’d been threatening to do for the last three years that Alex had been on the force.

That the sheriff put him in charge of this investigation didn’t mean anything. Sheriff Ryder usually picked one of his deputies to take point.

The sun hung low in the sky. Shading his eyes, Alex gauged they had only a few more hours of daylight left. “We’ll cover more ground on horseback,” he told Chase.

The Bristle County Sheriff’s Department continued the long tradition of patrols on horseback like many Western states. Comprised of both armed deputies and unarmed civilian volunteers, also referred to as auxiliary members, the patrol provided mounted search and rescue as well as mounted community and forest patrols.

“Get on the horn with Carole and round up as many civilian volunteers available. Then run every license plate here. I’m going home to get Truman,” Alex stated, referring to his horse. “I’ll meet you back here in one half hour. Keep an alert eye out for Maya Gallo and her brother. If they come out of the forest, radio me.”

“Will do.” Chase walked away, already using his shoulder radio to contact the station’s dispatcher.

Alex sped home and in the short time it took him to return to the trailhead, towing Truman in the horse trailer, there were three other civilian volunteers with their horses waiting.

“Riley, Trevor.” Alex shook the father’s hand and then the teenage son’s hand. The Howard men were dedicated volunteers. “Thank you for coming.” There was no mistaking the family resemblance between the father and son. They also had identical quarter horses.

Then Alex shook hands with the third volunteer, local dress shop owner, Leslie Quinn, a pretty blonde with blue eyes. Leslie stared at him warily as she stood beside her sturdy paint sporting pink bows tied to its mane. No doubt for the upcoming parade. “Deputy.”

Alex didn’t know the reserved woman well. She tended to keep to herself when they were on patrol. “Leslie, appreciate you joining us.”

Chase hurried over. Alex gave him a questioning look.

“Two local hikers came down the trail but not the Gallo siblings.”

Disappointment shot through Alex and he realized how much he had been hoping to discover Maya and her brother had already descended the trail. “Did the hikers see the Gallos?”

Chase shook his head. “Claimed not to. I took their contact info.”

“All right, listen up, everyone.” Alex explained the situation to the others. “Okay, there are two main paths to take from here. Riley and Trevor—” he gestured to the Howards “—take the Pine Ridge Trail. Miss Quinn and I will take Aspen Creek Trail.”

Alex mounted Truman, a chestnut-colored sixteen-hand Tennessee walking horse, and headed the horse toward the trailhead, where the father and son pair peeled away while Alex and Leslie took the main trail. A half hour later, Alex held up his hand in a fist, signaling for Leslie to stop. Alex slid off Truman to inspect several broken branches on the right side of the trail. It looked as if somebody had gone crashing through the underbrush.

Before he could move farther into the forest, his radio crackled on his shoulder.

“Alex, you better get over here,” Riley’s voice came through the line.

Thumbing the mic attached to his radio, Alex asked, “What did you find?”

“A dead body.”

Alex drew Truman to a halt alongside Riley’s and Trevor’s horses on the Pine Ridge Trail. Both men stood off the path, staring at something on the ground with grim expressions. In the waning light, Alex could make out the prone figure nestled among the underbrush at the base of the steep rise.

A steel band wrapped around his chest.

Please, Lord, don’t let it be one of the Gallo siblings.

Taking a deep breath, he moved closer and slowly pushed back the branches.

Short hair matted with blood, a navy jacket, jeans and hiking boots. Definitely male.

Not Maya Gallo. Relief washed through him.

After confirming Riley had taken preliminary photos of the scene with his phone, Alex braced himself and slowly rolled the body over.

Definitely not Brady Gallo, either.

Alex blew out another relieved breath. He was pretty sure he knew everyone in Bristle Township and County, at least well enough for a chin nod, and this man was a stranger. He first checked for a pulse to confirm the man was indeed deceased, and then searched the man’s clothing for identification. There was none.

Alex stood and stared upward at the side of the mountain. Had the man been climbing and fell or had someone bashed him over the head and stashed his body behind the bushes? Was there a killer loose in the forest?

Would Alex find one of the Gallos dead?

Dread clamped a hand around his heart. He hated to contemplate the thought.

He radioed in to let the sheriff know they needed the medical examiner, and then, turning to Trevor and Riley, he said, “Wait here for the sheriff and the ME. I’m going back to the other trail.” He was sure someone had gone through the forest. Maybe Brady or Maya. He had to be thorough in his search.

From her perch on the back of her paint, Leslie took one look at the dead body and gagged. Looking away, she said, “I’ll never get used to that.”

“I’d be worried if you did,” Alex told her. She was an accomplished horsewoman and a hard worker when on patrol but still a civilian. “You go back to the trailhead. I’m returning to the Aspen Creek Trail.”

“You’ll never make the summit before dark,” Leslie told him with worry in her voice.

“I have to check something,” he said. “Let the sheriff know.”

Though concern showed on her face, she nodded. “Be careful.” She turned her horse and moved back down the trail.

Alex urged Truman, as quickly as he dared in the waning light, back to the place where he’d seen evidence that someone had gone off the trail. He dismounted and dropped the reins, letting them hit the ground, a signal for Truman to stay put while Alex made his way through the bushes, following the broken branches and the faint outline of two sets of booted feet.

The dimming daylight plus the canopy of branches overhead made tracking the footsteps difficult, but he didn’t want to break out his flashlight just yet and risk revealing his presence to whoever might be nearby.

A rustling in the bushes a few feet to his left sent his senses on high alert. His heart hammered in his chest. His hand went to his holstered gun. With caution and stealth, he moved slowly forward.

* * *

Fear that her attacker had returned stole Maya’s breath. Praying the bright blue backpack now on her back wouldn’t be a beacon to her location, she hunkered down in the bushes and tightened her fingers around the tree branch gripped between her hands. She kept her head low and prayed for protection.

After she’d hidden behind the tree trunk, she’d heard the assailant crashing about the woods, mumbling and cursing to himself. Then he moved south, back toward the trailhead, no doubt thinking she’d headed in that direction.