Karen Harper - Deep Down

“Or ransacked. Let me carry it into the kitchen so you can go over it better. Don’t touch the lid again, in case we need to dust it for prints.”

Jessie watched, wide-eyed, as Drew took a pair of latex gloves out of a packet from inside his jacket and pulled them on. That bright yellow police tape he’d had across the front door—now this.

Her insides churned as a memory hit her hard. “Drew, when I was in Hong Kong visiting a ginseng shop, I had a panic attack.”

Frowning, he snapped the gloves onto his big hands. “Tell me about it.”

“I—I got suddenly claustrophobic, even though I’d been really looking forward to visiting such a shop. I couldn’t breathe, the smells got to me and I almost threw up. I’ve never had anything like that happen before,” she said as he hefted the box and bounced it once to get a better grasp.

“And?” he prompted. “Tell me the rest.”

“I thought—felt—someone was chasing me, when that was ridiculous. I ran back to the hotel and collapsed for hours—then your call woke me. The time zones are hard to figure, but I’m thinking that would have been around sunset here, the night she went missing.”

She walked ahead of him into the kitchen where he put the box on the table. He straightened, turned and put his gloved hands on her shoulders. Grateful, needful, she lifted her hands to grip his wrists, encased in the thin latex.

“So you’re thinking it was some kind of ESP from Mariah?” he asked. “Like she was in some kind of trouble right then? You’ve never had the mountain woman sixth sense, have you?”

“Never. I don’t really believe in it, even though my mother said her mother had that gift. I didn’t mean to sound crazy—I know we need hard facts.”

“I’m glad you told me,” he said, letting her go and pulling out a ladder-backed chair at the table for her. “If there’s anything else like that, let me know. But right now, let’s see if we can find something to really go on. I’d like us to check some of her deepest forest spots in a couple of hours, but I think it’s worth it to go through this stuff first. If you come across anything that seems even vaguely useful, tell me and I’ll write it down. Go ahead, Jess, okay?” he added when he saw her hesitate.

Why did she feel so afraid? She felt almost closed in again, as if a big, black box were shutting around her. Or a coffin with the thud, thud of soil hitting its lid. With a shudder, she dug into the jumble of papers and photos.

“I never would have found this back road,” Tyler Finch told Cassie as they bounced along a rutted track in her old Ford truck.

“No offense, Mr. Finch, but even if you would have found it, that compact rental car wouldn’t get you back in where we’re going.”

“I’d like it if you’d call me Tyler.”

Pearl, squeezed in between them, piped up, “Finch is better ‘cause it’s a real pretty bird. It crunches seeds in its pow-ful beak.”

“Pearl’s getting to be quite a reader,” Cassie said. “All right, I’ll call you Tyler and you call me Cassie, but Pearl has to mind her manners and call you Mr. Finch.”

“And I promise I won’t crunch any seeds,” he said.

Pearl found that funny. Her girl was warming up to this stranger fast, a good reminder for her mother to keep her distance. Poor Pearl, with no daddy—not one she knew, anyway. Shy as she was, she took to most men once she knew them. Pearl’s loss was even greater than her own, and another reason a certain man deserved to die.

“What’s this mountain ahead of us called?” Tyler asked.

“Big Blue, but the place we’re going for your first shots is right by Shrieking Peak.”

“Sounds haunted. Does a story go with that?”

“Not that I know of. When the wind blows, which is most of the time, it sounds like a woman screaming.”

“Your friend’s mother you were telling me about—”

“Mariah Lockwood.”

“Yes. Could she have wandered up into this area?”

“That’s one of the good things about working for you, Mr.—Tyler. We’re going to keep a good eye out for signs of her, as well as for pretty places for your photos. Mariah Lockwood wandered far and wide, that’s why it’s been so hellfire hard to find her. Oh, sorry for the cussing. Pearl, you just forget you heard that now.”

She parked the truck where the thick stands of oak and basswood began, and they hiked up toward the place she knew would not only suit Tyler Finch but awe him. Their pace was slow, because he didn’t seem used to the rough terrain and Pearl’s legs were still so short. Besides, might as well treasure their time together—the extra money, that is, ‘cause he said he’d pay her each and every day.

“So,” she said, trying not to stare at him, “tell me more about your work.”

“There’s hard work and then there is joy work. Not that I don’t like my job, but I often have to go into the city—New York. It’s a bit too crowded and noisy for me, and I’m always fenced in by someone else’s ideas. For example, my assignment here is to get some photos of sites where TV ads for a power drink could be shot later—with live people.”

“Better’n dead ones. Ginseng power drinks?”

“Right. I’d like some really winsome ads, but we’ll probably have pro athletes hiking or rafting around here.”

Cassie wasn’t sure what winsome meant, but it must have something to do with winning. She nodded to encourage him.

“Our client puts caffeine and ginseng in their liquid sports aids,” he explained. “G-Man and G-Woman Drinks. Bailey and Keller, my advertising firm, helps a client build a brand name and tell their story.”

“Tell their story,” she repeated. “That’s important, I reckon, even for things, let alone for people.”

“Someday, Cassie,” he said, stopping and turning to face her, “will you tell me your story?”

She shrugged but smiled. “Not much to tell. Will you tell me yours then?”

“Yeah,” Pearl said with an impish grin. “Like you have to go first!”

He smiled at both of them, then got serious again. “On paper, my story is not important. I plead guilty to being an artistic workaholic unhappily wedded to the corporate world. Divorced, no kids, not much family left but some cousins—one who lives in Highboro, so I know the general area and love it. I make a good salary, but that doesn’t fulfill me. The joy work I mentioned is my own project, a book about Appalachia, mostly pictures, some text.”

“So these photos you want are for both your hard work and joy work?”

Their gazes snagged and held. The wind ruffled his short, sun-struck hair. He looked so wholesome—winsome—kind of like he belonged here and yet was some sort of alien invader. Don’t do this, Cassie told herself. Don’t go feeling all shaky about this man just ‘cause he looks like that and talks to you real heartfeltlike.

“Exactly,” he said when she’d forgotten what she’d asked and Pearl tugged at her hand. “Are we almost there? I think I hear the shrieking woman and something else—a roar.”

“It’s not a monster, so don’t worry!” Pearl put in.

Cassie thought of Mariah again, lost or hurt in these parts somewhere. Had Mariah called for help but there was no one to hear? Or had someone hurt her—or worse? Tyler was staring at her again, and Pearl was yanking her along.

“That roar’s Indian Falls,” Cassie said, as the world seemed to rotate back into place again. She had to keep shoving strands of her long red hair out of her eyes. “By the way, there’s a Cherokee man lives ‘round here you might like to meet if you want good stories for your book. He says his people believe waterfalls and large trees can capture your soul, and that the woods are a sacred but scary place.”