Eggs Benedict Arnold (40 page)

Better if she and Baxter go alone?

No, probably not.

But, for now, that was how it was going to be.

“
Easy,
Bax,
”
Suzanne told her dog as she clipped a long leash on him, then stood aside as he jumped from the car.
It was pitch-black in the empty parking lot just below Bluff
Creek Park. Low-hanging clouds had driven the temperature into the low forties, a crisp, nagging wind carried the
promise of rain, and Suzanne was pretty sure there was an
other storm hanging out over the Dakotas, ready to steam-
roll its way in.

Baxter stretched languidly, lifted his leg on a nearby post, then turned to stare at Suzanne.

“
Just do your thing,
”
she told him in a low whisper.
“
Sniff around, see if you come up with anything.
”

That seemed to suit Baxter just fine and he was soon
leading Suzanne along a narrow path, pulling her deep into
the dark, dense woods even as the path he chose rose in a steady grade. Bare branches tugged at Suzanne
’
s hair as
they scrunched through overgrown passages of buckthorn.
Clusters of burrs snagged on her denim jacket.

Twenty minutes of hard climbing led them to a small
outcropping of rocks where
the
Parks Committee had con
structed a small wooden bench on a sort of ledge. Feeling
slightly winded, Suzanne plopped down to rest. Baxter took
a cue from her and sat back on his haunches. From up here,
Suzanne could peer down a steep gorge and, through the
haze, catch a few twinkles of light from town. The oaks and poplars had already lost most of their leaves. The rest would
soon be stripped off if more wind and rain moved in. A chill
Midwestern autumn, winter lurking like a hungry lion.

Still, Suzanne thought the view peaceful from her perch.
And pretty in a kind of Norman Rockwell old-ti
m
ey
way. You
’
d never guess two murders had taken place in this in
nocuous little town within the span of a couple days. Never
guess it in a million years.Baxter stood up and stared fixedly into the woods.

“
What
’
s wrong, Bax?
”
Suzanne asked.
“
Something out there?
”
But she knew a whole host of nocturnal critters were probably scrabbling about, in their element and practically undetected. Raccoons, opossums, foxes, coy
otes, and cougars. Even the troop of wild boar Doogie had
mentioned.

And a murderer?

Yeah, maybe. Maybe so.

Suzanne stood up and reeled in Baxter
’
s leash. From here on the going was much more rugged. Lots of twisting paths that jagged around sandstone outcroppings that sheltered small caves.

Lots of caves.

She
’
d crawled through a few of these caves when she was a kid, but had always been jittery about exploring the deeper ones. The caves whose walls narrowed sharply, forcing you to scramble on hands and knees or worm your
way along on your belly as passages drilled sinuously into
the hillside.

Keeping Baxter at her side in a
“
heel
”
position, Suzanne
picked her way carefully up the hillside. Loose rock and
sand made the climb arduous. So did not knowing what lay
beyond every twist and turn.

Dark mouths of caves yawned at her like black holes. But none looked inhabited.

“
Nothing here,
”
she whispered to Baxter. She
’
d covered
half of one side of the bluff and hadn
’
t seen hide nor hair of
anything. Human or animal.

Maybe the homeless guy wasn
’
t up here at all, she de
cided. Maybe he
’
d been scared off by Sheriff Doogie
’
s ini
tial probe. Maybe he
’
d just boogied on out of town.

Or maybe not. Maybe a guy who
’
d been army trained,
who
’
d learned how to dig himself into a hostile desert envi
ronment, wouldn
’
t go for the most obvious hidey-hole.

So where ?

Suzanne lifted her eyes and scoured the peak above her.
Could she even get up there?

Only one way to find out.

Hands clawing for a stable rock, feet probing for foot
holds, Suzanne slowly climbed the smooth rock face. Baxter stood below, leash clipped to a tree, watching her progress, seemingly happy to remain behind and hold down the
fort.

Upper-body strength was not Suzanne
’
s forte and her shoulder muscles trembled from the exertion. This rock
face was far steeper, the elevation much higher than she
’
d initially thought. Her fingers burned from clutching mini
mal handholds. There was no way she could keep this up.

Best thing
—the smartest thing—to do was ease her way
back down to where Baxter was waiting, pray she
’
d find the same rocks and nubbins to grab onto for her descent.

Standing practically spread-eagled against the cliff face,
her face beaded with sweat, Suzanne cranked her head
sideways to wipe her forehead on her jacket sleeve.

And there, off to her left, she caught the faint orange glow of a campfire.

Easing herself across the cliff, grasping for
foot
and
finger holds
, Suzanne moved with renewed energy. Boldly,
yet quietly. She strained to keep her breathing under con
trol, though her curiosity was revved to warp speed.

Just one quick look,
she promised herself.
I
’
ll see what I
can see and then I
’
m outta here!

Her left foot searched for a solid perch, finally found it.
She shifted her weight onto the rock, testing for stability. It
felt good. Suzanne paused, trying to gather her energy and her wits, then tilted her head back, ever so slightly.

He stood, silhouetted in the mouth of the cave, a foot or so above her. With the glow of the fire behind him, he
looked like a dark, almost primordial figure. Close enough
to casually lift a boot and step on her fingers if he felt like it. Crush them like a pack of saltines.

Chapter twenty three

But
he didn
’
t. Instead, the man reached down and extended
a hand.

And Suzanne made a split-second decision she hoped she wouldn
’
t regret for the rest of her life. She reached up and grabbed his hand.

Like a dream sequence that unfolded in slow motion,
Suzanne felt herself being hoisted higher and higher. Dangling precipitously, her legs paddling in thin air, Suzanne
scrambled for purchase until, finally, finally, she connected
with solid rock and found herself standing on a narrow ledge.

Heart hammering in her chest, Suzanne said,
“
Who are
you?
”

The man turned his back on her and retreated into a shallow cave. Crouching down, he stuck another branch into the fire. It crackled, popped, and released a burst of sparks that reminded Suzanne of fireflies.

“
Excuse me?
”
she said, taking a step forward.

The man bowed his head and seemed to fold in on himself, pulling himself into a cross-legged position, his back
against the wall of the cave.

“
Doesn
’
t
matter
,
”
he said in a low, papery voice.

“
Do I know you?
”
she asked.

He shook his head. No.

“
But I think I know who you are,
”
Suzanne told him.

Again, a shake of his head.

“
You knew Walter,
”
said Suzanne.

There was no response.

“
Is that why you came here?
”
she asked.
‘
To see Walter?
”

Silence for a few moments, then the man said,
“
What?

“
You knew Walter
The
tz?
”
asked Suzanne.

The man seemed to fade away for a while, then said, in a low voice,
“
Walter
died
.
”

“
How do you know that?
”
Suzanne asked, edging closer.

More silence, then,
“
Went to the hospital. They told me.
”

“
Is your name Dillworth?
”
asked Suzanne.
“
Did you serve in the army with Walter?
”

Time spun out again, then the man said,
“
Doesn
’
t
matter
now. It
’
s all in the dim.
”

“
The dim,
”
said Suzanne.
“
You mean the past?
”

The man stared into the fire.

“
What
’
s your name?
”
asked Suzanne.

Dark eyes stared at her.
“
Anson.
”

“
Anson Dillworth?
”
she asked.

A slight nod.
“
Just Dil.
”

“
What are you doing here?
”
Suzanne asked.

He fed a few more sticks into the fire, then said,
“
Noth
ing. Just... passing through.
”

“
You can
’
t stay here,
”
Suzanne pointed out.
“
It
’
s going to turn cold pretty soon. And eventually snow. This isn
’
t a very good place to hole up.
”

“
No place is,
”
Dil replied.

“
Where did you come from?
”
asked Suzanne.
“
Where were you living before?
”

“
Home.
”

“
Your home?
”
asked Suzanne. Maybe Dil had a fam
ily who was frantic with worry. Maybe he
’
d wandered off
because of drugs or alcohol or...

“
A home,
”
said the man.

“
Oh man,
”
said Suzanne. She put a hand to her head, scrubbed at her hair. This was a guy who needed serious help. She wanted to give it to him but. . . how? And, she had questions to ask.

Suzanne edged closer to the fire.
“
Did you know Ozzie?
”
she asked him.