Minnie Crockwell - Will Travel for Trouble 03 - Trouble at Glacier (9 page)

A knock on the door startled us both, but the voice I heard on the other side startled me more.

“Amanda,” a man called out. “Are you in there? I’ve just got a few minutes, but I wanted to see you.”

I recognized Jackson’s voice.

“Just a minute,” Amanda called out. She threw me a quick, red-faced look, and moved to open the door.

“Honey, I just wanted to see if you’re okay,” Jackson said before Amanda cut him off.

Chapter Six

“Someone’s here,” Amanda said to Jackson quickly.

I looked down at Jackson and he looked up at me with rounded eyes.

Ranger Jackson surprises us,
Ben said.

I was so taken aback, I could hardly answer him.

Even if Amanda had worked for Jackson at Yellowstone, even if he had been checking on a victim’s spouse, it was unlikely he would have called her honey. It hadn’t been a particularly paternalistic endearment, nor was Jackson any older than Amanda.

Amanda turned to me.

“It’s not what you think.”

Jackson climbed up into the RV.

“Oh, this is none of
my
business,” I said, although I wasn’t actually practicing that philosophy.
 

Jackson looked at me.

“I guess you heard me so you probably guessed,” he said. “Amanda and I had a small thing a few years back.”

“Really! This is none of my business. I’ll just take off now.”

Amanda grabbed my arm. “Please don’t say anything to anyone, especially my uncle,” she said.
 

“No. I won’t,” I said soothingly. “Well, I’ll be off. Thanks for showing me the tool, Amanda.”

I stepped down, noting the dead silence behind me. The door shut behind me, and I hurried back to my RV.

The handsome and dashing Ranger Jackson is taken, I presume,
Ben said.
 

“Something like that,” I responded. I had to admit to a bit of disappointment, but my surprise far outweighed that emotion.

The plot thickens,
Ben said.

“You love to say that, don’t you?” I reached my RV and stepped in.

It seems apt.

 
I dropped down on the couch and tried to make sense of my jumbled thoughts. Sometimes Ben’s presence in my head helped me sort out thoughts, and sometimes he cluttered them even more. I hoped this was one of the times he helped with clarity.

Can we assume that Ranger Jackson and young Amanda had an affair, probably while working together in the Yellowstone wilderness?

“Yes, that seems to be about right,” I said.
 

Do you think her husband knew about it?

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure that’s relevant. After all, John didn’t kill someone in a fit of jealousy.
He
was the one who was killed.”

It might be pertinent if he discovered the affair and abused his wife because of it.

“So, you’re saying it’s possible that John’s recent abuse of Amanda was due to jealousy, and that maybe Jackson killed him, or even Amanda, I guess, because of the abuse?”

It is possible. Perhaps Jackson or Amanda sought to remove the deceased as an impediment to their happily-ever-after future.

“Couldn’t she just divorce him?”

Yes, that is much more common in your day, is it not? Highly unusual in my time. Marriage was eternal for most.

“Interminable for some, I would think,” I said with a shudder. I hadn’t been married since my divorce in my early twenties, said divorce being a youthful mistake on my part.

Had I met you and married you in my time, we would not have divorced,
Ben said out of the blue.

My cheeks burned. The soft caress in his voice caught me off guard.

I can’t imagine leaving you if you were alive, Ben.
I cleared my throat and refocused.

“Back to the romance between Jackson and Amanda. If it was Jackson who had been murdered in a fit of jealousy, then this would all make sense. But why kill John? Again, why not divorce?”

Perhaps it was Jackson alone who killed him. It might be that the widow Amanda did not wish to leave her husband, that she did not know Jackson killed him. That she still does not know.

“Maybe,” I mused. “That handsome guy,” I said on a sigh. “A killer?”

Many handsome men have killed, Minerva.

“I know,” I sighed.

He has the knowledge to simulate a bear attack.

“Well, Amanda sure has the tool. Did you see that thing? How sharp the claws were on it? Even if it’s a sturdy plastic, that could do some harm to a neck.”

Yes, it could. It appears to have been designed to resemble a bear’s claws.

I nodded.

“It’s not like I saw blood dripping all over it or anything, but I didn’t want to get my fingerprints on it.”

No. Since you insist on sleuthing, albeit denying that you do, I read some passages in the book you purchased regarding forensics…those that you left open as I am not able to turn pages. I found the discussion of fingerprints quite fascinating.

“Ben! Let me know if you want to read something. I could leave my computer open or a book open. I don’t think I realized that you couldn’t turn pages. Of course, you can’t.”

Thank you. I will in future.
 

“Okay, well, what about the uncle? He certainly sounded like he hated John.”

Yes, he is suspect.

“I guess we could wait and see if he kills Jackson in a simulated bear attack.” I only half smiled. “Then we’ll know, right?”

Your thoughts are leaning toward the macabre, Minerva.

“I know. I’m just tired. No sleep last night, and I’m not sure I’m going to sleep tonight. Should I be calling the authorities or something? I don’t really have any evidence one way or the other that any of these people killed John.”

It seems premature to alert the authorities. As always, they have their work to do as well. Perhaps they can solve this mystery.

I nodded again. A yawn split my face in two.

“Let’s not forget Rick Cannon. I wouldn’t think of a senior gentleman as a violent killer, but who knows. It’s interesting that he didn’t tell me John was the one who didn’t close the trail at Yellowstone, that he considered John a murderer.”

Yes, he certainly had motive and probably the means. It is not implausible that he has a meat claw device much like Amanda’s.

“No, I guess he could! He sure was angry enough tonight to do John in.”
 

I thought about making my way to bed, but the couch seemed comfortable enough. I hadn’t eaten in a while, but I wasn’t hungry. I did need to get up and brush my teeth though. I pushed myself off the couch and headed for the bathroom.

“Hey, Ben!” I called as if he somehow remained in the other room, and maybe he did. I wasn’t sure if he came into the bathroom with me, but I knew he was an honorable man, and I suspected he allowed me my privacy.

Yes?

“What about that loner guy, the one on the bike. The one that Rick mentioned?”

What of him?

“Well, he sounds like sort of a transient guy. He might have killed John just because. Didn’t Rick say his clothes were stained and that he smelled metallic? Could that have been dried blood?”

You do not think that is a remote possibility? We do not know that he had a connection to John, and the idea of killing randomly seems foreign to me.
 

“We have a lot of crazies in the world, Ben, and they kill for pleasure.”

We would need more information on this person.

“First thing in the morning, I’ll go scope him out.”

Scope him out?
Ben repeated.

“You know, check him out. Find out about him. Snoop. Sleuth.”

Ah! Sleuthing.

“That’s right. I’m doing it…loud and proud.”
 

****

I waited until a decent hour the next morning to seek out the young man in the tent. I made my way over to the loop that housed most of the tent campers. I wondered, seeing so many tents, if I would be able to find him. I hadn’t gotten a good look at him, and knew only that he had a tent and a bike.
 

After an hour of searching throughout the loops, I finally spied a site near my own loop which held a small blue pup tent and an older bike, fully loaded with a motley assortment of bags, some plastic. I had seen this sort of traveler before, almost always struggling up some steep mountain highway, heavy bags on either side of the bike weighing them down. I didn’t know if folks traveled this way by necessity or because they preferred to live off the grid, but it seemed like a hard way to go.

“Well, what now?” I whispered to Ben. “Do I just barge in and say, ‘Hey, I was wondering if you’re a murderer, and if so, why?’”
 

He is within the tent, Minerva, and appears to be dozing. Other than soiled clothing and bedding, I see nothing particularly ominous about him. He does appear to be in need of bathing and grooming. However, we know nothing about him, and I renew my pleas to you to avoid this stranger.

“Hmmm…” I murmured. “I can’t, Ben. I want to talk to him at least.”

You are a stubborn woman, Minerva.

“Me? Stubborn?” I said with a grin. “Okay, just a bit.”

He awakens and appears to have spotted you. Remain near the road. Do not approach him, Minerva.

“Okay,” I said reluctantly. I bent down and nonchalantly studied a fuchsia-colored fireweed by the side of the road.
 

The man stepped out of his tent and stretched.

He sees you. I believe he is acting as if he does not,
Ben said.

I’ll have to press the issue, I guess,
I said.

“Hello!” I called out as I nodded toward the tall stalk of the fireweed. “Looks like the end of summer is almost here. The blossoms of the fireweed have just about reached the top of the stalk.”

I didn’t remember where I read that information, probably a travel guide to Alaska during my years as an armchair traveler, but it came in handy in a pinch.

The tousled auburn-headed man approached, rubbing his unkempt beard.

“Yeah, looks like it. Too bad! Seems like it just got here.” He kept his eyes on the plant and did not meet my eyes.

For all that the young man—I deduced he was about thirty—appeared to be down and out, he spoke clearly. I scanned his clothing and saw the staining that both Rick and Ben had mentioned. His tattered originally beige-colored cargo shorts bore streaks on the legs, as if he wiped his hands on them. A dark brown streak stained his tan shirt.
 

I had to think of something to say while I had him here.

“Are you tent camping around here?” he asked. He slid his gaze toward me.

Thankfully, I was able to say no. I didn’t think I would feel safe in a tent at this point. I dived in to stir things up.

“So, I suppose you heard about the murder the other night.”

“Yeah, I did. Too bad.” He shrugged his shoulders, giving me the impression that he didn’t actually think the murder it was ‘too bad.”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “Brutal. I don’t think they’ve caught the guy yet.” I sounded like such a gossip, but how else was I going to get him to say something pertinent?

He shoved his hands in his pocket and looked up and down the road as if searching for something.
 

“I’m surprised you’re walking alone,” he said. He did slide his eyes to my face then—dark brown eyes.

“Me?” My face reddened, then paled. “Well, it’s daylight. I don’t think anything is going to happen in the day, do you? Besides, it’s pretty public around here. Lots of people. I could scream.”

Was I warning him?

“Not for long,” he said. “You might not be able to scream for long,” he clarified.

I stiffened.

“Well, there are lots of rangers around right about now,” I said almost defiantly.

“I don’t see any right now,” he said. He smiled, or at least I think so. I couldn’t tell through his scruffy facial hair. If so, it wasn’t a particularly pleasant smile

 
Okay, he is strange, isn’t he, Ben? What have I gotten myself into?

Nothing you cannot remove yourself from,
Ben said.
You can walk away now, Minerva. It is the safest thing to do.

Not yet,
I said.

“I’ve seen some today, just on the other loop.” It was a lie, but I thought it sounded good.

He nodded and stared at me. No more sideways glances.
 

“So, you’re just walking around the tents, huh?”

“Oh, no! Not just the tents. I was just walking around the entire
campground
. You know, taking a walk, checking out my fellow campers. Who doesn’t do that?” I tried a grin and a casual shrug.