The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5) (23 page)

Thirty-Four

I
held Buckshot’s collar, flattened against the back of the shed, and prayed for Viktor to go away. He didn’t go away, but he came no closer. I could hear him muttering, then a grunt and stacking of wood.

“Hey,” shouted Jeff Digby from the bunkhouse drive. “Are we going or not?”

Dangit, I thought. I could probably talk my way into an escape from Viktor, but not the hyper-vigilant outfitter.

“The men did not bring the wood inside,” called Viktor. “We need more wood for the fire.”

“Let’s get a move on. I want to get back to that camp right away. Fog’s moving in and it’s going to be harder to track Tucker.”

“Did you speak to the Peach?”

“Mike did. Peach doesn’t know anything. Said that she tried to stop Cherry from leaving last night and the gal went nuts and attacked her. LaToya somewhat confirmed the story. She didn’t understand what started the fight, but she let Miss Tucker leave.”

I pursed my lips and raised my brows at Buckshot. “Big fat liar,” I mouthed.

Peach Payne had a reckoning coming. I still wasn’t sure if she was a criminal mastermind or only a willing minion for Jayce Deed. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, I chose evil genius. Could she have snuck out after LaToya fell asleep and shot Deed? I turned my attention back to the conversation between the two men, hoping to learn more about the vile Peach.

“Why would the artist go to the deer stand at that time of night? She must know in the dark it is impossible to find. It’s the farthest blind from the bunkhouse,” said Viktor. “Perhaps she is working with Avtaikin.”

“What do you mean?” Jeff’s voice dropped. “I thought she worked for him as an artist or something.”

“Yes, of course. It is nothing,” said Viktor. “Help me with this kindling.”

Wood clacked against wood. Viktor said, “Do you think it’s wise for Mike to take the rest of the party hunting?”

“Probably not.” Jeff’s voice sounded grim. “
But
Bob
Bass has been harping about it all morning. Thinks Avtaikin has an unfair advantage. The fog will provide good cover for them, though.”

“Good cover for others too. I don’t like this.”

“I’ll handle it.”

I waited for their footsteps to recede, then slunk down the wall to sit on my haunches. Buckshot matched my sit and we exchanged a canine-human t
ê
te-
à
-t
ê
te.

“Here’s what we know. Someone invited Jayce Deed to camp. Someone who could give him permission and lend him a Big Rack UTV. Could the Woodcocks be involved? Maybe they thought it would be a publicity stunt?”

Buckshot dropped a paw on my knee.

“You’re right, how could Ban Sapiens bring good PR to the lodge? Although the owners do sound like they’ve a screw or two needing tightening.” I paused for additional thought. “Could the Sparks have arranged for Jayce to camp? They’re friends with the Woodcocks and want to buy the lodge. Bad publicity could drive the price down.”

Buckshot flopped to the ground. I swept a hand across her back, inspecting the scratch.

“It does seem a risky and complicated method to get land.” I sighed. “One thing’s for certain. Peach is involved. I’m going to watch that hunt party. I think Deed was killed to prevent him from revealing who else is involved.
Bob
Bass is still in danger.”

I rubbed the scruff of Buckshot’s neck. “I’m going to slip you back inside the bunkhouse for a rest, girl. Your scrape doesn’t look too bad. We’ll get you fixed up, then I’ll do more scouting. I wonder what time it is.”

The gray sky didn’t allow for any natural time keeping. And as Jeff Digby predicted, although the rain had stopped, the cool air had caused a dense vapor to rise from the saturated ground. Whistler would have loved the landscape for his
Nocturne
series.

I shivered. “I wonder who told everyone I had gone to Max’s deer stand. Peach? Did Todd believe it too?”

Buckshot flicked her ears toward the bunkhouse.

“I bet you’re right.” I rubbed my chin, then examined the dirt that appeared on my fingers. “I think it’s about time that Peach and I have another chat. If it comes to it, this time I’m using my right hook.”

After
Jeff Digby and Viktor had left, I felt more at ease spying on the hunting party, most of whom had no idea that anyone but a prankster had imbedded themselves in our ranks. The hunters exited the bunkhouse. Although the murk of fog now enveloped the forest, the rain had stopped and that alone seemed to lift their spirits. It was as if the fear and suspicions from the previous two days had been sent home with Lesley’s body. Despite being terrorized by a shooter after Lesley’s death.

Everyone must have learned the marksman had actually been a plinker. Although, in my opinion, reasonable people should still be disturbed by a crazed air gun terrorist.

Too bad this crew didn’t include reasonable people.

With his rifle flung over a shoulder,
Bob
thumped down the porch stairs. The bedraggled peacock feathers on his black cowboy hat drooped and the sheepskin trim on his coat appeared matted and stained, but he maintained a perk in his step that came from a good night’s sleep, high expectations, and a willful ignorance to serious issues. Peach followed at a more lethargic pace. She too had a weapon strapped to her back and the ubiquitous GoPro camera hung around her neck.

Back in California, Peach must have been an actress. I always thought her a phony, albeit the gold-digging variety. Looking back at the conversation I had overheard in my lodge room, Deed’s argument must have been with Peach. His accusation of “enjoying the benefits” had lodged distinctly in my memory. I wondered how strong her loyalties lay with Jayce Deed.

I drew my attention to Rick, smoking awkwardly on the side of the disabled Mule. His face was a patchwork of bandages, but the tape on his hands had been peeled off. My lip curled and a hot blast of anger surged through me at the thought of what Rick might have done to Jessica’s daughter. If we hadn’t gone searching for Peach, would Jeff have smothered Rick in his sleep? Pulled Rick out of his bunk and beat the everlovin’ crap out of him? I almost wished he had. The very sight of Rick turned my stomach.

But that was not the problem at hand. While Peach and
Bob
chatted and Rick smoked, I kept my eyes on the foggy woods, searching for odd movement or the glint of a rifle stock. What I lacked in binoculars and scopes, I had in Buckshot, but she lay on the ground, uninterested in serving sentinel to
Bob
Bass.

I ran a hand over the tuckered dog’s head and drew my attention back to the bunkhouse drive where Mike now stood. He pointed toward a section of woods northeast of the bunkhouse, the opposite direction of the half circle of deer blinds and Jayce Deed’s camp, where Viktor and Jeff Digby had hiked. Mike’s group headed toward the ridge where Lesley had fallen, making my lips twitch in disapproval.

The party trudged through the drive’s slop and I scurried from the side of the bunkhouse to crouch beside the porch. Orange safety vests bobbed amid the misty sepias, ochres, and umbers. When I felt reasonably sure they wouldn’t see me, I clambered onto the porch. Buckshot pattered after me and together we found the door locked. I leaned my head against the door for a moment, sorry more for Buckshot than my empty stomach, and then checked the porch for a key. One hung from a tiny hook beneath the porch rail. We entered, and while Buckshot sniffed the room for invasive critters, I sniffed out the gun closet. Locked with no key in sight.

“Dang that Jeff Digby. He’s probably hiding it in his camo-colored boxer briefs.”

Buckshot nudged her food bowl. I filled it with chow.

“Here’s what I’m thinking. You could have wandered back to the bunkhouse on your own,” I reflected. “Dogs are smart like that. They’ll think I lost you, but my name’s already mud. I suppose one more screw-up’s not going to matter.”

She rolled an eye, but continued eating.

“I sure hope no one in Halo hears about this, though. If they think I put a dog in danger, that’ll be the last straw. We Tuckers will be run out of town for sure.”

Still chewing, the brindle muzzle rose from the bowl to consider my suggestion.

“You’re right. I guess when there’s someone hunting you with a .30-06, there’s not much use worrying about the gossips at home.”

In
t
he woods, the bright orange had disappeared into the thickening mist. Leaving Buckshot on the porch, I hurried to follow, scanning the trees as I squelched through the soaked pine straw. Behind the bunkhouse shed, my plan made sense. While the hunters settled into a hollow to wait for the appearance of a critter, I could watch for our stalker. However, I wasn’t sure what I would do when I did see an intruder. I had no weapon for deterrent or defense. Plus, with the gloom and my camouflage coveralls, there was always the likelihood of getting shot by one of the hunters.

I shoved that thought away. Instinct had kept me alive this long. She’d have to continue to serve me today.

In the distance, a shimmer of tangerine stood out among the grays and browns. I adjusted my pace, deliberately darting from tree to tree for protection. The orange cluster dispersed into two clumps and I chose the group on the left. It had a smaller blob I assumed was Peach. My hands itched to tackle her and wring a confession from her neck. Revenge made for a violent master.

The orange blobs halted their stroll and settled on the ground behind a screen of bushes. By way of tree hugs, I approached the pair and stopped some thirty yards away. At the sharp blast of Bob’s rifle, I dropped to the wide base of a red oak and curled there, then realized he had shot in the opposite direction. When my heart stopped racing, I settled more comfortably and began my watch.

Behind me, Peach remarked on Bob’s miss and
Bob
offered a long, rambling excuse. I rolled my eyes. Each branch creak and pinecone drop made my heart race and chill bumps multiply. The cold and damp pervaded LaToya’s thermal suit and I huddled against the tree, fighting misery, sleep, and back pain. The musty scent of decomposing foliage grew with the fog and sneeze prevention became a new priority.

Twenty minutes later, Peach told
Bob
she needed to tinkle. I peered around the tree.

She was coming this way. With her rifle.

Thirty-Five

Peac
h trudged past my squat without a glance in my direction. Tromping through the tangle of vines, she disappeared behind a thick cluster of pines. I scooted after her, hoping tee-tee was foremost in her mind. If setting up a sharp-shooting station with a bead on
Bob
was her mission, I’d be hard-tasked to deal with that dilemma.

I caught Peach with her pants down. Literally.

Unsporting on my part, but as I had no other weapon, surprise suited me.

Her rifle lay a few feet away from the spot where she hauled up her camo rain pants.

I pounced, snagged the sling, and smiled as I gathered the gun in my hand. One of those tactical Smith & Wessons cloaked in Realtree.

A fancy gun for a fancy girl.

“We’re going to have a conversation,” I said. “I’ve got some upsetting news. You should probably sit down.”

“Well, well. Crazy white trash is back. Guess you’re not as lost as they think.” She sneered. “Threatening me with a gun this time? Bob’s going to love that. In fact, let’s do this in front of Bob. Maybe you’ll inspire him to write a new redneck song.”

“He should be so lucky,” I muttered, then cleared my throat. “For the record, I’m not threatening you with a gun. I’m protecting myself. And I really think you should sit down to hear this.”

“Sit on this, bitch.” She flashed me a choice finger.

“Obviously, we’re having a fundamental failure of communication.” I gave up on niceties. “Jayce Deed was shot last night. Actually, early this morning.”

Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes tightened. “What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t go to Max Avtaikin’s deer blind last night. I went to Deed’s camp. I got the scoop on Ban Sapiens. Handy initials, by the way. Jayce told me all about your plan to out
Bob
Bass online. Then someone shot Jayce.”

“What?” She blanched and reeled, catching herself against a pine. “No. That’s not possible. He’s too smart. Not Jayce. You’re wrong.”

I shook my head.

All pretense fled. Fat tears rolled and splashed, smearing her makeup and revealing the dark circles she had carefully concealed. She clutched her chest, digging her long fingers into the safety vest. “Who would shoot Jayce? Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know.” Her reaction removed Peach from my suspect list. I didn’t think she could be that good of an actress. “Who gave Jayce permission to camp?”

“Oh my God. Is he...”

I swallowed the golf ball welling in my throat and shrugged. “I’m sorry, I ran. I was afraid of getting shot.”

Déj
à
vu walloped me with her body slam. Once again, Peach had lunged, knocking me to the ground. I gripped the rifle and held it in front of me to ward off her blows, trying to defend without fighting back.

My bruised back did not appreciate this constant aggravation, nor did my hip which ground against a pinecone. Peach’s instinctual response did not seem to include flight. Luckily, grief diluted her punches to a weak, half-hearted pummeling.

“Peach, you’ve got to help me figure out who did this,” I gasped, knocking a jab away with the butt of the gun.

“Why would anyone kill Jayce?” Her thick tears splattered my face and she rolled off to curl in a pile of soggy pine straw. “Oh my God. How could someone do this? Jayce was brilliant. He didn’t deserve to die.”

“I’m sorry.” Abandoning the rifle to the pine straw, I scooted towards her. “It’s a shock. But listen, you and
Bob
could be in danger. You’ve got to talk to me, Peach. Who invited Jayce to the lodge?”

Shrugging off my comfort, she rolled to sitting. “Some guy called and told him about the contest and said
Bob
Bass was invited.”

“Bob Bass didn’t pay for the contest?”

“He paid for me. But no, Big Rack asked him to hunt. It happens all the time. Good PR for them.”

Life seemed interminably unfair. Rich people didn’t even have to pay the exorbitant fees that kept the riffraff out. “Max Avtaikin had to pay.”

“I think
Bob
goaded Mr. Avtaikin into entering. They’re poker buddies or something.” She wiped her eyes, then examined her nails. “Anyway, whoever called Jayce had said they’d read our website and knew
Bob
was on our target list. They said they could get Jayce access to stuff if he wanted to disrupt the hunt.”

“Access to stuff like pig heads, cakes, and UTVs?” My nostrils flared.

“Essentially. The cake and signs were my ideas. The air gun was Jayce’s. Do you know how long he had to sit out there waiting for
Bob
to come out? They all worked great. I got lots of footage of
Bob
reacting like an idiot.”

“What about the target practice? Someone could have gotten killed. And cutting the radio wire and slashing the tire valves? Y’all have trapped us here.”

“I don’t know about those.” Her brows pulled together and her lip trembled. “Do you think it was the person Jayce was working with?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” I toned down my irritation. At least it was now clear why some of the incidents seemed benign and others malicious. “This would have gone a lot better if y’all just picketed or something. Whoever shot Jayce might have killed Lesley and Abel.”

“We don’t demonstrate,” she said, making me wonder if remorse was even a word in her vocabulary. “Jayce was gifted when it comes to viral shock campaigns. Charities hired him for crowdsourcing advertisement, but his heart is with Ban Sapiens. Was. He really hated people. Hated what people do to the earth. Did he tell you about his dad? Killed in the line of duty, saving a grizzly bear?”

“Crowdsourcing advertisement? Viral shock campaigns?”

Now I knew remorse didn’t enter the picture. The words she spoke were in English, but the jargon was beyond my understanding. I rubbed the weary from my eyes to hide my disgust. However, the killer had invited Ban Sapiens to this hunt for a purpose, and for that they had my sympathy. “This throws a different light on things. I thought someone was after
Bob
Bass. Now it sounds like you and Jayce were lured here to be murdered.”

I probably should have softened my words. The blood drained from her face so quickly, I thought she might faint.

“They don’t even know about me,” she sobbed. “Jayce said he was coming alone and I was already deep undercover, filming
Bob
when he wasn’t looking.”

“I think you should go back to the bunkhouse,” I said, not trusting the depth of her covertness. I had ferreted out Peach’s part and the killer might have too. “It’s not safe out here.”

She nodded and I helped her up.

“What about Bob?” she asked. “He’s going to wonder where I am.”

“Bob better go with you to the bunkhouse,” I said. “As soon as my friend Todd reaches the lodge, he’ll alert the authorities.”

“How long will that take?”

“Y’all lock yourselves in a bunk room with some supplies. Can you handle being with
Bob
a little longer?”

She nodded. “Bob’s not a bad guy once you get to know him. He’s actually caring and very generous.”

I didn’t try to reason out the deranged psychology of a radical. But I figured some serious daddy issues lurked beneath her pretty fa
çade.

We tromped through the pine straw to Bob’s makeshift blind of piled creeper vines. He lay on his stomach with his backpack shoved under his chest and rifle ready. At our approach, he glanced over his shoulder and rolled over. Spying Peach’s tearstained face, he hopped to his feet.

“Babe, what happened?” His eyes lighted on me and his look turned thunderous. “You. What’s going on?”

“Bob, I’m so scared. Someone’s trying to kill us,” cried Peach.

I stared openmouthed as she rattled off a story that involved an ex-boyfriend activist murdered in the woods. The woman’s loyalty rivaled a feral cat’s. I thought about arguing over the plasticity of her version, but felt too exhausted to care. I just needed them to haul ass to the bunkhouse.

Bob pulled Peach into his arms and she tucked herself inside his shoulder, sobbing and sorry for her sins. I grabbed his pack and hustled them forward, glad he was amenable to the safety of the bunkhouse. The couple confused and disturbed me. I wondered if Peach was up to old tricks, but her cling to
Bob
seemed genuine. As they walked,
Bob
murmured comforting phrases about love and forgiveness. Hope blossomed within me. If this flaky pair could make it, didn’t I stand a chance for some kind of happily ever after?

I hummed, studying the misty landscape for barrel glints and mad killers. Then realized the tune I hummed matched the phrasings of Bob’s words of comfort for Peach.

Lyrics from one of his redneck songs.

If I got through this weekend, I had a lot of music to delete from my playlists.

With
Peach and
Bob
ensconced in the bunkhouse, I breathed easier. Barring a fire or stupidity on their part, they would remain safe until help came. I hid myself in the shadowy eaves of the porch behind a plastic storage bin and worked up my next plan of action. Before locking the pair in the women’s bunk room, I had grabbed my sketchpad and a pencil. Flipping the pages, I reconstructed my suspect list. I was rapidly losing members unless a Figure X roamed the woods.

Sheepishly, I crossed out Jayce’s soul-patched deer sketch, then Peach’s devil-horns and
Bob
Bass’s two-faced caricatures. I was left with Rick, the lodge staff, the Gutersons, the Sparks, and the Woodcocks. The only people I knew for sure roamed the woods were the remaining pairs. Max and his outfitter, Tennessee. Jeff Digby and Viktor. Rick and Mike. And despite Viktor’s claims, I knew Max not to be a deranged psychopath.

At least, the Bear didn’t normally act the deranged psychopath. I ruminated on this idea for a long minute. Could Max have encountered Deed’s camp on his hunt for the hog, heard my distress, and shot Deed in a misguided attempt to save me? Could all these deaths have been accidents?

My fatigued mental state had entered shaky territory. Now I was thinking like Viktor.

Woodsmoke joined the deepening fog to cloak the drive, resembling one of Turner’s moody landscapes. Shivering, I reexamined my list of events and checked off the ones meant for Jayce’s shock campaign.

At the discovery of the slashed tires and cut radio antenna, I stopped. Those tricks were meant to trap us. But not everyone. One incapacitated vehicle meant most could leave. But no one could radio for immediate help.

One group would be forced to wait for a return vehicle. And in those hours, what might happen?

My heart sped up, warming my cold fingers and toes. Who was meant to stay? If I hadn’t lost our Gator and Jeff Digby’s hadn’t gotten stuck, would we all be on our way home this morning? Sixteen people and a dog in three Gators and the Mule? A tight squeeze with only fourteen seats.

Two people would have been left behind. Which two?

The groups had swapped. Todd and I were expected to stay with Max and our guide, Tennessee. Jenny Sparks had twisted her ankle. If we had all returned to the bunkhouse last night as expected, what would have happened? I chewed my pencil. Jayce’s pellet gun sniping. But no one anticipated Peach stealing out to see Jayce. Or for me to follow her. And then slip out again to get Jayce murdered.

Was that intended? Would someone have murdered Jayce without my blowing his cover? And how did Lesley and Abel fit into this scheme?

If all had gone according to plan, the hunt would have started Friday afternoon, gone all day Saturday, and into Sunday. Jayce Deed’s antics would have been expected. Mischief that would agitate the group, possibly making us want to return. Peach had given him a walkie-talkie so he could keep tabs on us. All but one group would have gone back to the lodge.

Which group? Peach and Bob? Wouldn’t they need someone to drive them?

My brain hurt. And guilt for getting Jayce Deed killed made my eyes smart. I leaned against the wall. When my head tipped into my shoulder, I jerked awake. How long had I slept? I scrambled to my feet and then dropped to the porch floor at the sound of shuffling from the side of the porch.

The scuffling stopped, then receded. My pulse strummed in my throat and the sudden blood flow through my veins stabbed my feet and calves with a thousand pinpricks. I grasped Peach’s camouflaged M&P 15, wishing it were something simpler, like a plain old Winchester. I had no experience in tactical rifles. I didn’t want to use the fancy gun, but neither did I feel comfortable weaponless.

I crept to the side of the porch and peeked around the corner. Footprints mutilated the mud.

A waterlogged depression shimmered in the damp breeze. Fear cramped my stomach and I hopped from the porch, wincing at the pins and needles in my feet.

I hesitated. No one yet knew that
Bob
and Peach were in the bunkhouse. Should I return to their hunting position and see who stalked them there?

In the distance, movement caught my attention and I squinted. A spot of Cad Orange broke through the fog, weaving through the pines. It came from the direction of Deed’s camp, west of the bunkhouse.