The Dead Season (17 page)

Heather volunteered to hide herself in the woods a few hundred yards away while I moved on to the specifics of search and rescue techniques and training. I wasn’t too thrilled with either the choice of victim or the choice of terrain, since I knew that area of woods was crisscrossed with human scent, and Heather’s in particular, from the day before. That meant it would probably take Cisco longer than usual to search the terrain, so I told her to wrap up in a space blanket to stay warm and to cover herself with leaves for disguise. I wanted the search to be enough of a challenge to be impressive, but I didn’t want to spend more than ten or twenty minutes on it. As much as the kids were enjoying the break in the routine, that was how much I didn’t like the look of the sky. I wanted to get to the next camp site before the snow started.

“Cisco is trained to follow human scent,” I told them, concluding my speech on the complexities of scent pooling and the rigors of training a search team. “He should pick up the freshest trail automatically. This is why, as I explained to you earlier, a good scent dog doesn’t necessarily need a target object—that’s something that was recently handled or worn by the person he’s tracking—to pick up the trail.” All of this was a bit optimistic, I admit. Cisco was an enthusiastic, but easily distracted tracker. More than once in tracking class, he had sent me on a merry chase through the woods in search of a deer or a rabbit. His find rate was good, but he was young and still training.

“However, since there have been a lot of people through the woods this morning, we’re going to give Cisco an advantage by letting him get the scent of Heather’s glove.” I took out the glove-liner that Heather had left with me earlier, and let Cisco sniff it. Of course, what he really wanted to do was to play tug with it, and I quickly put it away. “Okay.” I snapped Cisco’s long line onto his backpack ring. “Let’s see how long it takes Cisco to find Heather. Remember, his signal for a find is to sit and bark. And don’t forget to stay behind me, otherwise you’ll contaminate the trail.”

“What if he can’t find her?” Angel wanted to know.

“Then I’ll be embarrassed,” I admitted, and she giggled a little.

“Ms. McBane has her whistle,” Rachel said humorlessly. “And if it takes too long, we’ll blow a whistle to let her know the exercise is over.”

I bent down and brushed the ground with my hand. “Cisco, track,” I said.

He took off in a happy crisscrossing pattern, his nose to the ground, moving in what I was pleased to note was the right general direction.

“So do you, like, track criminals and stuff?” Pete asked.

“Sometimes. But Cisco is not a police dog. Mostly we find lost people.”

“Why do you keep the rope on him?” asked someone else. “In the movies, the dogs search by themselves.”

“Some dogs work better off-leash,” I said, not entirely dodging the question. “Cisco doesn’t.”

Fortunately, the terrain was fairly flat and clear, so that the line did not become snarled as it would have done in a more heavily wooded environment. We had arranged in advance that the search would take us in the general direction of our destination, so that, even though we left the trail after a few dozen yards and spread out in the woods, we really weren’t losing much of the day’s hiking time.

I started explaining to the kids about search grids, and the kind of role they each might play if this were a real search mission, and then, to my dismay, Cisco started excitedly sniffing a half-rotted tree stump. Suddenly he sat, and barked.

“Hey,” exclaimed Lourdes. “That means he found something.”

Jess gave her a derogatory look. “Yeah, well unless she’s the size of a squirrel, there’s no way she’s hiding in that stump.”

I held out an arm as they started to move past me. “No, Jess is right,” I said. “Don’t contaminate the trail.”

Paul drew up beside me. “It looks to me as though the trail is already contaminated,” he said dryly.

I was embarrassed, just as I had predicted. This wasn’t anywhere near the place we’d agreed on for Heather to hide. I said, still trying sound in control, “Dogs are not fool-proof. Sometimes they get confused by other things in the field, or by the tracks of other people. I’ll check it out.”

I walked up to Cisco and brushed the ground again. “Cisco,” I repeated sternly, “Track.”

But Cisco remained stubbornly sitting, waiting for me to reward him for a good find. Once again, he barked.

On more than one occasion, I had come to regret second-guessing my dog. Cisco might occasionally get over-excited and forget a command or two, and he had once or twice been known to forget his mission altogether, but he had never deliberately made a mistake about a find. I looked around more closely, wondering if Heather might have dropped a glove or even a tissue on her way past. And that was when I noticed it. Wedged inside a corner of the stump, half-covered by damp leaves, was a blue waterproof bag, the kind campers use to store soap and writing materials and other small items in. I pulled it out. It was battered and stained and looked as though it had been there awhile. And there was something inside.

I raised the bag to my nose. It smelled suspiciously like peanut butter.

Cisco barked again.

I quickly reached in my pack and took out his tug toy. “Good find!” I exclaimed, tossing it to him. “Good find, Cisco!”

Cisco caught the toy in midair and did a happy twirl, and that was apparently a single to the others that our demo was over. They all crowded around.

“Hey, what’s that?”

“I thought he was going to find a person, not a bag.”

“Maybe there’s cash inside.”

I opened the drawstring and pulled out exactly what I expected to find: a cellular phone. It was a lot like mine in size and shape, maybe one model older, and a looking a little worse for wear. I pushed the power button, but of course the battery was long since dead.

Somebody said, “Say, whose is that?”

I remember that Rachel was standing on one side of me, and Paul on the other. Rachel said nothing. Paul reached for the phone. “Let me see that.”

I ignored him. I turned the device over and saw a small address sticker there. A lot of people do that, in case they leave their phone on an airplane or in a cab. I guess it’s more common in cities than around here. The sticker, which was faded and peeling at the edges, read:

Return to Brian Maddox * 451 Candlewick Lane #12* Pendleton, Ohio 43780
.

Paul withdrew his hand as though it had been about to touch a ghost. “Good God. Is that…?”

“Looks like some camper lost his phone,” I said, clearly enough so that I wouldn’t have to repeat myself to the kids. “I’ll turn it in to the police when we get back.”

I dropped the phone and the bag into my backpack and zipped the pocket, watching Paul all the time. Well, what was he going to do, argue with me?

Maybe he would have liked to, but all he said was a brusque, “All right, Miss Stockton, that was certainly very interesting, but I’m afraid we can’t waste any more time on this demonstration. Rachel, call Miss McBane in. We should get back on the trail.”

Rachel gave several sharp blows on her whistle, and after a few moments Heather caught up with us, brushing the leaves from her stocking cap and adjusting her own pack. “What’s up?” she wanted to know. “You didn’t even give him enough time to find me.”

“He found something better,” Jess said. “A telephone. Maybe he can call us all a cab.”

The laughter masked Heather’s reaction as she stared at me. “Whose?” she demanded, pretending to be shocked. “Whose phone?”

I wasn’t about to get into it with her there, and because both Rachel and Paul were still within hearing distance, as well as a couple of the kids, I said casually, “Some guy from Ohio. I’m going to turn it over to the police when we get back.”

Paul said loudly, “All right, everyone, back on the trail. We’ve wasted enough time.”

Pete muttered, “Thanks a lot, pooch. We were supposed to have the morning off.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Lourdes said shortly. “He found something, didn’t he?”

“Look at Lard-Ass kissing up to the pooch,” Pete jeered. He made kissing noises and lunged toward Cisco playfully, but Lourdes caught his shoulder and jerked him back.

“Hey, cut it out!” he said, wrenching away from her angrily.

“You cut it out!”

“Both of you cut it out,” I said impatiently. I certainly had more important things on my mind, and I was annoyed because Heather had already moved away without giving me a chance to say anything further to her, or to gauge her reaction while I did. “Cisco, with me.” I drew Cisco close and bent to replace his tracking line with his hiking leash.

“Besides, everybody knows it was you that cut up the pooch’s toy,” Pete said meanly. “No point in trying to make it up to him now.”

I looked up in surprise, and Lourdes face was dark red, her eyes blazing, her fists clenched. “I did not! You liar! You know you’re a liar! Take it back. Take it back right now!”

“Hey,” I cautioned, but my voice was quickly drowned out.

“I will not! You’re the only one crazy enough to do something like that—”

Lourdes hauled off and hit him in the face with her fist. Pete stumbled backward and went down. Cisco started to bark. Before I could stop her, Lourdes charged at Pete again and got in another blow before I was able to tumble forward and grab the strap of her backpack while, almost at the same moment, Paul grabbed her opposite arm and pulled her off of Pete roughly.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, eyes furious.

“Crazy bitch! Crazy bitch!” Pete pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his clothes and rubbing his cheek, while the others crowded around. He wasn’t bleeding, but he would definitely have a black eye. “Did you see that? She just jumped me! Crazy bitch!”

Lourdes yelled at him, “I’ll do again, you stupid liar!”

I stroked Cisco’s head, trying to calm him, but he was panting and pulling at the leash, eager to get in on the action. “There was some name-calling,” I explained to Paul. “Things got a little out of hand. I think if everybody just calms down…”

Paul turned to Lourdes, his expression ice-cold and full of quiet contempt. “That’s it, Lourdes. Twenty points.”

Her face drained of color. “But—you can’t do that!”

“You know the penalty for fighting.”

A slow and awful terror filled her eyes. “That means I can’t go home. I was supposed to go home after this. You promised I could go home! You can’t make me stay. You can’t do that—you promised!”

She moved toward him and he took a quick step back, flinging up a hand in self-defense. The alarm I saw flash in his eyes was almost instantly replaced by contempt. “I can do whatever I want, young lady,” he said. The way he looked at her actually gave me a chill.

Then, as though suddenly aware that I was watching him, he hitched up the straps of his backpack and turned abruptly. “Back on the trail,” he announced loudly. “Jess, get these people moving. Are you leading this hike or not?”

Everyone had grown very quiet and uncomfortable, and as they shuffled back toward the trail, they avoided looking at Lourdes, as though her misfortune might be contagious. Lourdes herself just stood looking stunned and white with shiny tear tracks cutting through the dirt on her face. And then, with a lurch, she pushed forward in line after the others.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What did he mean about points?”

Heather was examining Pete’s bruised face, but when I spoke he jerked away and moved on without answering. He looked almost as miserable as Lourdes.

Heather explained, “The program works on the demerit system. Everybody starts out with a hundred points, and that’s how many you have to have to graduate. You lose points for things like swearing, disobedience, disrespecting other students and counselors, and you can earn them by following the rules, keeping your quarters clean, doing your chores, that sort of thing.” I could tell she wanted to add an opinion about the system, but because Rachel was nearby she added only, “Everybody gets twenty points for completing the hike. There are no more chances to earn points. Lourdes needed every one of them to graduate from the program. Her evaluation will probably recommend another six weeks at New Day.” Her voice was tight, but she managed to keep her expression neutral as she glanced over at Rachel. “Is that right, Mrs. Evans?”

“It’s not appropriate to speculate on a student’s progress with an outsider, Miss McBane,” Rachel said. “Go and walk with Lourdes on the trail. Make sure she doesn’t get into any more trouble.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” I said to Rachel as Heather obediently moved off. “Pete was teasing her. Everyone is tired. If you ask me—”

“No one is,” she replied shortly and pushed ahead, leaving me to bring up the rear—alone.

A few minutes later, it started to snow. I thought the day couldn’t get any worse.

I was wrong.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

D
etective Ritchie said, “So you’re telling us that after an extensive search of that same area by trained officers—including canines—that lasted almost a week and failed to turn up anything, that your dog found Brian Maddox’s phone hidden in that tree stump in what? Ten minutes? And this after it had been there for four months?”