One Step Too Far Page 14

  “Tim didn’t get it, thank heavens, but it was not a good time to be sharing an apartment with the two of them. But Tim, he also had this way about him. Sure, he didn’t tell Miggy about the interview. But Miguel had already accepted another job. So no harm, no foul, right?”

  “What did Miggy think?”

  “Same as the rest of us. Asshole move. But . . . but Tim is Tim, and Miguel had already made his decision. Maybe Miggy is being too harsh. Maybe he should just let it go, accept the case of beer, and hit the basketball court with Tim. We all got it, had been there ourselves. You try to stay mad. Tim was the one who screwed up, of course you have the right to be pissed off. But somehow . . .” Scott shrugs. “Even when we hated him, we still forgave him. He was a jackass on occasion, but he was also the guy who’d bring you home each and every holiday and never once make you feel like an outsider. How do you stay angry with that?”

  Voices. Finally. I exhale a sigh of relief. We’ve done a terrible job searching. Have nothing useful to report. And yet, I’ve found this conversation enlightening, making our jaunt productive in its own way.

  I make one more push for the answer Scott has so far refused me: “Tim loved Latisha. He ended up dating her and getting engaged to her. But he wasn’t the one who saw her first. So who did he steal her from? You? Josh? Neil?”

  “I had a major crush on Latisha,” Scott replies carefully. “I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it. And as you can tell, I’m not exactly a subtle sort of guy. Tim could’ve backed off, acknowledged my interest, given me a chance. But that wasn’t his style. Once he decided he wanted her . . .

  “Well, you know how that went. I wanted to blame him for my broken heart. But at a certain point . . . I think Latisha is the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met. And back in those days, I could tell that’s what she thought every time she looked at Tim.”

  “You came to terms. Were even willing to stand beside Tim as he married her.”

  “I never tried to sabotage their relationship. And I didn’t set out to marry her after Tim was gone. But this is what Josh, Neil, and Miggy don’t want to talk about. After Tim disappeared . . . we weren’t the people we were before. None of us. And the people we became, the people Latisha and I became . . . We clicked. First, over our mutual grief and, yeah, shared memories of Tim. Then as friends helping each other get through. And then . . . We love each other. We’re good together. Now we’re starting a family. I wish the guys could accept that, but if not, fuck them.”

  “Ironically enough, they would’ve come to terms if it’d been Tim marrying your ex-fiancée.”

  Scott laughs harshly. “There is that. At least Patrice understands.”

  “Tim’s mom?” This catches me off guard.

  “Patrice has been battling cancer for over fifteen years. That’s a long time to contemplate dying. It’s made her much more practical about these things. Death happens; life goes on. She sent us a card for our wedding, giving us her blessing. She wrote that she’d long considered me a second son, and that she loved us both, and it made her heart happy to know something good had come out of something so awful. She looked forward to one day meeting our children. Though realistically speaking, I’m not sure that will happen. Last time Latisha and I visited, Patrice looked like a walking skeleton. First Tim, now her. Goddammit. They were my family, too, you know. Hell, I like them better than my own relatives.”

  Scott can’t speak anymore. He pinches the bridge of his nose, then wipes at his eyes. We’re almost back to the others now. I pause, giving him a moment to recover.

  “This is all so shitty,” he whispers. “The way Josh and Neil and Miggy look at me. Martin’s total hatred. I know finding Tim won’t magically change any of that, but at least it’ll finally be over. We can lay his bones to rest. And someday, Latisha and I will take our kids to visit his grave and tell them about this really great guy we both loved. We’ll share stories. We’ll keep his memory alive.

  “That’s what Patrice wants. She knows Martin is too pissed off to remember. So we’re the keepers of Tim’s flame. And maybe it’s twisted that Tim’s former fiancée now married to his friend are the ones carrying it, but I don’t see the others stepping up.”

  “Then my best wishes to the two of you,” I tell him honestly. Because I also know what it’s like to love someone so much that, years later, the loss still feels like a razor’s edge. And the only person I can share my sadness with is his widow. The woman Paul loved, calling the woman who loved him. Scott’s right: Grief makes for strange bedfellows.

  “I need this to end,” Scott declares with a final rub of his tear-stained face. “I need Daisy the SAR dog to be brilliant. I need all of us to get this done. Then I need to go home to my wife and baby and never think of these damn mountains again.”

  “Sounds good.”

  A sniff and a nod. “All right, let’s do this.”

  We can hear talking. The rest of our party is just beyond this wall of trees. Scott points himself toward them.

  At the last second, I grab his arm. “Quick question. Do you know anything about Bob the Bigfoot hunter?”

  “Never met him till two days ago. Why?”

  “Luciana and Daisy?”

  “Also just met. More acquaintances of Martin, I guess. He never quits this. Never.”

  I let his arm drop, just in time for him to now stop me.

  “Wait, does this have something to do with our diminished food supplies?” he asks.

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  “I thought an animal did that.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  Scott studies me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “No idea. But if I ever solve the puzzle, you’ll be the first to know.”

  He blinks at me, but I really don’t have answers. I shrug. He stares at me and I shrug again. Then, finally, we thread our way through the line of ghost trees and join the others.

  CHAPTER 17

  In the end, our impromptu search is a bust. Daisy doesn’t pick up any scent trail. The humans don’t stumble upon any visual evidence. We have the makeshift campsite, that’s it. Daisy is clearly forlorn and requires much patting, as well as a twenty-minute break. Martin is equally frustrated, but nobody pats him. I eye the chocolate in my pack with longing but, figuring the day will only grow more torturous, settle for another protein bar instead.

  Day two in the wilderness and I’m already making deals with myself: If I just survive this trek, I will never eat protein bars ever again. It’s the little things that get you through.

  Nemeth must be timing us, because I no sooner crumple up my wrapper than he’s standing expectantly. There’s a collection of low groans, then one by one we rise to our feet, adjust our gear, and stagger forth.

  We are a wordless procession, snaking through the woods, then crossing a broad stream into a vast meadow. The sun has climbed higher, warming our faces and glittering off distant snowy peaks. In this moment, it’s easy to believe we are enjoying a gorgeous day hike, complete with dancing wildflowers and gentle flowing streams. After the desolation of our last search area, I want to appreciate this beauty. Bask in the scent of meadow grasses, the singing of birds, the feel of the wind on my cheeks. The sky so impossibly blue and stretching out . . . forever. So very different from the last few places I’ve stayed. It beckons and I can feel our answering call in the fresh bounce of our steps. Even Daisy has recovered and is prancing along, snapping at blowing grasses and pouncing on random insects.

  Walking through this section of the canyon, I can understand the mountains’ appeal. What would draw someone like Tim—restless, adventuresome, confident—to test himself against the great outdoors. I am starting to build a picture of him in my mind. I can imagine him striding along, knowing he was lost, but still taking a moment to admire the scenery, still upb
eat enough to think he was one footstep away from solving this latest problem. From saving himself.

  I can see him thinking if he could just make it to those cliffs . . .

  Did he amuse himself by thinking of the stories they’d soon be telling of this camping weekend gone awry? Or was he still panicked and worried about his missing buddy, Scott? At what point did he realize—or did he ever realize—that it was his survival that was now at stake?

  We can walk his last steps. We can retrieve his bones to be laid to rest next to his mother’s. But we’ll still never know everything that happened to Tim. Sooner or later, his father and his friends will have to come to terms with that. That the quality of their future sleep won’t be determined by a visit to his grave, but by their ability to let go.

  I’m panting by the time we complete our meadow crossing, traverse more patches of evergreens, then start winding our way back up. I don’t know why we’re going up. I’m very sorry to be hiking up.

  Once again, Miggy, Neil, Scott, and I fall back, Bob slowing to maintain his position as rear guard. No one talks. We’re all swiping tiredly at our sweaty, dripping faces when we finally clear the rise and discover ourselves in the middle of a dusty boulder field, face-to-face with a solid wall of jutting rock.

  The cliff. Taller and broader than I ever imagined from the other side of the canyon. Like trying to take in the entire length of a football stadium in a single glance from five feet away. Can’t be done.

  “Holy shit,” Miggy breathes as we stagger to a halt beside the forward members of our party.

  Already I can see the dark opening of a cave here, then another there, peppering the base. Some appearing to bore into the cliff face itself, others formed from collapsing piles of rock. Easily a dozen if not several dozen possible shelter sites.

  “Fuck me,” Scott groans.

  For once, his friends don’t argue.

  * * *

  —

  Lunch break. Martin doesn’t want to; Nemeth doesn’t give him a choice. Clearly, we have our work cut out for us. Now is the time to drink, eat, prepare for the coming battle. While we get situated, Luciana and Daisy take off for a quick recon. The dog picks her way easily among the sea of smaller stones and larger boulders. It looks to me like year after year, pieces of the reddish brown cliff have broken off and rained down below, until we’re surrounded by hot, dusty rocks, some the size of footballs, others Volvos, with lots of grit and sandy particles in between.

  The sun that felt so lovely just an hour ago now feels like a broiler, radiating off the stones around us. I wish I had a brimmed cap to shield my face. I notice Bob dampening the bandana around his neck, then tying it around the lower half of his face. I follow his example, giving him a thumbs-up when he nods in my direction.

  Everyone is dousing themselves in more bug spray, adding a chemical tang to our exciting lunch of nuts, granola, and dried fruit. I make a new deal with myself. Survive this mission, never eat granola again. At least the limited food choices keep us from lingering.

  Luciana and Daisy return with an update. “I lost count at eighteen openings, and that’s just what I can see from standing in one place. Some are probably too small, some may be quite deep. Impossible to tell without checking each one. Daisy is a skilled rock climber from working rubble piles, but the sheer size of this wall . . . We could use a team of search dogs, not just a lone canine.”

  Martin nods, takes out his map, and snaps it open on the rock before him. “Our original plan broke this area into four quadrants. Now that we’re here looking at it . . . I say we ditch that and go with a standard hasty search strategy—two of us will start at either end of the cliff face and work from the outside in, while the remaining members of our party start at the midpoint and work from the inside out. We’ll do a quick study of all the possible cave openings, mark ones that have signs of habitation as worthy of further exploration by Daisy.”

  He pauses, we nod.

  “Now, according to the map, midpoint looks about a hundred yards that away.” He points to my right. “We’ll set up there. Two of us will hoof it in opposite directions to the far ends. Two more can head out for halfway down. Leaving the final two hikers to start at the middle, working toward the ends. Make sense?”

  I get what he’s doing, trying to cover as much of the massive protrusion as quickly as possible. We arrived later than planned, given our impromptu search of the lean-to area. All of us, including Daisy, will tire soon enough. Not to mention in these hot, dry conditions, water will be an issue. No pretty lakes and meandering streams for refills in the immediate vicinity. I’ve already chugged my first bottle, while Daisy looks like she could go for another bowl or two.

  Martin looks at Nemeth. “You and I will take the endpoints.” They’re the fastest hikers, so that makes sense. He glances at Bob next. “You get one of the halfway downs, head northwest or southeast, I don’t care.”

  Bob nods. Martin’s gaze goes to Luciana and Daisy, the next most qualified hikers.

  Luciana’s already shaking her head. “No. Daisy needs to rest so she can be ready for the main event. We’ll hold down the fort. That’s it.”

  Martin doesn’t love the news but surrenders to the realities of the cadaver dog’s limitations. That leaves him with myself and the three bachelor buddies. If we didn’t realize we were the B team before, we certainly know it now. If Nemeth and Martin were picking hiking teams on a mountain playground, we’d definitely be the last kids they tapped.

  “Someone needs to hike to the opposite halfway-down point from Bob.”

  Scott raises his hand. “I’ll do it.”

  “No. You’re injured. Someone else.”

  Neil speaks up. “I got it.”

  Miggy grumbles briefly, but not too seriously. He and I suffered the most on yesterday’s hike in. We’re the logical fits to start searching from the middle. Which leaves Scott as the odd man out once again.

  Marty doesn’t pretend to care. He waves a hand in Scott’s direction. “You can either assist one of them”—a vague gesture at Miguel and myself—“or remain with Luciana.”

  “I can help search,” Scott states stubbornly. He eyes me, then moves closer to Miguel. I nod in understanding. At this stage, I might be the more comfortable pairing option, but best friends are best friends, and Scott is trying hard to rebuild a relationship with his.

  We all rise to standing. My sore muscles, having stiffened up, scream in protest. Miggy, Neil, and Scott don’t look like they’re doing much better. But no one protests, even as Martin greets our muffled moans with a look of contempt.

  “We only have a matter of days. You can do this.”

  It’s delivered less as a reassurance, more as a command. It might just be me, but Martin seems to be turning into a bigger asshole by the minute. I can’t decide whether it’s the anxiety of being this close to discovering his only child’s remains, or if he just hates his son’s former groomsmen that much.

  “If anyone spots anything of note, or gets into trouble, use your whistles,” Nemeth instructs. “Stay close to the cliff face and you can’t get lost. Also, pay attention to your footing. Easy enough to twist an ankle on these rocks. Oh, and don’t step on any snakes.”

  “Snakes?” I freeze, mid backpack shrug.

  “Don’t worry, they’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

  “I sincerely doubt that.”

  “Then you’ll be happy to know we don’t have much in the way of venomous snakes around here. Prairie rattlers don’t care for this elevation and most of the midget faded rattlesnakes live to the south.”

  “Most?”

  “Pay attention to your footing,” Nemeth repeats crisply. “You’ll be fine.”

  I don’t feel fine. Rats and cockroaches I’ve learned to live with, given some of my housing options. Even tarantulas on occasion. But snakes. I’ve n
ever been a fan of snakes.

  I finish shouldering my pack, then we all follow Martin to our new base of operations.

  Luciana and Daisy settle in near a circle of particularly large, flat boulders. Daisy is eyeing Luciana with clear expectation of something. Probably more treats.

  Nemeth glances at his watch. “I want everyone back here in two hours. Got it? If you haven’t met up with a fellow searcher by then, mark where you are along the wall, then return. And no going too deep in any of the caves. You never know what kind of creature considers it home.”

  Great, now I’m navigating boulders while keeping an eye out for snakes and creatures.

  Apparently, that was Nemeth’s version of a pep talk, because without another word he turns and strides away. Martin immediately heads out in the opposite direction, his steps equally rapid. Watching the two men power effortlessly around and over the mounds of sand and rock, I realize for the first time how much they’ve adjusted their pace over the past two days to accommodate the rest of us. Which confirms that they are indeed superhuman.

  Bob nods once at Neil, then takes off after Nemeth. Neil in turn heads out in Martin’s direction. Leaving me, Miggy, and Scott to work from the inside out.

  “I’ll go left, you go right,” I offer, putting the two friends on the path that doesn’t intersect with Martin. They nod gratefully.

  Then we all get to work.

  * * *

  —

  In this context, I’m not a great searcher. Ironic, given my job. But working cold cases generally comes down to people skills. Knowing who to ask what, how to spot a lie. Why someone might do what they did. This kind of discipline—peer underneath a rocky outcropping here, stick my head in this opening there . . . Let’s just say I wasn’t the kid who excelled at Easter egg hunts.

  I’m feeling extra squeamish now that Nemeth has planted the image of snakes in my head. I also have a difficult time maintaining focus. The more I plod along the brown, gritty rocks, the more my mind wanders. I pay less attention to particulars, while contemplating larger issues.