Ripped To Shreds Page 19

  By the time Rip and Rick had wrapped up their conversation, they'd polished off enough beer they both could have passed a baby porcupine without feeling a thing. In fact, I was concerned about the ranger driving home in his tipsy condition. I offered him the couch for the evening, but he assured me he'd make it home without incident. Despite their slurring speech, I could decipher their plans to meet here at our trailer the following morning at the crack of dawn, about the time of day when I usually got my best sleep. But I had a feeling I wouldn't be getting much sleep that night anyway because, although I was looking forward to our next adventure, I was apprehensive about the outcome.

  At least I'd be able to focus on something else for a while besides my aching body and who might have broken Bea's bones before leaving her body to the forest-dwellers. My restlessness was due to having too many thoughts running amok in my head, and nothing I did seemed to quiet them.

  Meanwhile, as I tossed and turned for hours that night, Rip lay beside me, snoring so loudly I swear I saw all 205 pounds of him levitate off the bed at least twice.

  Chapter 19

  The throbbing in my wrist had subsided somewhat during the night. I was up, dressed, showered, and sipping on my third cup of coffee by four in the morning. I have to admit I was a little irked that Rip could still be in such a deep slumber, despite the four or five times I'd inadvertently slammed one of the cabinet doors in the kitchen.

  Sleep is totally over-rated, after all. Particularly when you have bigger fish to fry, like we did! We were angling to reel in a doozy of a catch, namely a heartless, bear-poaching shark. I could hardly wait to get the show on the road.

  * * *

  It was unseasonably cool that morning, and I was wishing I'd worn a sweatshirt under my jacket for extra warmth. I had my arms folded across my chest as I followed Ranger Rick and Rip down a well-worn path in the forest. The ranger must have heard my teeth chatter. He came to a stop and turned to me. "Are you cold, Rapella?"

  "A bit."

  "I guess Rip was right when he said you didn't have the sense God gave a skydiver when it came to wearing appropriate clothing on a chilly day." After he and Rip shared a chuckle at my expense, he continued. "I remember him saying that because I actually have paid a friend of mine one hundred bucks to let me jump out of his perfectly good plane."

  I didn't appreciate the laughter the two men erupted into again, but I was grateful when, like a well-prepared Eagle Scout, Ranger Rick pulled a folded poncho out of the canvas hiking pack he had strapped to his back. He told me it would help insulate me to the point I'd feel sufficiently warmer, and he was correct. I also accepted a bottle of water from his back pack, as did Rip. But I should have given drinking another twelve ounces of fluid a second thought. I'd indulged in four cups of coffee earlier that morning, and my bladder was already becoming uncomfortably full.

  After zigzagging through the trees and foliage for another twenty minutes, I felt like a water balloon that could burst at any moment. "Can we stop for a minute or two? Just long enough for me to make a nature call. It would be very much appreciated."

  "Of course," Rick said. "I can't think of a better place to make a nature call than right here. If you continue on about thirty feet and veer off to the right I think you'll find a decent spot to, um, well, a decent spot for you to, um—"

  "Pee?" I asked. The tougher-than-nails ranger's face flushed as he nodded and turned away. I thought his bashfulness was adorable.

  I found the spot he'd indicated, and as he'd said, it was a decent spot to relieve my bladder. Except for two things, I should add. One, there was a pile of bear scat about three yards to my left. It had dried up to a certain extent, but still had a pungent odor that made the hairs in my nostrils recoil. And, two, where there's bear poop, there's been a bear. I knew the animal that left that huge calling card might frequent the area. And, for all I knew, it might have had its eyes on me even as I crouched down beside a tree with Kleenex in hand. The very thought terrified me. I've never been inflicted with a shy bladder before, but that morning it refused to relinquish a single drop. The harder I strained, the more stubborn my urethral sphincter became.

  "You okay over there?" I heard Rip shout.

  "Yes, I'm fine. I'll just be a minute." I thought about asking him to come accompany me. He had a gun to protect us. I had an antiquated metal finger nail file. But just then my bladder relaxed and I was able to relieve myself.

  I rejoined the men and we continued along the path. On several occasions two paths crossed, but the ranger appeared to know exactly where he was going and which path to follow. If not for that observation, I'd be tossing out a Skittle or two every three or four yards to mark our trail. I'd stuck two boxes of them in the over-sized fanny pack I'd chosen to carry that day. If not used for marking our trail, it'd make a good pick-me-up snack later on in the day.

  My suede leather bag carried all the essentials that made up my survival kit: lip gloss, Kleenex, several different-sized bandages, Neosporin, a lifeguard-type whistle, the two boxes of candy and the finger nail file to potentially use for protection. Even though I was realistic enough to know I couldn't fend off a charging gerbil with the file, much less a full grown bear, it gave me a little comfort knowing it was available in a crisis. The crisis, in this case, being a torn nail that would bug the crap out of me until it'd been smoothed out. There was also a stick of gum that'd been in the bag so long it was as stiff as a metal rasp. I'd been meaning to pitch it, but never remembered when I was near a trash receptacle. And I loathed litterers.

  I also had my pepper-spray can nestled into the leather holster Rip had fashioned for me. Even though I'd been warned the deterrent might do nothing more than provoke the animal I used it on, it really did give me peace of mind. It also gave me comfort to know that once I'd ticked the animal off with the pepper spray, its deadly attack would be quick and thorough. There'd likely be no drawn-out agony before my demise. It wasn't a great plan, but it was the only one I had.

  We finally reached the boggy swamp we'd crossed the day we'd lost our way in the forest. Ranger Rick picked out the location he thought would give us our best chance at capturing a photo of the perpetrator. Rip attached the game camera to the trunk of a lodge pole pine that was predominantly camouflaged by various-colored foliage. If I hadn't known it was there, I'd probably have overlooked the critter cam myself.

  Rip activated the camera's motion-sensing capabilities and we reversed our direction to follow the ranger back to the campground. The trek back was enjoyable and without incident. We did observe a northern spotted owl fly across the path ahead of us.

  "That was a rare sight to see," Rick said. "Owls rarely come out during the daylight hours, and the influx of barred owls has caused a sharp decline in the number of these spotted owls in the northwestern forest regions."

  "The two owl species don't co-exist in harmony?" I asked.

  "Pardon my language, Rapella, but the barred owl is one badass bird. It's much bigger and meaner than the spotted owl, and has driven the smaller birds off their own turf."

  Having Rick, a trained biologist, as our guide was a treat. He was very knowledgeable about the flora and fauna in the region. When a couple of yellow-bellied marmots, sniffing around a mossy log from a toppled sycamore tree, became aware of our presence, one of them stood up on his back legs and emitted a shrill, high-pitched sound. I remembered that exact same sound scaring the heck out of me on one of our trips to reset the game camera.

  Both the marmots then scampered into a nearby burrow partially concealed by a cluster of shrubby plants that Rick referred to as a hybrid species called Bonneville sagebrush. "He was warning his clan about trespassers in their territory. That's why we often refer to marmots as 'whistle pigs'."

  "You are fascinating to listen to, Rick. You'd make an excellent nature guide, for adults and kids alike." I was sincere in my praise. The experienced ranger was passionate about his job, the wildlife, and the environment, and it showed in the
way he explained the variety of wildlife and plant life we encountered.

  "Thank you, ma'am," he replied. "I actually do volunteer. I take elementary school classes on field trips and teach them about the importance of protecting our environment and all of the different species indigenous to the area. I find it rewarding and hope the experience has a lasting effect on them."

  "How could it not?" I asked. "It's so captivating. My guess is that you'll be responsible for some of them growing up to be forest rangers like you. By the way, there is a couple in our park named Harris, whose mission is to protect all the endangered species on the globe. Have you ever had any interaction with them?"

  "Of course! Barb and John are incredible. A few years ago I worked with them on a project involving the decline of those northern spotted owls I told you about. They've also assisted me a couple of times with the summer camp program I'm involved with. We take the kids hiking and point out different plants and animals and, naturally, answer all of their questions. Except for one question a kid asked, that is."

  "What question was that?" Rip inquired.

  "One day we came across a mother fox, with three kits who were playing on a log. After watching the kits scurrying all over the place, wrestling and having fun for a few minutes, a young boy about seven asked me where the mother fox got her babies."

  "Oh, goodness!" I exclaimed with an amused grin. "What did you tell him?"

  "I asked him if he'd heard of the phrase 'sly as a fox'. Then I told him the phrase referred to the fact that foxes are so sneaky and devious that people could never figure out where a female fox, called a vixen, got her kits from. With a poker face, the teacher who accompanied the class nodded and said, 'That's what I've always heard too.'"

  We enjoyed his story, along with a number of other ones he related to us during our trek in the woods that morning. Even though I couldn't remove him from my suspect list quite yet, I found it difficult to imagine that this kind man would harm even the tiniest living creature, much less his ex-wife's sister. I marveled at the way he'd deliberately walked around a fire ant crossing the path ahead of us. I'd have intentionally squashed its brains out with the heel of one of my hiking boots had I been in the lead. Afterward, I was kind of glad I hadn't been leading the way. The ranger might not have appreciated my inclination to brutally execute every bug or spider I came across.

  John and Barb were practically saints, I realized, and I felt guilty for having ever added the ranger to my suspect list, too. But even if I could remove Rick from the list, could I remove Desireé, his ex, as well? I wasn't so certain. I couldn't get past the conversation I'd overheard–or at least Desireé's side of it–when she reminded "Ricky" he had as much at stake as she did regarding an agreement they'd made. I couldn't comprehend why Desireé would want to involve her ex-husband in a plot to kill her sister, but as Rip had pointed out to Rick, truth can often be stranger than fiction.

  It was conceivable that the debt I'd heard Desireé mention on the phone call was hanging like an ominous cloud over her head, and her being the sole heir of their mother's estate was too tempting to resist. Maybe she used the fact there was no love lost between her ex and her sister to coerce Rick into eliminating Bea for jealousy, money, or whatever else. Could she have offered him a portion of her inheritance to lure him into killing Bea, or at least participating in the plot with her? I just couldn't see the kind, gentle ranger accepting an offer like that—for any amount of money.

  I was leaning more toward Desireé being behind her sister's death alone. It appeared to me she was extremely self-absorbed and in dire need of some cash. But was she desperate enough to bump off her sister so she'd be the sole heir of their dying mother's estate? Maybe. After all, the greedy woman was asking eighty-nine dollars for a quarter's worth of lace at her scandalous sex shop. If that doesn't say money-hungry, what does?

  I still wanted to get to the bottom of this conundrum. Maybe, I told myself, I want a sex toy more than I'd first thought. I'd have a little spare time before Willie's ballgame and decided it wouldn't hurt to go give Desiree's shop another look—even though the very idea of inquiring about one of her sleazy toys made me want to slash my wrists with a switchblade. It might be less agonizing than the humiliation I was apt to experience at the Naughty Pine Playhouse that afternoon.

  * * *

  "You again?" Was the greeting I received from Desireé when I entered her shop two hours later.

  "Um, yes. Nice to see you too!"

  "Still don't have anything appropriate for your ten-year-old nephew."

  "No, of course not," I said. "Actually I'm here looking for a little something for myself."

  "Oh?" Her tentative tone was accompanied by a raised eyebrow that had a pierced earring shoved through the middle of it. It looked painful to me, and comical as well. On the bright side, it was a perfect match to the one protruding from her right nostril. A nose ring would drive me nuttier than a bag of trail mix within an hour. Again, that's probably just my age talking. But, still, it made me wonder how she and Rick had ever peacefully cohabitated. They gave the impression of having been from two different planets. Personally, I thought Rick was fortunate to be rid of her.

  "Yes, maybe you can just show me a few of the more popular toys. Preferably the ones you mentioned that had something to do with airplanes." I turned away from her as I spoke, although I thought any toy that had to do with planes couldn't be too repulsive. Just asking about sex toys embarrassed the crap out of me, and I didn't want her to see my crimson face, or that I was gagging on my own words.

  "Airplanes?" She asked, clearly confused.

  "You know, the 'flying solo' toys."

  "Aha!" She exclaimed, with a seductive wink that made me want to upchuck the ham salad sandwich I'd eaten for lunch. "I know exactly what you want!"

  I followed Desireé across the store. Not wanting to waste an opportunity, I asked, "Have you heard about any new developments in your sister's homicide case?"

  "No. I hadn't even heard it was now considered a homicide case. Last I knew it was ruled an accidental death in connection with an animal attack. What have you heard?" She had stopped and turned to face me, obviously shaken by my statement.

  "I heard the medical examiner uncovered something in the autopsy that pointed toward Bea's death being declared an intentional murder. Something to do with injuries she sustained before her death."

  "Wow! When I spoke to her the day before her disappearance, she told me she'd bumped her head on a kitchen cabinet in the cabin. But I hadn't heard about any other injuries she'd sustained."

  "I think they were implying the perpetrator was responsible for more serious injuries right before he, or she, killed Bea." I hate to admit it, but I felt compelled to return the facial gesture she had just bestowed on me. So when I drew out the word "she" as if it were fourteen syllables long, I added a knowing wink.

  She gasped in horror. Then she closed her eyes tightly, like she was attempting to shut out the image she was visualizing. Her reaction was intense. She lifted a trembling hand and placed it over her mouth as her complexion paled. She was genuinely taken aback by my comment. But why? Did she know more about Bea's death than she was letting on? Was she deeply involved, but thought she had successfully flown under the radar? Or was she truly shocked by my announcement out of concern for her late sister? After she composed herself, she whispered, "Who do they think killed her?"

  Although it was a total falsehood, I replied, "I heard someone say the detectives were looking at the whereabouts and potential motives of her closest relatives and friends. I'm surprised they haven't questioned you already."

  Desireé was motionless, as if she'd accidentally stepped in front of an elephant being shot at with a tranquilizer dart. After several anxious moments, her stunned expression morphed, ever so slowly, into one of distrust. Her distraught demeanor quickly vanished like a mirage in the Mohave Desert. "How do you know they haven't already questioned me?"

  "It wa
s just an assumption."

  "Well, you assumed wrong. They did contact me. Yesterday, in fact. But I had nothing useful to share with them, like I told you before. I hadn't seen my sister in over a week when she disappeared. It's true I had spoken to Bea over the phone the previous day, but she said nothing that might indicate she was afraid someone was out to get her. I'd have contacted the police myself if she had."

  "What kind of relationship did your ex have with the victim?" I asked. Her response was completely unexpected, but I tried not to appear astonished. If the detectives had questioned her the previous day, I had to wonder if they had indeed discovered something that made them suspect Bea's death might have been something other than first thought. Maybe they had changed their conclusion about the accidental animal attack being her COD.

  "You know Rick?" Desireé asked, appearing more stunned by that question than she did my statement about the detectives questioning Bea's family and friends.

  "We've met."

  "Have you spoken with him recently? Did he say anything about Bea's death?"

  "Yes, I have spoken with him, and although he informed me and my husband it'd been him who discovered her body, he said nothing else of any consequence. Didn't seem to care much for your sister though."

  "Rick found her body? He never mentioned that to me. But I haven't spoken to him in a couple of weeks, or more."

  Liar, liar, lingerie on fire! I wanted to chant. "He didn't mention it to my husband and me either. At first, anyway. I think it's hard for him to talk about. Either that or he was involved in some way in your sister's death."

  My comments seemed to make Desireé want to open up about her ex-husband. She said, "There was quite a rift between the two of them. Still, I know he'd never have hurt her in any way, even though he mistakenly believed she was behind our divorce. He thought she encouraged me, and eventually persuaded me, to leave him. She did think Rick wasn't the right man for me, which was probably obvious to everyone, but it was ultimately my decision to file for divorce."