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CHAPTER 16
FLORA
IEXPECTED A KID AT THE ATV rental company. Instead it’s an old guy in a green flannel shirt, worn jeans, and sturdy hiking boots. He glances up when Keith and I walk through the door, takes in Keith’s obviously upscale urban wardrobe, and appears to do some quick math. Probably doubling the rental price for the cute tourist couple.
I thought Keith would start with the subject of maps. Instead, he smiles, lays on the charm, and plays the part of naïve out-of-towner with more money than common sense.
First question from owner-operator Bill Benson: Have we ever driven a four-wheeler before? We both shake our heads.
Okay, one ATV or two? Bill eyes me dubiously. He appears old school, as in women should be seen not heard, and definitely have no place operating any kind of motorized vehicle.
Keith wants to know about the ATVs first. Sizes, models, how comfortable for two. Hey, if we wanted to bring blankets, a picnic basket, does Bill have anything with storage, that sort of thing.
Bill takes us out back to peruse his inventory. A standard ATV can definitely hold two of us just fine. Or, given the scenarios both Keith and I are running through our minds, one driver plus one body strapped behind the driver. Three bodies seems a stretch to me, and I have no idea where you’d put a shovel, but then I see a compact trailer parked to the side, obviously meant to be attached to the rear of one of the ATVs. Probably intended for hauling leaves, lawn clippings, that sort of thing. But also perfect for dark deeds done at midnight. I can tell by the look on Keith’s face that he’s thinking the same.
Keith inspects each four-wheeler. He settles on one that looks exactly like all the others to me. And finally we get to the matter of where to ride.
Bill walks us back inside, where he unfolds a map of the surrounding area. There aren’t just ATV trails, there are hiking trails. Dozens, if not hundreds, looping all over the place. The myriad of dashed and solid lines reminds me of the subway map in Boston, except much more complicated.
“Now then,” Bill is saying, “these dashed lines are hiking only. Stay clear, not just because you don’t want to be running anyone over, but because most are too narrow. You could a hit a tree, really ruin your day.”
“The ATVs look pretty hardy to me,” Keith says. “What if we wanted to do a little off-trail exploration?”
“Oh, the machines are tough, all right. And this time of year, you don’t have to worry about mud. But you get off the trails and you start destroying plant life. People don’t take kindly to that. Besides, underbrush is dense in these parts. Bushes, mountain laurel, smaller trees. You can get stuck or lost plenty easy.”
“We’re actually staying over by Niche, but I didn’t notice any rental companies over there.”
“No, sir, we’re the only providers in the area.”
“So, if we wanted to rent the ATV for the day, explore closer to our hotel?”
Bill eyes Keith suspiciously. I stay quiet, studying the map and wishing it made more sense. I may have grown up in the woods, but I never used any kind of guide to roam my own backyard. I simply headed out, following deer paths, animal trails. I never knew where I was going, and yet I never felt lost. The more I roamed, the more the woods were my home.
By contrast, this overhead view of a mountain range, with solid lines for ATVs and dashed lines for hikers and curved lines for grade, seems like an overly complicated maze, designed not to show the way, but to get everyone hopelessly lost. I finally pinpoint Niche, then identify the dashed line indicating the trail we’d hiked up yesterday to the first body. How far up the dashed line we’d gone, how far off the trail the first body was, let alone the others, causes me a second round of confusion.
“What is this ATV trail?” I ask abruptly. I’d found a solid line that seems to be following some ridge above where we’d found the bodies. I study the map’s scale again, trying to understand distance from one point to another.
“That’s Laurel Lane. Some pretty views in the spring,” Bill offers. He looks at me, then Keith, then me again. There’s no way he hasn’t heard about the discovery of bodies in the woods yesterday. And given the location of the Laurel Lane trail in relation to the search efforts...
“We’re part of the taskforce,” I give up. “We came in with the FBI yesterday to assist with the search.”
Beside me, Keith nods.
“You don’t look like FBI.”
“I’m a computer analyst,” Keith volunteers. “I have experience calculating search areas.”
Bill grunts, seeming to accept Keith’s job description. Then his gaze goes back to me.
“I’m a victim advocate,” I say.
“A victim advocate? For bones?”
“Everyone needs a voice.”
Bill arches a brow.
I lean forward, whisper quietly. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, we found another grave yesterday.”
