“Verity?” Clayton says her name, and my skin starts to prickle with annoyance.
“She was here this morning, directing traffic and handing out maps.”
“Here?” he questions.
“Yeah, here.”
“Oh, we did have a new volunteer start a while back. I’ve never spoken to her, though. She showed up one day and just kept coming. That could be her, although I didn’t know that was her name.”
“Small, long hair, softly spoken,” I push, listing the basics of what I noticed about her, not mentioning her full lips or the way I didn’t want to walk away from her even though I could barely see her face.
“Yeah, that sounds about right. She shows up most days and eats with the volunteers. I don’t really have much to do with them. I leave that to Erin. She pairs them up and assigns them tasks.”
“But if she’s a volunteer, she must be a local?” I question.
Clayton shrugs. “Maybe. Although we do have a few students that spend the spring and summer here, so she could be one of them.”
“She was on her own this morning,” I tell him.
Shrugging again, he lifts his hands into the air. “Like I said, the volunteers are Erin’s domain.”
Reluctantly I nod. “Okay, no worries. It was good to see you. I should head back.”
“Good to see you too. You free for beers one night this week?”
“Today is my first day off.”
“I could do a few beers tonight,” Clayton says. “I get off at six.”
“See you there,” I tell him, slapping him on the shoulder as I head back to my Jeep.
Turning the key in the ignition, my Jeep rumbles to life, and I reverse out of the spot and pull onto the road, scanning my surroundings for any sign of her. By the time I hit town, I’m frustrated and itching with the desire to turn around and head back to the trailhead, just in case she’s there. Instead, I slow to a stop outside the ranger office in the middle of town, a prime position for all the tourists who visit each year.
Erin is sitting behind an information desk, her gray hair short and neat, barely long enough to tuck behind her ears. She’s chatting with a large family with a map spread out on the desk as she talks them through a hike that will lead them to one of the mountain lakes.
Waiting as patiently as I can, I cross and uncross my arms, fighting the urge to shove the dude wearing brand-new hiking boots and those pants that unzip at the knee to become shorts out of the way so I can ask Erin for everything she knows about the woman that I cannot stop thinking about.
After what feels like an hour, but it’s probably closer to five minutes, the family turns away from Erin and files out of thestore, chattering excitedly about the things they’re going to see on their hike this afternoon.
“Hey, Erin,” I say, striding to the desk the moment I can weave my way around the straggling kids.
“Warrick Meyer, what can I do for you today?” Erin asks shrewdly.
I don’t know the woman well, but on the rare occasion that I’ve had to act as liaison between my team and the ranger service, I’ve found her to be efficient, no-nonsense, and calm in a crisis. Apparently, she was an active ranger until about five years ago, when she hit retirement age. Unwilling to give up working, she stepped away from the more physical duties and took over manning the public facing side of the ranger service—helping tourists, giving talks at the local schools, and, when required, helping guide the fire and rescue services in an emergency.
“Erin, I met one of your volunteers today.”
“Did you?” she asks, not taking the bait and asking which one.
“I did. Her name was Verity. She was directing cars and giving out maps at the start of the trailhead.”
“Okay,” she says impassively.
“I was wondering if you knew much about her,” I finally blurt.
“Not really. She’s quiet, keeps to herself,” Erin says, not giving me any real information.
“Is she local? I’ve never seen her before, but living up on the mountain, I don’t get to town much.”
