“Angie, stop. My dad is fine. He called me like two seconds ago. He was already on the east side of Carmanagh Lake when he phoned. He wouldn’t have gotten service between the lodge and the east outflow anyway. It’s all a dead zone along the lake.”
Which is why it’s the perfect place to run someone off the road.
“Did he say anything about colliding with a Dodge?”
Claire scrunched her brow. “No. All he said was that some hunters had run into a spot of vehicle trouble. Their brake line had leaked fluid, and their brakes failed, which had sent them speeding downhill. They couldn’t stop on a curve at the bottom, and they smashed into a rock on the bank as he approached. He was giving them a ride back into town and calling in a tow truck.”
Angie glared at Claire.“Hunters?”
“Yeah.”
“He didn’t know them?”
“He didn’t say.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know, Angie. He didn’t say.”
She regarded Claire, not believing a word.
“Look, why don’t you come inside? I’ll make you some hot tea and something to eat while you dry off by the fire.”
Angie’s gaze flicked to the axe leaning against the woodpile. Was Claire solid? Could she trust her? Had Garrison honestly not known the guys in the truck and bought into their fake story about brake trouble? Was it conceivable that they actually did have brake line issues, and Angie had read the incident entirely wrong—imagining she was being run off the road?
“Is ... is your mother home?” Angie said.
“No. She’s in town. My dad’s going to bring her back to the lodge after he’s done with his errands in Port Ferris.” Claire paused. “I imagine you came up here to talk to them about the body in the moss and the river trip all those years ago. I heard you were in town and looking into the accident on behalf of the woman’s grandmother.”
Osmosis. Babs was right. Angie doubted she could even scratch her own butt without everyone knowing it within minutes. It made her uneasy. Nothing was secret, yet everything was. Like the woods had eyes and the trees were watching her through the mist.
Is that how Jasmine and the women had felt with the men hazing them along the river?
“So when will your parents be back?”
“Late tomorrow afternoon. You should have called ahead,” Claire said. “You could possibly have met up with them in town. It would have saved you the drive out here.”
“I wanted to come out anyway,” Angie said, marshaling herself.Focus. Claire’s a good kid. I’m sure she is.“I was hoping to visit the campsite where Jasmine Gulati was last seen alive. And to take a walk down to the bay where she slipped and fell into the water. As well as hike up the ridge to where your dad witnessed her going over the falls. I’d also like to revisit the grave site on the other side of the Nahamish and maybe go find Budge Hargreaves or at least see where his place is located. Plus, I’d like to see Axel Tollet’s homestead.” Angie met Claire’s gaze. “I was hoping I could tempt you to guide me, Claire, and have you show me how to get round to the woods on the south side of the river, if not by boat.”
“Of course I will.” She placed her hand on Angie’s arm, kindness in her voice. “But you do need to come in out of the cold and warm up. Maybe we should get you into a hot shower and some dry clothes, too. The weather is not looking good for the rest of the day, but the forecast is fine for the morning. Why don’t you rest up, stay the night? You and I can make a day of it tomorrow. By the time we return to the lodge, my parents should be back.”
Angie agreed. Claire gave her a room. Taking the young woman’s advice, Angie stripped off her wet gear and took a scalding shower. Once she’d changed into dry clothes, Angie tried to phone Holgersen. She wanted to let someone know where she was, someone other than Jacobi and the local cops, someone other than Maddocks. Just in case she disappeared into these woods. At least Holgersen could initiate a police response if she didn’t return home.
But there was no reception.
When Angie asked Claire about the cell connection, Claire explained that heavy weather like this often killed connectivity but that things should improve when the dense cloud lifted and the sleet blew out.
CHAPTER 32
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER22
Angie stood in the campsite where all nine women on Rachel Hart’s documentary trip had last been together. It was early morning, and the air was like ice against Angie’s face. Mist tendrils snaked through the trees, and the falls boomed downriver.
Claire had loaned Angie a toque, and she wore fingerless gloves as she took photos for reference and for the final report she would compile for Justice Monaghan. It was the same campsite where Angie had camped with Maddocks and the old couple from Dallas. It had been raked clean. The fire pit was empty. From the camping area she walked slowly with Claire down a short trail to the river’s edge.
Angie raised her digital camera, adjusted the lens, and snapped several more shots of the boat pullout and the swirling water.
“Won’t be doing any more guided trips until spring now,” Claire said as she stood beside Angie watching the muscled current rolling beneath the smooth, unbroken meniscus of the surface.
