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The ground here was covered with the usual mixture of sodden leaves, dead fir, and cedar needles that had dropped to make way for new growth next spring, and a plush layer of brilliant green moss. Mushrooms were everywhere—toadstools mostly, but I recognized a chanterelle here and there. Expensive taste treats, but we weren’t here to collect wildcraft edibles.
I knelt down and began pushing the leaves aside, sifting through the mass of debris. The usual mixture of fungi, insects, and banana slugs. The latter were both cool and freaky: six-inch-long funky town mollusks that made their home up and down the west coast, eating plants, leaving a trail of slime.
A spider scuttled across my hand and I shook it away. Ever since my ordeal with the Hunters Moon Clan—a group of hobo werespiders—I tended to err on the side of caution around the eight-legged beasties, but then, before I could dwell on it, something caught my eye. A tamped-out cigarette. I had learned enough from Chase so that I didn’t immediately pick it up, but instead pulled out a plastic baggie and used that to cover my hand as I lifted the butt. No lipstick, but that didn’t mean it had to be a man. I dropped it in a second baggie, and held it up.
“Someone was here. These things don’t just put themselves out. Comb this area thoroughly.” I went back to scavenging and came up with a candy wrapper. Not for a candy bar, but for one of those expensive truffles. I added that to the bag. Then Camille let out a shout and both Shade and I hurried over.
She pointed to a footprint. It was caught in the moist dirt beneath a tree, shaded from the rain. While it was mildly eroded, it hadn’t been washed away. I knelt down, examining it and looking around the nearby area. There was another partial print right near it, half in, half out of the foliage. Enough of it showed to tell me it was the matching print, the other foot.
I frowned. “We should take a cast, I suppose.”
Camille joined me, cautiously squatting down in the mud. “What about calling Chase? He could send out a man to do that and it would be professionally done.”
I glanced at her. “We can’t. Chase would have to open an official file if we called him in and I promised Tad and Albert we wouldn’t do that. Not yet. But if I get enough quick dry cement, we can make our own.”
“I don’t know if that’s going to work—” She broke off as I pursed my lips and cocked my head. “Fine. But if we ruin the results, don’t blame me.”
Shrugging, I looked up at Shade. “I need you to run out and get us some quick dry cement. Hurry back.”
He stared at the two of us, and it was impossible to read what his thoughts were, but the next moment, he was gone and we were alone. I marked out the corners of the prints with large enough rocks to keep us from plowing through them by mistake, then Camille and I withdrew beneath the trees, trying to avoid the downpour. It was silly, we were both soaked to the bone, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
As we stood there, the park grew quiet, and I began to feel an odd sense that we were being watched. I glanced up and found myself staring toward Violet’s bedroom window. It was an easy gander from here, but then . . . how easy was here to get to from the main park trail? Could someone just out for a stroll have dropped that cigarette?
“Come on, let’s try to track his path.” The his was automatic, even though we’d faced more than one female adversary.
I looked around. The undergrowth was so thick it would be hard going except for one direction, where it looked like the fern fronds on both sides had been crushed, as if somebody had walked between them. As I followed the line of trampled fronds, with Camille behind me, it led out into an open area that looked like it was used for picnics. Beyond that, a path looked like it wound through the rest of the park. We stopped, the pelting rain soaking us even further. Camille frowned looking back.
“You can’t see her house from here,” she said.
“What?” I was busy scouting out the area, trying to assess where the voyeur may have come from.
“You can’t see her house from here. Unless somebody just happened to trample that path through the ferns, they couldn’t see Violet’s cottage from here. So either it was someone who stumbled on the area behind her house by mistake, or it was somebody who knew where she lived in relation to this area of the park.” She smiled as I realized what she was saying.
“I’ll be damned. You’re right. Hell, you are so right. No, whoever was watching her house wasn’t there by accident. I know it—my gut’s tingling.” And it was. That little voice inside was whispering, Whoever set her up, they were watching her. Which meant she had been stalked.
“I think so, too.” Camille shook her hair back, her makeup smearing in the downpour. “Should we check the garbage cans over by the picnic tables?” She pointed to one of the wooden benches. “There’s no guarantee that whoever we’re looking for stopped there, but we’re here and we might as well have a look.”
We split up, tackling the four tables that were scattered around the clearing. There was also a barbecue grill, set in concrete, but that yielded nothing. Two large garbage receptacles and a recycling bin showed a mishmash of garbage, but nothing stood out of place to either one of us.
A few minutes later, I shook my head. “All we’re doing now is just getting wetter and wetter. Let’s get back to that footprint. Shade should be here any time with the concrete.”
We retraced our steps through the bushes, and by the time we arrived at our original spot, Shade had returned. He could travel between the worlds, but if he took someone alive with him, they didn’t fare so well. Morio had been sick as a dog the one time Shade had transported him.
Shade was holding a bag of concrete—the quick dry kind—and a bucket. It had water in it already.
“You thought of everything,” I said.
Shade grinned. “I filled it from her tap out back. Seemed a waste of time to wait till you two were back, and I figured if there was trouble, my Spidey-sense would be tingling.” He’d recently discovered the Spider-Man comics—or rather, I’d turned him onto them—and he had developed an inordinate fascination with the superhero. I knelt down to examine the print again, as Shade began to stir the cement.
Camille stood back. “No offense, but I don’t want to mess up my clothes. And you know me. If I can spill it down my bra, or on my skirt, I will.”
I motioned her back as Shade carried over the bucket. “No problem. We can do this.” As he poured the concrete, I smoothed it out. He’d also thought to bring a mini-tarp to cover it with until it dried. Speaking of . . . “How long till this stuff sets?”
Shade checked the bag. “For this amount? Probably twenty minutes. What do you want to do until then?”
Camille snorted. “I vote we wait in the car so we don’t get any wetter than we already are.”
That would give me plenty of time to go through Violet’s mail. But there was one little issue. “Sounds good, but I don’t want to leave this alone. I doubt whoever made it will return today, but . . .”
