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Mo rarely digs, it takes effort, and he doesn’t always want to expend his energy. He had me curious. I went over to where his head was buried under a Douglas fir and dirt was flying out from behind him.
I was impressed. He was really going at it. I was also concerned as to what he might find.
“Let me see, Mo,” I said, nudging him with my knee for him to move.
He didn’t budge, which, of course, left me no alternative but to get down there with him.
These are those times when I remind myself that I’m a prepper who failed to be prepared for the situation and reprimand myself for leaving home without one of my stocked backpacks.
I got myself down close and got some flying dirt and debris in the face for it.
“Let me see what you got, Mo,” I said, but he was adamant about not sharing his find. “Move now!” I ordered and my firm tone told him I meant business.
He stopped digging but didn’t move aside.
I leaned in closer, trying to avoid the pine-like needles that poked at my hair, but not being completely successful. There was something there, but I couldn’t quite make it out. I brushed at the dirt and realized what I saw—the top of a zip-lock bag.
Curiosity bit, I had to see what it contained. I started digging and not to be left out, Mo joined me.
Dirt was flying everywhere until I finally yelled for Mo to stop—too late. His teeth dug into the bag and whipped it out of the hole. He sat proud of himself, the plastic bag hanging down from his mouth and inside was a bloody knife.
16
I didn’t want to disturb any possible prints on the plastic bag since I’d already ruined getting prints off the knife I’d found in the car, though Mo’s slobber might do that.
I stuck out my hand and ordered. “Hand it over.”
Mo was reluctant. After all, it was his find.
I stooped to bribery. “I’ll trade you for a cookie.” Mo dropped the bag.
I pulled the cuff of my sleeve down and picked it up by the top edge and took a closer look. It looked like a hunter’s knife from what I could make of it since the blood on the blade had smeared the inside of the plastic bag, not allowing a clear view of the knife. This sure was a good contender for the murder weapon, but what about the other knife?
My father had had the area searched, but this was closer to my cabin than to where Struthers had been found and the weapon had been buried beneath evergreen branches. Did that mean the murderer was familiar with the woods? Or had he stumbled around until he planted it where he stopped? But how would he know how to find his way back? Or hadn’t he wanted the knife found?
I had to get this bag to my dad.
“Good job, Mo. You deserve two cookies,” I said, and he barked and wagged his tail.
We weren’t far from the house when I spotted flashing lights through the trees. I hurried the rest of the way, afraid something had happened to my house. When I cleared the woods and saw not only my dad there, but my brother Josh and Ian as well, I knew I was in for it.
“Where have you been?” my dad demanded as he approached me. “What happened? Did you fall again? And why didn’t that useless dog get help?”
I realized how I must look having been on my knees, digging with my hands, and the evergreen needles taking swipes at my hair and face, not to mention the endless times I ran my hand across my cheek to push the loose hairs off my sweaty face.
When my dad stopped suddenly, I realized he saw what I held.
“Mo found it and I helped him dig it out,” I said, giving him credit for the find and explaining my messy appearance at the same time.
Mo wasn’t at all interested. He walked past everyone and entered the house, the door open, and closed it behind him as if letting everyone know he didn’t want to be disturbed.
“Evidence bag, Josh,” my dad called out.
“What are you doing here?” I asked my dad.
“That’s my fault,” Ian said, having followed my dad over to me. “I rang you repeatedly and when you didn’t answer I got worried. I worried even more when you and Mo didn’t open the door for me. I called Amy, thinking you might be with her, and she rang you as well and when we both were unable to reach you, I called your dad.”
“And rightfully so,” my dad said. “Where’s your phone?”
I cringed. “I left it in the truck.”
I wondered if I had unconsciously done so on purpose, having talked with enough people for a while.
