"Well, that's what they seem to be saying."
"You don't believe it?"
Larry shrugged.
"Well," I said, folding the paper. "If there is a big cat out there, I, for one, would sure like to know."
"If I were you, I'd tell your guests to stay out of the wood for a while."
"Damn. That's not good." I added cream to my coffee. "You know, I hear cougars are territorial, stick mostly to one spot." I'd heard nothing of the sort, but it worked for me. "Maybe it'll be enough to keep people away from that particular area. Those kids were over by the Potter place, weren't they?"
Larry put the pot back on the burner. "Yep. The lot next to it, where that cottage burned down a few years back. If folks want to camp before the MicMac opens for the season, Eric sends them over there."
"Any idea from which direction they heard the cat? North, south?"
"East, away from your place. It was close to the campsite, though. They came tearing in here like the devil was on their tail. They said it sounded like the cougar was right beside 'em. I told Eric not to go telling any more folks to camp over there. Cougar or not, we don't need that kind of trouble."
"No kidding. I'll make sure none of my guests go hiking that way. Thanks."
I lingered for the minimum amount of time, engaging in the minimum amount of small talk, then hurried to my truck.
I went to the makeshift campsite, still hoping those kids had indeed heard a cat. But there's a point at which optimism crosses over into denial.
So I took precautions. If I found something, I couldn't let the police know I'd been first on the scene. I had to treat this search as if I was looking for a place to hide a body myself.
I wore the spare rubber boots I kept in the truck, two sizes larger than my own feet, so they could be worn by anyone who borrowed the pickup and got stuck in the spring mud. If I found anything, I'd dispose of them. I tied my hair back with an elastic, then donned the Raptors ball cap I stored in the truck for hair emergencies, and tucked every strand of hair under it. The Maglite and batteries went into my coat pocket, along with three pairs of clear plastic gloves and a big ball of string. I was ready.
I parked on a logging road several kilometers away, so neither my truck nor its tire tracks would be near a potential crime scene. Then I walked the roadway stretch, hoping to see signs of a struggle or a disturbance on the forest's edge that I might have missed two days ago. Nothing. When I reached the campsite, I started my search.
I began with the stretch from the east edge of the campsite to the road Sammi had traveled. I foot-measured a meter into the forest, then tied the end of the string to a tree to mark my starting point. As I walked, I stretched the string behind me, marking my path and giving me a one-meter strip. Once I neared the road, I tied the string off, measured another strip, started a new string on the other side, and searched that strip. Then I cut the first string, removed it, and started a fresh one.
A temporary grid system. It seemed like a waste of time in the early stages, when the road marked my starting point, but once I got farther into the forest, it'd all start to look alike and it was too easy to drift and miss areas.
I found a sizable walking stick and started searching the grid, using the stick to clear the path in front of me, so I wouldn't miss anything beneath the cushion of dead leaves. When I came to low bushes or thick undergrowth, I used a smaller stick to poke around and shone the high-powered Maglite into dark crevices. It was excruciatingly slow work.
It might seem as if I was making this more complicated than it needed to be. Surely if anything had happened to Sammi, the signs would be there. You can't drag a teenage girl and baby stroller into the forest without leaving marks, right?
It's not that easy. Just because people hadn't been tramping through the woods didn't mean other creatures hadn't. Herds of deer made herds of human-sized trails through the undergrowth. I saw plenty of trampled grass and broken twigs, but, unlike in Sherlock Holmes stories, that didn't necessarily mean a person had been this way. I had to search inch by inch.
After four hours, all I had was a sore back.
Time to break for dinner. Eating was the last thing on my mind, but I didn't want to do anything out of the ordinary. Not with Jack around. I'd considered letting him know what I was doing, but he might offer to help. If I found what I most feared, I wanted to do it alone.
Jack was here to recuperate. A guest. Not a friend, not a colleague, not a mentor. I wasn't going to bring him into this any more than I had to, and when I did, it would be as a calm, detached professional investigating a case. If I found Sammi's body, I would not be calm, detached, or professional, no matter how hard I tried. So he was staying out until I had something to report.
I found Emma in the kitchen, taking a casserole from the oven.
"How's John?" I asked.
"They should be back any minute. He went out fishing with Owen."
I tried to picture that, and failed. "I didn't know John fished."
"He doesn't, apparently, but Owen offered to show him how and he agreed to give it a shot." She pulled the foil from the dish, steam billowing up. "Actually, it was more like: 'You fish?' 'Nah.' 'Wanna try?' 'Sure.' At least they won't scare the fish away with their chattering."
"Any last-minute check-ins?"
She shook her head. "Empty again tonight unless someone comes by late. But we have two more bookings for the weekend, so it looks like we'll have a full house."