1
BEAR
“Bear! How's it going?”
I don’t really recognize the person but nod anyway, forcing my face into the slightest of smiles before taking a sip of coffee. My strides are always long when I’m out and about, hopefully sending the message that I don't have time to slow down.
"Good evening, Emerick." An older lady smiles at me, and I'm forced to pause. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"Yep, just running errands, Mrs. Pinkney. You're looking well." I lift my coffee between us and take another sip, then nod, smile, and keep going.
Small talk isreallynot my thing.
People in Rathlock know this. If they get anything more than a "good morning" out of me, they should buy a lottery ticket because it's their lucky day. But here in Old Hemlock Valley, everyone knows my family and assumes I'm one ofthoseWolfes. You know, the chatty ones.
Nope.
I've barely made it into the safety of my truck when my phone rings. "Yeah?"
"Hey, Bear. I'm really sorry to bother you?—"
It's Barrett. Good guy. Woodsman type. “What's up?"
"I've been calling around, and someone said they just saw you downtown…"
Of course they did. Because everywhere a Wolfe goes is apparently gossip-worthy.
"Look, I’m real sorry to ask," he continues, "but none of the usual guys can check Maple Trail, and sunset is in twenty minutes. Would you mind cruising by, just to take a look and make sure the parking lot is empty?"
Poor bastard must be desperate if he's calling me. "Sure. On my way."
"Thanks, man. I really appreciate it."
"You owe me a beer," I grumble, then wait just long enough to hear Barrett laugh before ending the call.
I don't mind helping, actually. I only get called in to check the main trail a few times a year when no one else is available. It's a quiet walk in the woods, sometimes just a quick check of the parking lot. And it's good that a group of local guys have this system where one of us checks the trail every evening. Plenty of tourists have no idea what they're doing, and who can stand the thought of someone sitting in the woods all night with a twisted ankle?
The fast-moving dark clouds are heading straight for me as I pull into the lot. When you've lived on the mountain as long as I have, you can practically time the rain to the minute. I'd wager I've got about four or five, tops.
I park by the trailhead, where the only other vehicle is a brand-new SUV with three young guys climbing in. I jump out, then notice a bicycle leaning against the trail entrance sign.
"Hey," I call out, trying to soften my voice and posture. I've frequently been told I can be intimidating to strangers. Pointing to the bike, I ask the guy getting into the driver’s seat, "Any ideawhose bike that is? I'm checking for stragglers on the trail before it gets dark."
"There was a girl," a guy in the back seat calls out. “She was hiking alone when we passed her…mmm…maybe an hour ago. Maybe it’s hers?"
"Thanks. Drive safe."
I head down the trail briskly. I've never found anyone who required actual help, just stragglers that needed to be reminded to hustle back to the parking lot before the forest turns dark. If you haven’t been here before you don't understand that on a cloudy day, once that sun goes over the mountain it's like switching off a lightbulb.
"Hello?" My deep voice echoes through the trees. "Anybody here? It's about to—" A thunderclap rings out just as the sky opens and it begins to pour. It's like having a bucket of water dumped on my head.
Great.
I mutter a few curses, pull up my collar, and keep on trudging. "Hello?" I holler, over and over. "Is there anyone here?"
Dammit. In a perfect world I’d be almost home by now, warm and dry and finishing my coffee. But the thought of a young woman out here alone pricks like a thorn in the back of my mind. I won’t be able to rest until I've checked the whole trail. "Is there anybody?—"
A small voice calls out from just up ahead on the left. "Hello?"
