He has a job to do,Scott pointed out to his animal side.So do I. These things take a little time to arrange.
His coyote gave an aggrieved huff.Human stuff is complicated. Coyote stuff is easier.
You like the meals I cook and sleeping in a nice bed,Scott noted.Humans need jobs for that. Justin and I will work out a way to be together.
The early coyote gets the rabbit,his other side warned.
I’ll let Justin know you think he’s a prey animal,Scott teased.Don’t worry, we’ll get everything fixed soon.
I hope so,his coyote said and withdrew with a sniff that let Scott know the subject was far from settled.
4
JUSTIN
“Dolly Jean,don’t give me a hard time. You’ll always be the only girl for me.” Justin patted the fuselage of his Cessna float plane and closed the engine hatch.
“Which is even truer than you know,” he murmured as he wiped his hands on a mechanic’s rag, tapped his knuckles on the nose of the plane for luck, climbed into the cockpit, and started the engine.
To his relief, it kicked over on the first try. The plane wasn’t particularly finicky, but he hadn’t liked the sound of the cycle on his last flight and made it a rule to never take chances in a vehicle that went up in the air.
He let the plane’s engine run for several minutes to make sure the improvement wasn’t a fluke and then shut down.
“Purrs like a kitten.” Russ Lowe walked out on the dock toward him. Russ owned Lowe’s Auto Shop, which meant he knew what a good motor sounded like.
“Thanks. Just a tweak, but it matters twice as much when a mistake means you can fall out of the sky,” Justin replied.
“No kidding.” Russ looked up and down the length of theDolly Jean, named for Justin’s grandmothers. “That’s a real sexy girl, even if you named her for two septuagenarians.”
Justin shrugged. “They were the ones who got me hooked on the idea of flying. My mom wanted me to be safe. My grandmothers wanted me to have adventures. Mom wanted me to find a nice girl and settle down. I did, just not quite the way she intended.”
“Did you see the callout?” Russ asked. “Hiker found a body in the woods. The sheriff’s on his way, but we’re supposed to go too.”
Justin checked his phone and realized he had turned the ringer down. “Sorry. I missed it. Thanks for coming to get me. Let me lock up, and we can head out.”
A few minutes later, he climbed into Russ’s red VFD command SUV. “Drew and the others left in the ambulance so we can bring the body back,” Russ said.
“Any details?” Justin asked. “Suicide? Hunting accident?”
Russ shrugged. “No idea. Guess we’ll find out when we get there.”
They found the sheriff’s car and the VFD ambulance parked at the trailhead. Russ pulled up beside them and checked his phone for messages. “Got a text from Drew on how to find them,” he told Justin. “Let’s go.”
They followed the trail then veered off per Drew’s directions. Not far into the trees, they spotted the others.
Sheriff Armel looked grim, dictating notes into his phone. Drew had the gurney from the ambulance, but the body lay on the ground, rifle near where it had fallen.
Justin had seen his share of dead men working with the VFD. Hunting, logging, and large forests came with special kinds of risks. Chainsaws, knives, heavy logs, wild animals, and guns were dangerous, no matter how careful people tried to be. But something about this scene seemed off to Justin.
“What happened?” he asked Drew quietly, not wanting to disturb the sheriff, who was not in a good mood.
“Poacher.” Drew pointed to the two dead otters nearby. “Someone shot him. Bit of poetic justice there, if you ask me.”
“Except whoever did it used a handgun, not a hunting rifle,” the sheriff said in a gruff tone. “Right between the eyes. Nine-millimeter, from the looks of it. So it’s a murder, not an accident. I’ll need you to keep those details quiet while we investigate.”
The team assured him they would, hanging back while Armel took pictures and made more notes.
Russ elbowed Justin. “Look over there.” He gestured with a nod. “There’s a third bloodstain with the dead animals, but no carcass. I doubt it walked away on its own. Why would the shooter steal it?”
