“No. I’ll have to check. If memory serves me, it’s not making total sense that Jasmine’s body would have been deposited on this knoll of land if the waters didn’t rise quite this high. Unless of course there was some sort of surge or the measurements were an estimate and not an accurate reflection of what happened. I’m thinking it would have been a meteorologist’s best guess based on extrapolation of historical data.”
“Which would mean what, exactly?” Claire said.
Angie worried her scarred lip with her teeth. “The flooding explanation seems the most logical hypothesis for how she ended up here—” A rustle sounded in the bushes. Angie fell silent.
Before Angie or Claire could even turn to look, athwocksounded as something hit the tree trunk behind Angie. She spun around. An arrow with yellow-and-white fletching quivered from impact into bark.
She heard another sound and felt a hot whizz past her ear. She dived to the ground. “Down, Claire,get down!”
Another arrowthuckedinto the tree behind her as Claire flung herself flat into the loam. They lay on the ground, breathing hard. Nothing more happened.
Slowly, Claire lifted her head. Mud streaked the side of her face. “Hey! Assholes!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “There are people here!” She rolled onto her back, yanked her air horn from her belt, and let loose an earsplitting sound. As the sound died and Angie’s ears rang, Claire yelled, “You could have killed us, you motherfuckers!”
A human whistle sounded from deep in the trees—three quick blasts followed by one long. An ATV engine roared to life. The sound of the engine disappeared into the forest until all they could hear was the distant boom of the falls and their own heavy breathing. Claire turned to Angie, her complexion sheet white.
“Quad,” she said shakily. “Fucking hunter on a quad.”
She scrambled to her feet, held out a hand to Angie. “I’m so sorry, Angie. Christ, I’m sorry. I should’ve given you a blaze-orange vest. We both should have been wearing one. The season is supposed to be over in this area, but there are always some assholes not ready to call it quits yet.”
Angie thought of Budge’s buck hanging in his shed. He clearly hadn’t thought it was over, unless he’d bagged that in some area where the season remained open.
Adrenaline slamming through her body, Angie took Claire’s hand and came to her feet. She dusted off, retrieved the Garmin GPS she’d dropped, and went up to the tree with the arrow sticking out of the bark. She examined the yellow-and-white fletching.
Claire came up behind her.
“Both Budge and Axel have arrows like this,” Angie said.
“So does half of Port Ferris. And they own quads, too.”
“Did you hear that whistle?” Angie said. “Sounded like someone calling for a dog. How many hunt with dogs?”
“A lot,” Claire said, voice thick. She wiped her brow. “And there could have been more than one hunter. They could’ve been whistling to one another, some signal.” She glanced at Angie. “It’s probably just a close call, someone mistaking us for game. Especially in this light and with no orange vests.”
Or not.
Angie blew out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
CHAPTER 37
By the time Angie and Claire finally pulled into the Predator Lodge driveway with the boat in tow, it was almost 4:00 p.m. Angie immediately caught sight of Garrison Tollet’s red Ford pickup parked under the carport.
Garrison stood beside it, watching them arrive, a lug wrench clenched in his fist.
“Uh-oh,” Claire said. “Dad looks like he’s on the warpath. I wonder why?”
They exited the truck and ducked through the tiny pelleting snowflakes, making for the cover of the carport where Garrison stood.
“What do you want here?” he demanded of Angie the instant she stepped under the cover. His boots were planted squarely, his weight on the balls of his feet. He looked ready to scrap or strike with that wrench.
“Garrison,” Angie said calmly, yet instinctively keeping a four-foot cop distance from Garrison, her hands free and ready in front of her body in the event she’d need to defend herself. This man had been so warm and welcoming on their recent trip, it was like another person had taken over his body. “It’s good to see you again. I came up to talk to you about the river trip twenty-four years ago.”
“Got nothing to say. You can leave. Now.”
“Dad!” Claire stepped between them. “She just wants—”
“The rear left tire of your rental was flat,” he snapped, interrupting his daughter. “I put on the spare. Now go. Before the snow gets too heavy and locks you in here.”
Angie’s gaze darted to the Subaru parked outside the carport. The scrapes and dents were glaringly evident, but Garrison had made no comment about that damage.
