Authors: Margaret Fenton
The clearing made me nervous because I
was visible. I ducked back into the trees, figuring I was maybe a few hundred
yards from the red trail. The topography was more level here, but I was moving
quickly, and the heat and exertion were taking their toll. I felt nauseous and
struggled to keep the water in my stomach. I snuck through the trees, wishing I
had eyes in the back of my head, praying Jimmy and his knife wouldn’t appear
any moment. I just wanted to be where there were people. Anybody.
Finally, the forest became less dense
and I came upon a wide path that bore the unmistakable signs of being man-made.
I stayed to the side of the trail, trying to remain hidden, until — thank God
Almighty — a family of hikers came my way.
I waited until they passed, then eased
out of the woods and followed them. I was totally turned around after
bushwhacking my way down. I had no idea where I was, so I was surprised to see
yellow blazes painted on the trees. Somehow I’d managed to find my way to the
Foothills Trail. Now I just had to figure out which direction I was going.
I followed the family at a reasonable
distance, listening to the three of them chat about things they’d seen on the
hike. The two kids were maybe twelve and eight, both boys. The youngest one was
full of questions, the father patient in his answers. They glanced behind them
when they heard my steps, nodding and calling hello.
I’d hiked this trail before, most
recently last fall, so after a few minutes I was able to get my bearings and
knew that we were headed back toward the North Trailhead. To my car.
My legs were aching with the effort of
what had become a three-hour-plus hike. My clothes were streaked with dirt from
lying face down in the gulley. Leaves were clinging to my socks and I was damp
with sweat. I stank, and could think of nothing that would be more wonderful
than safety and a cool shower.
As we approached the trailhead, I began
to walk quickly, ready to get out of the woods, out of the park, and home. At
the mouth of the forest was a kiosk filled with park rules, maps, and
information.
Jimmy was leaning against the kiosk,
breathing hard.
Chapter Twenty
I gripped my walking stick tight,
preparing to use it as a weapon if I had to. Jimmy hadn’t seen me yet. He was
still a good distance away. I could see his bushy profile as he stared at my
car in the nearby parking lot. The hiker father and his two sons were several
feet ahead of me, and all of us were on a course to walk right past Jimmy in
less than a minute. I jogged to catch up with them.
“Excuse me, sir?” I said, loudly enough
to be heard by anybody within a mile of the trailhead.
The father stopped and turned. Jimmy, at
the sound of my voice, stared dead at me. Keeping a peripheral eye on him, I
said to the father, “Can you give me a ride to the office? I need to find a
park ranger.”
Jimmy’s muddy brown eyes darted back and
forth. I had about half a second to question what the hell I’d just done.
Suppose Jimmy whipped out the knife and came after all of us? Had I just put
this poor family at risk from a slasher?
“Sure. Is there a problem?”
The three of them wore similar quizzical
looks on their faces. Jimmy, hearing my request, took off for his truck at just
short of a run. I watched him go. The father, no moron, noticed and asked, “Has
he been bothering you?”
“Yeah, actually.”
Jimmy’s driver-side door slammed. The
truck struggled to turn over, then started. Jimmy squealed the tires as he sped
out of the lot onto the road, tobacco-blue smoke spewing from the tailpipe.
I sucked in a deep breath that ended in
a sigh of relief. The four of us walked toward the parked cars as the man
asked, “Do you still want to report him?”
“No, he’s gone. I’ll be all right.”
Kid number one, the one who looked about
twelve, cried, “Hey, he dropped something!” He sprinted toward a small black
object on the ground. It was a pouch of some sort, sealed with a snap. He
picked it up, opened it, and unsheathed the knife I’d seen in Jimmy’s hand earlier.
The blade was shiny, four inches long, a deep groove running the length of it.
The tip was very sharp.
“Whoa, cool!” the kid said.
Dad reached his side and gently eased it
out of his son’s hands. “Careful, Dylan.” He turned the knife over, examining
it. “It’s a Buck knife, like hunters use.” And a handy way to slash someone’s
tires, I thought. Could I have been wrong about Flash?
Kid number two asked, “Can we keep it?”
“No, Austin.”
Austin gave a little “Awww,” in protest.
The father offered it to me, and I took it. Feeling the weight of the handle
made nausea creep into my stomach again. I was woozy.
The father said, “I think you should
report this.”
I probably should, but I really didn’t
want to try to explain my relationship with Jimmy to the rangers, or the
police. I thought for several seconds and said, “I don’t think they could help,
now that he’s gone.”
“But if he’s bothering people in the
park —”
“I know who he is, and what he wants.
I’ll be careful.”
The father looked at me like I was about
to get a lecture. He changed his mind and asked, “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. Well, just in case —” He reached
a tanned hand into his back pocket and brought out his wallet. From one of the
little leather pockets he extracted a business card. “Here’s my card, if you
need me to talk to the cops or anything.”
“Thanks,” I took it and read it. Bob
Cooper, it said. He sold surgical equipment. “And thanks for your help.”
I shook his hand and said good-bye to
the boys. I unlocked my car and followed their SUV out of the park. At the main
entrance I took a right and made my way to Cahaba Valley Road. To go home, I
should have turned right toward the interstate, like the Coopers had, but
instead I turned left. I drove toward Highway 31, then turned north. I wound my
way through the combination business-residential area known as Riverchase,
driving around in what were essentially circles until I was convinced that
Jimmy wasn’t following me.
Then the shakes started. And dry mouth.
More nausea too. A silly, delayed reaction to my earlier fear. God, I could
have been killed. My heart rate jumped to full speed again. I drank the rest of
the water and willed myself to calm down. You’re safe now, I thought. But I was
too scared to go home. I made my back to Highway 31 and from there to Royanne’s
nearby house.
Thankfully, her minivan was in the
driveway. So was Toby’s pickup truck. It was five o’clock. I parked behind the
van and knocked on the front door. She opened it, and her eyes went wide.
“Christ, you’re a mess.”
I was. The sweat that had soaked my
shirt was dry, but I was still smeared with dirt. I had leaves in my hair in
addition to the ones clinging to my socks.
“I know.”
Royanne opened the door wide, inviting
me into the cool house. I could hear the voice of Dora the Explorer coming from
the TV in the living room. Royanne led me back to the kitchen where she was
prepping a chicken for dinner.
“Where have you been?”
“Oak Mountain.”
“Doing what? Rolling around on the horse
track?”
“Do I smell that bad?”
“You don’t smell good.”
“Thanks. Can I use your phone? And your
shower? And maybe borrow an outfit?”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Roast chicken takes an hour.”
“I had a little run-in with a guy on Oak
Mountain. He might be following me. I need to call Grant. We have a date
tonight and I need him to pick me up here.”
“Wait. Slow down. What? What do you mean
you had a run-in with a guy? What guy? Did he hurt you? Oh my God.”
My best friend was quickly escalating to
full-blown panic. “I’m fine. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t get a chance. Can I
use the shower?”
“In a minute. Do you know what he looked
like? Tell me what happened.”
I tried to explain my afternoon
rationally. “Okay, I went for a hike in the park. About an hour or so into it I
noticed someone following me. Someone I knew. He had a knife. I got off the
trail and down the mountain, but I saw him again at the trailhead. By that time
I was with some other hikers. He left, but for all I know he followed me to the
park in the first place, and he could be at my house.” Damn, the trembling was
starting again.
“Someone you know? Like a client?”
“Yes.”
“You should call Mac. And the police.”
“I can’t”
“Why not?
“Because.”
“Oh Lord. Here we go again.”
“It’s someone from the case I’m not
supposed to be looking into.”
“You mean it was —”
“No one you know,” I said, meaning the
Madisons.
“But someone from that case?”
“Yes. Now can I take a shower?”
Toby, hearing us from the other room,
wandered in. “Hey, girl,” he said. He made a move to hug me — the big
sweetheart always greeted me that way — but I held out my hand. “Don’t. I
stink.”
“She sure does,” Royanne added.
Toby shrugged. “Okay. How long till
dinner?”
“About an hour,” Royanne answered.
He asked, “You staying?”
“I can’t. I have to get cleaned up and
go on a date.”
Toby smiled. “Have fun.” He poured
himself a soda out of a two-liter bottle. He offered me some, which I declined,
and went back to the living room to join the kids.
“You have to call the police.” Royanne
picked up where we’d left off.
“No. He didn’t do anything. I don’t have
anything, really, to report.”
“I’m going to get Toby to follow you
home.”
“No, Grant can do it.”
“Promise me you’ll call the police if
he’s at your house.”
She was in full mother hen mode, one of
the things I loved about her. “Oh, I will. Don’t worry.”
Royanne slid the chicken into the oven
and led me upstairs. I showered in the master bathroom, using her coconut-mango
shampoo, then her blow dryer. While I styled my hair, she rummaged around in
her bureau for something that would come close to fitting me. We were the same
height, five foot four, but I was a size ten, and Roy was easily an eighteen or
a twenty.
I waited, wrapped in a green towel,
while she found a pair of denim shorts with a drawstring. “Here, try these.” I
slid them on, tied them tight, and hoped they wouldn’t fall off. She tossed me
a T-shirt.
Birmingham Financial
,
it read.
Your Hometown Bank
. The
whole outfit was yards too big.
“It’ll do,” Royanne said.
“I appreciate it.”
I called Grant’s cell. “Hey, what’s up?”
“I have a little problem.”
“You’re canceling our date?”
For a half-second, I considered calling
tonight off. Maybe I wasn’t up to a social occasion. But I didn’t want to
inconvenience Toby by asking him to follow me home.
“No, I just need you to pick me up at a
different place.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I’m at my best friend’s house.” I gave
him directions, and he said he could be there in fifteen minutes.
I took another look at myself in the
mirror. Pitiful. Royanne brought me a plastic grocery bag to put my smelly outfit
in, then she and I sat on the deck and had a beer while we waited for Grant.
We chatted about the Madisons for a
while, as I gave her a more detailed version of what had happened at their
house on Friday night. Then, through the sliding glass door, I heard the
doorbell ring. Toby answered it and led Grant to the deck.
I rose as he joined us and introduced
him to Royanne. He shook her hand as they sized each other up. Royanne had to
crane her neck to meet his gaze. I held the waistband of my shorts in a death
grip.
“Have a seat,” Royanne offered. “Would
you like a beer?”
I wasn’t in the mood for the verbal
dissection that was about to spill forth from my friend. I knew that look on
her face. Grant was in for it. “We’d better go,” I said to him.
“Okay, whatever you want.” His attention
was diverted by the fact that I was wearing an outfit four sizes too big. “Is
something wrong?”
“I’ll explain in the van.”
“Okay.”
I focused on Royanne. “Can I leave my
car here and get it tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
She and Toby walked us out to Grant’s
van, Toby chatting with Grant like they’d been friends for years. Toby was a
good old boy, and had that effect on people.
`
In the van, Grant asked, “So now are you
going to tell me what’s up?”