Chapter 6
It was a long, long day. After they finished at the sheriff’s department—Hadley had completely failed to identify anyone she had seen through the binoculars—she and Paul made a food and beverage run at the truck stop. Paul was right; the coffee was excellent.
Laughing about Betty Beaver was the only light point of the afternoon. With every mile they drove south and east, they came closer to the unhappy job of bringing Pierre Laduc’s body out of the mountains.
They went to the ranger’s home first, a cozy little cabin up another barely drivable excuse for a road.
Paul hitched his uncle’s snowmobile trailer to Van Alstyne’s truck, adding a long, body-shaped rescue basket that could be towed behind.
Before they set off to retrace the journey they had made that morning, Paul went into the cabin and came back with a neatly folded quilt he placed gently in the backseat.
“To wrap him in. It was his favorite. My great-grandmother made it.”
Hadley nodded.
They towed the snowmobile as far as the trailhead.
The brilliant sunshine had been working on the packed snow, and what had been a slick surface was slushy and easier to maneuver through.
Paul circled the truck so it was, again, nose-out, and handed the keys to Hadley. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”
“Oh, no you won’t. We started as a team, we finish as a team.”
He looked amused. “Does your chief like to say that?”
“No, my son’s cross-country coach. Look, there’s been nothing but surprises and close calls these past couple of days. It just makes sense to have two responders on hand instead of one.”
“I only have one helmet, Hadley.”
“Oh, no! I might fall off as you speed through the thick forest at, what, fifteen miles an hour? Quit making excuses. Let’s get this done.”
Fifteen miles an hour might have been generous.
They triangulated the spot where Paul had slid his uncle’s truck into the trees using a map, a compass, and guesswork.
There was no trail, just a constant shifting, circling, and, on two occasions, backing up when they found themselves stuck in a thicket.
Still, the Arctic Cat growled upward, managing slopes that would have challenged Hadley’s thighs.
The afternoon light was low, golden and slanting, when they found the truck. It had tipped between two eastern pines on a small slope, leaving its rear wheels entirely off the snow-covered ground. “Wow,” Hadley said.
“Yeah, I really screwed the pooch on this one. That truck’s not coming out until the summer.”
They parked the snowmobile, trading the constant whine of the engine for the vast silence of the forest. Hadley spread the quilt across the rescue basket while Paul unlocked the tailgate.
Beneath the protective truck cap, Pierre’s body was untouched, still cradled by her scarf.
Paul carefully hitched himself onto the truck bed and scooted to the cab wall.
He turned his hands up for a moment, murmuring something, then gestured for Hadley to catch his uncle’s feet as he slid the body forward.
When they had him secure by his ankles and shoulders, they set him in the basket.
Paul wrapped the quilt around the body, covering Pierre in faded stripes and triangles, so many different fabrics every piece must have once been a loved one’s shirt, or dress, or apron.
It was as if his whole family had lain down with him, and the thought brought a hot pricking behind Hadley’s eyes.
She took a breath to compose herself. “What was it you said before you moved him? If I can ask.”
Paul cinched the straps over Pierre’s body before standing. “It’s something I say whenever I deal with a body. Which, you know, in the Park, happens.” He turned his hands up as he had done in his uncle’s truck. “Bless these hands to their sacred task, and make me mindful of this honor.”
Hadley thought about it for a moment. “I like that.” She turned her own hands upward, catching the long, amber light. “A sacred task.”
The return trip was easier, but slower; the trail Paul had created by experimentation meant no awkward side trips, but they had to take care the rescue basket didn’t flip as they descended through the trees.
The first stars were out by the time they placed the body in the bed of Van Alstyne’s truck and hooked up the trailer and sled again.
They had agreed to meet the coroner and the local funeral director in the school parking lot in Newcomb, and the two were already waiting for them when they pulled in.
Beneath the orange halogen lights, the coroner pronounced Pierre dead, Hadley and Paul signing his document as first responders.
Then the mortician took charge of the body, loading it into a van for the trip to Plattsburgh, where the autopsy would be performed.
The two professionals departed, leaving a sudden emptiness after a day that had been all urgency.
“I should have gone with the funeral director,” Paul said.
“It’s already”—Hadley checked her watch—“God, it’s after six. It’ll be eight before they get to the hospital. Tomorrow noon before the pathologist has a report.”
All the energy that had kept Paul moving, planning, pushing through the past two days seemed to drain out of him. He leaned against Van Alstyne’s truck and rubbed his face. “I guess I ought to start figuring out how to retrieve my own vehicle.”
“No. You ought to drop the snowmobile at your uncle’s place, grab your toothbrush and a change of clothes, and come home with me.”
He looked at her.
“Not that kind of ‘come home with me’!” She threw her hands up.
“I live with two kids and my granddad. Believe me, if I want some adult fun, it’s not happening there.
” She dropped her arms and looked around at the empty parking lot, with its chemical orange glow beneath already black skies.
“I just don’t think you should be alone, kicking around your uncle’s cabin tonight.
It’s not much, but I can promise you a hot meal, a hot shower, and a surprisingly comfortable sofa bed. ”
She could see him wavering on the offer. “Plus, I’m going to need to tell Clare about the chief, and I could really use you there for that.”
He nodded. “Okay. Thanks. You’re right.” He smiled a little. “And having met Reverend Fergusson, I can see why you might want backup.”
Hudson and Genny were decidedly blasé about seeing her, despite the fact she’d been away from home for five nights. She suspected Granddad had been ignoring the nutritious dinners she had packed in the freezer in favor of takeout from Burger King.
They were much more excited about the real-live forest ranger she had brought home with her, and peppered Paul with questions until she called a forcible halt.
“Ranger Terrance is going to take a shower and you are going to show me the homework you’ve allegedly finished for school tomorrow.
” He disappeared upstairs to the sound of dramatic groaning.
She slung a frozen lasagna into the oven while the kids got their assignments from their backpacks.
She had them seated at the dining room table, working on pre-algebra—Hudson—and a book report on The Lightning Thief—Genny.
Paul came downstairs in bare feet, looking and smelling much better, and she swapped places in the bathroom, soaking under the hot spray until she risked running the water heater dry.
Hudson and Genny finished and were released to watch TV—Granddad had, in fact, gotten them fast food a couple hours before—and she and Paul sat down to consume the lasagna.
It was a good thing the kids had already had dinner, because the two of them plowed through the pasta as if they’d never eaten before.
Which didn’t feel that far from the truth.
When they finished, there was barely enough for her lunch tomorrow, and she couldn’t take another bite. She could definitely stand a drink, though. She pushed away from the table. “Want a beer?”
“I won’t say no.”
She cracked open two bottles and settled back in her chair. Paul took several swigs before crossing his arms on the table. “I feel guilty.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I’m here with your nice family, stuffed with a good meal, and Pierre’s lying in a refrigerated box in Plattsburgh.” He sighed. “I haven’t even had the chance to let my kin know. My mother’s going to be crushed.”
Hadley nodded. “I hear you. I feel guilty.” Paul opened his hand, inviting her to spill. “I was the one who kept pushing to find out what happened to Flynn. And now not only do we not have him back, but the chief’s a prisoner up there on that damn mountain. If he’s not dead.”
Paul took another drink. “I don’t think your Flynn will let any harm come to him.”
“He’s not my Flynn.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t he?”
“We were partners. In the department.”
“Oh, yeah, I know that. Just … a strictly professional relationship isn’t the vibe I’m getting.”
She shook her head. “It’s complicated.” The clichéd phrase barely covered their situation.
Sneaking around behind all their coworkers’ backs, only for Flynn to come face-to-face with one of the “adult” films she’d made when she was young and spectacularly stupid.
She had meant to break it to him, sometime, in her own way, but instead the shock had broken him.
The next day he was gone to Syracuse. Their attempts to explain themselves to one another had fallen apart in anger and accusations.
Well, she didn’t need to tell all that to Paul.
“We weren’t ever officially going out. We kind of backed into the relationship. Against department rules, by the way. And then we had a … misunderstanding, and he was gone. I guess I want to find a way to make things right with him.”
“Which means getting him out of the mess he’s landed in.” He pushed back from the table. “Speaking of which, how about you show me this comfortable sofa bed I was promised? Monday’s coming at us fast.”
Hadley groaned. “Let’s hope it’s a little bit easier than today was.”
Paul’s voice was dry. “Oh, we can always hope.”