Chapter 14 #2
“I think she likes you, as in she admires you a ton. She was so ready to hate you because you were a fellow caterer, but I think she realized hating you was a lost cause. You’re sweet and kind, and she needs friends.”
A while back Vanna had admitted that she and Tegan had never been warm to one another, which made her jealous of anyone who was Tegan’s friend—i.e., me. Of course, I felt sorry for her, and I vowed if she truly didn’t have friends, I would work harder at enjoying her company.
“Okay,” I said. “Hike, it is.”
“And a picnic! I’ll drive.”
“Knock, knock.” Finette appeared at the door, her purchase from Puttin’ on the Glitz draped over one arm. “Who’s going on a picnic?”
Darcy startled and snarled. I cooed to him. “Cool it, macho cat.”
“Customers aren’t allowed back here,” Tegan stated.
“I know, and I’m sorry to bother you.” She seemed as despondent as she had at Puttin’ on the Glitz. “Chloe was swamped, and I saw you through the window and thought …” She jutted her chin toward it. “This’ll take a second. I’d like to order another copy of Gatsby. For my great-aunt.”
“We have extras.” Tegan motioned toward the main room of the shop. “Go to the sales counter. I’ll be out in a sec and will ring you up.”
Finette smiled. “Where are you going on your picnic, Tegan?”
“It’s a secret, but it’ll be a fun trek.”
“Does trek mean you’re going hiking, too? I love to hike. How I wish I had more time, but work comes first. Enjoy.”
When she left, I said to Tegan, “Do you have walking shoes?”
“In my car.”
I followed her into the main room and was surprised to see Iggie at the sales counter, paying for the Patterson novel.
Chloe was running his credit card. She must have finalized Finette’s purchase already, because Finette was walking out the front door with a gift bag.
Iggie lasered me with a look. Had he figured out why Lillian had questioned him about his alibi? Did he blame me for the intrusion?
“Iggie,” I whispered to Tegan.
She said, “I’m on it. Why don’t you help those teens in the mystery aisle?”
I did. And survived.
Once the lull in activity resumed, Tegan lifted the lunch basket Vanna had delivered, withdrew a sub sandwich, gave it to Chloe, and declared we would be back in two to three hours. Chloe said she’d be happy to hang out and watch Darcy. She loved the little rascal.
“Hey, Allie, did you ever figure out how he hurt himself?” Chloe asked.
“I haven’t. I need to address the issue when I get home. Thanks for reminding me.”
I followed Tegan to her MINI Clubman, its bumper filled with feisty stickers. I noticed a sassy new one, which read: I DON’T HAVE THE TIME OR THE CRAYONS TO EXPLAIN IT TO YOU.
I laughed. “Good one. Crayons. Hysterical.”
“Glad you like it.”
We both climbed in and strapped on our seat belts.
“It shouldn’t take too long to get to Linville Caverns.” Tegan cranked the car into gear.
“What?” I glowered at her. “You want to go to the caverns? You couldn’t have mentioned that?”
She cackled. “You would’ve given me guff.”
“The caverns are over an hour away.”
“Not the way I drive.”
“They’re closed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays,” I reminded her.
“Good. We won’t run into any tour groups or guides.” She veered east, out of town.
“What have you got up your sleeve?” I asked, rolling down my window to allow in the fresh summer air.
“I want to rule out Patrick as a suspect.”
“Because you like him.”
“Get real.”
“You do. I’m not blind. The way you clung to him after the bookshelf toppled …” I comically fanned myself.
She blew a raspberry.
For centuries, the Linville Caverns weren’t known to humanity.
In the early 1800s a local fisherman who was heading up an expedition in this area of North Carolina was shocked to see fish swimming in and out of what he thought was solid rock.
Surprise! The limestone caverns were filled with fascinating formations, including stalagmites and stalactites.
To me, many resembled the baleen inside a whale’s mouth.
“What do you hope to discover?” I asked.
“I want to know if he was really caving Monday night,” Tegan answered.
“Who’s going to tell you? The bats?”
Like a demon, she sped along the roadway, zooming past cars, keeping watch for highway patrol vehicles. “Did you know a recent bat survey confirmed that six bats out of the hundreds that dwell in the Linville Caverns are infected with white-nose syndrome?”
“What the heck is that?”
“It’s a fungal growth around a bat’s muzzle and on a bat’s wings.”
“Eww.” I wriggled in my seat. “You remember so much trivia, you really should have become a librarian.”
“Back to Patrick and what I hope to find,” she said, her gaze fixed on the road. “I believe everyone leaves a footprint.”
“Not him. He’s not a litterer. You heard him. He loves the environment.”
“There are other kinds of footprints. The man has huge feet. His Timberlands will leave a distinctive print.”
“Lots of people wear Timberlands.”
“Go with the flow.”
She quieted when she merged onto Highway 221.
We sailed past Woodlawn. Then Ashford. For the remainder of the drive, I took in the beauty of the Pisgah National Forest, which was part of the Blue Ridge Mountains, one of the oldest mountain ranges in the world, having been formed over two hundred and fifty million years ago.
Time, weather, and erosion had given these mountains a graceful, rolling hills–type feel.
I would never grow tired of looking at the lush green vegetation.
Soon a large sign reading LINVILLE CAVERNS ENTRANCE and painted with arrows directed us to turn in.
Tegan parked in the small lot. The welcome building, where I’d purchased my ticket for the tour the last time I visited, was closed.
The gift shop was, too. Delicate flowers jutted from the rock face of the caverns. It was illegal to pick them.
Tegan hopped out of the car and through the opened window said, “Let’s leave the lunch here and do some exploring first.”
I was hungry, but I wouldn’t argue. She was a woman on a mission, and I could tell she was eager for answers. I climbed out of the MINI Clubman and stretched. Though I spotted a Chevy Tahoe and a couple of mountain bikes parked in the lot, I didn’t see a soul.
Tegan popped the trunk of the car and swapped her pumps for tennis shoes. When they were snugly tied, she said, “Let’s go. Look for anything. Footprints. Gum remnants.”
“Gum remnants?”
“He chews gum like a fiend.”
For a half hour, we scoured the entrance and fifty yards in either direction.
Birds twittered, undisturbed by our presence.
Squirrels and other frisky creatures darted in and out of the nearby vegetation.
We didn’t find any empty bottles, trash, or food wrappers of any kind.
Not even discarded wads of gum. I peered into the public garbage receptacles, but they had been recently emptied.
“Ahem, Miss Researcher, I can’t find squat, and these footprints are useless.” I pointed to the ground, where dozens of footprints, none of them definable, went right and left. “Next?”
Something shrieked. We both stopped in our tracks.
“Was that a bird?” Tegan asked.
“Human, I think.”
She blanched. “Is someone in trouble?”
A young woman in jeans shorts, a tank top, walking sandals, and a sun hat burst through a stand of bushes and squealed again. But she wasn’t frightened. She was laughing in between heavy panting. “You can’t catch me!”
A man in his twenties, also in jeans, as well as an I LOVE ASHEVILLE T-shirt, stumbled after her and then bent over, heaving. He clasped his thighs to catch his breath. “You’re too fast, and I’m carrying the gear. Not fair.” The camping backpack he toted, complete with sleeping bag, looked heavy.
“Loser,” the woman teased, then spotted us. “Oh, babe, there are people here.”
He raised his chin and gazed at us. “So there are. Hi, people,” he said amiably, moving to the pair of bicycles chained to a bicycle rack. He unlocked the chain that held them together and slung the chain across the handlebars. “Caverns are closed, ladies.”
“We know,” Tegan replied.
“Have you been here all night?” I asked.
“Nah,” he said. “You can’t sleep here. We were up at the campgrounds by the falls for the past couple of nights.”
“Since Sunday,” his companion said.
“We thought we’d stop here, take one last look at the river, and have lunch before we headed back to Asheville on our bikes.”
“I was starved,” the woman said.
“Seen anybody else lately?” I asked. “Say, Monday night? A single guy? Yea high?” I gestured with a flat hand a foot above my head. “Outdoorsy, powerful arms, unruly blond hair?”
“Nah, but maybe the other couple did.”
“Other couple?”
“They’re down by the river.” He motioned with his thumb.
“They were at the campground, too. I’m not sure if they were there Monday.
We weren’t paying attention to anyone else.
It’s our honeymoon.” He slung his arm around the woman.
She giggled. He released her and pushed her bike toward her, after which he straddled his own, the backpack making him a little wobbly until he stabilized it. “Have a great day.”
“You too. C’mon, Allie.” Tegan trekked toward the river.
I followed.
Minutes later, we encountered an ultra-fit man and woman in hiking gear. The man had no facial hair and was wearing an outback-style hat. The woman sported a sun hat with a floppy brim. Sizable binoculars hung on lanyards around their necks, and their faces were slick with sunblock.
Tegan waved. “Hello!”
The guy grinned. “Hiya.”
Tegan introduced the two of us, then added that we worked at Feast for the Eyes in Bramblewood and that we were doing some research.
Boldly, she asked what we’d asked the previous couple.
Both said they hadn’t seen Patrick, but a non-sighting didn’t mean he hadn’t been there, the woman added.
They weren’t very observant of humans. They were bird-watchers.
Disheartened, we returned to the car. I fetched the picnic basket, and Tegan laid out a blanket she kept in the trunk on the ground. We sat and pulled out the sandwiches and other goodies Vanna had prepared.
“What do you think?” Tegan asked around a mouthful of sandwich. “Did Patrick lie about being here Monday night?” She brushed a crumb from the corner of her mouth with her pinkie.
“It’s hard to say.”
“Guilty or not guilty? Your gut feeling.”
I sighed. “I’d like him to be innocent.”
“Psst!” The ultra-fit man emerged from the bushes and beckoned us. “I’ve got two seconds until she realizes I split. The name’s Zorro.”
“Zorro?” Tegan scoffed.
He crossed his heart. “My mother had a thing for the masked vigilante. Anyway, I didn’t want to talk in front of my girlfriend, but I know who you’re talking about. Patrick Hardwick, right?”
We nodded.
“Yeah, me and Patrick go way back. He loves these caverns. The bats.” He chuckled. “Years ago, when we were kids, we got pulled in with a couple of other guys for eco-trashing.”
“Eco-trashing?” I asked.
“Throwing away items that can harm the environment or animal life.” Zorro ticked the list off on his fingers. “Tossing junk, which could wind up in waterways. Leaving barbecue crap or broken glass around, which might injure animals.”
“Got it.”
“We both had chips on our shoulders. We thought the world owed us. His stepfather was so ticked, he forbade Patrick to ever see me again.”
I’d forgotten Patrick’s mother had remarried. Patrick and his stepfather seemed so close.
“Long story short, we did community service, which reformed us, and Patrick became a zealot when it came to ecotrashing.”
Was that why he’d pounced on Jason regarding the trash his mall might produce? Had Jason learned of his childhood prank? Had Patrick killed Jason to keep it a secret? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“However, it’s the other thing that left a black mark on his record,” Zorro went on. “It prevented Patrick from getting a grant to attend college.”
“What other thing?” Tegan asked.
Zorro hesitated. “Uh, sorry, it’s Patrick’s story to tell, but suffice it to say, he was really—”
“Zorro!” his friend cried.
“Coming.” He waved good-bye to us and hustled back to her.
“Interesting,” I said after his departure. “I know Patrick’s stepfather, and I’ve never gotten the feeling he and his stepson were at odds about eco-trashing or anything else, but the ‘other thing’ Zorro alluded to might be worth exploring.”
The way Zorro had ducked the issue had sounded more dire than making prank phone calls in high school.