Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
CASEY
Over the rumble of the Jeep’s engine, Casey almost missed the incoming call, probably because Gabe had changed his ringtone again.
This time out it was David Bowie’s Magic Dance.
Slowing to a crawl, he stared down at his phone, making sure he’d truly heard the thing.
Reception up The Valley was sketchy. Sure enough, two bars were displayed on the corner of the screen.
Someone was getting through, but it was a number he didn’t recognize.
Grumbling, he pulled over as far as he could in case another driver decided to make the trip up or down The Valley this afternoon and pressed Accept.
“Ranger Lundin.”
“Lundin, Lane Boyd. The state’s investigator,” Boyd clarified. As if Casey wasn’t going to remember who he was. “Do you have a moment? Something interesting’s come up, and you’re the one I know with the local knowledge.”
“I know who you are, Boyd. Can it wait? I’m out of the office. Actually, I’m surprised your call got through.”
Boyd hesitated before saying, “Dammit. I just heard from Sheriff Eagan about you finding Vale’s vehicle. I want to see the scene firsthand, and everyone is busy. Typical. I’d drive up there myself, but I don’t think the state-issued Prius can handle it.”
Absolutely not. Casey mentally added a second fucking not.
“Apologies, Boyd,” Casey said honestly, “but I’m already on my way. And yeah, agreed about the Prius, please do not. It’s not a rough-road vehicle. At least, not for these roads. Is tomorrow soon enough? I might be able swing it or have my coworker take you.”
Technically, Greta was his boss, but they really didn’t worry much about titles unless Greta was feeling bossy, and the last thing they needed was city folk getting stuck in the woods.
Boyd had already done this once, which was probably why he’d called.
The investigator was sharp, but not an experienced outdoors person, and Casey and Greta had been involved in too many rescues involving poor planning or bad maps.
Boyd sighed. “I suppose that’ll have to do. Eagan has assured me that the vehicle won’t be retrieved today. Not with the murder of the pastor they’re investigating and also needing to source a bigger tow truck.”
“Sheriff Eagan has her hands full, that’s true. Hey, Boyd, sorry to cut this short, but I need to get back on the road.”
The clock was ticking on his stolen afternoon looking into a crime that he had no legitimate reason to investigate. But his conversations with Kelly Perkins and Gordon were fresh in his mind, and he just couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he’d missed something yesterday.
“I get it. I’ll circle back tomorrow.”
Tossing the phone back where it belonged, Casey pulled out onto the road again. It wasn’t midafternoon yet, so he had plenty of time. Pressing his booted foot hard against the gas pedal, he gunned the engine and the Jeep lurched up the mountain.
Casey left the Jeep parked and locked to the west of Gordon’s property line. He’d tucked it behind some of the largest salmonberry bushes he’d seen in years. The soft pink blooms promised a bounty for forest creatures when the berries ripened.
There’d been no sign of Mr. Warner as he’d passed Snowcap Estates. It had only been one day, but Casey hoped Mercy had already been able to get through to him or steer him to some help.
Shrugging into the heavier weight Carhartt jacket he kept in the back seat, he also slipped a granola bar into his pocket.
A normal granola bar that with one knock would turn into a bowl of cereal, not the souped-up caffeinated energy bars that Gabe kept a stash of.
Then Casey started for the road where Vale’s car was waiting—eventually, from what Boyd said—to be collected by the sheriff’s department.
He couldn’t say exactly what he was after, just that a nagging, itchy feeling wouldn’t leave him alone.
The dreams he’d had last night made him feel like his unconscious brain was prodding his conscious one.
He hadn’t mentioned them to Gabe because he didn’t generally believe in dream signs, and Casey had an idea of the nonsense the conversation might devolve into.
So, no. He loved him, but he knew his partner.
But had he missed something in literally plain sight? With Etienne and Paul around yesterday, he hadn’t been able to pause and consider the scene thoughtfully. Additionally, the last place Calvin Perkins was seen alive was just a ten-minute walk the opposite direction. That had to mean something.
The forest was quieter than he was accustomed to, but the birds who lived and nested this far away from the main road weren’t used to humans, and there had been a lot of humans over the past couple of days.
A repeating hollow thud-thud sound told Casey that a woodpecker was somewhere close.
He stopped walking to study the woods, hoping for the flash of a red feathered head.
“You can chase woodpeckers anytime,” he muttered, and continued walking. It was nice to have a sign of normalcy.
Soon enough, Peter Vale’s SUV came into view, still teetering on the hillside and easy to spot now that he knew where to look.
As he drew closer, Casey noted that TCSO had plastered a bright orange Notice of Impoundment to the windshield and a stern warning for people to keep their hands to themselves.
Scrabbling down, he peered inside again and saw nothing now except empty seats. The deputies had removed all the physical evidence they’d been able to, but Casey didn’t expect that scraps of paper and empty drink cups would give up many clues to Vale’s murder anyway.
Climbing back up to the barely there drive, he stood and stared down it for a moment.
Once it had led to something worth the effort, but he didn’t know what that had been.
Physically, the road reminded him of an hourglass narrowing to slow the passage of sand, but in this case, it was humans and their vehicles.
Too caught up in the discovery of Vale’s car, Casey hadn’t explored it yesterday. Truthfully, he hadn’t had the time.
Shrubs, volunteer birch trees, and the occasional evergreen were working to close the gap, but it still was wide enough for a horse and rider to use or for someone to force a pumped-up pickup truck through if you didn’t care about scratching the paint job.
A great place to dump a vehicle if that’s what a person wanted to do.
Casey started walking again, curious to see where this road led.
If the bent and broken branches meant anything, something large had passed through recently.
Some were old breaks because the branches were dry and the leaves dead, but some were fresher.
Not a game trail. The only thing that might do the kind of damage he was seeing was maybe a panicked herd of elk.
Casey snorted at the image. As far as he knew, none of the homesteads had horses, and elk roamed the Olympics but usually at higher elevations.
Until proven wrong, he was going to assume a car had damaged the foliage.
The vegetation and trees began to thin out as he walked, the topography changing from heavily forested to rockier. Several narrow streamlets burbled, creating miniature waterfalls as they swooshed around boulders and tree roots clamped to the hillside.
When the path-slash-road widened again, it revealed a steep incline on the left, and to Casey’s right was the tail end of the ravine Etienne and Paul had shown him the day before.
At least, he figured it was safe to assume it was part of the same crevasse.
The view was incredible, and once again Casey wondered why this road had been abandoned, left to grow over.
Not that he was complaining; he wholeheartedly cheered when nature crept in and reclaimed its own.
As he approached the lip of the ravine, Casey estimated he was a mile or more past Peter Vale’s abandoned SUV.
His eyes followed a descent that was steep and rocky, but there was a trail winding switchback-style toward the bottom, where he saw the glint of a stream.
He wouldn’t have been at all surprised if early white explorers had been mining or homesteading in the area, or both.
The road could have been originally for mules or workhorses.
Many roads had been built and then abandoned when dreams were not realized.
“Vale grew up in the area. Maybe he knew about this road?” His voice seemed loud against the general quiet of the forest. “What if he parked the car there himself, thinking he’d be back? But then, how did he get to the marina?”
Casey glanced at his watch, then back at the trail tempting him to learn just what was at the end of it. It was barely two o’clock. He’d give himself an hour to scramble down, and if he didn’t find anything, he’d be back up to the Jeep and home soon enough.