A Fountain Filled With Blood

“Okay. Hang on a sec.” Russ returned to his truck, bent the driver’s seat forward, and pulled something from the back. He emerged with a standard-issue gun belt. He buckled it on and drew the gun, inspecting the ammunition clip before returning it to the holster. In his jeans and knit shirt, he looked almost like a tourist playacting at Frontier Town, but the heavy solidity of the belt and holster could never be mistaken for a toy.

“Is that really necessary?” she asked.

“I sure as hell hope not,” he said. “But it’s better to have it and not need it than the other way around.” He paused in front of her. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to get back into your car and go home.”

She shook her head, her braid thumping against her neck.

“Wait for me here?”

She laughed.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He headed for the nearest earthen ramp. She fell in beside him. “Stick close. If we see anything funny, get behind me and let me do the talking. Got it?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“And don’t ‘sir’ me. You were the captain. I was just a lowly warrant officer. And I had to work my way up to that from being a dumb grunt.”

“We’re civilians now. Who do you think outranks, the chief of police or the rector?”

“The chief of police does. I’ve got more years on the job and more people I have to worry about.”

“Plus, you’re older than I am. A lot older.”

He shot her a look as they entered the forest track. Unlike the last time she had been here, there was no current of cool air running beneath the trees. The leaves around them hung limp in the humidity, and the smell of rotting vegetation was everywhere. “This way,” she said, pointing toward the quarry.

They trudged through the green tunnel in silence. Clare’s blouse clung to a damp patch at the small of her back. She waved away a mosquito that was attempting to land on her thigh. Russ slapped his forearm and flicked off a tiny corpse. They passed a tree-clinging vine dotted with starry white flowers that gave off a sickly-sweet smell. “Pretty,” she observed.

He just grunted. “Do you know what it is?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Y’know, Ray Yardhaas was a lot more entertaining as a hiking companion than you are,” she said.

“Be quiet,” he replied. “If there’s somebody in here with Peggy Landry, I don’t want to give him advance notice we’re coming.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He waved her apology away. They reached the fork in the track she remembered from Monday. “Quarry,” she said, pointing right.

He gestured with his head that they should go right. After a few yards, the forest canopy opened up and she could see the hazy sky, colorless and cloudless. He waved her behind him and walked toward the edge slowly. When he got within a few yards of the rocky outcrop that Clare and Ray had stood on to view the quarry, Russ dropped down on his belly and crawled forward. Clare did the same, the small rocks and scrub grass scraping her exposed skin.

“Anything?” she asked as she drew near to the edge.

He pushed back and clambered to his feet. “No.” She stood up as well, gratefully brushing away the bits of rock embedded in her thighs. They looked over the smooth chunks of shale that marked the upper rim of the quarry. “What’s that over there?” he asked, pointing to where the crevasse opened into the rear of the quarry. After several days without rain, the waterfall was a weak trickle down the rock face. “Is it part of the construction?”

“No, it’s a natural gorge. Runs down from the mountain.”

“Could they have hiked up there?”

“I don’t think so. I met the state’s geologist when I was here on Monday, and he described it as knifing down the mountain. I suppose someone could climb up the back wall of the quarry and get in, but I can’t imagine this Colvin guy getting Peggy up there under duress. Look at it. That’s a real toe-and-fingerhold climb for at least fifteen or twenty feet.”

“Yeah.” Russ squatted on his haunches and took a long, slow look at the quarry beneath them. “What about past those dump trucks? Where the forest takes up again?”

“I don’t know. I guess if you headed downhill long enough, you’d eventually run into the road. I can’t say I took a close look around when I was down there, but I sure didn’t see anything that leapt out at me as a trail.”

“I don’t like it,” he said. He stood up again, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “If she really is here on spa business, why the hell isn’t she at the office? I don’t see her as the type to take spontaneous hikes through the deep woods on a ninety-degree day.”

“Not with a houseful of guests,” she said.

“And if Colvin or someone was trying to lure her here, where did he take her? If you want to rob someone, you take the valuables and leave. If you want to kidnap someone, you take the person and leave. Except this guy, from the way you describe hearing him, sounded too chickenshit for an actual kidnapping. ’Scuse my French.”

“Maybe he took her in his car and left the purse behind.”