The Naturalist (The Naturalist #1)(44)

I catch Devon staring at his reflection in the passenger mirror. His eyes are sunken and his skin ragged from his addiction. “That’s for sure. That’s sure as hell for sure.”

This bit of introspection doesn’t comfort me as I drive into the woods and away from civilization and safety.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


DARK PATHS

We park my Explorer on a side road just past a small plot where a sad pizza parlor sits next to a tiny convenience store. Two miles up the highway is an RV park.

I imagine either Amber or Chelsea had business in one of those places.

We begin walking up a small trail. Amber leads the way, while Devon is a dozen yards behind me, which does nothing to make me feel better about my choice to come out here with them.

I was foolish to agree to meet Amber under such shady circumstances yesterday. But coming here with them after what happened? Sheer stupidity.

One hand is in my pocket on the Mace. The other tightly grips the heavy flashlight I keep in my SUV. I have lighter, more modern ones, but they wouldn’t make as good of a club.

“What’d you and Chelsea do up here? Lez out?” taunts Devon.

“Get away from assholes like you.” Amber stops by a large tree stump at the top of a hill. “This is where we’d meet up. You could probably make a fortune on all our empties out here.” She kicks at a faded piece of metal.

“Not to mention the dildos,” Devon says, still in jerk mode.

“At least they can stay hard.”

Devon mutters something about fucking a subway tunnel, then goes over to a tree to take a piss.

“Is this where it happened?” I ask.

She points down the hill to a flat area. “Over there. We were walking from the other direction. I saw the shadow up by here before it broke into a run.”

“On how many legs?” Devon asks after zipping up.

“Two, dumb ass.”

He shoots me a look. “That’s not what she said at first.”

“I always said he was a man,” she explains to me. “He may have crawled some. I don’t know, it was dark.”

“You were high,” Devon adds.

“Not that high. Not yet.”

I walk down the hill to where she said Chelsea was last seen. There are a few rocks and rotting logs on the ground. I grab a stick and use it to turn over the dirt.

If this had been sand or something else porous and dry, you might be able to still see blood. It just looks like soil to me.

“What should we be looking for?” asks Amber.

I give her a shrug as I stand up. “I don’t know. A shirt. Her purse. Something that says she was here.”

Amber and I spread out and start kicking through brush and rocks. Devon sits on a log and watches us.

Not sure myself what we should be looking for, I ask, “You remember what she was wearing that night?”

Amber sets down an empty beer can. “She had a blue coat that came down to her knees. Knit cap. Jeans.”

Other than beer cans and silver Mylar candy wrappers, there’s no sign of Chelsea.

I’m not sure what I was expecting. A bloody shoe that matched the foot of a long-gone Cinderella? A confession from the killer?

We spend the next half hour searching while Devon types away on his phone.

“Thank you for your help,” Amber says to him sarcastically as she passes him.

“I’m just here to make sure you don’t get raped and murdered.” He nods to me, then grins.

Amber glances back in my direction. “Maybe you’re afraid we’d just fuck while we were up here alone.”

Devon’s smile fades. “He don’t look rich. But go ahead. See if I care. Fuck who you want.”

Their squabble is making me uncomfortable, so I give them some distance.

I keep hoping one of us will have that magic eureka moment where we find the clue that solves everything. It’s not happening.

While I think Amber is sincere in her own way, I don’t think she’s all that reliable. If I’d known she and Chelsea came out here to drop acid, I’m not sure I would have made the effort to come to this town. Especially if I knew I’d get an ass kicking.

“How much longer do you two want to keep doing this?” asks Devon.

“Until you leave us alone so I can blow him.”

“Christ, already. I’m going back down to the car.” He turns to me. “Can I have your keys so I can wait inside?”

I don’t trust the situation. I’m afraid that’ll be the last I see of him or my Explorer. Devon had been friendly, but I wouldn’t put anything past him.

“No,” I say as forcefully as I can. “You’re the last person I’d trust with my keys.”

He raises the hem of his sweater and shows me the butt of a pistol. “If I wanted to take them from you, I’d have done that.” He drops his shirt, concealing the gun.

My leg begins to shake. I try not to show it.

Amber sprints over to face him. “Jesus, Devon! He already thinks we’re psychos. Why did you have to do that?”

Devon raises his hands. “I was only making a point.” Over her shoulder he says to me, “That wasn’t a threat, man. Sorry.”

My leg’s shaking subsides a little. “Why don’t you help us?”