Best Laid Plans(148)
Chuck turned off the winding paved road onto a well-packed dirt and gravel road. Any remaining snow was deep in crevices and under trees, where little sunlight reached, but it looked like spring was fully blooming in the Rocky Mountains. They bounced around in the cab more than Max’s stomach liked, so she put her map away and focused on the terrain.
About a mile later, Chuck pulled over in a clearing. There were deep rivets from other vehicles that had come and gone, and several marked paths. “This is where the boys parked,” he said. “It’s a two-mile hike to the campground. We’ve covered everything around this area both six months ago and this past week.”
Max stretched her legs and brought out her map again. “This is the trail map that’s downloadable from the National Park Service Web site,” she said. She pointed to an area southeast of the campground. “What’s over here? This looks like a marked path.”
Chuck studied it, nodded. “It leads to an abandoned Boy Scout camp.”
“It also looks like a direct route to the highway.”
“It’s not—it’s treacherous, and the trail is impassable in winter.” But he studied the printout that Max had brought. “I can see why the route appears direct. But why would he go that way?”
“The question is, why would the others lie about the direction he took?”
Chuck considered for a long minute. “Ann, Tim, can you take this quadrant?” He pointed to a section west of the campground. “It’s the only area we haven’t covered in the last week. I’m going to take Trixie to follow Ms. Revere’s hunch about this trail.”
“No problem,” Tim said. He checked his watch. “It’ll take four hours, give or take.”
“We’ll meet back here, at the truck, at one thirty,” Chuck said. “Unless any of us find something. We’ll use the emergency band, keep the chatter to a minimum.”
“Be safe,” Ann said. She and her husband left, each with their own backpack and radio.
They walked down the trail that led to the campground. It took them thirty minutes, walking at a brisk pace, but the trail was relatively flat, making it easy. Trixie stayed with them until they reached the acre-size campground. Max looked around. There were two fire pits, neither of which had been used for months, if not years. The snow had completely melted, but there were some remnants in shaded areas. The clearing was nearly perfectly round, the west bordered by huge boulders that, when scaled, would likely reveal an amazing view. The rest of the clearing was framed by trees. To the west, they were spindly; to the east, thicker and taller as they went down the mountainside. They were still below the tree line and seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, but less than two miles from where campers could park. From far in the distance came the sound of running water.
“Peaceful,” Max said. “But when I was researching, there appear to be more popular—and populated—places to camp.”
“Many,” he agreed. “This is off the beaten path, so to speak. But it’s on the map, so it’s not unusual to have people come here. Because of the old Boy Scout camp, there’re visitors who like to hike the area.”
“Is that camp still viable?”
“It closed seven, eight years ago. It’s accessible only via a bridge over a narrow canyon, and it was destroyed one winter. There’s a newer camp a few miles north, and the local troop decided not to rebuild the bridge. You can still reach the camp, but it’s a long trek.” He hesitated. “If Scott went that way, it’s treacherous with steep drops.”
Chuck didn’t have to elaborate. Max could easily picture a scenario where Scott died of injuries he sustained while trying to find his way out of the forest.
Chuck let Trixie off her lead and gave her a command. The golden retriever delighted in her freedom and raced ahead, down a narrow, overgrown path. They followed. Less than fifty yards off the campground, the trail was covered with slushy snow while also dipping steeply down. Max couldn’t see Trixie anymore.
The temperature also dropped dramatically as the canopy of towering pine covered them.
“This is going to sound like a dumb question, but will Trixie just keep going until she finds something?”
“She’ll come back every five to ten minutes and get a confirmation from me to continue.” As if on cue, Max heard a rustling, and then Trixie appeared at a point where the trail seemed to disappear. Chuck gave her a hand signal, and the dog ran off again.
Chuck said, “This isn’t much of a trail at all, and if he went this way, I can easily see how he’d get lost. Some hikers like to go back to the scouting camp, but with the bridge out, most avoid it.”
“Could Scott and his friends have found it?”
“Yes, but why wouldn’t they have told us that was where they’d been?”
Max could think of a half dozen reasons, none of them innocent. An accident, murder, violence, drugs, drinking—any number of things. She’d become so jaded over the years that she wasn’t surprised at what people said or did to each other. Her instincts told her that those three boys had lied to the police about something; whether they were capable of murder was another question.
“Watch your step,” he said. “There’s a stream that cuts through up ahead. It shouldn’t be too wide yet, but with the melting snow, it’s going to be running and the ground’s slick. We cut off the search there, since there was no evidence he’d gone this way.”