One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(38)

“It would be a happy surprise, but I’m partial to the Pacific Northwest as natural Bigfoot habitat.”

“But you’re here, and not just because of Martin and his son. The other missing people?” I ponder. “The additional data points on your map that make these mountains an area of interest?”

“Searching for a mythical beast is like hunting for a lost hiker—you don’t just look for the person; you look for signs of the person. Clusters of unusual activity in remote wilderness areas are as good a hint as any that something more may be living in those woods.”

“Do you think Sasquatches are a threat to humans? That that’s what happened to the six other missing hikers?”

“I think if Sasquatches were nothing more than giant bipedal apes, then they would’ve been spotted by now, snacking on local populations. They haven’t. Meaning we’re talking about a creature who’s not just smart, but sophisticated enough to avoid discovery.” Bob shrugs. “Call me romantic, but if they’ve gone this long without hurting us, then I’d like to believe they’d have an instinct to help us.”

“Then why track lost hikers?”

“If you saw an enormous hairy beast rise up out of the woods ahead of you, what would you do?”

“Pee my pants. Wish I had eaten that last piece of chocolate cake.” I concede his point. “Run for my life.”

“Leading to possibly plunging over a cliff, or careening face-first into a boulder, or getting well and truly lost in the woods.”

“So hikers end up dead, but not because of any evil intent on Bigfoot’s part?” I arch a brow dubiously.

“You never know.”

I’ve had enough. I stop suddenly, bringing us both up short. “I don’t know about Bigfoot, but you’re lying to me, Bob. Why are you lying to me?”

“I am here to help Marty.”

“For five thousand dollars?”

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did. Someone saw. The check was in your name. Admit it.”

“Who?”

I smile. He just proved my point.

“What happened last night?” I ask him, point blank. “The food bags. They appeared to be shredded by claws, but what kind of animal leaves no prints? I know of only one creature clever enough to cover its tracks, and it’s of the Homo sapiens variety.”

“You think someone in our party did it. Sabotaged our supplies. Why?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m grilling you.”

“I didn’t touch the food bags. I wouldn’t do such a thing.” For a moment, he sounds so earnest, I want to believe him. He sounds like the Bob I thought him to be, which is a joke, because I only just met him in person forty-eight hours ago. Maybe Miggy’s suspicions are correct, and Bob’s lovable-giant routine is a ruse designed to put the rest of us at ease till he reveals his true diabolical intentions. Except what would those be?

“I wasn’t the only one who took off last night,” Bob continues now. “Last I saw, everyone was headed into the woods, trying to figure out what was going on. Meaning the food was left unattended for a good twenty, thirty minutes. Would’ve been easy enough for any one of us to cycle back, tamper with the bags.”

“Luciana stayed behind. Last I saw, she and Daisy were zipped up tight in her tent. She didn’t want Daisy getting out and getting hurt.”

Bob says what I’m already thinking. “None of the dog food was touched.”

“What would Luciana have to gain from destroying our food stash? She needs to eat as well.”

“What do I have to gain? And I need to eat, too. Even more than the rest of you.” Bob pats his large frame self-consciously. He has that overgrown-puppy-dog vibe working again. The sweet blue eyes, the faintly pleading expression.

I can’t buy it; I can’t reject it. Did I hike too much yesterday or not sleep enough last night? Because my instincts are failing me. My ability to quickly size up people is one of my few life skills. But now my thoughts are clouded, my brain spinning.

I scrub at my temples, willing some semblance of plausible narrative to gel in my head. I got nothing. I’m heading deeper and deeper into the wilderness, beyond all contact with the outside world, and I have no idea who these people truly are, and what their real intentions might be.

I feel vulnerable in a way I haven’t felt in a very long time.

“Do you know what it takes to spend your life looking for Bigfoot?” Bob speaks up abruptly.

I look at him.

“Faith. It takes huge bucketloads of faith. I have no idea what happened last night, how Scott got injured or our food stash destroyed. But I’m not the problem here.”

I smile. I want to believe him, if only so I can sleep better at night. But what I notice most in his little speech is that he doesn’t mention the check Marty wrote to him. Yet more proof that payment did happen and Bob is hiding it.

Why?

Eight people head into the woods. A grieving father, a hiking guide, three college friends, and three semiprofessional searchers. On the surface, it makes sense. So why do I have a feeling eight of us won’t be coming back out?

A disturbance up ahead. Neil appears, the person I’m hoping to speak with next.

“Are you two okay?” he calls out.