One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(46)

“Snakes?” I freeze, mid backpack shrug.

“Don’t worry, they’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know we don’t have much in the way of venomous snakes around here. Prairie rattlers don’t care for this elevation and most of the midget faded rattlesnakes live to the south.”

“Most?”

“Pay attention to your footing,” Nemeth repeats crisply. “You’ll be fine.”

I don’t feel fine. Rats and cockroaches I’ve learned to live with, given some of my housing options. Even tarantulas on occasion. But snakes. I’ve never been a fan of snakes.

I finish shouldering my pack, then we all follow Martin to our new base of operations.

Luciana and Daisy settle in near a circle of particularly large, flat boulders. Daisy is eyeing Luciana with clear expectation of something. Probably more treats.

Nemeth glances at his watch. “I want everyone back here in two hours. Got it? If you haven’t met up with a fellow searcher by then, mark where you are along the wall, then return. And no going too deep in any of the caves. You never know what kind of creature considers it home.”

Great, now I’m navigating boulders while keeping an eye out for snakes and creatures.

Apparently, that was Nemeth’s version of a pep talk, because without another word he turns and strides away. Martin immediately heads out in the opposite direction, his steps equally rapid. Watching the two men power effortlessly around and over the mounds of sand and rock, I realize for the first time how much they’ve adjusted their pace over the past two days to accommodate the rest of us. Which confirms that they are indeed superhuman.

Bob nods once at Neil, then takes off after Nemeth. Neil in turn heads out in Martin’s direction. Leaving me, Miggy, and Scott to work from the inside out.

“I’ll go left, you go right,” I offer, putting the two friends on the path that doesn’t intersect with Martin. They nod gratefully.

Then we all get to work.



* * *



—

In this context, I’m not a great searcher. Ironic, given my job. But working cold cases generally comes down to people skills. Knowing who to ask what, how to spot a lie. Why someone might do what they did. This kind of discipline—peer underneath a rocky outcropping here, stick my head in this opening there . . . Let’s just say I wasn’t the kid who excelled at Easter egg hunts.

I’m feeling extra squeamish now that Nemeth has planted the image of snakes in my head. I also have a difficult time maintaining focus. The more I plod along the brown, gritty rocks, the more my mind wanders. I pay less attention to particulars, while contemplating larger issues.

Would Tim really hunker down here? Sure, the collection of caves makes for natural shelter, but it’s so dry and desolate. Where’s the water supply? Possibilities for food?

Knowing the importance of finding shelter in a survival situation doesn’t mean Tim acted accordingly. According to Nemeth, leaving his companions and taking off in the middle of the night was already a break from the safest course of action. Meaning that when push came to shove, Tim’s first instinct wasn’t to wait and see but to go and do.

Assuming he made it all the way to Devil’s Canyon, I can definitely see Tim continuing on to the cliff face, as it dominates the landscape. Upon discovering the network of caves, maybe he chose one to hunker down in. The nights were cold when he vanished, winter already nipping at fall’s heels. From that point of a view, a nice sun-warmed cave made sense.

It’s the hunkering-down part I’m having trouble picturing. By all accounts, Tim was the kid who could never sit still and who grew into a man of action. A guy like that, staring at this massive rock wall . . .

I remember Nemeth’s comment on how people often assume they can get cell phone reception if they just get up high enough.

The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced Tim wouldn’t be looking to shelter in this rock wall. He’d be looking to climb it.

Watching my footing—snakes, snakes, snakes, please God no snakes—I strike a path perpendicular to the cliff face, trying to get far enough back to view it more as a whole. Then I drift over to where our trail first opened up into the rocky terrain.

Tim O’Day would’ve been hiking for miles by the time he hit Devil’s Canyon. An entire day spent traversing a ridge while knowing he was lost and that Scott needed help. Night would have been falling by the time he made it this far. So maybe he did build that lean-to once it grew too dark to keep moving. Marty certainly seemed convinced it was his son’s handiwork.

Which meant if Tim set out the next morning, he would’ve hiked a mere mile before arriving here. Day was young. Tim was fit.

I stare at the wall. Shift left, stare some more. Then head even farther right, study that portion. The cliff face isn’t sheer, but layers upon layers of rocky protrusions. I can spot a wide outcropping here, decent enough ledge there. Bit by bit, I can piece together some semblance of a workable path, rising to the top. Skinny, to be sure. And too scary for me. But Tim? Worried about his friend? Knowing he was lost with limited supplies?

He would’ve tried that path. I just know it.

I walk closer to the wall, where the first logical upward path protrudes. I follow the line of rocks to the next outcropping. From there it would be tricky, but if Tim trusted himself enough to jump, he’d land on a narrow ledge that ran a solid thirty feet northwest. More protrusions, another rocky outcropping. Tim’s a third of the way up the wall now, going strong. He’s gonna make it. Climb to the top, phone for help, rescue himself and his friend . . .