The Naturalist (The Naturalist #1)

“Was he wounded?”

“I don’t know. Scott sure as hell was. Not only did the thing claw at him, but Reese managed to clip his shoulder with his shot. That’s why none of the stories were straight. It was against the law to have a gun in Beaverhead Forest, and on top of that, Reese had a couple of previous charges.

“Neither of the wounds was life threatening. The gashes were messy, but we were able to patch him up enough to get him to a clinic in Red Hook. The gun wound wasn’t too deep and could have passed for a cut.

“We agreed to leave the part about Reese shooting Scott out of it, but with over a dozen people, soon everyone knew. When the sheriff asked Scott what happened, though, he denied being shot and that was that.”

“What about the Cougar Creek Monster?”

Elizabeth shrugs. “What about it? Everyone, even some of us who were there, thinks we were making it up or had a drunken encounter with a mountain lion. It made the paper. Some Bigfoot hunters showed up for a while, but that was the last anyone saw of the Cougar Creek Monster.

“A few months later when those California hikers went missing, nobody even mentioned the Cougar Man.”

“Hikers? I hadn’t heard about that.”

“Before we went up, there were at least two people, out-of-towners who were seen going up but never came back. After, there were three hikers, flower children or something, who hitchhiked their way to Red Hook and then went up the mountain. Nobody saw them again, either. There was never a missing-persons report in the area. I think a ranger did a search. But that was the end of that.

“Although I’ve heard that others—some of the people who came looking for the Cougar Man, again, out-of-town people—weren’t seen again. But who knows. You’d think their cars would be piling up at the trailhead parking lot. Right? Probably just talk.”

“What do you think grabbed you?”

“I’d say it was a man, but it didn’t smell or act like one. Scott still had the claw marks on his chest. Although he started telling people it was a mountain lion shortly after. He got tired of telling people what really happened. He died in a car wreck a few years later. Drinking. Poor Scott.”

We fall quiet for a minute, looking away off opposite ends of the porch. Then Elizabeth faces me.

“What was it? The devil. None of us were the same after. Reese ended up shooting himself with the same gun he shot Scott with. Alex got into drugs and started dealing and was in and out of jail. Carey Sumter started having nightmares and moved away. So did most of the others.”

“And you stayed?”

“The devil can get me anywhere he pleases. No point in running. Besides, I married a cop.”

There’s a distant look in Elizabeth’s eyes I recognize. I see the same confused, haunted girl on the couch in that old photo.

The similarities between this Cougar Man and my killer are too strong to ignore. It might be coincidence, but I suspect these early encounters could have been the killer testing himself in his younger years, learning how to hunt.

“Were all of the missing persons in the same area?”

“As far as I know. The valley around the spring. Why?”

“Could you show me on a map?”

“Sure, but there haven’t been any missing persons or sightings there in decades. I know, I still pay attention.”

“I understand. But I want to go there.”

“Why? He’s long gone.”

“But that might be where he started. I have to see for myself.”





CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE


GEOSPATIAL

Back in Jillian’s diner, I hunch over a table full of maps and charts, my half-eaten cherry pie pushed to the side as I try to make sense of the data, as if something will leap out at me and connect everything together.

On the surface, the Cougar Creek Monster sightings have nothing to with Juniper’s killer. The man who murdered her, and the others, is invisible, to the point the authorities still doubt that he even exists. Whereas this Cougar Man almost wanted to be seen, popping up to the point of becoming southern Montana’s Bigfoot, then abruptly vanishing the night he attacked Elizabeth—assuming that was him.

The more I think about it, the idea that this was the killer in his Batman Begins phase makes sense. After nearly—or actually—getting shot, he had to change up his tactics and learn how to hide. Which he did all too well.

This younger killer was clumsy and brazen, attacking in the middle of a crowded campsite. The later killer became much more selective of his prey, probably watching them for considerable amounts of time before striking. The patience that must take—or is that the thrill of the hunt? Does he get as much pleasure from stalking his victims as he does from killing them?

“Planning a hike?” asks Jillian, leaning over my shoulder.

She would have startled me, but I could smell her perfume before she spoke. It reminds me of wisteria.

“Kind of . . .”

She slides into the booth across from me. She’s not wearing her apron. Instead she has on a white-collared blouse that suits her figure well.

“You look . . . nice,” I say.

“You should see me in hiking shorts.”

I give her a weak smile.

She taps the map. “That was a hint, Theo. Every now and then a girl drops one. But don’t expect many more.”

“Oh.” I gather the map and charts together. “It’s not that kind of hike.”

“You’re looking for bodies. I know.”

“Actually, not in this case. It’s more out of curiosity.”

“You’ve been coming and going for two weeks. Your curiosity has taken you all over. Maybe you could use some company on this one?”

I’ve thought about her more than I realize. As I’ve gone into darker and darker places, I’ve found myself looking forward to coming back to this table, eating pie and enjoying some semblance of normalcy.

Sometimes I watch her across the restaurant, the easy way she smiles and how she deals with a variety of human emotions while not losing her own sense of being. Part of me wants to have that presence with me in those dark places. While another part doesn’t want to contaminate her with all that evil.

“I don’t know how good of company I would be.”

“That’s why you need company.”

“It may not be safe.”

“I’ll protect you,” she replies.

“Ha. We’ve seen how effective I’ve been at doing that for myself.”

“Gus says you’ve been taking well to his training.”

“You mean his six a.m. sessions where he swings a laundry bag at my head?”

“Call it what you want, but I can see a difference. Your face is leaning out; you’re not as hunched. He’ll make you a man yet.”

“I don’t think there’s enough time in the universe.”

“All the more reason you need company in the big, bad woods.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Will everyone at this table who has actually been trained for combat raise their hand?” Jillian lifts her arm. “Right, thought so.”

I forget she was in the army—she’s so . . . feminine. I’d protest again that it wasn’t safe, but I have no reason to think she’s any safer here. And the Cougar Creek Monster hasn’t been seen in decades. I doubt he’d revisit a haunt that almost got him killed. Still . . . nothing about this makes sense.

“Fine,” she says. “It’s settled. You’ll pick me up in the morning.”

“I didn’t agree to anything.”

“Too late.”

I know arguing with her is pointless. And to be honest, I like the idea of not having to share her attention with a restaurant full of people.

“Some men came by yesterday asking about you,” she says.

“Really? Who?”

“Didn’t say. Looked like cops. Not ones I recognized. One of them had a watch that was two hours ahead. Maybe from out of town.”

“Cops? I’m not hard to get hold of.”

“It may have just been a casual thing. I hear they’re looking for a mountain lion now?”

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