“I read that on the net,” I said. “They’d just as soon avoid people as have a run-in with them.”
“But when they do,” Betty went on, paying little attention to me, “they maul their victims, swat them about, and they’ve got these huge paws, with claws. Person gets swiped with one of those, they’ve got scratches a couple inches apart. And bears got big jaws. They take a bite out of you, you notice something’s missing.”
“Okay,” I said, getting interested.
“I took a long look at that body, of Morton Dewart. And you know, I could be wrong, but he didn’t look to me like someone who’d been killed by a bear.”
Dad said, “It could have been a wolf, you know. Maybe a cougar. They’ve got cougars up here, I’m pretty sure of that.”
“Dad,” I said. “Let her tell it.”
“And when I’ve worked in ERs in the city, I’ve seen things there, too, that reminded me of how this Dewart guy looked. He was torn apart, in a frenzy, by an animal, or animals, with jaws a lot smaller than a bear’s.”
A tiny shiver went down my spine. “Let me guess,” I said. “Dogs.”
Betty nodded. “Like I say, it’s not like I did an autopsy out there in the woods or anything, but based on what I’ve seen over the years, and believe me, I’ve seen a lot, I’d say so.”
Suddenly, we were interrupted.
Leonard Colebert stepped into the cabin, threw his arms proudly into the air, like he’d scored a touchdown. “I’ll bet you can’t tell, to look at me, what I’ve just done.”
8
I TURNED IN SOON AFTER THAT, but didn’t sleep very well in my bed in cabin 3. The mattress sagged a bit in the middle, but that wasn’t the problem. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Betty had to say, that the death of Morton Dewart might not be as straightforward as it looked, plus there was something else that was gnawing at me in the middle of the night. I kept wanting the sun to come up so I could go outside and look for something I thought should be there, but which no one had found.
So when it got to be six, the time I’d hoped to wake up to join Bob to go fishing, I was already awake. I sat up in bed, tired and logy-headed.
The sun was streaming into my bedroom window from a low angle as I threw back the covers and touched my feet to the cold plank floors. I padded into the bathroom, where I had a quick shower. I’d grabbed a couple of towels, in addition to bedding, from Dad before heading over to my own, private accommodation. Other than my new socks and underwear, I had nothing that you could call a travel kit. I wished I had thought, when I’d bought my clothes, to pick up a toothbrush, razor, shaving cream, and a few other items.
My teeth felt furry.
Some stuff I could probably borrow from Dad, but the rest I’d need to get next time I was in Braynor. Once I was dressed and had combed my hair with my fingers and run my index finger over my teeth, I went outside. Rather than head down to the lake, or over to Dad’s cabin for some breakfast, I went straight into the woods.
It wasn’t hard to find where Morton Dewart’s body had been. The grass was tramped down in the area around where the tarp had been draped over him. I’m no tracker, but I looked off into the forest, as if the location of the body were the center of a wheel, and imagined spokes leading off from it. All the possible routes Dewart might have taken to reach the point where he’d met his end. I was looking for disturbances in the pine needle–covered forest floor, or broken branches, anything to indicate what path he, or a bear, might have taken here.
I didn’t see a damn thing.
So I began walking in ever growing circles, starting at the point where the body had been found, searching the ground, scanning back and forth ahead of me. I ducked under branches, stepped over rocks, hopped over small dips in the terrain.
I did not find what I was looking for.
I walked back down to the lake, which was still and shimmering from the early morning sun. Down by the dock, Bob was sitting in his boat, examining lures in his tackle box, getting ready.
“Morning!” he called. Very cheerful for so early in the day.
“Be over in a minute,” I said, heading for Dad’s cabin. If I could get a dab of toothpaste, I’d take another run at my teeth with my finger.
Dad’s cabin was unlocked and I opened the door quietly, figuring he’d still be asleep. There was no radio going, no sounds of bacon frying in a pan. But there was snoring. As I passed by Dad’s open bedroom door, I caught a peek of him in there, on his back on the far side of his double bed, making noises like a Union Pacific freight. Dad had done me a favor, putting me in cabin 3, instead of letting me crash on the couch and try to get to sleep with that racket going on.
I crept past his door to the bathroom. The door was barely ajar, and I eased it open with my hand, hoping it wouldn’t squeak too much on its hinges.