“I’m Brock,” the man on the other side of Shayla said. I cringed. Putting way too much effort into sounding manly, Brock was a skinny five-foot-seven with sandy blond hair and testosterone surging out of every pore on his body. His cologne was too strong, his hair too gelled. “I wanted to be a State Park Ranger, but they told me to start here.”
Probably because they didn’t want you around them. I imagined him standing next to Jackson and almost let out a laugh.
“I’m newly married.” He held up his left ring finger and waved it around so Shayla and I could see. How were all of these twenty-year-olds getting married when I was getting closer and closer to thirty every day without so much as a proposal?
“Congratulations, Brock,” Greg said with a smile. To which Brock nodded.
“I’m Rylie,” I said, my pulse quickening. I hated public speaking. “I have a degree in Parks and Recreation Management, and between that and my background in firefighting it seemed to fit. So, here I am.”
“Rylie’s background check came through early, so she has actually been here an extra day. You had quite the shift yesterday, didn’t you?” Greg said.
“I did.” If only my background check had come through at normal speed. “Ben—uh, Ranger Four—and I came across a dead body stuck in a trap in the back of Muddy Water Cove.”
Shayla gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes gigantic like those stuffed animals you’d find in a resort gift shop.
“Traps are illegal, per rule…” Brock pulled out a copy of the park rules and regulations from a large folder of information he had apparently studied prior to training.
“Yeah,” I continued while he paged through the regulation book, “It appears Ronnie Tilsdale was the victim of his own trap. They’re calling him the Muddy Water Bandit. But that’s just preliminary—”
“And none of that leaves this room,” Greg said.
“But my wife and I tell each other everything.” Brock snapped the regulation book closed.
Greg shook his head. “Confidentiality is king—or er, queen too.” He looked at Shayla and me apologetically. “It’s an ongoing investigation, meaning you must not speak to anyone about the details of this case or any sensitive information you may learn on the job, really.”
After he pulled down a projector screen, Greg dimmed the lights. “But to get back on topic, it’s very nice to meet all of you. As you know, I’m Greg—Ranger One—but I’m only number one because I’ve been here since the beginning of the program nearly forty years ago. It has its benefits since I’m technically in charge. But don’t think of me as your boss. Kyle is really your direct supervisor as he’s in charge of the summer ranger program.” He pushed a button on a remote and a picture of a smaller reservoir popped up. “This is where it all started—Shadow Trail Reservoir.” He flipped to a more recent picture. “As you can see, it’s grown quite a bit in the last twenty years.”
The picture did show growth, more around the edges of the reservoir than the actual reservoir itself. Where there had been fields and trees surrounding the pristine water, houses were now stacked closely all the way up to the fence that separated them from the reservoir.
“We’ve grown from a staff of one”—he pulled up a picture of himself no older than twenty-five with the same goofy grin and warmth behind his eyes—“to a staff of six.” Six semi-smiling faces stared at us. I recognized four of them now. The other two I still hadn’t met.
Greg continued on for about three hours going over every detail of the history. The promised buzz of my coffee exited the building at hour two, leaving me struggling to keep my eyes open.
“Let’s break for fifteen minutes,” Greg said.
We let out a unanimous sigh of relief.
“What did he look like?” Shayla turned to me with the same gigantic and completely endearing eyes. “Ronnie. I mean, I’ve never seen a dead guy before.”
“Cold, blue, stuck in a catfish cage,” I said as evenly as possible.
Shayla stuck out her tongue. “I didn’t know catfish cages were that big.”
I shook my head. “They’re not, but neither was Ronnie.”
“You must have seen a lot of shit as a firefighter,” Brock said. “I wanted to be a firefighter once, but I wanted to have a gun more.”
Something inside me was thankful he didn’t actually have a gun. He seemed like the type to accidentally shoot off his own toe while trying to spin it around his finger in front of the bathroom mirror.
“Do state park rangers have guns?” I asked.
“Yep, they’re technically certified the same as the police,” Brock said. “They even go through the same police academy.”
Shayla nodded. “I thought about starting with state parks, but their rangers are just so high strung. These guys are way nicer.” She motioned around at Greg who was humming a tune to himself with a smile on his face.
Maybe they were a bit too nice.
“Have you met the other rangers?” Shayla asked.
“Not all of them,” I replied. “I’ve met Kyle—Ranger Two, Ben—Four, and Antonio—Six.”
“What are they like? Well, other than Kyle.” She looked over at Brock. “We met him in the interview.”
“Ben is great. Super smart and has a lot of stories. A big family man. And Antonio—” I searched for the right words. Hot and flirtatious didn’t seem appropriate for small talk. “Antonio’s a character.”
“Well, hello, Ben.” Greg slapped Ben on the back.
Ben half-smiled and then looked at me. “I need to borrow you for a second.”
“Oh sure, go ahead, go ahead,” Greg said. “We’ll be here when you get back.”
Part of me was thrilled that Ben had saved me from the droning history lesson, but the other part was worried that something was
