Yeah, not likely.
“I cannot believe you just did that,” I said as Seamus handed me the card.
“It’s the least I could do after yeh were so mean to the guy,” Seamus said when we were securely within the truck. “If yeh want to be a trail ranger, yeh need to be cool, calm, and collected. We don’t get our panties in a bunch and go around asking stupid questions.”
“Did you see the extra rods in his boat? And the jacket and boots?” I threw back at him. “He wasn’t fishing alone.”
“Most fishermen carry enough gear for several people.” He started back down the trail away from the boat launch area. “Plus I don’t think that boat could have handled two men his size and you did say both men were the same build.”
I held in the groan threatening to escape my lips. The boat had been rather wimpy, but I knew what I saw . . . At least I thought I did. “He was deflecting. That whole Tinder thing, maybe he was using it to distract us from what was really going on.”
“There was nothin’ going on. Other than a guy trying to make a pass at yeh. Maybe that’s yer problem, yeh’re too suspicious to get a date.” He looked down at the card in my hand. “Senior Accountant, huh? I’d call him if I were into dudes.”
The business card gave his name as Garrett Henry and an office number in the ritzy part of town, a cell number, and an email address that contained his first and last name. Maybe I should update my email address from the one I’d had since high school. The one that described my hair color and old zip code. I shook the thought away.
“But what about the prescription drugs in his tackle box?”
“Could be for anything. Though I’d be careful dating him. He might have the clap or something.”
“I am not going to date him,” I said through gritted teeth. “Did you see how messy he was?”
“Okay, okay. But don’t judge a guy on the state of his fishing gear. If yeh did that, yeh’d never date anyone.”
Seamus was apparently not going to take me seriously. I tried to calm my pounding heart. The water was still motionless. If someone had been pushed out of the boat, they’d have drowned by now. I looked back at the pond one more time before we turned down another trail and the pond disappeared from sight.
I turned the business card over in my hand. Senior Accountant. He didn’t seem like the accountant type to me. His hair was too long, his beard unkempt. Every accountant I’d met was clean shaven and wore glasses.
“Let’s head over to the playground and check to see if anyone’s taken up residence in the restroom. Then maybe we’ll do some snake handling drills. If yeh want to get the full-time position, yeh’ll need to work on taming the slithery beasts.” Seamus maneuvered the truck down the winding pathway with million dollar houses to our left and a creek to our right. “The people in these houses are always watching. Regardless of what yeh do on this path, the higher-ups will know.”
“Why even come down this path then?” I glanced over to find a man who was at least eighty on the back deck of one house and what looked like a middle-aged woman peeking from behind the curtains of another.
“Have to. They report if we’re not here too.” He waved to the peeping woman, and she quickly closed the curtains.
“What’s that?” I pointed to what looked like it could be a large dog lying in the middle of the concrete about twenty yards ahead.
“We better check it out.” He pulled up closer and veered the truck off the concrete into the mowed shoulder. “Get out yer pepper spray, just in case.”
I pulled the canister out and made sure I had it pointed the right way so I didn’t accidentally spray myself if I needed to use it.
Seamus stepped out of the truck, and I followed. He readied his asp—a telescoping baton—as it was the best option between the two weapons the full-time rangers were allowed to carry—an asp and pepper spray.
“Hello?” Seamus said as he approached what I could now see was clearly not a dog. He poked at what looked like a fuzzy blanket covering something. “Yeh ready?”
I nodded and held the can in front of me taking aim.
Seamus stuck the end of his asp under the blanket and lifted.
It took a minute for my brain to register what my eyes were seeing but once they did, there was no unseeing it.
A small man, probably around the age of twenty, lay curled in a ball in a pool of what I assumed to be his blood.
“Bloody hell.” Seamus let the blanket drop back over the body and called into his mic, “Yeah we got a code fifty-five at mile seven on the Golden Rock Trail.”
“Copy, we’ll send a unit,” the dispatcher replied.
Seamus rubbed the back of his neck. He turned his attention to me. “Yeh’s a right ol’ shit magnet, Blondie.”
4
The police arrived within twenty minutes, and within thirty, Luke pulled up.
“Looks like your wish came true,” I muttered so only he could hear.
“I didn’t really want someone to die.” Luke shook his head. “Tell me what happened.”
“I’m not sure. It was my first trail patrol, and Seamus was showing me the ropes.” I motioned to where Seamus talked with one of the officers. “We saw the three amigos down by Golden Rock Pond, a boat with one or two men—I couldn’t say at this point.”
Luke furrowed his brow, but I dismissed it with a wave.
“It was one . . . probably. Anyway, we were driving down this trail and came upon this heap. I thought it might be a dog.” I pursed my lips looking to where one of the paramedics stood over the body shaking his head. “Seamus used the tip of
