Winter's Mourn Page 4

  He lived in Ruckersville, about an hour away, on the other side of the Shenandoah National Park. He had a day job as a contractor, only doing SAR part-time, and would be on a work site until late that afternoon. He promised to bring Caesar, his cadaver-sniffing dog, out the following morning.

  “Hopefully the rain will hold off,” Noah said, signaling to the waitress for their check.

  “I thought about that too.” Winter dug around in her bag for the expense card they’d been given. “I’m thinking we should talk to the hunter who discovered the bones today.”

  He nodded. “Makes sense. I got his number. I’ll call him.” Noah grinned. “The chief says the hunter’s a little bit of a conspiracy nut, and I think your FBI vibe might scare him off.”

  “I don’t care if he wears a literal tinfoil hat as long as he agrees to talk to us.” She went to the counter to pay their bill while Noah made the call.

  His mega-watt smile was back in full force when she met him by the front door. “We’re all set,” he said with a wink. “He was a little reluctant to have us out at his place, but I talked him around.”

  Winter pushed open the door. “Then let’s go.”

  A half-hour later, Winter was ready to take back her tinfoil hat comment. The sky had clouded up pretty suddenly on their way out to Brian’s place, out past Linville. The wind picked up, and the trees were whipping around when they reached the end of the unmarked drive Noah had been given directions to.

  Noah slowed the FBI sedan to navigate a pothole at the end of the two-track, and Winter glancing up at the trees on either side. At least ten “No Trespassing” signs were tacked up, facing the road. A tattered yellow “Don’t Tread on Me” flag fluttered in the breeze, its fanged snake coiled and hissing, mounted to a rusty flagpole just below the Stars and Stripes. Above them, wired to an overhanging tree branch, was a compact black surveillance camera pointing at the end of the drive. A small red eye glowed beside the lens. They were being monitored.

  The drive was long and bumpy, probably a quarter mile through a tunnel of trees. Abruptly, it opened into a small clearing.

  “Nice piece of land he’s got out here.” Noah slowed the car so they could look around. “I’ve seen compounds like this back in Texas. Mostly while busting meth labs, but a lot of the time they belong to people who just like to stay off-grid.”

  A couple of scraggly chickens pecked in the dirt near a floppy brown hunting dog, who snoozed in a sparse patch of grass. A faded red Ford pickup, dirty and missing a license plate, sat in front of a small, leaning garage, hood up, next to a slightly newer blue Chevy. Two trailers, circa 1960, were arranged near each other, backed up against the edge of the woods. They were painted an ugly olive green, but the trim looked fresh and white, and there were flower boxes mounted under the windows with cheerful red Gerbera daisies poking their heads out. They were still pretty and would be until the first frost.

  The screen door to one trailer screeched open, and kids started piling out.

  “Dad! FIBs are here!” A cute little red-haired girl, about seven, with a gap-toothed grin, skidded to a stop in front of Noah, kicking up a small cloud of dust. “Can I see your gun?”

  Behind her, three more children descended on them, ranging between the ages of about four and nine. They all had hair in varying shades of red, but one of the boys looked enough like the gap-toothed girl to be her twin. While Noah laughingly fended them off, Winter noted that they were all barefoot, with dusty feet, but their clothes were clean, hair brushed, and they looked happy and well-fed.

  The door squealed again, and a tall, auburn-haired man with sharp blue eyes stepped out onto the porch. He was handsome and looked fit, probably mid-forties, wearing a green t-shirt tucked neatly into faded blue jeans. Behind him was a fifth child, who looked about eleven. Brian Snyder and his son, Liam. Winter wondered where Mrs. Snyder was.

  “Morning,” he said. Not suspiciously, but not overly friendly either. “Go play, guys.” The kids scattered as he came down the steps, heading for a tire suspended from a big oak tree a distance away.

  “Mornin’,” Noah said, his drawl slow and easy. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with us.”

  They shook hands and introduced themselves, Liam giving Winter a shy smile. Brian invited them to a picnic table nearby. In the distance, a low rumble of thunder underscored the screams and laughter of the playing kids. Winter and Noah sat down on one side of the table with Brian on the other, Liam scooted up close to him.

  “Guess we’d better make it quick.” Brian’s tone was pointed. “You all want to know about the day we found the bones.” He put a protective arm around his son’s shoulders.

  “The police chief in Harrisonburg gave us your account,” Winter began, “but we’d like to hear your story from you directly, please.”

  Brian’s entire body seemed stiff. “Let’s get one thing out of the way first. I was hunting deer out of season. The chief talked to me about it, but I want your assurance that you’re not going to call the game warden on me as soon as you leave here. Damned bloodsuckers will fine me for feeding my family, and that’s just one more thing I can’t deal with right now.”

  “No. We can see that you have quite a few mouths to feed.” Noah kept his tone friendly. “Not a lot of jobs in this area. The kids probably appreciate that venison.”

  Winter nodded. “We’re not interested in your hunting habits. We just want to know what happened to that little boy you found.”

  Brian relaxed a little, and taking the cue from his father, Liam did too.

  “I appreciate that.” He gave them a wry smile. “I’ve been out of a job for months now. My wife…she passed away a year ago. I’m still trying to pay off all the medical bills. Used to be a long-haul trucker, but I can’t leave the kids alone now.”

  “That’s a hard place to be,” Winter agreed, feeling true sympathy for him. “Your kids look healthy and happy. From what I can tell, you’re doing a wonderful job.”

  “‘Preciate you saying so.” Looking embarrassed, he looked down at his eldest son. “Go ahead, Liam. Tell the agents what you found.”

  Blushing at being the center of attention, the boy repeated what they already knew. They’d been hunting. Shot a doe. The animal went one way just as one of their dogs went the other, so Liam chased the dog while his dad went after the injured deer.

  His voice got more excited sounding, and he wriggled a little in his seat. This was obviously the juicy part of the story, in his opinion.

  “Corker was digging at something when I found him. I thought it was just an old dead deer carcass or something, and I didn’t want him to roll in it and get all stinky. He does that sometimes. I pulled him away. He had a bone in his mouth and went running off again. That’s when I saw the skull, kind of half-buried still. It looked like a person’s, not an animal’s. So, I chased down Corker and grabbed the bone out of his mouth and took it to my dad.”

  He looked up at his father, who tousled his hair affectionately.

  “That’s fine, son. You can go on, now.”

  Liam slid off the bench seat and ran off, probably to brag to his siblings about telling his story to the FIBs.

  “You’ve got a good kid there.” Noah nodded in the direction Liam had gone. “Was he scared at all when you guys called the police?”

  “No. He’s a boy. He just thought the whole thing was cool. Gave him something to talk about at school, impress his friends.” His face hardened. “But I keep thinking about it. Obviously, I didn’t tell my son, but that kid that was buried there was shot in the head. Some sonovabitch killed that little kid and left it there in a shallow grave.”

  “How long have you lived in the area?” Winter asked.

  “I was born here.”

  “You don’t remember any talk when you were young? About a missing boy?”

  Thunder rumbled again, closer.

  Brian hesitated, glancing around at his children. “I could tell the bones were old, and I’ve bee
n trying to think back on that. There was some talk, but not about a missing kid. There was a cult that operated around here back then. The Moon People, or some shit like that.”

  Noah leaned forward. “Cult? What kind?”

  “Nobody really knew. And it was mostly schoolkids doing the talking,” Brian cautioned. “Kind of an urban legend thing.”

  “That’s all right. Tell us what you remember.” Winter didn’t remember hearing anything about a cult, but she was younger than Brian, and Linville was a town away.

  He shrugged, and a couple of fat raindrops spattered the table in front of them. They all ignored the wet. “Just that a bunch of weird hippie people had a place holed up in the woods around here. No one knew where, but sometimes you’d see one or two of them in town. They wore homespun dresses and stuff, and the women had long hair and the men beards. Not like the Amish, but more like Sixties throwbacks.”

  The rain picked up a little, and there was a quick flash of lightning. Thunder boomed, and the kids ran for the house as a pack, yelling like banshees. A frenzied bark came from inside one of the trailers. Probably the Snyder’s other dog. The one that had been snoozing hopped up and loped for the house.

  Brian stood up too. “They were probably pretty harmless,” he added, “but that didn’t stop people from making up stories.”

  Noah rose to his feet. “Any idea where they were located?”

  “Used to be a farm, a little north of where we found the bones. The farmhouse and buildings are still there. I heard someone bought it a few years ago, raising cattle now.”

  The sky opened up, dumping buckets. Winter’s hair almost instantly plastered flat to her head. “We’ll let you get inside,” she yelled over the drumming rain and shook Brian’s hand.

  “Thanks for talking with us,” Noah shouted, doing the same.

  Brian nodded, blinking against the rain. “Find the sonovabitch. Doesn’t matter if it was years ago. He killed a kid, and that shouldn’t go unpunished.” He headed to the house at a jog, already soaked.

  Back in the car, Winter cranked on the air, trying to defog the windows. They sat in the driveway, which had gone from a dusty road to a sloppy, muddy mess in moments.

  “What do you think about Snyder?” Noah had pulled some paper towels from the glovebox and was wiping his face. He handed a couple of dry ones to Winter so she could do the same.

  “If you’d have asked me when we got here, I would have doubted we were going to get any useful information out of him. But he seems credible. And the cult thing is interesting.”

  Noah put the car in gear and made a U-turn, hunkering down to see through the hole that had been cleared at the bottom of the windshield. “Seems like Snyder’s got a grudge against the game and fishing guys and probably our government because of our shitty healthcare system. In his position, I don’t blame him. But he didn’t seem like the tinfoil hat type. Just a guy that likes his privacy and is doing his best with a bad hand of cards.”

  “Look out for that rut.” Winter reached over and jerked the wheel right. The last thing they needed was to get bogged down in the mud. “Why do men always assume they should drive? It’s chauvinistic.”

  Noah chuckled. “It’s a testosterone thing, probably, but I prefer to think of it as chivalry, darlin’.” The car shuddered over a set of washboard bumps, nearly bottoming out. “But you can have a turn at the wheel next time,” he added.

  When they made it back to the road, Noah breathed an audible sigh of relief.

  “Anyway,” he went on. “The cult theory seems a little farfetched to me. A bunch of hippies running around killing people? Kids? And no one ever noticed? What happened to the cult? Who was in charge? Plus, hippies are supposed to be peace-loving.”

  “We don’t have much else to go on at this juncture,” Winter pointed out. “I think we should look into it.”

  “Sure.” Noah tapped his thumbs on the wheel. “No stone unturned and all that. But I need food first. Where do you want to eat this time?”

  Winter groaned. “We’re going to have to start packing a cooler to bring with us. I don’t know if the FBI expense card limit is big enough to support your appetite.”

  5

  Noah took a bite out of his burger, watching Winter. She was staring across the restaurant, as pale as if she’d seen a ghost.

  He glanced around. A few families were settled in nearby booths, most with kids making messes out of their French fries or begging for quarters to feed the vintage Pac-Man game at the back of the dining area. He didn’t see anything unusual.

  “What is it?”

  She jumped, startled at the sound of his voice. She blushed a little and dragged a fry through some ketchup. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

  “And that’s what’s got you looking spooked?”

  “I’m not spooked.” To prove it, she took a big bite of her cheeseburger. He laughed when cheese dripped down her chin and handed her a napkin.

  “Harrisonburg isn’t a one-horse town, but it’s not exactly a metropolis, either. Makes sense you might run into someone you know. Anyone in particular you’re worried about bumping into?”

  She shook her head and stuffed another fry in her mouth so she didn’t have to answer him, he assumed. He glanced around again. The woman behind the counter was different from the one who had been there when they came in. Shift change, maybe. This woman was staring at Winter, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  She was tall and slim, a dishwater blonde, about Winter’s age. And she looked angry.

  “Who’s that at the register?”

  Winter hunched her shoulders in a shrug, her full attention on her food. “I used to go to school with her.”

  “Why’s she look like she wants to come over here and punch you in the nose? You were in, what, middle school when you left?”

  “Yeah. Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Noah let it go, and they finished their meal. Winter took out her purse, but he held up a hand. “Let me get it this time.” He winked. “I’ve got an expense card too.”

  He took their check up to the counter. “Evenin’.”

  The woman at the register just sniffed. She punched in the keys with quick, jabbing motions, studiously ignoring him. Hot dislike practically radiated off her in waves.

  “Burgers here are good,” he tried again. “Wish we had a restaurant like this back home.”

  She snatched the card out of his hand and swiped it through. Without looking at him, she slapped the card and the slip down on the counter with a pen.

  “Thanks,” he said wryly, writing in a decent tip and scrawling his name at the bottom. He made his way back to their table. Winter had been watching the one-sided exchange, and her cheeks were flushed.

  “She didn’t have to be rude to you.”

  “I’ve met worse. You ready?”

  They’d made it out to the sidewalk when he heard the door ding behind them. Glancing back, he groaned. The blonde was puffed up and stalking toward them, looking ready for a fight. Casually, he edged between the two women.

  “You steal her lunch money or something?” He kept his voice low and directed at Winter.

  “No,” Winter answered, equally low. “We were best friends.”

  Women, he thought, giving the blonde a disarming smile. “Did we forget something?”

  She ignored him. “I knew it was you,” she spat at Winter.

  “Nice to see you too, Sam.” Winter’s voice was even, but her fists were clenched, and her eyes glittered.

  “Don’t give me that innocent bullshit, Agent Black.” She tried to dodge around Noah, but he kept himself firmly in the way.

  “Special Agent, actually. I’m sorry, ma’am, but that’s a federal agent you’re trying to claw at. Maybe I can help you with something?”

  Passersby were starting to stare. He didn’t care so much about that, but Sam might when she realized how she was acting with a couple of customers out in the street in front of where she worked.


  “Yeah, you can.” She glared up at him, her brown eyes snapping fire. “You two can stop stomping your big federal agent boots all over my husband!”

  “And who might that be?”

  She scoffed, rearing back as if she’d been slapped. “As if you don’t know!”

  Winter nudged Noah out of the way. “You married Tommy Benton?” The surprise on her face was almost comical.

  “Don’t act like you didn’t know. Hell, you probably used your woo-woo powers or something to figure it out.” She wiggled her fingers around her ears and gave Winter a derisive look. Winter stiffened, her almost imperceptible amusement at finding out Sam was Benton’s wife melting away. “Look at you. Wearing a suit, carrying a gun. Acting like you’re big shit. I can tell by looking at you, you’re still a fucking freak.”

  “Listen,” Noah tried again. “We’re here to do a job. No one is out to stomp on your husband or anyone else. Keep your insults to yourself. As soon as we’re done here, we’ll move on.”

  “Don’t patronize me. She’s holding some childhood grudge, and I’d bet a million dollars she’s come back here for revenge.” Sam drilled her finger in Winter’s direction. “If you make my husband lose his job, so help me I’ll—”

  “You’re going to want to stop right there.” Noah’s voice hardened. Enough was enough. This woman was getting on his nerves. “You’re about to threaten an FBI agent, and that’s something you most definitely don’t want to do. Go back to work. Is that your boss?”

  Sam wheeled around. Sure enough, an older woman was standing in the doorway, wearing a flour-dusted apron, her hands on her hips. By the look on her face, Sam was in for it. “This isn’t over,” Sam hissed. She gave Winter another dirty look and retreated.

  “It was over a long time ago.” Winter’s voice was quiet. Almost sad.

  They walked back to the car in silence. Seeing Sam as an adult was disorienting. She’d always been a tomboy, star pitcher for her Little League team, with bruised and scratched knees and her hair in a lopsided French braid. She’d grown up tall and pretty, but her eyes had been dark with dissatisfaction.