NOVEMBER 21âTHE RANSONS
Tuesday morning came in a hurry. John kissed Ann good-bye at six, reminding her that he would be back to help with the search as soon as he got his construction crew started. Ann burrowed back down under the covers and the dogs cuddled around her. She was sleeping soundly when the doorbell rang.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Ann yelled as she rolled over and looked at the clock. It was 8:15. She couldn't believe she'd overslept. She scrambled out of bed and lurched into the bathroom. She dragged a pick through her hair, grabbed her long blue robe, and ran downstairs. She realized the minute she hit the hallway floor that the tiles were freezing. She felt like she was walking on ice cubes. The dogs barked and crowded around her as she went to the door. She looked out the sidelight and saw the sheriff.
Pain shot through her left foot as Buck stepped on it. Meanwhile Sheba jumped up and down like her back legs were spring-loaded. Wobbling on one foot, Ann waved the dogs back and yelled, “Everybody sit!” They backed up, rumps hitting the floor. Glaring at them, she added,
“Stay.” Buck slid down to lie on the floor. Nobody else moved. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
Lark smiled down at her. “I'm sorry if we woke you up. I have a couple of questions before we start the search.”
“Please come in. I was just getting up when you rang the doorbell. Have you figured out where we'll start?” Ann asked, discreetly trying to stand on one foot and then the other to ward off the cold of the floor tiles.
The sheriff stepped into the hallway and introduced his two deputies, Paul Dolphson and Jim Kryjack. Ann smiled and shook hands with both of them, thinking that she must look old enough to be their mother.
Ann headed into the kitchen to find that there wasn't any coffee left, so she quickly made some. Fortunately, she had some leftover blueberry muffins. The officers and dogs followed her.
“Officer Kryjack. I wonder if you would do me a favor?” Ann asked, once everyone was seated in the kitchen with their coffee and muffins.
He looked at her nervously. “I'll try, ma'am.”
“First of all,” Ann said, brushing her hand across the table to get rid of a nonexistent crumb. “Please don't call me ma'am, my name is Ann. I'd also appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything to my husband about the ticket you gave me last week.”
Lark was sipping his coffee and must have sucked some of it up his nose, because he was suddenly coughing, laughing, and choking at the same time. Ann gave him the evil eye.
His coughing subsided just as Ann was contemplating whether she should let him choke to death or offer to perform the Heimlich maneuver, He waved his hands and choked out, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to laugh.”
Officer Kryjack smiled. “Of course, ma'amâI mean Ann. I won't say a word, but you do know they put the names of all the people who get tickets in the paper.”
“I've got that covered,” Ann said as the sheriff started to laugh again. “Just what is so damn funny?” she snapped.
“Nothing, nothing,” he said, trying to stop laughing. “Let's change the subject. I'd like to see if your dogs can help us track down the rest of the body.”
Paul, who had been silent to this point, stood up. “If you have leashes we can take them out on, I'll be happy to get them ready. I grew up with golden retrievers.”
“No need for that,” Ann said. “I'll get the dogs ready as soon as I'm dressed.”
“You don't have to go out in this cold, ma'am. We can handle it,” Paul replied.
“Hold on a minute. You're not taking them without me,” Ann said, looking back and forth between Paul and Lark.
Lark leaned forward in his chair and carefully put his coffee mug down on the table. “Ann, it's ten below and very windy. I don't think you should be out in this weather. I promise we'll take very good care of the dogs.” Ann thought that women probably fell all over him. He seemed so sincere, looking right into her eyes as he talked.
“Look, Lark,” Ann said, staring right back at him. “This is my property and those are my dogs. I'm going if they're going. I've spent a lot of time walking over this land and I know it better than the three of you. Besides, the dogs will work better with me there.”
“I think this is a bad idea. I can't let you do it,” Lark said, frowning. “I think your husband would agree with me.”
Ann stood, slammed her palms down on the table, and looked directly into the sheriff's eyes. “Can't let me do it,” she repeated, pointing a finger in his face. “I make my own decisions. You want to search this property without a warrant, dogs or no dogs, I'll be going with you.”
“What the hell's going on here?” Ann turned around to see John standing in the kitchen doorway.
Lark stood up. “John, I was just explaining to Ann that it's very cold outside and I think it would be best if she didn't come with us to search. It's way too cold and windy for anyone to be out there let alone aâ” He realized what he'd been about to say and had the good sense to shut up.
John looked from Lark to Ann. “Oh boy, you overslept, didn't you?'
Ann pulled herself up to her full five feet, two inches and crossed her arms over her chest. “The damn alarm clock didn't go off, the doorbell woke me up, the dogs have been nuts, you didn't leave any coffee, and they want to search our property without us.”
“Ann, you always shut the alarm off and go back to sleep unless
you're going to work. You know I never leave any coffee because you don't drink it, it just goes to waste,” John said, patiently. “The dogs are always crazy when someone comes to the door.”
Ann stared at him, her brown eyes snapping.
He came into the kitchen to get himself a cup of coffee. “I was planning on going with Sheriff Swenson. You can stay here and deal with those antiques you've got to get delivered,” he said, not looking at her. He had developed an almost all-consuming interest in his coffee cup.
“No, dammit, that's not the way it's going to work,” Ann said, settling her hands on her hips and staring daggers at him as he sat down at the table. “I'll be ready to go in ten minutes.”
Ann took a couple of steps towards the stairs, turned around, and fired off her final salvo. “By the way, I got another speeding ticket last week. I'm up to nine points. This one's all your fault since you gave me that damn Motown CD,” she snapped, and stormed out of the kitchen.
As Ann left she heard Paul say “Jeez, I'm sorry, boss, what did I do wrong?”
“Don't worry about it,” Lark said. “You could have handled it better, but I have a feeling it wouldn't have made any difference this early in the morning.”
“You're absolutely right,” John said.
NOVEMBER 21âTHE SEARCH
Ann felt like a female relative of the Pillsbury Doughboy. She had on long thermal underwear underneath two pairs of sweats and two pairs of socks, one of them electric. John found her standing in front of their full-length mirror.
“I'll probably be yelling, âI've fallen and I can't get up,' if I fall,” Ann said.
He gave her a brief smile and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Was I that bad?”
“You would have scared the shit out of me if I didn't know you,” John said, pulling off his jeans. He went over to rummage in his dresser. “The sheriff's OK. The other guy, Paul, was just trying to be helpful. He thinks he insulted you. By the way, his sister's a nurse at the hospital.”
“Do you think I should apologize?”
“That's your call,” John said, pulling on his longjohns. “They don't want to search in this weather and neither do I, so they can't understand why you want to.”
“Now I really feel like shit,” she replied, sitting down awkwardly beside him.
“I didn't mean it that way,” John sighed, tugging his jeans back on. “This isn't a case of the dreaded male chauvinist pigs at work. They're nice guys just like me.” He gave her a sidelong grin. “Guys with great respect for a good-looking, barefoot woman.”
“You asshole.” He ducked as Ann threw a pillow at him. “Good-looking, my ass. I look like crap.”
“Well, you do have a great ass, and a fabulous chest, I might add, but seriouslyâno, no, Ann.” John crossed his arms over his face to avoid the pillow she swung at his head.
“I know what you're doing,” she said, flopping back on the bed. “I'll let you get by with it because I feel a little better than I did a half hour ago but you can't butter me up and get me to stay home. I'll go make thermoses and apologize.” She kissed him and heaved herself off the bed.
“Hold it,” he yelled. “What's with you getting another speeding ticket?”
“I was hoping you'd forgotten that. I've been trying to watch it, but I just wasn't paying attention. I'll do better.”
“Yeah, right,” he said, heading into the bathroom. “One of these days you're going to end up in jail and I won't bail you out. If you keep it up, we won't be able to afford car insurance.”
Ann left while the getting was good and went downstairs to apologize. Paul and Jim got the dogs on their leashes while she prepared the thermoses. The group set off down the driveway about nine. It wasn't snowing, but the dark clouds obliterating the sun foretold of inches to come. An arctic wind whipped through the trees and the men turned up the collars of their blaze orange coats. Even with her hood up and a scarf wrapped around her face, Ann was cold. Of course, she didn't say a word. She'd made her bed and now she was going to freeze her ass off in it.
The sheriff had brought two snowmobiles in the hope of speeding things up. John was concerned that the dogs would be distracted by the engine noise, so Jim took one of the radios and stayed behind with the snowmobiles. Lark kept the other radio in case they needed help. John took Duke and Ann took Buck and they followed the faint trail of animal tracks from the pond into the woods. Both dogs strained against their retractable
leashes, but the occasional gunshot kept Ann and John from letting them out more than ten feet.
As they reached the edge of the woods, Lark pulled the boot out of a plastic bag. He bent down and let both dogs sniff it while John gave them the fetch command. Lark bagged the boot and put it in his backpack. Once the dogs realized they weren't getting their toy. they plunged into the woods, tails up and wagging. They meandered along a lightly snow-covered animal trail, stopping to investigate small tracks that skittered across the snow.
Squirrels and chickadees chattered down from the trees, periodically distracting the dogs. Buck veered off to follow a set of rabbit tracks, and further into the woods Duke sniffed fresh deer tracks and strained at his leash. John pulled him back. Duke snorted his discontent but trotted back onto the trail.
After meandering along for half an hour, they'd walked through a thousand yards of woods and come to the edge of the marsh that cut across the southern section of the Ransons' property. It was a quarter mile wide swath of sedge grass dotted with birch clumps, small thickets of sumac, and dead tree snags. In the summer it was impossible to cross without hip waders.
“Now what?” John asked as they took a break.
Paul took off his backpack and pulled out a thermos. “How about a cup of coffee?”
“Good idea,” Ann said, brushing snow off a fallen tree. Unlike the manicured woods in parks, there were downed trees all over and no shortage of places to sit.
“Can you pour me some hot chocolate?” she asked, digging two rawhide treats out of her coat pocket. As she tossed them to the dogs, a barrage of gunshots went off on the other side of the marsh. Paul handed her a steaming cup and sat down beside her. The tree creaked but held their weight.
“I love this place,” Paul said, looking across the marsh. “I was pissed when you posted it last year. Sam always let my family hunt here.”
Ann sipped her cocoa. “I don't have anything against you hunting, I just can't feed all these animals and then kill them for sport. My father hunted just about everything and I ate a lot of game when I was a kid, so I can't be one of those âban all hunting radicals.'” She made quotation
marks in the air with her free hand. “I just can't bear hunting on my property.”
“Hey, Lark, get that boot out and let's get this show on the road,” Paul yelled as soon as he finished his coffee. They refreshed the dogs' interest in the boot and restarted their search.
The marsh wasn't completely frozen. Between the matted sedge grass and snow, it was like walking on marshmallows. A hundred feet in, Duke wandered into a small grove of sumac trees and startled a flock of cardinals. The beauty of the bright red males distracted them. No one noticed Buck until he trotted up to them with something bright yellow in his mouth. Buck released his find, a yellow mitten, to John.
“Do you think it's anything important?” John asked as Lark put it in a plastic evidence bag.
“We won't know until we search this area,” Lark said. “Why don't you walk the dogs on across the marsh. Yell if you find anything.” He turned away to discuss the search with Paul.
Ann and John noticed a large number of fresh deer tracks as they crossed the marsh. They walked across the faint trail of a snowmobile and agreed that it must have been the one they'd heard on Saturday night. Neither of them could figure out who would be out without their running lights before the trails were open. Ann was sure they were up to no good, like poaching deer. They looked for signs of a kill but didn't find any.
When they reached the other side of the marsh, Ann sat down on a fallen tree. John joined her and lit a cigarette. They relaxed and watched Lark and Paul search the sumac grove. After fifteen minutes of waiting, they grew restless and wandered west along the edge of the marsh. The woods had a thick undergrowth of brambles and sumac that made it almost impossible to get through, summer or winter. Ann was content just walking along the edge. Suddenly, Duke swerved into the underbrush. John gave him some extra lead and the dog charged into the thicket. He started barking and Buck ran after him.
Ann heard twigs snapping. Four deer leaped out of the woods and ran past her into the marsh. The dogs crashed through the snow right behind them, dragging down the brush with their leashes. Buck galloped past Ann and pulled her off her feet. He dragged her fifteen feet before she came to a stop on her stomach. Buck's leash was still clenched in her outstretched hands and her arms felt like they might come out of
their sockets. She rolled over on her back and lay in the trench her body had plowed through the snow, trying to catch her breath and sit up as Buck squirmed around her. She looked over at John. Duke was at the end of his leash, barking at the deer that had escaped back into the woods. Once again, she asked herself why they had such large dogs.
“My God, are you all right?” John yelled as he reeled Duke in and hurried over to her.
Ann couldn't answer because Buck was licking and nuzzling her. The more she protested, the more rambunctious he became. Even with John's help, she struggled to get up. In all the fracas, Buck pulled off one of her mittens. Swearing, Ann grabbed at it but Buck pranced out of her reach. She lunged towards him and slipped on the packed down snow, landing on her hands and knees and dropping the leash. He wasted no time dashing into the woods.
“Shit,” John yelled as he rushed after Buck with Duke leading the way.
Ann turned around to see what the sheriff was up to, hoping he hadn't seen her Three Stooges act. He was only partially visible as he walked back and forth, searching the grove.
She was brushing the snow off her clothes when two men stepped out of the woods about a hundred yards from her. They wore orange jumpsuits and orange hats with the furry earflaps that make people look like they'd lost their last shred of intelligence. Ann jammed her naked hand down in her coat pocket and watched them approach. They both had at least two days' growth of beard and dark hair straggling out from under their hats. Looking across the marsh, Ann noted that the sheriff and Paul were also headed her way. John was not in sight, but she could hear the occasional unintelligible yell from the direction he'd taken into the woods.
Both hunters carried unsheathed rifles. As they got closer, she noted that the taller man's hair and mustache were a salt and pepper mix and his deep-set eyes were surrounded by heavy crows' feet and prominent bags. His face was ruddy. Ann figured it was windburn mixed with a healthy dose of alcohol.
When they got within five feet, Salt and Pepper pointed a black-gloved finger at her, “Hey, lady, what the hell are you doin' out here? We was trackin' some deer and your damn dog spooked'em. I damn near shot him. Had him sighted in when I saw he was draggin' a leash.”
“What are you doing on this property?” Ann asked. She crossed her arms, tucking her ungloved hand into the armpit of her coat.
The men looked at each other and laughed. Now that they were closer, it was obvious that the other one was a younger version of Salt and Pepper. His full mustache was reddish brown. His eyes were the same dark brown but the crows' feet and bags were only beginning to form. He unzipped his coat and pulled out a small flask, confirming Ann's suspicions. He took a swig before holding it out to her.
“No, thanks,” Ann said, waving it away. “What are you doing on this property?”
“Ain't it obvious?” Salt and Pepper said. “We're huntin'. This ain't no time to be out for a walk. You could get yourself killed.” They chuckled, their bodies weaving back and forth like trees in the wind.
John came out of the woods fifty yards from them. He doubled over and put his hands down on his knees. Ann saw his breath, rapid wisps of frosty air, and realized he was winded. The dogs stood docile by his side. She had a strong suspicion that corporal punishment, at a level frowned on by the ASPCA, had been administered while they were in the woods. When the dogs saw the two hunters, they started barking.
“That your old man?” The younger hunter nodded at John.
John lifted his head and looked at Ann. “I heard you talking to someone. I thought it was the sheriff.” He walked over to them, restraining the dogs in the heel mode.
“These two men are a bit upset that the dogs spooked their deer.”
“Oh, really,” John said. “If you look to your left, you'll see two men who may be as upset about your deer being spooked as you are.” The hunters swiveled around to see Paul and Lark, about forty yards away and approaching rapidly.
The younger man raised his hand. “We'll be on our way, we didn't mean any harm.” He glanced at Ann. “Dad and I, we'd never shoot a dog.”
“Why are you hunting on this property?”
“Well, shit, I've hunted here for years,” Salt and Pepper bellowed.
“Poaching maybe, but you've never hunted here legally,” Paul said. “Lonnie, you know Sam only let people hunt by invitation and you were never on the guest list. These are the Ransons and they own this land now. Didn't you notice the no trespassing signs posted all over?”
The younger hunter shook his head. “We didn't see any signs, but
you know Sam always had signs and everybody ignored them'cause he was gone.”
“Good one, Ronnie,” Paul said.
Lark stepped towards the two men. “Paul will take your guns. He'll return them once you're off this property.”
“Who the fuck are you to tell me and Dad what to do?” slurred Ronnie.
Lark ignored him and turned to Paul. “Escort these guys back the way they came. If they aren't fit to drive, take them home or to jail, depending on how much trouble they give you.” He radioed Jim to come to the marsh ASAP.