Page 4

Chapter Four

brYNN

S peculation and rumors swirl around Paradise Inn as six rolls around, and I head downstairs to meet Ralph and the rest of the crew for dinner and drinks. At least, I hope the rest of the crew is there. If not, I’ll bail right away, unwilling to give Ralph any unnecessary hope.

The inn dates back to the early twentieth century and has the Arts and Crafts feel of buildings like Yosemite’s historic Ahwahnee Inn. A mixed wood and stone exterior and a massive, iconic great room inspire comparison. So do the strange assortment of medieval-looking tapestries and Native American art decorating the walls, rugs, and accent pillows on couches. Even the backs of the dark-wood chairs feature intricately painted Native patterns. The place could be a museum rather than a hotel, offering the same coziness and mustiness.

In fact, it could use some serious renovations. The moldy smell comes from flash flooding a couple of years back when an uncharacteristically large snowpack on the Western Sierra and unseasonably warm temperatures conspired to cause torrential snowpack runoff.

The bar is dingy and dark, and I squint, searching for Ralph. I spy him sitting at the bar, talking animatedly to the rest of the crew, the picture of extroversion. I’ve only known them for a week, but we’ve hiked or eaten together every day. Ralph waves, calling, “Look, everyone! It’s the girl who tried to run me over.”

I’ve never heard someone speak so cheerily of an event that still fills me with shame. After all, what kind of a person doesn’t use their rearview mirror when backing up? Still, the crew jumps up to greet me with hugs.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” Ralph says.

I shrug. “Well, I did promise to buy you a drink, and I could use some dinner.”

“Me, too.”

“Did you hike to Lake Florence?”

He nods. “It was spectacular, and I’m glad I went today because rumor has it the park service is about to close the trailhead.”

“Close the trailhead?” The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. “Why?”

A smile splits his face as he whispers next to my ear, “They say the search for the missing hikers is about to turn into a manhunt for a murderer.”

I sit back, putting extra space between us. “So they’ve ruled out that the girls got lost?”

Steve leans over Ralph, chiming in, “My bet is they’re both as dead as doornails.” He’s a twenty-something with brownish hair and a trimmed beard and remains completely enamored with his girl, Raven, seated next to him at the bar. She has shiny black hair in pigtails and big, brown, almond-shaped eyes.

“Dead?” My breath catches in my throat.

Raven adds, “Yeah, things are getting real with the investigation, which made me worry about you this morning. Lake Florence is like the epicenter of the whole case. You shouldn’t go back there alone. Yoga video filming or not.”

I nod, saying in her direction, “That’s what people keep telling me. But I definitely got enough for a video today. Glad I did before everything shuts down.”

“Yikes! You’d better get that video posted right away. I bet it’ll go viral,” she exclaims.

“I agree.” Two missing hikers is a horrible reason for a video to go viral, but social media is fueled by sensationalism, fear porn, and tragedy.

“The local station’s waiting for the sheriff of Vengeance County to hold a press conference. I bet the Lake Florence hashtag is going viral right now,” she adds.

“Me, too.”

Ralph teases, “Hell, we’re all about to be famous. This place is hopping with news reporters. The murders have captivated the nation.”

“Murders?” I scrunch my forehead. “How can you be so sure?”

“Suspected murders,” he reluctantly corrects himself. “Be an optimist if you like, Brynn. But we all know how this will end.”

“I hope not,” I say, studying his confusing expression. Ralph’s chin is undercut, like he could’ve used braces as a kid, and his cheeks are fleshy and thick, giving him a cherub quality. He has a ruddy rash on his cheeks that I’m guessing either comes from shaving burn or adult acne. “Those poor women.”

“Poor, indeed.” Ralph laughs. “I’m a huge fan of true crime, so you’ll have to excuse me.”

I shrug, pressing my lips firmly together, feeling unimpressed by his dark humor. But the comments coming from the rest of the crew are just as dark and calloused, so I ignore them. Instead, I ask, “What will you drink?”

“The usual.”

“Two of the local brew,” I say as the waitress comes by, holding up my fingers since the place is loud with murmurings and blaring TVs. I press my fingers into my temples, looking down at the wooden bar.

“Why the long face?”

“Just trying to sort out my next move. My permit expires in twenty days, and with the trailhead closed, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Maybe it’s time to leave Murrieta.” Ralph’s suggestion is a sound one, but it still makes my chest ache. After the encounter today, I need to give up on my mountain man stalker. The thought of leaving without seeing him again saddens me in ways I can’t quantify, though.

I respond, my mind a million miles away, “I don’t care if I complete every inch of the HRT. I’m fine with enjoying the more accessible parts of the hike. After all, consistent internet tethers me back to towns at night.”

He nods, thanking the waitress as she sets two icy, frothy beers in front of us. “So, is staying at inns along the way normal for you? Or do you sleep in your 4Runner sometimes?”

“Sometimes.”

“Me, too. My van’s set up for crashing as needed.”

“So, we’re taking similar approaches to the HRT.”

“I doubt that,” he snorts. “You seem a lot more into this than I am, and from what I saw at the trailhead earlier today, you’re definitely more geared up, too. I’m just dabbling in the whole backcountry thing, really.”

“What made you head out here in the first place, then?” I ask, taking a sip of ale.

“I’m a people watcher. It’ll never get old. The psychology of individuals, how they act under pressure and in various circumstances. Like you, today in the parking lot. You looked nervous as hell, maybe even a little scared. Definitely too distracted to be driving.”

I admit, “I was a little weirded out. I had this stranger confront me at the lake, and then follow me down to my car. It was a little weird.”

“He scared you, then?”

I hesitate. “Scared isn’t the word. But the situation took an unpleasant turn.”

His eyes narrow. “Hmm… That’s a strange way to react to a man approaching you out of nowhere. Most women would be terrified.”

“Maybe.”

“Then again, maybe he was nothing to be afraid of?”

I shake my head. “The man was intimidating … professional wrestler-sized.”

Ralph asks, lifting his glass for a gulp, “Have you reported the incident to the park service or the sheriff’s department?”

“No.”

His eyes narrow. “Why not?”

I shrug. “Because apart from a small portion of audio video when he first started talking to me, I have no proof he followed or harassed me.”

“Hmm… Sounds creepy as hell to me. I wonder why he was up there anyway? Maybe checking out the murder scene?”

“Quit thinking the worst,” I scold, overwhelmed by the heaviness of the somber room. “We don’t even know if they’re dead.”

“Sorry,” he says, staring unblinkingly at the wall.

“And by the time they do know more, we’ll probably all be long gone from Murrieta.”

“Are you leaving, then?”

I shrug. That was the plan until I fell for my mountain man stalker. “It’s about time to move on.”

He nods. “But it’s too soon to give up. Especially on a trail where ninety-seven percent of hikers get denied a permit. Luckily, there’s strength in numbers. Those two hikers never stood a chance … alone and afraid in the woods…” He stares off into the distance for a long moment. “But a group our size? Who’s going to confront us?”

“You have a point,” I say, quirking my mouth.

“Does that mean you’re in for the day after tomorrow?” Lydia asks, her blonde bob bouncing as she speaks.

“What happens then?”

“The Alpine Lakes Loop. We’re thinking eightish for a quick breakfast before departure. Tons of people frequent it, which is a con if you hate crowds. But at the same time, it’ll feel safer.”

I nod, knowing exactly what she means by “safer.” I think we all need to feel that way these days. But my hotel booking ran out this afternoon, which means I’m back to sleeping in my 4Runner. I wonder if I can sneak in for breakfast in two days undetected?

Ralph says, “The elevation’ll be tough, but no worse than Lake Florence. And there won’t be as many mosquitoes up there like the lower elevation lakes.”

“At least, that’s the hope,” Tucker adds. He’s tall and lean with a clean-shaven face, sandy-colored hair, and snapping green eyes. “‘Course I’m more worried about elevation sickness. Remember, I’m from Chicago, after all.”

“I bet.” I chuckle. Being from Northern Idaho, the elevation’s never been my concern.

“Iowa boy, here,” Ralph replies, regaling us with his Midwest pride yet again. “So, the Sierra Nevada royally kicked my ass at first. But I’m acclimated now. I’ve recently surprised myself with my stamina, actually.”