Page 49 of Skin Game
“Holy cow.”
“And more. Where are you? You sound outdoorsy.”
Bowie whined and tried to wiggle out of Casey’s grip, but Casey wouldn’t release him.
“I’m up at Snowcap. I thought I’d check up on your possible Calvin Perkins sighting.”
“Oh.” Gabe was silent, and Casey recognized that drop in tone. Gabe was worried. Now he knew how Casey felt way too often. Granted, Casey had come up here alone last fall and had been ambushed, so Gabe had a reason to feel concerned. “Have you found anything?”
“No, but I have that weird feeling you get when you’re being watched. Could be a human, could be a wild animal.”
“Would you do me a favor and get out of there? You don’t need to be the hero who brings in Perkins—if he’s even still alive. The truck just looked like his and I thought you should know about it. I didn’t think you would head off on a one-man mission to find the man.”
“Gabriel, if you thought the truck looked enough like Calvin’s to bring it up in conversation, then I’m going to take it seriously. He and Dwayne hung out up here, he’s familiar with the area,he’s got the survival skills. It makes sense that he might here somewhere.”
“The key word is somewhere. Just come back and we’ll drive up there together, okay?”
Casey didn’t want to hurt Gabe’s feelings by pointing out that Gabe was probably more of a hindrance than a help.
“Okay, I’ll head back.” He’d ask Greta to come back with him. She was an excellent tracker and great shot.
There was a snick sound on the line, and Casey figured the satellite was moving out of range.
“That’s Elton calling,” Gabe said. “I need to talk to him.”
“I’ll text when I’m back at the office.”
But Gabe had already clicked off. Casey tucked the phone back into his pocket and started toward the truck with Bowie at his heels. The sense of being watched faded the farther he got from the tree line. Was it a case of his imagination working overtime or had someone’s attention been focused on him?
Another unpleasant shiver crawled up his spine, and Casey moved a bit faster toward the truck.
A cacophonyof barking reached his ears before he arrived at the log cabin. Although the wordcabinimplied something small and quaint, and the Clark-Allard home was huge. Three stories and constructed with logs from the property, it was set a mile or so back from the road. The driveway wound almost aimlessly through the remaining trees until it finally ended at the back of the house.
Casey wasn’t a big fan of city folks moving out to the wilds of the Olympics. More often than not, they ended up smack in the middle of some tragic disaster, freezing to death, accidentally setting their own house on fire. The gap in expectations established by social media influencers, many who’d never actuallylived off the grid, and the reality was wider than the Grand Canyon and about as dangerous.
The Clark-Allards were an exception to Casey’s general experience. Now in his mid-fifties, Paul had moved up The Valley five or so years ago with his younger partner, Etienne. Casey wasn’t sure what exactly Paul did to keep busy, but Etienne raised dogs. A lot of big, goofy Newfoundland dogs. Dogs who sounded scary from afar, but who were more likely to knock a person down out of enthusiasm and then snuffle them to death.
“Come on, Bowie, you can show these goofs what a real dog can do again.”
Four Newfies, three black and white and one all black, wrangled for who got to greet Bowie and Casey first. Elbowing the door open, Casey started to slide off the seat to the muddy ground below. Excited for the fun and games, Bowie squeezed out from behind him and jumped into the fray. The sniff fest began. Casey wasn’t worried about his much smaller dog; Bowie had always held his own just fine in the past.
“What brings you here today, Lundin?” Paul asked, stepping out from the shadows of the covered porch that wrapped around the entirety of their home.
Casey looked up at the older man. “Permission to come aboard?”
Paul rolled his eyes. “Yes. Do you need a coffee or tea? Etienne has a kettle warming.”
“Whichever is easier,” Casey replied as he made for the stairs.
Casey wasthankful he hadn’t chosen to wear the socks Gabe had given him for Christmas. It was difficult to feel professional wearing pictures of your dog on your feet. Following Paul’s lead, he’d left his boots in the mudroom so he wouldn’t track dirt inside.
“Coffee?” Etienne asked, his soft French accent blurring the word.
“Yes, thank you.”
The main floor of their home was an open space with a kitchen area at one end. This space included a nook dining area surrounded by windows and looked out onto the yard. Casey glanced outside where there was currently a five-dog rugby team roiling in the mud.
“Paul?”