Hannah turned and looked at the detergent, pen, glasses and hair tie. “You sure you never sawMacGyver?”
76
They are inside.”
Desmond asked, “How do you know?”
“Window, right. Curtain moved.”
The man leaned forward, stuck his head out of the bushes.
“Could be.”
“No, it is.” Moll went back to cover. Desmond too.
The men were across a weedy parking area from a brown clapboard cabin. Not having any luck in their search along Route 84, they’d pulled over and checked real estate records. They’d found this cabin on Deep Woods Lake. They had parked a half mile away, off an old logging road on the other side of the hill that faced the place. Moll, an expert at deer and elk sign, had spotted footprints, which led to the cabin.
One foot—Allison’s, Moll thought, by the size, was shuffling. It appeared her daughter was helping her. And he’d spotted blood. Those gunshots earlier.
“They armed?”
Moll shrugged. “Doubt it. Maybe found one inside there. Then again, I would not leave a weapon in a place like that. Too easy to break into.”
The broad, calm lake behind the cabin was dark blue. No other properties were visible around it.
“A trapdoor in the bottom of a Winnebago?” Moll’s voice was rich with disgust. He had no problem assigning blame to Desmond, or anyone else, but he wasn’t above taking responsibility himself. “I should have checked that.”
Desmond was still for a moment. “Who’d know? How could you know?”
Which Moll appreciated.
“So? What do we do?”
“As far as they know, we are somewhere else, probably on the highway. Has to be a back door. Leads to that dock.” Another glance at the complex green and brown surroundings. Thinking where he would set up the blind, if this was a recreational outing. At least on this hunt, he did not have to worry about upwind, downwind. Human noses were useless, unless a triggerman was wearing too much Paco Rabanne.
Desmond asked, “Where the hell is Merritt?”
Moll had checked texts. “On his way.”
“I feel like we’re doing all the work here.”
“Are we getting paid or not?”
Desmond’s lips grew tight in concession.
Moll said, “You circle around, to the back. I go through the front.”
A nod in reply. They drew their pistols and moved out, side by side, crouching, while they used the tall brush for cover. Moll smelled a sour aroma. Stinkweed. A memory from his youth arose, though it attached to nothing more concrete than simply being in the woods.
“Goddamn,” Desmond whispered.
“What?”
“Two grasshoppers spit tobacco on me.”
“I would focus. Can we?”
They paused behind an overgrown hedge.