LITMIR.BIZ

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      And that is how I met Rusty Michaels.

PART 2

       TROUBLE TRACKER

      My house felt more comfortable, yet I was getting more and more restless. Occasionally I spoke at elementary schools, telling kids how to stay safe in the woods, what to do if they ever became lost and how to prevent becoming lost in the first place. I would tell them the story about finding a missing boy in the mountains and would then take their questions. It was a way to contribute and I hoped the information sunk in.

      Michaels called every few days to check up on me. Our visits were always warm and casual. I got the feeling he was sitting on the sidelines waiting to be called into the game. What kind of game he was watching intrigued me. I certainly couldn’t find anything remarkable about the Cassidy Callahan game, but I enjoyed his calls.

      I remembered the day I had escaped from Silva. Michaels had already known my name and in a way that felt nice. He had probably found my name from the DMV records while checking my license plate number from the bank robbery. It still felt good that he had used it. That had helped him look like a true neighbor with a real question that day. I never asked him about it, but I certainly speculated.

Chapter 4

      Trouble seemed to be taking a break from my life for a little while. Maybe that is what made me feel so restless. Maybe my life had become so hum-drum that trouble got bored and left. That would be a good thing, except I was bored, and when I was bored trouble was usually close on its heels. I just had to ignore the boredom. Don’t go looking for adventures, I’d tell myself. You know what happens when you do that.

      Michaels could feel it, too. He knew change was in the wind and I was afraid he would do something about it. I thought it might involve a date and I wasn’t ready for a date. A date would cause guilt and guilt was bad.

      A week went by and for some reason Michaels hadn’t called. I thought he had just gotten busy at work and dismissed it wondering how I felt if this stretched on for two weeks. I was in my box-filled garage sawing on a two by four, trying to build another obstacle for my backyard, when the phone rang. I dug the phone out of my pocket.

      “Hello?”

      No “Hello” or “How are you doing?” this time.

      “I’m probably going to hate myself for doing this,” Michaels said, his voice strained, “but can you come down to my office?”

      “Sure,” I replied, “just give me a chance to wash up. I’m building something and I’m full of sawdust.”

      He paused. It seemed like no matter what I did it surprised him for some reason. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be here.”

      I took a shower, blow-dried my hair, and used a curling iron a little bit to flip the ends out. I brushed on mascara and eye shadow, changed into jeans, a little eyelet tailored blouse and moccasins. I switched my daypack contents to a real purse and slung it over my shoulder. I made sure Shadow had water, said good-bye, and jumped in the Jeep. I was curious what was going on with Michaels that made him call me to his office. If it was a social call, he would have stopped by the house.

      I pulled up in the police station parking lot, locked the door on the Jeep, and went in. There was a black woman at the reception counter and she eyed me suspiciously. I went to the desk and asked to see Michaels. A white woman’s head appeared from around a doorway. There was a silent conversation between the two that involved lots of finger pointing, head nodding and glares at each other.

      “Okay,” she said uneasily, “I just got one question. We have this thing going on in the office and it was agreed on that the person at the front desk next time we saw you would ask you something.”

      Uh oh. I smiled waiting for her to go on, “Yes?”

      “We want to know what you done to Rusty.”

      “What I did? I didn’t do anything to him.”

      “You sure enough DID! It’s a well known fact that one minute he was his own self, same ol’, same ol, Rusty. Then he gets involved in that Silva case and he changed. Oh, he changed something awful! The day after the hold-up, he charged in here, went straight to his office and called in Schroeder, his best friend on the force. And he told Schroeder not to let him out of this building for the rest of the day. Then he starts planning like he’s invading a foreign country. Schroeder don’t know what’s up neither. He knew it had something to do with the Silva case, but Rusty’s keepin’ quiet. An’ Rusty won’t budge. Nobody could talk to ‘im. He’s gotten better since Silva got captured but he still acts really weird. All the women in this office have been after Rusty since they started working here and none of ‘em have had any luck. Then you come along. And you say you didn’t do nothin’. Humph.”

      Now this was very interesting. But it made me a bit uneasy. Was that why people were watching when I came to the station before?

      “I swear I didn’t do anything. But he did ask me to meet him at his office, so can you tell him I’m here?”

      “Harumph” she picked up the phone and buzzed Michaels’ office.

      “I’ve never even called him Rusty!” I said in self-defense.

      “Do you remember where his office is?”

      “Yeah.” She opened the door and I walked down the beige hallways to the fake wood door with the little window. I peeked through the glass to make sure it was the right one. Michaels brightened a little, but his expression was worn. He was sunburned and tired. His sports coat was hanging on a chair nearby and he had his shirt sleeves rolled up like he’d been working hard.

      He opened the door and stood filling the doorway, just looking.

      “It’s good to see you again. You’re looking great.”

      “I feel almost human again.” I glanced around him. There was a topo map spread out on his desk. The pile of files had grown. “What’s up?”

      “I told you I’m not going to like myself for doing this, but you’re the only person I know who might be able to crack this. We’ve had rangers out, search and rescue.” He resigned himself to his cause and bent over the map.

      My curiosity perked. This was a tracking case!

      “We’ve got a forest ranger missing.” He glanced at me, still unsure if he wanted to share the information. He knew I’d take it. He knew I’d jump at it. What was holding him back?

      “Here, you can see the area. He started out at Piney Point camp and he hiked this trail.” He ran his finger along a 20-mile section of trail. “To Elk Meadows campground. He was supposed to take notes on where the trail needed repairs. He was fixing minor things as he went along but he only had a week to complete the trail. It’s now been a week since he was supposed to be back, and no sign. There are rough spots in the trail up on the ridges and places where the trail needed marking.”

      I sighed. It was a rough trail. And it would take longer to track it than hike it.

      “You say there have been others over the trail? There may be no tracks left to read. How much of a search have you conducted so far? And why do you have the case? Do they think this is crime related?”

      “I don’t have the case. Guy’s name is Kelly Green. We go rock climbing together. I went out with the search and rescue unit. I thought you might be able to see things we missed.”

      “Why didn’t you call me in the first place? This would be a lot easier when the trail was fresh. Now we’ve got tracks on top of tracks and wind and weather have deteriorated the trail.”

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