Blood lure

Tacit approval for her to investigate but with no official standing and no NPS backing. Ruick was a clever fellow. If A

"Do you know if the campers have been interviewed?" A

"I think so. I know Harry talked briefly to everybody and told them they'll need to stop by headquarters before they leave the park in case any new questions come up or there's paperwork to be done."

"There's always paperwork," A

She followed Joan back up to camp. They had about ninety minutes to kill before Buck returned with Rory's boots. A

Already the will-o'-the-wisp population of Fifty Mountain had undergone so much change, interviews were largely a waste of time. Rory had been missing a night, a day, and a night. During that day the body had been discovered. It was not till the following day that they'd found Carolyn Van Slyke was missing. Campers seldom stayed in one place that long. Assuming the faceless woman had been killed the night Rory ran from the bear, as the condition of the corpse suggested, two mornings had come and gone. Mornings during which early-rising campers folded their tents and moved on and new people hiked in to take their places. Witnesses, alibis, the usual round of queries brought on by homicide, scarcely applied.

A

One by one, A

The wife kindly pointed out the man they'd mistaken for Mrs. Van Slyke's husband. He was the only person A

The man beneath this valiant tree wasn't doing quite as well. Like Lester, his backcountry duds and gear were suspiciously new and he wriggled like a man whose backside has known only leather car seats and barstools. Though the sun was setting and the temperature had dropped considerably, he wore only a thin T-shirt and hugged his knees for warmth. Hovering around fifty, he sported rich reddish-brown hair that was still thick. Not a trace of gray showed anywhere. A

"Hey, sorry to bother you," A

"Hi." He slapped at a mosquito. He made no effort to rise. Neither a backwoodsman nor a gentleman.

"I'm A

"I don't know anything about that. I came here to get away from people. I've stayed pretty much to myself." He delivered this piece of information to a place halfway between his eyes and A

"You want to get a coat or something?" A

She got it.

"A coat?" He met her eyes with sudden suspicion. "Why?"

A

"It's getting cold. Looks like the mosquitoes are eating you up. I thought you'd be more comfortable."

He relaxed. "No. I'm fine. You want to sit down? Pull up a chair." He laughed, the hollow angry sound of a man a

"I've got some mosquito repellent in my pack you can use," A

He took the insect repellent readily enough and smeared it on his face and arms. "Bill McCaskil," he introduced himself as he handed it back. Sans bugs he was more personable. A

"Did you meet a Mrs. Van Slyke around camp at all?" she asked.

"No, like I said, I keep to myself."

A

"Carolyn Van Slyke? Was she the blond lady, kind of beefy around the hips? I might have talked to her a couple of times."

A

"Did you eat together, hike together, anything like that?" A

McCaskil shot her a sharp look. "We may have eaten at the same time, I guess. There's only that one place to do it." He didn't like being questioned. Maybe he hated to get involved. Maybe he just didn't like being messed with. Still, there was something about him that set A

He was good-looking enough. The determinedly reddish hair had a natural wave to it. A lean face and strong hooked nose over a well-shaped month lent him strength. The effect was marred but not ruined by acne scarring on his checks and chin. His body was attractive: tall and lean and gym-buffed. The kind of fit that doesn't look fit for much but mod-cling clothes.

Thinking that, it came to her why she felt a wrongness. He didn't want to be here. Didn't like the wilderness. Didn't like camping. His repeated desire to get away from people didn't ring true under the circumstances. He struck her as the sort who, if wanting solitude, would go to the clubs on an off night when the crowds were thi