Blood lure

At the fork, Rory stopped for a second as if the decision of which way to go momentarily overcame him, then went on again, straight, toward headquarters and the main road. Tall trees lined either side of the lane, drawing curtains of impenetrable black alongside. Overhead the night was clear. Stars and a quarter moon gave enough light to see by. A

"So what happens now?" Rory said after a while.

"How so?" There'd been a lot of blood under the bridge in the past few days. He could be asking about any number of things. A natural reticence made her not want to spout forth u

"About the… you know… the death," Rory said.

A

"There will be an investigation," she said carefully. "Chief Ranger Ruick will be heading that up. He'll try and find out who did it and bring them to justice." She realized she sounded prim and simplistic, but at the moment, she wasn't sure what else to say, wasn't sure what it was Rory wanted.

"You got suspects already?" Rory asked. They'd reached the road that led past the headquarters parking lot toward the maintenance yard. Rory turned down it. A

In the end, she followed him. Time enough to turn around. She wanted to know where he was heading metaphorically if not geographically. "Nobody special, if that's what you mean," A

"On television they always suspect the husband," he said. "Do you guys suspect Les?"

Rory seemed oblivious to the fact that he, too, might be a suspect. Maybe he thought being incommunicado for a day and a half in his bedroom slippers was an ironclad alibi. Or maybe he was more cu

"He's a suspect," A

A twitch? Too dark to tell. "Maybe I did it. Ever think of that?" he asked.

"Those were my very thoughts not more than a minute ago. Did you?"

"Dad didn't."

They'd reached the maintenance yard. Rory stopped by the gasoline pumps and turned toward her. "I don't think you ought to go poking around. Dad's not healthy. Can't you see that? He's old and his heart's not good. He's got high blood pressure. He can't handle this kind of stuff. Leave him alone."

This, then, was the crux of the matter. A

"It's cold," A

"Let's not," he said. She started off anyway as if she hadn't heard him, setting a casual pace that would take them around a sharp corner past derelict-looking buildings toward the resource management office and another residential area.

After a brief hesitation, he walked with her. A

"Why don't you want your dad investigated?" she asked mildly.

"I told you," Rory snapped. "His health isn't good."

His wife's health was considerably worse, A

A

"I don't have any say in this investigation," she said easily. "I'm just visiting from another park. I've done a few chores for Harry but that's it. If you want your dad left out of things, the person you need to talk to is the chief ranger. I'd suggest you do it during regular business hours. Creeping around in people's shrubbery could get a fellow shot."

"It's you I want to leave Dad alone," Rory said and this time he did lay hands on her. Strong brown fingers curled around her upper arm forcing her to stop.

The touch triggered fear in A

The spurt of fear was not enough. They were still talking.

"Like I said-" A

"No," Rory cut her off. "You. You leave him alone." The fingers tightened on her arm. "You're different. You pry and pry and wriggle into people's heads. You don't just ask what they've done. You watch and you wait like some fast little snake that looks asleep. Then there's that little tongue flicking out because you smell something. You pry into stuff that's none of your affair. That has nothing to do with anything. Nothing to do with this."

Rory was being his own pep squad, letting his own oratory whip him up like a speaker inflaming a mob of one.

A

Either the tone or the absurdity got through and he let go. She began walking, glad to be leaving the spectral machines of the maintenance yard.

"Time we headed back," she said. "I don't know about you, but it's way past my bedtime." No longer curious as to what Rory wanted from her, A

After fifty feet of consideration, Rory picked it up again. The heat his speech had lent his words was gone. The icy edge that replaced it was far more alarming. "If you don't lay off Les and just do the bear thing or whatever, you'll be sorry. Real sorry."

The clichéd threat should have sounded childish, empty, but it didn't. No hollow undertone spoke of desperation or grasping at straws. Rory had something concrete in mind. A