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  Fall Hunter

  A Lost Gorge Mystery

  M. K. Dymock

  Copyright © 2017 by M. K. Dymock

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this book…

  About the Author

  1

  Monday Afternoon, Labor Day

  Keenley Dawson clenched the brakes of her mountain bike as she wobbled down the steep single-track trail. Trees arched around her, making the path a tunnel she couldn’t escape.

  The trail dropped out of sight around the switchback ahead. At the blind steep turn, her mind blanked on which direction to lean and which pedal should be up. In indecision and panic, she smashed both brakes. The bike skidded along the dirt and tipped over.

  With a grunt, Keen slammed into the side of the hill, bike on top of her. After a moment’s wait to feel for injuries, she untangled herself from the frame and the thorny bushes caught in her jersey. At least she tipped uphill, making the fall far shorter than it could’ve been.

  “You’re an idiot,” she muttered as she brushed off the dirt and pulled a few thorns out of her rear. The afternoon ride had been a quick decision born out of misplaced spite against her mother; that spite was now abandoned in the dirt along with her pride. This switchback would be another one she would walk her bike down, the fourth that day. She should have stuck to the easier trails.

  The shade of the aspens and late afternoon sun rendered her sunglasses useless. She stopped at the bottom of the turn to stuff them into the back pocket of her jersey, next to the small can of bear spray her dad insisted she take when she ventured out alone. At twenty years old, she carried it more out of habit than obedience.

  The squeal of brakes alerted Keen to the presence of another biker coming down the trail much faster than she could. She jumped up the side of the hill, pulling the bike with her.

  The biker, wearing black chest armor and pads, dropped around the steep turn and passed her, but stopped so abruptly his back tire came off the ground. He glanced back, his face concealed by the chin bar of a mountain bike helmet. “You all right?”

  Everything about him was a callback to her recent ex-boyfriend, Jacob. “Yeah, I just took a spill on that last turn, but it wasn’t bad.”

  As much as strangers unnerved her, she stepped back on the trail with a forced smile. Maybe he knew Jake. The local mountain biking community was large, but tight. This guy could tell Jake he ran into her on the trail, talked with her; maybe Jake would feel a bit jealous. Her ex-boyfriend—though she hoped the “ex” part was temporary—was the real reason she’d picked up mountain biking.

  The biker took off his helmet, revealing bright green eyes and dark scruff. With the back of his hand, he squeegeed the sweat off his face. “You know, there are easier trails down.”

  “Yep, I know.” She’d purposely skipped the green trails in favor of the harder blue. This being ski country meant everything was rated on a difficulty scale consisting of green circles to black diamonds. Even the local Mexican restaurant rated its hot enchiladas with a black diamond. She never ventured off the easier trails with Jake because she didn’t want to look an idiot falling down the mountain. Alone, however, she’d push herself to improve.

  “Hey,” he said, gesturing at the extra water bottle on her bike. “You mind if I take a swig? I ran through mine.”

  “Oh, okay.” She handed him the bottle, which he downed half of it in a single gulp.

  “Thanks.” He handed her back the bottle. “Maybe I’ll see you at the bottom of the trail.”

  “At my speed, you’ll probably be long gone by the time I get down.”

  “You never know.” He winked and replaced the helmet and took off.

  Had he been hitting on her? She could never tell with guys. Jacob had to ask her out three times before she believed he was interested in her.

  After threading her long, newly blonder ponytail through the back of her helmet, Keen mounted her bike to finish the descent. By the time she emerged at the bottom of the trailhead, the afternoon crowds had emptied out of the parking lot. With it being the evening of Labor Day, most people had hit the road home. Only two cars remained: a Corolla whose rust matched its red color, and an almost-new black Hummer with mud tires—not a ride usually spotted around there.

  She rode up the highway through the canyon, the sinking sun at her back. Her day’s ride had begun at the top of the canyon. A rat’s maze of biking and hiking trails trickled down from the valley above and converged at the bottom trailhead she’d just left. She could ride back up the trails, but the road was a far straighter and easier route.

  A few miles later, she slowed as the bike became more difficult to pedal. When she glanced down, she groaned. A flat tire. Why does it always have to be the back tire and its crapfest of gears? The bike teetered to one side as she slowed. She wrenched her foot out of the clipped-in pedals to put a foot down. Staggering as she slipped off, she scraped her leg across the gears, leaving a streak of black grease.

  “For the love!” she yelled as a car passed far too close without slowing. She had no flat kit on this bike, only on her road bike. Jacob said he’d carry it for both of them and she never imagined riding without him. Another perk of breaking up. It had been a long six weeks alone.

  Keen glanced down the highway, debating what to do. She didn’t relish the walk back home, not in bike shoes. The metal clips on the bottom made for an uneven, uncomfortable step. She pulled out her cell phone—no signal.

  This wasn’t the safest spot to sit around and wait for help. It was still a mile or so up the canyon to where the high valley opened into town and the river diverged from the highway and began its fast descent through the Gorge. Next to the road and down a hundred feet ran the Lost Gorge River. Namesake for both the canyon and the town above, it crashed its way over car-sized boulders.

  Keen began the slow ascent, alternating pushing her bike and carrying it. The long shadows had crossed the road and blended into the en
croaching darkness.

  A few feet ahead, a bush taller than her quivered in the still evening. A few branches bent down and broke, loud enough to be heard above the river. Keen stopped. This was no squirrel, maybe a deer. The thought of bears, often seen in the area, was enough to make her wary.

  With one hand, she pressed the bike to her as a barrier against what could come. With the other, she reached into the back pocket of her jersey for the can of bear spray. As she pulled it out, a skunk so large it should’ve been a coyote darted out of the reeds. Keen laughed at her overwrought anxiety.

  The skunk stopped to examine her, and she pointed the spray can at it. “You spray me, I’ll spray you.” The skunk took her threat seriously and ran across the highway, dodging a car before disappearing into the brush.

  The narrow slit of the canyon didn’t reveal much light, forcing her onward. Once the road flattened out above, she could get off the highway and onto a side street. With each step, her shoes clicked like tap shoes and small blisters wore on her heels.

  A car pulled up behind Keen and she stopped, turning to see a man step out of the same black Hummer from the trail. As he came closer, she recognized the thirsty biker. He stopped about five feet from her, a slight smirk on his face. “Looks like you’re having a bad day.”

  Her aching legs throbbed at the site of another biker, someone who would have the tools to fix the stupid flat. She kicked the back tire of her bike. “Too many thorns on that trail.”

  He stepped closer, eyes moving down to her chest. Definitely flirting. She resisted the urge to zip her jersey up to her chin, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself. Guys didn’t usually display their interest in her so blatantly and it made her uneasy.

  Keen stood five-six. And here she was with a flat tire on a highway, becoming ever more deserted. She pulled the bike around so it now acted as a barrier against something a little bigger and possibly more threatening than a skunk.

  “I can give you a ride home. The Hummer can easily fit you.” He winked.

  “You don’t have a pump, by chance? I could get home if I filled the tire.”

  “Nope, my regular pump is home, and I already used my CO2 pump for a flat.” A CO2 pump, which she had on her other bike, usually carried enough air for one, maybe two tires. “Come on, I’ll buy you a beer to mourn the end of summer.”

  His smile and green eyes, like Jacob’s, momentarily tempted her. Though she was probably overreacting, she held up her phone. “Thanks, but I already called my folks and they’re on their way.”

  “Come on. I’m a lot more fun than your parents.”

  Someone in the Hummer honked the horn, and she made out the shape of a big guy in the passenger seat. The thought of two guys with only her cemented her decision. “I’m sure. I really don’t need your help.” The last sentence came out a little meaner than she intended and she tried to soften it with a smile, not wanting to sound ungrateful. He had, after all, offered help.

  The man glanced back at his buddy before facing her again; the smile had vanished. “You know, I was being nice. Enjoy your walk home.” He strode back to his Hummer and peeled out, leaving a little bit of rubber as he passed her.

  Nothing like being a jerk to make her not regret her decision.

  A little way up the canyon, Keen had enough of a signal to call, but her mom didn’t answer. There was no point in texting her folks; her dad traveled beyond service and her mom didn’t check her phone when she worked at the store. Her family owned an outfitter store that catered to the town’s hardware and outdoor needs.

  Calling one of her few friends wouldn’t work because they’d all left for college already. With one last hope, she pulled out the phone and sent a quick text. Jacob wouldn’t mind rescuing her, right? The status bar stalled. “Come on, send,” she pleaded. It refused to move. She slipped the phone back into her pocket in hopes it would eventually get through.

  Once she crested the top of the canyon and started down the quieter streets off the highway, her legs required a break. Evening turned to night as she found a rock to sit on and downed the last of her water. The scant few drops reminded her of the jerk whose lips had last touched it. She pulled out her phone to try anyone again, but the sound of a car in the distance stopped her. This close to her neighborhood, she stood a good chance she’d know the driver, or maybe Jacob had gotten her message. She peered down the dark road, waiting for headlights. Her phone buzzed in her hand and she glanced down to read the message.

  The first blow knocked her to her knees. The second wiped away the memory of the first. Keen’s brain shut down before her head hit the ground.

  2

  Elizabeth Dawson possessed two minds. One always acted cheerful and friendly, but constantly exhausted. The other wanted to separate her husband and daughter from the world and never utter another word of small talk. Most of the time she lived in the first mind. Running a sporting goods store frequented by tourists demanded it. But once she turned the lock on the store’s door each night, she melted into mind two.

  As she walked into her home Monday evening, she yelled for Keen to help her with the groceries she carried, but only silence answered her. A scribbled note stuck to the fridge grabbed her attention when she went to put away the yogurt.

  Went biking at the Pines. Be back by six.

  Elizabeth slammed the fridge door shut, freeing the note from its magnet to flutter to the ground. Keen shouldn’t be out biking the trails alone, ever. This was about their stupid argument. She hated to see her beautiful child change herself each time a new guy showed any interest. In high school, Keen had gone through a six-month hipster stint, complete with the ever-present knitted beanie, to impress some suffering poet. Elizabeth never did figure out what he suffered over.

  She already battled irritation at spending the afternoon at the store selling off all their summer gear, in some cases at less than what it cost. Anything to get some cash to help them through the slow fall season.

  Despite the long day, dinner still needed to happen. Elizabeth heated up the cast-iron pan to start the tofu at 6:45. Keen was already late. The clock blinked 7:15 as she put dinner in the oven to keep it warm. She stared at its ticking taunt. Darkness settled in, and no Keen.

  Elizabeth’s phone beeped, a missed call from Keen from a few hours prior. Service in the valley could be spotty and her phone had never rung, let alone registered the call until now. She went to voicemail, but there weren’t any messages. Keen rarely left a message; she knew her mother would return any and all calls from her only child.

  She pressed the button to return the call, but the phone rang four times before a soft voice instructed her to leave a message. She hung up.

  Only a small strip of pink from the sunset still lined the mountains. It would be darker in the canyon and Keen’s bike didn’t have lights. Her husband, Daniel’s, phone also went to voicemail. She sent a quick text routed through his GPS but figured he’d be home before he saw it.

  By 8:00, Elizabeth drove along the streets surrounding their house, hoping her headlights would shine on her daughter. The houses in their neighborhood all had an acre or two each, making everything more spread out and the streets darker. No curbs or sidewalks lined the narrow roads, and Elizabeth had feared Keen would be hit by a car from the moment her training wheels came off.

  When her route through the neighborhood circled back home, Daniel’s van was parked in the driveway, attached to a trailer of kayaks. She charged through the mudroom door as he stripped off his shoes, almost knocking him over. His large frame tended to fill whatever space he resided in.

  “Easy there, turbo. I know you missed me, but—”

  “Keen’s missing.”

  He stood on one foot, his hand still grasping a sandal. “What do you mean?”

  “She went for a bike ride this afternoon, said she was going to the Pines and that she’d be back before dinner. That was more than two hours ago.”

  Daniel slipped his sandal
back on. “Try her phone?”

  “Voicemail, and she tried calling but I didn’t get it.” Daniel didn’t carry a phone on trips because service was nonexistent on the river. He had a GPS unit for sending simple texts in emergencies.

  Under duress, Elizabeth’s mind sped up, but Daniel’s slowed as he outlined each and every scenario. She usually appreciated his more thought-out approach, but with their daughter out there, she couldn’t allow him time to process what she already knew. “Her bike is still missing, and I’ve driven down all the neighborhood streets. Her friends have already left for school, so she’s not with them.”

  He sat down on the bench. “You called all her friends?”

  “No, because all two of them are out of town. I’ve gone through all the obvious things.”

  He tapped his teeth with his fingernail. A thinking habit she could sometimes ignore. “Did she say which trail at the Pines?”

  “No.”

  “There’s a hundred miles of trails starting there.” Without a word, he got up and left the room.

  They met in the living room, where he spread out a trail map on the coffee table. “She would’ve taken the easier trails and turned back well before dark. She’s never made it all the way to the bottom of the Gorge.” He pointed to the map. “These three are the most likely.” He ran his finger along the lines of the map in silence while she paced in front of him. “There are two possible roads between here and the trailhead.”