Dan leaned against his van and then, as if remembering he’d just washed it, he stood and wiped at the spot his shoulder had touched.
“Nothing bizarre at first. They seemed pretty into each other. But on our last day, something weird happened at Pictured Rocks. We were kayaking around the cliffs. I wasn’t paying them much attention. I had a few poodles on the trip and they always take ninety percent of my attention.”
“I’m sorry, poodles?” Bette asked.
“Oh,” he laughed and slapped his muscular thigh. “My brother and I nicknamed the higher maintenance guests poodles. They take up most of my time because they’re out of shape, have a gazillion questions and want to stop at every fudge shop and viewing deck on the trip. Crystal and Weston were comfortable in the kayaks, so I wasn’t watching them. They paddled off into one of the little caves under the cliffs. It’s not a big deal. I’ve done it a thousand times, but something went down in there.”
“What do you mean?” Bette asked.
Crystal had mentioned nothing out of sorts happening on the trip. She said they’d had an amazing time.
“Crystal tipped over,” Dan admitted. “When I found her, she was in a full-on panic. She screamed before she went into the water too. I heard her from out in the lake. It was a scared scream, not like someone tipping over so much as someone being attacked.”
Bette’s eyes widened. “Are you saying Weston attacked her in the cave?”
Dan glanced at his van and then paused, tossing his hair as he caught his reflection in the window.
“I didn’t see what happened. I can only tell you what I heard, and she sounded terrified. She also hit her head on the cave wall. She had a nasty bump on the right side of her head.”
“Did you ask her what happened?”
Dan nodded. “She said she panicked from being in the small, dark space, which isn’t unusual. That’s why we don’t lead people into those caves. They’re safe enough, but a lot of people freak out. Put them in a dark little hole with a half mile of rock above their heads, and the buried fears start coming out.”
“Crystal wasn’t claustrophobic,” Bette disagreed. “She’s been spelunking in Missouri three times. When we played hide and seek as kids, she used to close herself in an old wooden chest in our attic. She doesn’t have a claustrophobic bone in her body.”
Dan shrugged. “She didn’t strike me as the type who would panic in one of those caves, but that’s what she said happened. I wasn’t going to challenge her on it.”
Bette sighed and looked at the dog, who had returned his head to his front paws.
“I need you to tell the cops that story,” she said.
Bette stopped at a pay phone and called Officer Hart’s direct line.
“This is Officer Hart,” he said.
“Hart, it’s Bette. Listen, I just talked to the tour guide who took Crystal and Wes into the Upper Peninsula a couple weeks ago. Her kayak got tipped, and she screamed like she was being attacked. The guy thought Wes attacked her.”
“Okay, got it,” Hart said, sounding distracted.
“Hello? Did you hear what I said? He attacked her! Are you sending someone to talk to him?”
Hart sighed.
“Yes. I’ve made a note of it here, but Bette, I’m on my way out the door. We’ve got a warrant to search Weston Meeks’ house. That’s our priority right now.”
Bette clutched the pay phone and felt her hear skip in her chest.
“You’re searching his house?”
“Yes, I’ve got to go. I’ll be in touch.”
He hung up before she could ask more.
20
Then
“Stop the car,” Crystal shouted, grabbing the wheel and almost jerking them into oncoming traffic.
“Whoa, Jesus, Crystal. Are you trying to kill us?” Wes huffed, turning on his blinker and letting off the gas.
He pulled into the parking lot Crystal had been wildly waving at.
She jumped out of the car and ran around to Wes’s door, pulling him out, and pointing eagerly at the sign.
He glanced at it and then back at Crystal’s face as if she’d gone insane.
“You want a cheeseburger?” he asked. “We just had lunch.”
She turned and saw the sign next door for Big Dean’s Burgers and Fries.
“Not a burger,” she laughed.
She pointed at the Michigan Mayhem sign. “They do tours to the Upper Peninsula. Cliff jumping, rappelling, kayaking. Let’s go! This weekend.”
Wes glanced at the windows plastered with images of the Michigan outdoors.
Crystal looked as well, her chest ballooning at the sight of the brightly colored parachutes drifting over craggy cliffs.
“Crystal, I’ve got a meeting in Traverse City on Saturday. I can’t—”
She pressed a hand over his mouth and moved close to him, quickly pulling her hand away and putting her lips in its place. As she crushed her mouth against his, the set of his body relaxed. He kissed her back, sinking his hands into her hair.
“Come on,” she insisted, dragging him to the store.
As they pushed inside, the bell tinkled over the door. A young guy with shaggy brown hair looked up from the long counter.
“Hey,” he said, his eyes lingering on Crystal. “You guys looking for some adventure?”
“Yes!” Crystal nodded, pulling Wes to the counter and marveling at the brochures.
“What’s available this weekend?” she asked.
“Crystal, we can’t—” Wes started.
“Bro,” the guy drawled, fixing his gaze on Wes. “You’ve got a beautiful woman asking for a weekend of turquoise water and sandstone cliffs and you look like somebody just told you that you need your gallbladder removed.”
Crystal laughed, seizing the brochure that boasted cliff jumping and kayaking.
“That’s a bestseller,” the guy told her, winking. “My brother Dan is the guide on that and he knows Presque Isle Park better than his own eyebrows.”
“His own eyebrows?” Wes asked sarcastically
“Yeah, he’s a plucker. It’s weird, but anyway, he’s the best. He started this company. Loves to take folks like yourselves into the Upper Peninsula to get lost for a few days.”
Crystal’s heart fluttered against her ribs. She’d been back in Michigan for two years, and though she’d had a few adventures, she wanted to have one with Wes. She wanted to float in the cool water of Lake Superior and see him looking down at her as he stepped to the edge of a cliff and jumped.
“We’re in. How much?” she asked.
Wes took her shoulders and turned her to face him.
“Crystal, we can’t go this weekend. I have to head back to Traverse City on Saturday. I’ve got a student meeting and—”
Crystal frowned, disappointed, but she’d already mentally committed. She was going.
“Okay,” she turned back to the guy at the counter. “How much for one person?”
“No.” Wes grabbed her elbow, but she didn’t turn.
“Two hundred,” he said. “That includes two nights in a yurt at Twelve Mile Beach, kayaking the Pictured Rocks, cliff jumping at Black Rocks, bonfires at night with hot dogs and hamburgers. It’s amazing, you’ll love it. Here, let me grab a waiver.”
As he rifled in the cabinet behind him, Wes turned to Crystal.
“Crys, come on. The timing is all wrong for me this weekend.”
Crystal cupped his face in her hands.
She thought of her image in the bathroom mirror that morning. She’d been groggy, hadn’t even had a cup of coffee, and she wanted to pretend it was that simple. The skeletal face looking back at her, the sunken eyes, the teeth poking from yellowed flesh had been merely a sleepy hallucination, but when she’d opened her mouth to scream, a black shadow had poured forth. Crystal knew such shadows—or “omens” perhaps better described them.