Page 42 of One Step Too Far

“Help with lost hikers?”

“Sure. Most of us spend lots of time in the woods. If there’s anything we can do to help...”

“Are there paid positions?”

He laughs. “Don’t I wish. I’m currently the secretary. Trust me, it’s all for love, not money.”

“Then why did Martin write you a check for five thousand dollars?” I twist enough so I can catch the expression on Bob’s face as he walks behind me. His red-gold beard is either that thick, or he’s that cool under pressure, because he gives nothing away.

“Marty didn’t pay me any money. Marty did”—Bob pauses to emphasize the next phrase—“write a check to the North American Bigfoot Society. A thank-you, for all the help we’ve offered over the past few years with his search.”

“Five thousand dollars is one helluva thank-you.”

“That would be a question for Marty, not me.”

There’s a note of tension in Bob’s voice now. A curtness at odds with his normal easygoing manner. The Bigfoot hunter’s sensitive on this subject. Why, if the check was nothing but an appreciative gift to his group?

I don’t know Bob well. We are online acquaintances, virtual comrades in arms when it comes to seeking what others haven’t found. But I know a liar when I hear one, and Bob is lying to me.

“Do you really believe there’s a Sasquatch in these woods?” I ask after a second, as we pass the tip of the lake, start to loop around to the other side, en route to the caves.

“It would be a happy surprise, but I’m partial to the Pacific Northwest as natural Bigfoot habitat.”

“But you’re here, and not just because of Martin and his son. The other missing people?” I ponder. “The additional data points on your map that make these mountains an area of interest?”

“Searching for a mythical beast is like hunting for a lost hiker—you don’t just look for the person; you look for signs of the person. Clusters of unusual activity in remote wilderness areas are as good a hint as any that something more may be living in those woods.”

“Do you think Sasquatches are a threat to humans? That that’s what happened to the six other missing hikers?”

“I think if Sasquatches were nothing more than giant bipedal apes, then they would’ve been spotted by now, snacking on local populations. They haven’t. Meaning we’re talking about a creature who’s not just smart, but sophisticated enough to avoid discovery.” Bob shrugs. “Call me romantic, but if they’ve gone this long without hurting us, then I’d like to believe they’d have an instinct to help us.”

“Then why track lost hikers?”

“If you saw an enormous hairy beast rise up out of the woods ahead of you, what would you do?”

“Pee my pants. Wish I had eaten that last piece of chocolate cake.” I concede his point. “Run for my life.”

“Leading to possibly plunging over a cliff, or careening face-first into a boulder, or getting well and truly lost in the woods.”

“So hikers end up dead, but not because of any evil intent on Bigfoot’s part?” I arch a brow dubiously.

“You never know.”

I’ve had enough. I stop suddenly, bringing us both up short. “I don’t know about Bigfoot, but you’re lying to me, Bob. Why are you lying to me?”

“I am here to help Marty.”

“For five thousand dollars?”

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did. Someone saw. The check was in your name. Admit it.”

“Who?”

I smile. He just proved my point.

“What happened last night?” I ask him, point blank. “The food bags. They appeared to be shredded by claws, but what kind of animal leaves no prints? I know of only one creature clever enough to cover its tracks, and it’s of the Homo sapiens variety.”

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