Page 18 of Silent Prey

Toby swallowed hard, staring at the ground before he finally responded. His voice was shaky, the words tumbling out in a rush. "She said she was being followed. Said there was a man hiding in the trees, watching her."

"And you called 911?" Sheila asked, taking note of his shaky voice and trembling hands.

"I did, but..." Toby swallowed hard. "But it was too late."

Poor man, Sheila thought. It was clear Kaylee’s death had shaken him to the core.

“Did Kaylee mention anything else about who was following her?” Finn asked. “Any details about how he looked?”

Toby shook his head. “She just said he was real quiet. Like he knew how to move in the woods.”

Finn frowned, the lines around his eyes deepening. Sheila could see his mind at work, already piecing together a profile of the suspect. She tried to do the same, but her heart kept getting in the way. Kaylee Jensen had been alive this morning, teaching her third graders and planning her visit to Antelope Island, perhaps looking forward to a peaceful hike amidst nature after a long week.

“How did you know her, Mr. Elwood?” she asked.

"We...we used to date," Toby stammered, his gaze flickering briefly in the direction of Kaylee's body before returning to his shoes. "We broke up, but we stayed friends. I'm...I was supposed to meet her for dinner later."

"She was hiking alone?" Finn asked. His brow furrowed slightly as he scanned the grassy clearing. His sandy hair blew gently in the breeze that rustled the leaves overhead.

Toby nodded, swallowing hard once more. "She liked to do that sometimes. Said it helped clear her head."

“I know this is a strange question,” Sheila said delicately. “But the ram’s horn by her body—any idea what that might be about?”

Toby snorted and shook his head again. “I’m as puzzled as you are.”

“She didn’t raise sheep or anything like that?” Finn asked.

“No. There’s no connection at all.”

The group fell silent. Toby dropped his face into his hands, as if holding himself together by sheer willpower alone. Then he lifted his face suddenly, his eyes agitated and confused.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “She was peaceful, you know? Didn’t have problems with anybody; wouldn’t take the bait in an argument even if you threw it in her face. I always teased her about that—being Irish but so mild-mannered. She loved her little ones at school, nature, and the simple things. She didn't have enemies. I just...I don't understand."

“I know this must be very shocking,” Sheila said. “I promise you we’ll do everything we can to bring her killer to justice as soon as possible.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Elwood,” Finn said, passing him a business card. “If you think of anything else—”

“Wait,” Toby said suddenly. “There was this local tour guide—Taylor, Tyler, I can’t remember—anyway, I was out fishing on the lake one time and I saw the two of them together, just strolling along the trail. I paddled over, and he got real awkward when he saw me. Guilty, almost.”

“Any idea who this man was?” Finn asked.

“Some tour guide, I think. He had a uniform on. Anyway, I asked Kaylee about it later, and she changed the subject right away. Said she didn’t want me to be jealous.”

“You think they might’ve been dating?” Sheila asked.

Toby shrugged gloomily. “Who knows? She didn't speak much about him after that. I didn't push it, didn't want to sound like the jealous ex.” There was a desolate look in his eyes, the kind which came from regret and the torment of 'what-ifs.'

“Any idea where we can find him?” Sheila asked.

Toby frowned, thinking. "No, I'm sorry. I just know he works around here, giving tours to hikers and photographers." He locked his gaze with Sheila's, desperation clear in his eyes. "But you gotta find him. He might know something."

"We will," Finn assured him, writing down the lead about the tour guide in his notebook. "If anything else comes to mind, don't hesitate to let us know."

Toby nodded and watched them walk away. Then he lowered his head into his hands again.

Sheila approached Jones, who was standing a short distance away from the body—waiting for the ME to arrive, no doubt.

“Ira,” Sheila said. “Do you know of any local tour guides named Taylor? Or Tyler, maybe?”

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