Page 32 of Dead Mountain

“The thing is, I feel like I’m five steps behind everybody else—you know, being new to the area. I hadn’t even heard about the Dead Mountain hikers until my new mentor told me.”

Another whistle. “You are a greenhorn.”

“Yeah, well, I was hoping you could rectify that, fill me in on all the rumors and chatter that won’t be in the FBI files.”

“Sure. I’ll buy you dinner.”

“I’ll buy you lunch.”

A resigned chuckle. “All right. I know just the place.”

Jaramillo Eats was a shabby, dusty joint with swinging doors, just like in an old Western. Watts got there first, and as he saw her and stood up from the booth, Corrie caught her breath. She’d almost forgotten how young he was, and how handsome, with his brown eyes, curly black hair, and teeth straight out of a dental advertisement. As usual, he wore his two-gun rig . . . but there was something different about him. Then she realized what it was: the expensive silver-belly cowboy hat he always wore. It had been ruined in the last case they’d worked on together, and now he had a new one: in black.

“You gone over to the dark side?” Corrie asked as she sat down, nodding at his hat.

He chuckled. “I’ve always wanted to be the bad guy,” he said. “You’re looking great. Seems the FBI suits you.”

“Thanks,” she said. “So what happened to that old scorched wreck you used to wear?”

“It’s in my office now, hung on the wall along with my other retired hats.” He took off his new one and placed it on the table, brim up. “These Resistols are a bit like mustangs: you gotta break ’em in slowly.”

They laughed as a waitress came over and dropped two menus on the scuffed table. “Two coffees,” Watts told her. “One black, one sweet and thick.”

Corrie smiled inwardly, pleased he remembered. “How did you pick out this town for us to meet? Not that you could call it a town: it’s more like two speed limit signs five hundred yards apart.”

“Veguita? Why, it’s a bustling metropolis with a post office, two churches, a volunteer fire department, and a Dollar General. What else could you ask for?”

They glanced at their menus a moment, laminated in plastic. “Actually, this is just about as far north as my jurisdiction extends,” he explained. “We’re a stone’s throw from Valencia County. Besides, I figured it was a shorter drive for you. And the chuck here is pretty damned good.”

“Thanks, Homer—that was thoughtful.” And it was. There was something about the sheriff that always made her feel self-conscious.

“So you’ve been assigned to the Dead Mountain case,” he said. “I wasn’t involved in the initial one, of course—I was twelve at the time—but it sure stuck in my mind. Tell me what you know and I’ll fill in the missing pieces.”

Corrie couldn’t argue with this request from a fellow law officer. After all, there wasn’t all that much to tell, and the only important information being withheld—the identities of Wright and Tolland—would be formally confirmed by an expert the next morning, with autopsies set for the following day.

Watts listened in silence as she told him, in a low voice, about the drunken students, the ancient burial site they trashed, and her investigation with Nora Kelly that located the two bodies. He listened with rapt attention as she described the bizarre knife wounds.

He sat back. “Whew,” he said, running a hand through his hair as the waitress came over to take their orders. He waited until she’d walked off before speaking again. “Well, it seems you’re pretty much up to speed on the backstory. I remember the stories we told in the schoolyard were pretty crazy.”

“What were they?”

“We were sure that an Abominable Snowman had appeared in the door of the tent and they freaked out and ran.”

“You still believe that?”

“Naturally.” He smiled. “There have been dozens of Yeti sightings up in those high mountain areas. None confirmed, of course.”

“Seriously—do you have a theory?”

“Those peaks have mountain lions and black bears. I used to think that maybe a hungry animal poked his nose into the tent and scattered everyone. But that theory kind of falls apart when you consider how far some of them went. No bear would chase them for miles like that. And they were experienced winter mountaineers. To run out into that blizzard in bare feet and underwear, or whatever—they would have known that was certain death. Better to face the bear. So, to answer your question—I really have no theory. What about the last missing body? The ninth student? Any idea where that might be?”

Corrie shook her head. “We’re doing a thorough search of the area, and I’ve asked Nora Kelly to take a close look at the tent site as well as the cave where the two were found.”

“Where exactly was this cave?”

“More or less along a line due north from the tent.” Corrie paused. “That’s one thing I’m still getting familiar with—the geography of the area. It’s nothing but a maze of forest roads and muddy paths—and then that huge wilderness area.”

“You got a map?”

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