Page 35 of In Cold Blood
“Um.”
“Dax?”
“Well, it’s just I have a few things to attend to first. I would love to see you, but…”
Noah heard him taking a hit on a cigarette or something and blowing out.
“Maybe another time?”
And there it was. Him looking for a way out. Not attending the funeral was forgivable but dodging him after this amount of time… something wasn’t right.
“Seriously? I haven’t been back in eight years. Heck, I haven’t seen you in far longer than that and you don’t have thirtyminutes to spare for your old friend? C’mon. The Dax I once knew would have been all over a free breakfast.”
“Yeah, well. Life happens. People get busy. We change.”
“All right. Well… how about lunch? Dinner? Or hell, just a coffee or beer?” He was going for the jugular. The last thing he wanted to do was have a conversation over an interview table but if it came to that, so be it. Dax hemmed and hawed. “Can’t do lunch or dinner as I’m working, but… all right. Let’s do breakfast. But I need an hour to get ready.”
“Excellent,” Noah said, feeling relief flood his chest. “I’ll pick you up. Are you still in the same digs or…”
“Not exactly. Um. Do you know where Meadowbrook Public Campground is?”
“Of course. About four miles away from town. You camping?”
“Something like that. Look for a black Chrysler minivan. There’s only one.”
“Sure. Okay.”
He threw out a time and Noah agreed and they hung up. After getting off the phone, he sat there for a moment thinking. Meadowbrook was only open for a certain number of months a year. All the campgrounds were like that. Noah pushed it from his mind as he took a hard pull on his coffee and headed back inside to continue to look over the crazy wall. One look at all the folders, paperwork, and photos and he figured it could take days, maybe a week to get through everything his brother had collected.
He sat down and began to dig in.
Meadowbrook wasone of seventy-four RV parks and campgrounds in and around High Peaks. Thousands of peopleflocked every year to the Adirondacks to get close to nature, watch the mist rising from the surface of lakes, and enjoy the backcountry. The cool summers, the mountain air, and that natural blend of nature’s beauty and outdoor adventure couldn’t be beaten.
Noah could vividly remember his father taking the family out to different campgrounds. Hugh’s idea of a vacation wasn’t to go to a different state or even a different country, it was to pitch a tent in their backyard. Every year it was a different campground. That was the only thing that changed. While other kids his age would share that they were venturing south to Florida, west to Colorado for skiing, or taking a helicopter through the Grand Canyon, his father would say that there was no point. They had it all here. Sunshine, snow, mountains, lakes, rivers, and thousands of tourists.
It was kind of true.
But by staying close, Hugh could dash off if and when work called him.
Work always came first. The thin blue line.
In those days, he only really remembered his mother being present. The excuses she would make for their father when he wasn’t there were impressive.Something important cropped up. He’s the only sheriff in the county. Responsibility calls.It was endless. After a while, he and his siblings wouldn’t bother to ask where their father was going or when he would come back.
He was there then he wasn’t.
Sometimes he just dropped them off at the campground and returned home saying he needed to collect something and then would return two days later.
Still, that aside, it brought back a flood of fond memories.
As Noah veered off Route 86 toward the campsite, it looked every bit as he remembered — towering dense pines with RVs, tents, and vehicles nestled in the woodland. The smell of theforest was invigorating. Winding around the dusty road, he noticed some folks cooking breakfast over firepits while others used Coleman stoves. Kids ran around, free-spirited, unaware of the dangers that lurked within the county. That was the way it was meant to be. It was why every incident wasn’t printed in the newspaper. Too much of the region relied on tourist dollars. If they shared every little thing, people would go elsewhere. No, appearances were everything. Don’t cry wolf if there isn’t one and don’t raise your voice too loud if there is. The Sheriff’s Office was there to keep order, to keep the wolves away from the door so to speak.
That’s why the crime against his brother was so heinous.
The brazen execution of an officer sent a loud message — no one was untouchable and if the law stuck its nose where it wasn’t wanted, there would be deadly consequences.
Noah finally spotted the black Chrysler minivan.
It was an older model, circa 1995. A beat-up van with sun-faded paint and rust around the rims. There were solar panels on the top. His van was parked far back in a camping area close to a picnic table, and a firepit that was smoldering. Noah figured he’d see Dax waiting. Nope. The doors on the van were closed and he wasn’t in sight. There was no tent pitched. No clothes hanging out, nothing to indicate he was camping except the smoke rising from the pit.
