Page 11 of Murder

It’s cold today; colder than yesterday, I note, as I trudge toward the pond’s edge. I look at the leaves spread over the damp ground, papery jewels of gold, red, orange, and brown. My gaze wanders the dense treeline. Spindly branches and barren-looking trunks, crooked tree fingers curled between the tall, green pines. Autumn’s cloak is spread around me. Soon the leaves will rot. It will be winter.

Shut up, Gwen, and focus on the present time.

I kneel beside the pond’s soggy fringes, set the box down, and shift the woodchip pouch down to the ground. It feels good to throw the treat-filled box at the water. It lands with a splashy slap and bobs a second before sinking. Soon the bears will smell it and come poke around. Whoever gets it first will enjoy the challenge of opening the lid.

I try to focus on my hands as I spread the woodchips along the water’s edge. Black bears love to roll in cedar chips.

When I’m finished, I pull out my phone and check the bears’ locations. Hmm, so I’ve been scented.

I toss a vitamin ball bomb into the trees and exhale slowly as Aimee and Cinnamon stroll out of the woods. Even though I don’t come at the same times or on the same days of the week, even though their enclosure is vast, sometimes they still scent me. Which, given that a black bear’s nose is seven times more powerful than a bloodhound’s, shouldn’t surprise me but still does.

I toss two more vitamin ball bombs and am turning to go when I hear the well-timed crunch of leaves. Papa Bear. He stops between a pine tree and a big, old oak and blinks in my direction.

“Hey there, Papa.”

Glee spreads through me.

As if he knows, Papa Bear’s big, black body shuffles closer to me. He lifts his head, his black eyes peering up at me. I give him a reassuring smile.

“Hey, handsome.”

I hold my hand out, palm up, like I’m a waitress preparing to carry a plate. I raise it slowly, then turn my palm over, so it’s facing the ground. Papa Bear shifts closer to me. Another lumbering step, and his head is right under my palm. He rises up, and I feel the soft warmth of his head against my hand.

“There ya go,” I whisper.

This is what I trained for, what I live for.

Papa nuzzles my hand, and I sift my fingers through his coarse fur. He leans slightly against me, almost knocking me over with his weight. It makes me laugh.

He makes his happy noise, a borderline illicit sound that’s outright silly. I feel his legs shift as he leans against me.

“You’re a good guy. You know that, right?”

Papa nuzzles me with his nose before he waddles off into the trees. I head back toward the gate, feeling elated.

As I’m stepping through it, onto the pebble path that leads back to my porch, I hear a loud thwak!

FOUR

GWENNA

All my muscles lock up as my face flushes and my heart races.

Thwak!

My hand dives into my pocket, wrapping around the handle of the .38 as my eyes fly around the woods.

Thwak!

The sound is somewhat distant, not right here but not far either.

Thwak!

THWAK!

It sounds like…someone punching a taut piece of material. Or jumping on one of those small, indoor trampolines…

I step forward, hand still in my pocket, wrapped around the gun. Two more thwaks confirm the bow noise is coming from a single location.

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