The Body in the Woods

  “That sounds scary.” Bran lightly touched her wrist, then set his hand next to hers on the table.

  Alexis nodded. “But my mom can also be so fun. I remember when I was little, sometimes she would spend all day with me making sugar cookies and icing them. She didn’t care if we made a mess or if we ate cookies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And she used to take me to the store and let me buy as many stickers and as much Play-Doh as I wanted.” Raising her glass, she rested her cheek against the warmth.

  “That part doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “Right before she took off, she was convinced the people on TV were talking about her. And she thought I was one of them or something.” Alexis’s voice broke. “That’s why she left.”

  But her mom didn’t have anyplace to go except the streets. What if Ruby was right and a serial killer was targeting homeless women? Because right now, that might be just what her mother was.

  “Are you afraid of what might have happened to her?” Bran asked.

  Alexis nodded. And then she burst into tears.

  CHAPTER 31

  SUNDAY

  THE CRUEL CURVE

  Ruby watched Nick turn in a circle in the small clearing in Forest Park. “It was right here that we saw the runner,” he insisted, pointing at an open spot between the trees. “I’m sure of it.” The park was a patchwork of western hemlock, western red cedar, grand fir, Douglas fir, maples, and alders. The biggest firs were fire-scarred, perhaps a couple of hundred years old.

  Ruby didn’t put much energy into arguing with Nick. She knew he was wrong. “No it wasn’t. Where we met him was farther back. There were two Doug firs growing right next to each other, with an alder in front of them.” She had also noted the time they had met the runner: 5:16 P.M. While she didn’t expect that they would see him at three thirty on a Sunday afternoon, right now they were laying the groundwork so that, with a little luck, they could spot him Tuesday, exactly one week after Miranda had been murdered.

  Their plan was to come here the day after tomorrow after school, hide themselves away in the brush, and wait for him to appear. Once he did, the chase would be on. When he left the park, they might be able to follow the runner in Ruby’s car or, if they were lucky and he lived nearby, straight to his house.

  They walked farther up the trail. The mud sucked at the soles of their boots, but Ruby’s ears were tuned to the trills and calls of the birds. She picked out the song of a black-headed grosbeak. From the top of a hemlock, a chickadee let out a three-note song.

  They were almost on top of the older man before they saw him. Ruby put her hand out to stop Nick from blundering forward. He was standing absolutely still, an expensive-looking camera pointing at the top of the tallest tree. As Ruby watched, the camera lens silently lengthened. She followed the angle with her eyes until she spotted his target: a magnificent Cooper’s hawk with slate-gray wings and a pale breast and belly. The shutter clicked rapidly, then the bird lifted its wings and flapped off. The man let the camera thump against his chest, next to a pair of binoculars.

  He caught sight of them and smiled. “We meet again,” he said. “Hopefully under happier circumstances.”

  “I remember you,” Ruby said. “We talked about bird-watching.”

  “That’s right. I’m Caleb Becker.” They all shook hands.

  “I’m Ruby McClure, and this is Nick Walker. We were both part of the search and rescue group looking for that missing man.”

  Becker pressed his lips together and shook his head. “The police told me your group found someone, but it wasn’t the person you were looking for. Some poor dead girl.”

  “We’re actually the ones who found her,” Nick said.

  “I’m so sorry.” He shook his head. “That must have been awful.”

  Ruby barely heard him. All her attention was on his camera. “You had that camera with you that day, didn’t you?”

  His forehead wrinkled. “Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”

  Excitement bubbled in her chest. “Did you take pictures that showed any of the people who were here?” Detective Harriman had said the police hadn’t been able to locate the runner with the dogs or the homeless man from that day on the trail. Photos of them might make a difference.

  “Sorry. The police already asked me that, but I’m afraid the answer was no. I don’t take snapshots. I’m only interested in these beautiful creatures.” He waved one hand at the treetops.

  “Oh.” Ruby’s excitement deflated as quickly as it had expanded.

  He cocked his head. “Besides, I read that the police have already arrested someone for the murder.”

  “We talked to him,” Nick said. “I was as close to him as I am to you. He was super nervous. Now we know why.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t run into him. The only things I want to see in these woods are the birds.” He smiled at Ruby. “You’ve probably noticed how alive the woods are today.”

  “I’ve spotted a raven and a chickadee,” she said. “What have you seen?”

  “It’s been a good day.” He ticked the answers off on his fingers. “Chickadees, woodpeckers, scrub jay, Steller’s jay, the dark-eyed junco, the spotted towhee, and one of my favorites, the golden-crowned kinglet.”

  “Golden-crowned kinglet?” Nick repeated with a laugh.

  “Fat little fellows with a yellow streak on the tops of their heads.” Becker ran his fingers along the top of his own thick white hair. “Beautiful plumage. Very striking.”

  “I found this feather,” Nick said, holding out a long narrow black and white feather with an orange-red shaft. Ruby hadn’t noticed him pick it up. “Do you know what it is?”

  “Northern flicker,” Becker said immediately. “Red-shafted. There’s also a yellow-shafted variety, but they’re less common.”

  Ruby let out a little huff. She could have told Nick what it was, but he hadn’t even thought to ask her.

  “You can’t keep it, Nick,” she said. She knew some people collected bird feathers the way her mom collected owl figurines. “Under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918, possession of bird feathers is a federal crime.”

  Nick snorted in disbelief. “Are you serious? It’s not like I killed a bird and pulled out its feathers. I found it.”

  “Ruby’s right,” Becker said. “Nearly every bird is protected. It’s left over from when whole species went extinct so ladies could wear huge hats decorated with feathers. Personally, I think it’s a tad outdated. Although it’s not like they actually have the cops out hunting people who like to collect pretty feathers. They’ve got better things to do. As you two well know.” He frowned and then turned to Ruby, his expression lightening. “Since you’re a fellow birder, have you heard the news? The swifts have finally been sighted up north. They should start showing up here in the next two or three days.”

  Ruby felt a huge grin spread across her face. On their migration down to their winter home in Central America, swifts flew nonstop all day, even eating on the fly. They alighted at night only to rest. Every fall for the past twenty years, thousands of swifts had stopped to roost in the old brick chimney on Portland’s Chapman Elementary School. But so far this year there had been less than a handful. Everyone worried it was yet another sign of global warming.

  “I can’t wait to see them.” She clapped her hands. “It doesn’t feel like it’s really fall without the swifts.” Recalling their previous conversation, she asked, “So have you seen your northern spotted owl yet?”

  “Not yet, but I still keep looking. Good things are worth the wait.” He took the digital camera from around his neck. “Like that Cooper’s hawk I was taking pictures of a minute ago.”

  He pressed a button and handed them the camera. The photo was in perfect focus. Above the cruel curve of its black beak, the bird’s red eyes stared down alertly.

  “It looks like an eagle,” Nick said.

  Becker clapped him on the shoulder. “Very perceptive. It’s a raptor. So are eagles. The very
top of the food chain.” A smile curved his lips. “I’m saying ‘it,’ but this is more than likely a female. Female raptors are usually much bigger than the males.”

  “Seriously?” Nick said.

  “If it’s any consolation, male birds of all types usually have the better plumage. Not like humans, where the most interesting-looking specimens are invariably female.”

  “She’s a beauty.” Ruby was filled with a quiet, buzzing joy. It was such a pleasure to meet an adult happy to discuss one of her pet subjects. Kids her own age didn’t care about birds.

  She handed back the camera, but as he took it, the older man lost his balance on the uneven ground. He had to steady himself on Ruby’s shoulder, and then he grabbed her backpack for balance. By the time he was stable again, he was red-faced and embarrassed. Not meeting her eyes, he straightened Ruby’s backpack, even adjusting a zipper, and then patted her shoulder. “Oh my, I’m so sorry about that.”

  “That’s okay,” Ruby said hurriedly. It must be terrible to get old and weak.

  But then again, it would be even more terrible to die long before you ever had a chance to get old.

  CHAPTER 32

  SUNDAY

  OUTSIDER

  Even worse than crying was having someone see you cry. In a desperate effort to stop her tears, Alexis bit her lower lip, widened her eyes, and blinked rapidly. Bran leaned forward and took both her hands in his. Pulling free, she put them over her face. Under her palms, her cheeks were hot. If only she could just disappear.

  A chair scraped back and then a strong arm encircled her shoulders as Bran crouched next to her.

  “Hey, it’ll be okay,” he said in a low voice next to her ear.

  “You don’t know that,” she said from behind the shelter of her hands. “Nobody knows that.”

  His sigh stirred the hairs on the back of her neck. “That’s true,” he agreed, surprising her. “But I do know that it’s possible to live through things that you honestly thought would kill you. You can even come out stronger on the other side.”

  Right now, Alexis felt anything but strong. “How do you know that?”

  After a pause, Bran said softly, “Someday I’ll tell you.” He squeezed her shoulder. “But not today. Today is about helping you find your mom.”

  What was she doing? Alexis didn’t even really know this guy, and here she was falling apart in front of him. And if she did let him help her? Either they wouldn’t find her mom and Bran would worry about her being on her own, or they would and he would see for himself just how crazy she was. What if he decided it was his duty as a member of TIP to report her home situation to children’s services?

  Alexis took her hands away, grabbed her napkin, swiped it across her eyes, then pushed herself to her feet. Bran’s arm fell loosely to her waist as he stood up, too. She stepped away and turned to face him. “This is something I really need to do by myself. For one thing, my mom doesn’t like strangers.” Which was only partly true. There were times her mom craved an audience. But she was also wary of anyone who wanted to fix her.

  “I just want to help you.” Bran’s eyes locked onto hers.

  She looked away. She ignored Mara, who had stopped loading cups into the dishwasher and was giving her a look that basically said, “Are you crazy?”

  “You can help,” Alexis said, “by letting me do this on my own.”

  * * *

  Back at home, Alexis paced the small living room, trying to figure out how she could find her mom. She had already tried looking downtown and gotten nowhere. But she had been an outsider dressed in nice clothes that no one could tell had come from a thrift store. Maybe if homeless people thought she was one of them, they would open up more.

  In her mom’s closet she found a shapeless brown sweater with stretched-out sleeves and a pair of faded green cargo pants. Once she changed, Alexis checked herself in the mirror. What with the bags under her eyes, her lack of makeup, and her crazy hair from running around in the wind and drizzle, she already looked the part of a homeless girl. Bran must have thought she was pathetic. No wonder he had been so nice. It had probably all been driven by pity.

  The photo of her mom was still in her backpack. Alexis added two granola bars in case she got hungry. She tucked her cell phone into her pocket, but after putting a couple of dollars into her other pocket, she left her wallet on the counter. No ID meant nothing to contradict any story she told. On a scrap of paper, she wrote, “Mom—gone to find you. If you come home, call me!” Not trusting her mom’s memory, Alexis scribbled her phone number on the bottom.

  She decided to walk. Even in their own neighborhood, there were plenty of homeless people who might have seen her mom: smoking on curbs, reading Bibles under tarps, and lugging black plastic garbage bags full of belongings. Alexis was a child of the city, used to ignoring them, used to crossing the street, used to not making eye contact.

  But now her eyes had been opened.

  The first person Alexis approached was a plump black woman pushing a shopping cart loaded with plastic-wrapped bundles. Despite the cold, the woman wore flip-flops, a short-sleeved shirt, and cropped pants that dug into her full calves.

  “Excuse me.” Alexis pulled out her mom’s photo. “Have you seen this woman?”

  The woman looked from it to Alexis and back again. “That must be your mama. You look so much alike.”

  Her throat swelled closed. All she could do was nod.

  “No, I haven’t seen her, honey. Sorry.”

  Alexis moved on, stopping every now and then to ask people who didn’t scare her too much. More homeless were scattered under the on-ramp to the bridge. But if any of them had seen Alexis’s mom, they weren’t saying.

  At the far end of the bridge, a girl sat cross-legged on the sidewalk, her back against a metal fence. She wore a navy blue American Apparel hoodie, jeans, and scuffed boots. Next to her were a blue backpack and a bottle of Coke Zero. In front of her feet a sign simply said PLEASE HELP.

  “Hey.” Alexis held out her mom’s photo, which was already crumpled. “I’m looking for this lady. Have you seen her?”

  The girl took it without speaking. While she looked at the photo, Alexis looked down at the top of her head. Her black hair was scraped back into a cross between a ponytail and a bun.

  “Yeah, I have seen her around,” she said, rolling her Rs.

  “Wait—what—you have?” Alexis felt a jolt of electricity.

  “Not today.”

  “Then when?”

  The girl shrugged. “Maybe yesterday? Or the day before.” And just as Alexis was beginning to doubt, she added, “She was talking about God. And I think she was barefoot.”

  “That’s her. That’s my mom.” Instead of feeling relieved, Alexis felt like she had just been punched in the stomach. She doubled over.

  The girl leaned forward and patted the back of Alexis’s head. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay.”

  Alexis straightened, blinking back tears. “It’s just that’s the first I’ve heard of her in a few days.”

  The girl’s face clouded. “Did you guys get separated by the shelter?”

  Alexis nodded. It didn’t feel as much like a lie if she didn’t say it out loud.

  “That’s such bull!” the other girl exploded. “I hate it when they do that! Like once you’re over thirteen, it’s okay to separate you. But if you don’t have your family, you don’t have nothing.” She held out her hand. It was callused, the nails broken to different lengths. “My name’s Raina.”

  She took her hand. “Alexis. My mom’s name is Tanya. I can’t find her, and I don’t know where to look. I’m really worried about her.”

  Raina gazed at her more closely. “You haven’t been out here very long.”

  “Um, we haven’t.”

  “Then you might not know all the places to check.” The other girl got to her feet. “So let’s go see if we can find her.”

  Alexis hesitated. She hadn’t been looking for a
helper. But then she nodded.

  “Which shelter were you staying at?” Raina asked.

  She hadn’t thought this story through. “A private one run by a church. On the East Side.”

  “And they said they didn’t have any more room for adults, right? Like your mom isn’t just as vulnerable as you.” Raina shot her a look. “Maybe more.”

  “She has some issues,” Alexis said. Which she wished was a lie.

  “Everything’s closed right now.” Raina leaned down to pick up her things. “And people aren’t allowed to wait outside the doors until they open, because it bugs the other businesses. But there are other places where she might be.”

  With Raina as her guide, Alexis went on a tour of the various areas where homeless people congregated. The library, McDonald’s (“They’re pretty chill about letting you charge your phone”), a church basement. Over and over, Alexis asked people about her mom, showed her picture. A few thought they might have seen her, but no one was as specific as Raina.

  The red brick steps of Pioneer Courthouse Square were empty except for homeless people. The day was too cold for anyone who had anyplace else to go to be outside.

  “When I first came to Portland, I refused to sit,” Raina said after they finished talking to a man who had just a few teeth left in his mouth, even though he looked like he was only in his mid-thirties. “It was too embarrassing. I would have rather been dead on my feet than sit on the sidewalk and have people guess I was homeless. But you know what?” She shrugged. “There’s no hiding it. Somehow people always just know.”

  Alexis had a pretty good idea how. Raina didn’t really look that dirty, but she smelled funky.

  “What time is it?” Raina asked.

  Alexis checked her phone and told her.

  “Day services is open. Let’s go check it out.”