Page 71 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

The investigation is a total clusterfuck. The sheriff took a wrong turn on one of the small, meandering mountain roads and overshot our location by about an hour. The coroner is out of town (for a funeral, ironically), so someone from the next county is coming out instead. Or at least he was. Currently, his van is stuck in some mud on the side of the mountain, although none of us can seem to figure out his location.

Once everyone finally manages to get to the scene, it’s well past nightfall. An argument promptly breaks out between the coroner’s stand-in and the sheriff. Apparently, the proper procedure for this sort of thing varies from county to county and neither of them is willing to budge. I’d like to punch them both.

It's been going on for an hour when Hunter finally intervenes. He trudges up to the two men. Watching them crane their necks to look up at him is almost comical. It’s like watching two little boys get in trouble with their father.

“Not to sound insensitive, but this is a pretty clear-cut suicide. Can we please just get the body into the van and start clearing out?” Hunter says.

He’s seen this sort of thing a lot over the years. When he lived in the old ranger cabin out in the woods as an LEO, he would find a few bodies a year. Lots of them are suicides, but some are accidents, and one was a murder. That one messed Hunterup for a long time afterward, but he came out the other side as desensitized to this sort of thing as anyone could ever hope to be.

I’m not there yet. Not even close. In fact, I can barely look in the direction of the vehicle right now because I know the victim’s face, all distorted and bloody, will flash through my mind. I can’t suck in a deep breath because the smell of death is only getting worse and further nauseating my empty stomach.

“It’s not that simple, Shaw,” the sheriff says, shaking his head.

“There are procedures we need to follow. We don’t just throw the body in the van,” the coroner adds indignantly.

“I’ve got to get a statement from you, and whoever else was present when the body was found.” The sheriff’s eyes flick over to me as he speaks.

Hunter sighs heavily. “Wasn’t me this time. It was two of my guys who found the body. Ehler,” he says, motioning to me, “and one of the new guys, Emmett Stone.”

The sheriff pauses to write this down then looks over at me again.

“Where’s the other one?” he asks.

“I sent him home. He’s a young kid, still a newbie at the station. He doesn’t need to see this.”

“Well, I’ll need to get his statement,” the sheriff says.

“That’s fine, you can get it tomorrow. I’ll send him down to the station. But for now, can you two stop bickering like a couple of old biddies so we can get out of here before a bear picks up the scent of the body and decides to have a midnight snack?”

Hunter doesn’t wait for their responses before turning and walking away. For the first time since Emmett and I stumbled across the body, a smile ticks at the corner of my mouth as I watch the two old men stare in horror. Hunter is also tamping down a smile as he walks back across the clearing and joins me at the truck.

“That should move things along,” he mumbles under his breath.

And he’s right. Suddenly, the two men are working in frantic unison. Taking pictures, jotting down notes, measuring things, and bagging up the gun with one eye on the dark woods beyond the clearing. They seem to think that a bear might fly out of the woods and straight at their face at any moment.

Honestly, bears aren’t nearly as drawn to blood as people think. At least not the type of bears we have around here. They’re more interested in food than humans, and it just so happens that the two often go hand in hand.

Whatever gets this show on the road though.

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, we all get the green light to clear out. Part of me wishes I could just camp out in my truck for the rest of the night. My eyelids are heavy and my body feels like Jell-O. There are so many steps between me and bed that they start to feel insurmountable as I get into my truck and start the long, dark drive down the mountain. Ahead of me are two police cruisers, the coroner’s van, and Hunter’s truck. He had the good sense to bring his personal truck, affording him the luxury of driving straight home. But I’m in my work truck, which means that I have to go back to the station, switch it out with my personal truck and then double back home. By the time that’s all done, dawn is already starting to break in the distance.

Marlow’s place is closer. And believe me, it’s tempting to drive there instead. But I feel fucking disgusting after being up on the mountain all day with a decomposing body and trucks kicking up dirt all around me. I would never crawl into Marlow’s bed without scrubbing off a layer of my skin first. Instead, I head home, peel off my clothes just inside the door, and collapse onto my couch. I’m asleep before I can even glance in the direction of my bedroom.

Morning comes and goes without any acknowledgment from me. I haven’t slept past noon in a decade, but today I am completely knocked out until one o’clock in the afternoon.

When I finally wake up, it’s obvious that I slept hard. So hard that my muscles are knotted up. My joints release a painful series of cracks as I try to sit up. This must be what it feels like to get old.

I’m hungry…dirty…groggy. I need food…coffee…shower. I don’t know what order I need them in. I also need to find my phone and wash the smell of decay off yesterday’s clothes.

My clothes are in a messy heap in the middle of my mud room, which doubles as my laundry room. I retrieve my wallet from one pocket and my phone from the other. It’s been dead since about eight o’clock last night and out of the service range for hours before that.

I throw my clothes in the washer then I put on some coffee so it’ll be ready when I get out of the shower. I plug in my phone, turn on the shower, and step inside before the water even has a chance to get warm. I don’t even care at this point.

After I scrub and scrub and scrub, I grab my phone and wait for it to power up while I pour some coffee. I’m expecting a flurry of worried text messages and missed calls from Marlow, but there’s only one from about three o’clock yesterday afternoon.

I heard what happened. Just wanted to let you know that I love you and am thinking about you.

Damn, she’s perfect. Suddenly, I’m a little more awake and ready to get on with the day. What’s left of it anyway.

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