“And Griffin?”
His eyes snap back to my face.
“Thanks for your help this morning.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I appreciate Odin’s assistance, too, and I don’t want him to get in trouble, but …” I’m not sure where I’m going with this. Do I tell him my theory about Patsy and the one random article I saw online but haven’t read?
He waves off my unfinished sentence. “Say no more. I’ll follow up.”
Chapter Thirteen
Daphne
The next week, Gaia and Dr. Runous hold an all-staff meeting about the bear incident. I feel guilty about being the reason everyone has to take time out of their day to gather in the conference room. I can hardly look the game warden in the eye while he reminds us to be on alert for a repeat offender. Once a bear gets a taste for people food, it’s likely to seek out more, and as we head into the cooler fall months, the bears will be looking for extra food before their winter hibernation begins.
On top of the guilt and embarrassment, all day I’ve ignored the unwelcome tickle at the back of my throat and my runny nose. Even now that it’s more like a faucet with a drip, I keep reaffirming to myself that I’m fine.
The power of positive thinking compels whatever allergens are afoot to listen to my command.
I refuse to give in to this nonsense. It’s Friday and I have big plans this weekend to do nothing after my shifts.
I sneeze three times into my elbow.
“You sound like you’re sick,” Griffin comments from the other side of our shared wall.
“The air must be dry in the office today.”
“It’s been raining all week—can’t imagine the humidity in here is all that much lower than outside given we don’t have the AC running and the heat isn’t cranked.” His explanation is so logical and not at all what I want to hear. “Also, dry air won’t explain away your congestion.”
“I’m fine.” My rough voice says otherwise.
“Who’s sick?” Gaia walks out of her office.
“Daphne,” Griffin declares as he stands.
“It’s nothing. Just allergies. Dust. Or mold, from all the rain.” I play off of Griffin’s comment.
My boss narrows her eyes at me. “You should go home.”
“I’m—” My nose twitches as I resist the urge to sneeze. I lose the fight and cover my mouth with my arm.
“You sound the opposite of healthy.” Protecting her face with her ranger hat, Gaia takes several steps away. “Home. Now.”
“It’s allergies. Not contagious.”
“Right,” Griffin murmurs, dragging out the i in exaggerated doubt.
“Why don’t you believe me?” My nose is stuffy and drippy.
All I need is some tissues and a Benadryl. Normally I don’t take it while working because it can make me loopy or sleepy, or loopy then sleepy. I only use it if I know I have the capacity to nap.
“It isn’t that we don’t trust you,” he replies, “but your voice sounds like you’ve been smoking menthols for five decades.”
Gaia lowers her hat to say, “He’s right. Pack up and go to bed.”
“For allergies?” I sniffle.
“Didn’t you have a school visit this week? You know kids—probably caught a cold from one of them.” Over the brim, Gaia’s eyes bore into mine. She doesn’t bother to move her hat when she says, “Go home.”
“Fine,” I mumble. “I’m going. I’m going.”
I sound pitiful even to myself.
“I’ll drop off tea and soup later,” Gaia offers. “Do you have any cold or flu medications?”
Opening my desk drawer, I sift through pens and paperclips until I find my emergency supply of pink pills. Showing it to my colleagues, I declare, “I’ll be okay. No need to buy out the drugstore.”
To prove I’m being responsible, I pop two of the packets open and swallow the capsules dry. I immediately regret this and take a long drink of water from the stainless bottle I keep on my desk.
Both annoyed and congested, I tug on my jacket and place my own hat on my head. I could stay and argue with them, but a cup of tea and curling up under a blanket does sound good. Before I leave, I stuff some extra tissues in my pockets.
“Off you go.” Gaia shoos me away with her hat.
After promising to take care of myself, I head out the door for the short walk to my cabin.
The rain has finally stopped, leaving behind wide puddles and squishy mud along the path. I avoid the deeper water by walking along the edge of the road that loops from the ranger station into the campground. This route takes me closer to the forest and will add a few minutes to my trip, but that’s better than slipping and getting soaked.
Grumbling to myself, I keep my focus mostly on my footsteps. That’s probably why I don’t notice I’ve passed the turnout for the ranger cabins until I’m at the Cooper Road trailhead.
“Seriously?” I stomp my foot in frustration, splashing my pants with water. “So much for auto-pilot working.”
Turning to switch directions, I spot a large white van parked on the other side of the lot. It’s the only vehicle here. Given the rain and promise of thick mud, there haven’t been too many people on the trails this week.
“I know that van,” I declare to the trees. No one else is around to hear me.
The Be the Light logo is faded and mostly peeled away, only the faint outline of the words still lingers enough to be legible. A cross still decorates the door panel but has been painted over to resemble two carrots.
There’s only one person I know who drives an old church van like this.
I glance around to see if there are signs of him or anyone else nearby. The area is empty. “What’s Odin Hill doing out here in the mud?”
There’s only one way to find out.
The last thing I want to be doing is clomping through the woods, but my instincts tell me he’s up to no good. Catching him in the act is the only way to prove I’m right.
A set of prints indicates someone has recently used the trail, and next to the human tracks are the tidy marks from cloven hooves. They only go in one direction, which means he’s still out there and Patsy’s with him.
Hiking with a pig is weird, but I suspect it’s the least of my worries when it comes to Mr. Hill.
My feet sink and slip in the mud, which quickly covers my boots and splashes the lower half of my pants. Wonderful. Now I have to do laundry. Thanks, Odin.
Past the small ranger cabin, the official trail winds off to the right to continue up the hill, but there’s a gap in the trees and the footprints I’m following cut to the left, going down the slope.
“Of course he doesn’t follow the rules to stay on the marked path. Why would he? He’s vegetable Thor,” I mutter to myself, sniffling as my nose runs. Reaching into my jacket pocket, I extract my pack of tissues. A silver foil packet of allergy meds falls to the ground by my feet.
I think the Benadryl was expired and not potent anymore. I’m definitely not feeling better, so I swallow both of these pills in hopes of drying out my sinuses.