for the last three years. My new neighbor bought the property at the beginning of summer and opened Five Mines Outfitters. Now my once quiet road has a regular flow of traffic. Even worse, my stretch of river and the trails that have been my safe haven have been invaded by strangers. To be fair, we’re not exactly next-door neighbors, either. The outfitters is settled nearly out of sight behind thick foliage atop a bluff and well above the river, safe from any flooding while my somewhat shabby A-frame sits dangerously close to the river’s edge and is one heavy rain away from being swept into Five Mines by floodwaters.
This is the closest I’ve actually come to meeting my neighbor. I’ve only seen him from a distance when he lugs canoes or kayaks down to the access ramp he installed on the property for his customers. Seeing him up close, I realize that he’s older than I thought. Midforties, I’d say. He is tall and very fit with jet-black hair, dark eyes and Asian features. As far as I can tell, he lives alone and runs the outfitters on his own.
“Officer...take...home...four-wheeler.” I’m able to fill in the gaps and figure out that Officer Snell is letting me know that I’m going home on one of the four-wheelers.
“What about my board?” I ask, knowing that to worry about my paddleboard is petty under the circumstances, but I’m convinced that this board saved my life on more than one occasion, whisking me away from the bottle of Jack Daniel’s I have stashed in the cabinet beneath my sink. I know I should just dump it out, along with the bottle of red wine I have hidden, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Instead, when the need hits, I grab my board and Stitch and get the hell out of the house and paddle until I’m exhausted and the urge fades. At least for the time being.
“We can strap it on the back of one of the...” my neighbor says and then moves toward my board so that the rest of the sentence drops away when I can no longer see his lips. Expertly he lifts the board above his head in one smooth motion, turns back to face me, his mouth still moving. He has no idea I can’t hear him and I don’t have any desire to educate him, so I just nod. He retrieves a knot of bungee cords from a small storage box on the ATV and secures the board lengthwise so that half of it projects off the back.
Snell is talking to an officer, who if possible, is younger than he is. From the look on the boy’s face he is disappointed about having to leave what is likely the most exciting crime scene he’ll ever encounter in his career in law enforcement so that he can accompany us home. I feel a little sorry for him but it dawns on me that if I don’t act fast I’m going to end up sitting behind my neighbor or the officer with my arms wrapped around their midsection as they drive me home. No way. I get onto the four-wheeler with my board strapped to it, staking my claim, and signal to Stitch to hop up behind me. I pretend not to notice Okada’s slightly irritated expression as he climbs on behind the young officer.
It’s about a forty-minute trek back to my house by four-wheeler and not that much faster on foot. I would have just walked home if I didn’t have my board with me. The maze of trails, which are maintained by the DNR, have mine-era names that echo back to Mathias’s mining history: Prospector Ridge, Galena Gulch and Knife Claim Hollow. We take Dry Bone Loop, a trail that winds like a corkscrew up one side of the bluff and then down the other. A delicate shower of gold and crimson leaves wafts down, littering the trail and catching in my hair. Stitch, from his spot behind me on the ATV, cranes his neck, jaws playfully snapping as he tries to snag each leaf that floats near. After about ten minutes of sitting patiently behind me as I navigate the rocky terrain, Stitch leaps from his seat and decides to run on ahead of us, pausing every few minutes to let us catch up.
I’m eager to get home to try and contact Dr. Huntley directly. I’m hoping he’ll be able to reschedule our interview for this afternoon or at least some time this week. I’m sure David is fuming self-righteously and will try to find a way to use my absence against me. If finding a body in the river isn’t a valid enough reason to miss my appointment, I don’t know what is. The thing is, I’m not allowed to tell Dr. Huntley just why I stood him up.
Up ahead of us Stitch has wandered off the trail and is pawing tentatively at something in a twist of barberry dripping with red berries. My heart rate quickens and I bring the ATV to a stop. Stitch continues to bat at whatever has captured his attention, and I jump when I feel a brush at my elbow. The officer and my neighbor have parked their ATV behind mine and have come to my side, curiously watching Stitch. For a beat I’m afraid that Stitch has discovered another body and I find myself frozen in place. My eyes lock with the officer’s and I know the same thought is skittering across his brain.
I slide from my seat and we all start to walk toward Stitch. Startled by the sudden movement, Stitch darts away from us, a colorful object dangling from his muzzle. Stitch thinks we’re playing a game with him. He allows us to get just a few steps from him and then he dashes away, then stops short to see if we’re still in pursuit.
“Stitch, ruce vzuru!” Stand still, I call, and instantly Stitch freezes and rolls his eyes toward me to make sure I’m serious. I look at him sternly and signal for him to come, and he slinks to my side. I show him my closed fist and open it, his cue to drop whatever is in his mouth. He grudgingly complies.
The three of us gather in a tight circle and bend forward to get a closer look at the item dispatched at our feet. It’s a woman’s running shoe. Beneath the layers of dirt, the shoe is brightly colored with fuchsia and neon green stripes. An expensive brand that only the most serious of runners seem to own. The thought of Stitch playing keep away with something that Gwen may have been wearing makes my stomach roil. We stand upright, and the officer pulls a phone from his pocket.
“Could belong to anyone,” I read his lips, but the crease in his forehead lets me know he’s not so sure. “We’ll tag it just in case.” I nod and move out of the way so that he can make his phone call.
There has to be a logical explanation as to why a running shoe has been abandoned in the weeds, though nothing I come up with makes much sense. An involuntary shiver runs through me. Gwen was a serious runner. Could the shoe belong to her?
My neighbor approaches. He’s tall, about six feet, and I have to tilt my head back to get a good look at his sharply planed face. “Evan Okada,” he says, holding out his hand. “...live next door... I wish...meeting under better...”
“Amelia Winn,” I say and take his hand. His fingers wrap around mine—a warm cocoon.
Evan goes on to speak and from what I can decipher and from the wary look on his face he is telling me that he’s tried to stop over to my house but the dog runs him off.
“Really?” I ask as if dumbfounded. “He’s normally so friendly.” In reality, when Stitch alerts me that someone is at the door I pretend to not be home or if I see my neighbor walking down the path from his house toward mine I let Stitch out the back door with the order to stekje and scok—to jump and bark, sending Evan scurrying back to the top of the bluff. My little revenge for all the unwanted foot and river traffic his business has brought to my backyard.
He turns away from me and gestures toward the trail. I have no idea what he’s saying and I should probably tell him that I can’t hear but I don’t particularly want to share any personal information with him. Though I’m fully capable of taking care of myself, I don’t advertise that I’m a single woman living all alone. My ex, David, used to say that I have a thin layer of ice encasing my heart that makes it hard for people to get to know me and that the warm temperature in the room when we first met must have melted it enough for him to be able to wriggle his way in. I would laugh, because it was true. Ever since my mom passed away when I was thirteen, I’ve been guarded, cautious of getting close to others. When David came along I let him in, let myself trust him. Now, once again, the thin layer of ice has thickened and has developed a bad case of freezer burn.
Thankfully, the officer
