The man in the cart with Delilah glanced our way, then began quietly instructing the others to tape off the trail and the bushy area. He waded into the thicket, then came back out. He spoke to a couple of the men in uniform, then went over to speak to Delilah.

She listened, eyes wide and mouth open, then winced like he'd punched her in the stomach. She shook her head several times. She wrung her hands together, over and over. Then she placed a hand over her mouth.

The officer looked at us for a moment, then waded back into the bushes.

Delilah watched him go, then looked in our direction. She did a near double-take, like she'd forgotten we were there, then headed in our direction. Her steps were slow, like she was walking through quicksand.

“You folks called it in?” she said. “You...you found him?”

I nodded.

Her eyes pinched at the corners and tears spilled on to her cheeks. “This is just terrible.”

“We were looking for the medallion,” I said quickly.

She nodded slowly. “The hunt started today. I didn't figure anyone would be able to find it this fast.”

A moment of ridiculous, completely inappropriate pride sparked inside of me, then extinguished immediately.

“I haven't been back out here since I hid it,” Delilah said. She picked up the end of her gray ponytail and rubbed it between her fingers. “I just figured it would be here until the end of the summer. Or at least close to the end.” She looked at me with red eyes. “How did you find it?”

I pointed at Jake. “He actually found it. We found the clue in the storage lot and he thought the next one might be on the trail. We sat down on the bench because I was convinced it wasn't here. And then he saw it in the bushes.” I paused. “It was an accident more than anything.”

She nodded but didn't say anything. Her hand moved from her ponytail to her mouth and she chewed on a fingernail, her tear-stained eyes swiveling back to the sheriff's people creeping into the bushes. They were moving slowly, in wide arcs, well away from the body and the medallion. I wasn't a detective but I guessed it was so as not to disturb the crime scene. If it was a crime scene.

“You said you know who it is,” I said.

She nodded again. “Yes. I hadn't seen him or heard from him in a couple of days.”

She started speaking again, this time in a lower voice, as if she was talking to herself. “He was mad at me, but he's been mad at me a lot lately. I just thought...” her voice trailed off and she sighed. “I don't know what I thought.”

The officer from Delilah's cart walked to the edge of the brush and used his hands to direct several more of his people. He wasn't loud, but the way he moved and the way people looked to him clearly indicated he was in charge and knew what he was doing.

“His mother is going to be a mess,” Delilah said. The ponytail was back in her hand again and a fresh fountain of tears welled in her eyes. “An absolute mess. And she'll probably blame me.”

“Why's that?” I asked.

“Because she's blamed me for everything for the last ten years,” she said bitterly. Her fingers rubbed faster along the ponytail. “It's become a habit for her.” Her mouth twisted a little. “Didn't used to be like that.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but it definitely seemed to bother her.

There was a noise and I looked at the bushes again. One of the policemen was blocking my view to the medallion and the body and I couldn't see anything.

Jake's hand slipped into mine and he gave me a gentle squeeze.

“Delilah, who is it exactly?” I asked again. “In the bushes?”

She dropped the ponytail and shoved her hands into her pockets. She rocked back and forth on her heels and she reminded me of a Weeble Wobble.

“That's Harvey,” she finally said.

Harvey. I thought back to our conversation with her when we'd arrived earlier that day. “Harvey. Isn't he the one who you said did your website and had big plans for the resort?”

She nodded and a soft sob escaped. “One and the same.”

EIGHT

By the time the officer in charge made his way over to Jake and me, half of the campground inhabitants had descended on the trail and were watching what was going on. The entire Hackerman family had somehow weaseled their way inside the yellow crime scene tape and they stood off to the side, knee-deep in the brush, watching carefully. Wayne shook hands with the officer at one point, as if they were old friends. I wasn't sure if Hackerman had seen the medallion or not.

The officer removed his hat when he approached us, his expression more serious than dour. “Folks, I'm Sheriff Morris Larrabee. I apologize for taking so long to get to you, but as you've seen there was a lot of work to do.” He motioned over toward Delilah's pink cart. “You mind if we step over this way for a few minutes?”

We followed him over to the cart, away from the crowd so we could have a little more privacy. He was about Jake's size and the tight-fitting khaki uniform he wore showed a body packed with muscle. Short wisps of salt and pepper hair poked out from beneath the hat and his chin and cheeks were smooth and pink, like he'd just shaved before coming down the trail. There wasn't a wrinkle on him and even his boots had maintained their shine on the dusty trail. I wondered if he'd been a Marine. Which made me think of our airport shuttle driver. Ken.

“So,” he said, placing his hands on his hips. His green eyes were small and shrewd. “You found the victim.”

I nodded. “Yes. We came down here looking for the medallion. My husband spotted it in the bushes when we were sitting on the bench. I went into the woods to grab it and I slipped on a tree root or something and when I landed on the ground, I saw Harvey.”

Larrabee raised an eyebrow. “You'd met him?”

“No. We just got here today. Delilah told us who he was.”

“So you had not met him?” His gaze drifted from me to Jake, then back again. “Either of you?”

We both shook our heads.

He watched us both. “How did you come to sit on the bench?” He glanced at the red golf cart I'd been driving. “Seems to me you already had a comfortable place to sit.”

“We were frustrated,” Jake said.

“I was frustrated,” I clarified.

Jake glanced at me, then nodded. “Like Daisy said, we were trying to find the medallion for the game or the hunt or whatever it's called. I happened to see it in the bushes while we were sitting there.”

The sheriff looked at the bench, then toward the crime scene. I half-expected him to walk over and sit down and squint into the woods so he could recreate what we'd described. “And did you see the victim?”

“No, just the medallion,” Jake answered. “We weren't aware the man was there until Daisy fell down.”

Larrabee nodded. He chewed on his lower lip, his gaze never leaving us. I'd done nothing wrong but, under his watchful, unwavering gaze, I suddenly felt like a suspect.

Again.

“You're here on vacation?” he asked.

“We won a trip here,” I said.

“Right,” Larrabee said, as if he already knew this information. “And when did you get here?”

“Earlier today.”

“Was this your first time on the trail?”

“Yes.”

“You've been to other areas of the resort?”

“Mostly up near the camp sites,” Jake answered. “We've been in the clubhouse and to the pool, too, but that's about it.”

“Been into town yet?”

“Town?” Jake asked. “We weren't aware there was much of one.”

The sheriff pressed his lips together and set his hands on his hips, ignoring Jake's comment. “You're visiting from Moose River. Is that correct?”

The sheriff knew more than he was letting on and I wasn't sure what he was getting at.

“Yes,” I said. “Like I said. We won the trip.”

“Fly or drive?”

“Fly.”

Larrabee nodded again and then adjusted the hat on his head. “How are you liking Windy Vista?”