I’ve never heard someone speak so cheerily of an event that still fills me with shame. After all, what kind of a person doesn’t use their rearview mirror when backing up? Still, the crew jumps up to greet me with hugs.
“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” Ralph says.
I shrug. “Well, I did promise to buy you a drink, and I could use some dinner.”
“Me, too.”
“Did you hike to Lake Florence?”
He nods. “It was spectacular, and I’m glad I went today because rumor has it the park service is about to close the trailhead.”
“Close the trailhead?” The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. “Why?”
A smile splits his face as he whispers next to my ear, “They say the search for the missing hikers is about to turn into a manhunt for a murderer.”
I sit back, putting extra space between us. “So they’ve ruled out that the girls got lost?”
Steve leans over Ralph, chiming in, “My bet is they’re both as dead as doornails.” He’s a twenty-something with brownish hair and a trimmed beard and remains completely enamored with his girl, Raven, seated next to him at the bar. She has shiny black hair in pigtails and big, brown, almond-shaped eyes.
“Dead?” My breath catches in my throat.
Raven adds, “Yeah, things are getting real with the investigation, which made me worry about you this morning. Lake Florence is like the epicenter of the whole case. You shouldn’t go back there alone. Yoga video filming or not.”
I nod, saying in her direction, “That’s what people keep telling me. But I definitely got enough for a video today. Glad I did before everything shuts down.”
“Yikes! You’d better get that video posted right away. I bet it’ll go viral,” she exclaims.
“I agree.” Two missing hikers is a horrible reason for a video to go viral, but social media is fueled by sensationalism, fear porn, and tragedy.
“The local station’s waiting for the sheriff of Vengeance County to hold a press conference. I bet the Lake Florence hashtag is going viral right now,” she adds.
“Me, too.”
Ralph teases, “Hell, we’re all about to be famous. This place is hopping with news reporters. The murders have captivated the nation.”
“Murders?” I scrunch my forehead. “How can you be so sure?”
“Suspected murders,” he reluctantly corrects himself. “Be an optimist if you like, Brynn. But we all know how this will end.”
“I hope not,” I say, studying his confusing expression. Ralph’s chin is undercut, like he could’ve used braces as a kid, and his cheeks are fleshy and thick, giving him a cherub quality. He has a ruddy rash on his cheeks that I’m guessing either comes from shaving burn or adult acne. “Those poor women.”
“Poor, indeed.” Ralph laughs. “I’m a huge fan of true crime, so you’ll have to excuse me.”
I shrug, pressing my lips firmly together, feeling unimpressed by his dark humor. But the comments coming from the rest of the crew are just as dark and calloused, so I ignore them. Instead, I ask, “What will you drink?”
“The usual.”
“Two of the local brew,” I say as the waitress comes by, holding up my fingers since the place is loud with murmurings and blaring TVs. I press my fingers into my temples, looking down at the wooden bar.
“Why the long face?”
“Just trying to sort out my next move. My permit expires in twenty days, and with the trailhead closed, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Maybe it’s time to leave Murrieta.” Ralph’s suggestion is a sound one, but it still makes my chest ache. After the encounter today, I need to give up on my mountain man stalker. The thought of leaving without seeing him again saddens me in ways I can’t quantify, though.
I respond, my mind a million miles away, “I don’t care if I complete every inch of the HRT. I’m fine with enjoying the more accessible parts of the hike. After all, consistent internet tethers me back to towns at night.”
He nods, thanking the waitress as she sets two icy, frothy beers in front of us. “So, is staying at inns along the way normal for you? Or do you sleep in your 4Runner sometimes?”
