“Annie. What’s going on? They tell me the area’s still restricted.”
Domingo reclaimed a professional demeanor, standing tall and relaxed, speaking evenly. “Mr. Peterson, hello. We can’t open that area until we get the okay, and we haven’t gotten it yet.”
“Then it’s true, that you won’t let the police close the investigation?”
“It’s not up to me one way or another.”
“You just don’t want me here anymore. You don’t want me to continue my work, to finish my book—”
Domingo waited with apparent patience, as if she’d heard all this before. Finally, Peterson’s rant landed on Cormac.
He pointed. “—And who is this? I suppose you’re going to tell me he’s part of the investigation? More like some buddy you brought in to gawk—”
The ranger’s job might not allow her to step on this guy, but Cormac didn’t have to take this. He stepped forward, stuck his hand out, and grinned aggressively. “Hey, name’s Cormac, and you are. . .Peterson? Just Peterson?”
The man blinked, nonplussed, and reflexively took Cormac’s hand. His grip was hesitant and he let go quickly.
“Elton. Elton Peterson.”
“Elton, yeah, good meeting you.” Cormac could be as backwoods amiable as Andy Griffith when he needed to be. Best part, it threw people off when they noticed his eyes weren’t smiling. “As a matter of fact, Ms. Domingo here did ask me to come in and help with the investigation. You seem to think you know this area pretty well—you notice anything off around here over the last couple of weeks? Anything suspicious?”
The guy took a minute to stare, probably wondering if Cormac was for real. Cormac just smiled back at him with the patience of a rock.
Peterson shook his head quickly and looked away. Gritting his teeth, like he was trying to keep from shouting. “No, I didn’t notice anything. I thought it was just an accident, the police said it was an accident, and it’s very sad but I need to get back to my research—”
“You said you’re writing a book?” Cormac prodded.
“I’m a historian. I’m writing about the Donner Party.”
“Huh,” Cormac said. “Seems like there can’t be that much more to tell about the Donner Party. Folks have been writing books about it for a hundred and fifty years.”
“Everyone thinks that. There’s always more to say. And I’ve found something. I’m telling you, I know more about what happened than anyone, just wait—” He clamped his mouth
shut, glared. Tried again. “And what exactly is your expertise?”
“Oh, nothing special, I’m just having a general look around.”
Domingo stood back to watch this exchange, considering Cormac with particular interest.
Peterson simmered. “Oh yeah?” the historian shot back. “And what do you think happened here?”
Cormac shrugged offhand. “I’m not at liberty to say until the authorities close the investigation.”
Peterson glared one last, fuming look before storming off. Out of the corner of his eye, Cormac saw Domingo hiding a smile.
“You didn’t close that gate behind us on the way up, did you?” he said, his voice turned flat again.
She sighed. “No, I didn’t. He must have passed by and seen it open. Like a big welcome mat. Arty was able to get him banned from the park entirely for awhile. He was hiking all over the backwoods without a permit, disrupting wildlife surveys. Whew, you should have seen the guy blow his gasket then. But Peterson took it to court, got the ban rescinded, and now here he is.”
“Who all has a key for that gate at the end of the road? Does Peterson?”
“No, but that hasn’t stopped him from parking and hiking up. The sheriff’s office has one, most of the emergency services have a master key, the rangers, the handful of people who own cabins up here.”
“So it’s not hard to get past that gate.”
“No. It’s mostly there to discourage tourists, not to really close off the area.”
Good to know. “What’s Peterson’s real story?”