Free Lone Wolf by Linwood Barclay

from a low angle as I threw back the covers and touched my feet to the cold plank floors. I padded into the bathroom, where I had a quick shower. I’d grabbed a couple of towels, in addition to bedding, from Dad before heading over to my own, private accommodation. Other than my new socks and underwear, I had nothing that you could call a travel kit. I wished I had thought, when I’d bought my clothes, to pick up a toothbrush, razor, shaving cream, and a few other items.
    My teeth felt furry.
    Some stuff I could probably borrow from Dad, but the rest I’d need to get next time I was in Braynor. Once I was dressed and had combed my hair with my fingers and run my index finger over my teeth, I went outside. Rather than head down to the lake, or over to Dad’s cabin for some breakfast, I went straight into the woods.
    It wasn’t hard to find where Morton Dewart’s body had been. The grass was tramped down in the area around where the tarp had been draped over him. I’m no tracker, but I looked off into the forest, as if the location of the body were the center of a wheel, and imagined spokes leading off from it. All the possible routes Dewart might have taken to reach the point where he’d met his end. I was looking for disturbances in the pine needle–covered forest floor, or broken branches, anything to indicate what path he, or a bear, might have taken here.
    I didn’t see a damn thing.
    So I began walking in ever growing circles, starting at the point where the body had been found, searching the ground, scanning back and forth ahead of me. I ducked under branches, stepped over rocks, hopped over small dips in the terrain.
    I did not find what I was looking for.
    I walked back down to the lake, which was still and shimmering from the early morning sun. Down by the dock, Bob was sitting in his boat, examining lures in his tackle box, getting ready.
    “Morning!” he called. Very cheerful for so early in the day.
    “Be over in a minute,” I said, heading for Dad’s cabin. If I could get a dab of toothpaste, I’d take another run at my teeth with my finger.
    Dad’s cabin was unlocked and I opened the door quietly, figuring he’d still be asleep. There was no radio going, no sounds of bacon frying in a pan. But there was snoring. As I passed by Dad’s open bedroom door, I caught a peek of him in there, on his back on the far side of his double bed, making noises like a Union Pacific freight. Dad had done me a favor, putting me in cabin 3, instead of letting me crash on the couch and try to get to sleep with that racket going on.
    I crept past his door to the bathroom. The door was barely ajar, and I eased it open with my hand, hoping it wouldn’t squeak too much on its hinges.
    “Hey, sweetie,” came a voice from inside the bathroom. A voice that sounded very female. “I didn’t wake you up, did—”
    And then, when she saw who was coming in to see her, this woman with brown hair who looked, at a glance, to be about my father’s age, standing there in a white bra and black slacks that she was in the process of zipping up, screamed.
    Not a blood-curdling, oh-my-God-you’ve-come-here-to-kill-me scream, just a short one, of pure surprise. More a whoop, really, than a scream.
    I didn’t scream myself, although I might easily have done so. Instead, I was blabbering, “Sorry! Sorry! Didn’t know anyone was in here! Sorry!” I grabbed hold of the doorknob and yanked so hard on it that I slammed the door into my head, knocking myself back into the main room, almost stumbling over the couch before I caught myself.
    Dad was hopping out his bedroom door now, shouting, “Lana! What’s wrong?” And then he saw me, then clutched at the wall for support, and even in his barely awake state, started putting it all together. “Oh shit,” he said, looking at me. “What are you doing up this early?”
    “I’m going fishing,” I said. “I just wanted to rub some toothpaste on my teeth and jeez I didn’t know