Free Hunter’s Dance by Kathleen Hills

around with, his friends.”
    â€œFriends don’t kill people. Maybe you should concentrate on his enemies.” Her voice was beginning to tremble and she brought the quilt up to her chin.
    McIntire wasn’t at all sure of that. Murder was as likely to be committed by a friend, if not more so. The sheriff asked, “Did Bambi have enemies?”
    â€œIf what you say is true—that someone murdered him—he must have had, or
we
must have had. Friends or enemies, maybe sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”
    â€œAre you saying that Bambi might have been killed to hurt you and your husband?”
    â€œWell, if so, it certainly worked.”
    Koski didn’t respond, and she went on. “Has the doctor learned anything at all yet?”
    â€œHe was still doing his examination when we left. If he finds anything obvious we’ll know by this afternoon. He’ll be sending samples to the laboratory in Lansing. Those results are going to take a few days.”
    McIntire noticed the usually blunt sheriff’s avoidance of the word
autopsy
. How long did he think he could shield the family from knowledge of the scalping and the fight with Marvin Wall? If they weren’t told soon, they’d hear of it some other way.
    Koski changed the subject. “We understand that Bambi drove his own car to the dance. What kind of car is it?”
    â€œHe’d have been driving a British sports car. A Morgan.” Mrs. Morlen turned to her father. “It’s Daddy’s, really. He and Bambi drove it out from Westchester together this spring, and Daddy left it here for him to use.”
    Mr. Feldman asked, “Hasn’t the car been found?”
    Koski shook his head. “Not yet. My deputies are searching the back roads. We need the license number and a description to get the word out.”
    â€œIt’s a dark green color. It won’t be hard to recognize. There aren’t many of them around.” McIntire didn’t doubt it. “I’ll get you the number,” Feldman added, without budging from his daughter’s side.
    The sheriff leaned back and crossed his legs. McIntire could only imagine what that attempt at a relaxed attitude had cost his back. “Can you tell us about your son, Mrs. Morlen? What kind of person was he? What were his interests? What were his plans for the future? Has he talked about people he might have met around here, other than Ross Maki and this Mr. Carlson? Anything you can tell us will help.”
    â€œBambi was the kind of son any mother would sell her soul to have.” Bonnie Morlen’s voice choked and she buried her head on her father’s shoulder. Feldman folded his arms around her and glared, and Koski gave in. “We’ll leave you now, Mrs. Morlen. But we’d like to take a look at your son’s room, and can you give us directions to the camp where he stayed with Mr. Carlson?”
    Bonnie pulled herself free of her father’s grasp, but continued to lean against him. “The camp? The cabin? It’s…. No, I’m sorry I can’t help you. I don’t think Wendell knows exactly where it is either.” Her voice choked again. “I’m so sorry. What kind of a mother would let her child go off and live in the woods and not even know where?”
    â€œBambi wasn’t a child, Ma’am.”
    â€œI didn’t want to let him go! I did everything to keep him here! But he was eighteen. I couldn’t stop him, and Wendell thought it would be good for him. He didn’t think there’d be any danger, and it would keep things…. I let my own child go….”
    â€œHe wasn’t a child,” Koski repeated.
    â€œHe was a child to me. And now he always will be.”
    The sheriff appeared to be gathering himself to exit his chair. McIntire interrupted.
    â€œWas there some kind of…strife between Bambi and his father?”
    Koski’s head