patch of poison ivy and trying not to think too closely about the eight-legged residents that I might be dislodging, I pushed myself forward into the hollow trunk. I stopped when my head, shoulders and right arm were just inside the opening.
Contrary to what is reported in children’s storybooks, there is nothing magical about being inside a tree. A couple feet in front of me was a gaping hole where daylight glimmered upward from the direction of the ravine. Above me, surrounded by the remaining trunk, was a damp honeycomb tunnel of rotting wood that narrowed until it appeared solid. Spindly black ants the size of dimes streamed up and down the interior carrying fat, round pupae the milky color of rotting flesh. That didn’t bother me. But the sight of countless daddy longlegs scuttling for cover did.
For a moment, I panicked. I could feel my heart pounding, feel the air trapped in my throat, feel the building scream that would release it. Would release me from the frozen moment that preceded flight. I shoved my fist against my mouth, drove my index finger against my teeth, and bit down. Hard.
The pain cleared my head and, for a heartbeat, refocused my thoughts away from the spiders. Long enough. I let my captive breath rush out around my hand. Then, though my nerves screamed their objection, I shut my eyes. Counted to ten. And ten again. Told myself that childhood had passed. That I had endured the terror back then. That I need not relive it now.
Memory provided a flash of Katie’s hand holding mine. Warm and tight and strong. Her voice was strong, too, as she assured me that she’d killed the spider. That she would kill any spiders that dared to come anywhere near me. Because she was my big sister and it was her job to keep me safe.
There was more comfort in that than I was willing to admit, even to myself. But I found the courage to open my eyes.
I took a deep breath, then ignored the spiders and did my job.
I turned slightly, running my flashlight slowly around the interior perimeter of the trunk. To my right, I saw recent droppings that my nose suggested were probably fox. The smell was musty and rank. A clump of red fur that was definitely fox supported my identification of the smell inside the tree. And a scattering of tiny bones and feathers suggested the fox had curled inside the tree to have a snack. I abandoned the flashlight long enough to scoop the bones into a bag. Then I picked up my flashlight again and moved it steadily, ignoring fungus and moss and jagged fingers of corklike wood.
I glimpsed a shape that didn’t occur in nature and spotlighted it.
The object lay opposite me and was caught in the lacework of roots that descended into the sinkhole. A smooth and very regular cylinder. About an inch long with a half-an-inch-in-diameter base. And I thought I recognized…
I used my toes to scoot my shoulders farther into the tree trunk.
Chad must have noticed my movement and interpreted it correctly.
“Are you all right, Brooke? Do you see something?”
Even in his muffled voice, I heard concern.
“Dunno,” I said, and my voice echoed back oddly at me. “I’m going to take a closer look.”
I lay the flashlight down, positioning it so that its beam continued to illuminate the object. Then I stretched out my hand, angled it beneath the cylinder. Using my fingertips, I teased it closer until I was able to enclose it in my hand. Feeling rather than sight told me that a thick plastic tube—dirt clogged, perhaps a quarter-inch long and much narrower than a soda straw—stuck out from one end of the cylinder.
I left the cylinder where it was and backed out of the hole.
“Nothing,” I said as I stood and brushed off the front of my uniform. “All I saw was a pile of scat, a bit of fur from a red fox, and a few tiny bones. Probably bird—”
I held up the bag, stopping the objection I saw forming on the shorter investigator’s lips.
“—but I bagged them anyway. Beyond that, there were only spiders.”
Chad, who knew of my phobia, looked guilt stricken.
I made the effort, grinned at him.
“You owe me,” I said. “Big-time.”
The techs simply looked grateful that they’d avoided a nasty little task.
Chapter 9
Inside the SUV, the air-conditioning was running full blast.
I sat with a pen in my right hand and my logbook propped against my