Endangered (9781101559017) by Pamela Beason Read Free Book Online Page A

to tell where little boys or cougars had walked. She studied the rippling river for a long while, pacing its banks, looking for anything out of place caught in the rocks at the bottom of the shallow water.
    Around her neck she wore a yellow Explorer Scout bandanna, and her right arm was encircled by an armband with the troop’s insignia and the words SEARCH PARTY. In spite of the official paraphernalia, she received a lot of dirty looks as she peered into cars and tents. The scowls softened when she handed posters to the park visitors, asking them if they’d seen a blond two-year-old in a Winnie-the-Pooh sweatshirt and red pants. Even a Mexican woman who spoke little English quickly understood the gist of the poster.
    â€œAy, Madre de Dios,” she sighed, crossing herself.
    Sam had swapped her heavy backpack for the smaller knapsack she used for day trips. In it, she carried notepad and digital camera just in case she ran across something worth capturing. The two-way radio was zipped into the outside pocket, the volume tuned to its lowest setting. She heard the scoutmaster report in now and then, as well as the rangers talking. A fender-bender backed up traffic at the north gate. Another theft had been reported at Miller Bend Campground. Normal park activity didn’t stop just because a little boy was missing.
    During her stint as a seasonal ranger, Sam had participated in two wilderness searches. She was not accustomed to inspecting places where hundreds of people tramped every day. Tracks were impossible to sort out. She scrutinized cars, peeked into each stall in the restrooms, including the men’s, much to the surprise of one gentleman who hadn’t answered when she knocked on the door. She lifted the lid on each garbage can, climbed into two Dumpsters, examined and collected litter from beneath cars, picnic tables, and ditches beside the road.
    By noon, she’d decided that people were pigs. No, she corrected herself. That was an insult to porkers everywhere. No pig left a wake of debris like your average Homo sapiens .
    Children were everywhere in the campgrounds. A good percentage of them appeared to be less than four years old, and at least half of those were blond. They ran up the paths, rode tricycles on the loop road: how could an observer tell which child belonged to which parents? She’d certainly never questioned whether the man at the end of the path was Zack’s father.
    â€œMiz Ranger.” A middle-aged camper motioned her over. He gestured at his picnic table. “I had everything right here last night.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œSomeone stole my grapes. And a half wheel of Camembert and a fresh loaf of French bread.” Folding his arms, he glared at her. “Now what am I supposed to do for food?” His foot tapped impatiently on the ground.
    A kid was missing and this loser wanted to know what he was going to eat for lunch? It was no wonder she hadn’t made the cut for a permanent job in the park service. She didn’t have the patience for this.
    â€œKeep an eye out for this missing boy.” She slapped a poster down on his picnic table. “And I’m not a ranger.”
    Another visitor quizzed her about howling noises. Just coyotes, she told him; no wolves in this part of the country. No point in mentioning Coyote Charlie: tourists might not think he was the comic-book figure the rangers did. Odds were that nobody in the valley campground could hear him up on the plateau, anyway.
    She was on her hands and knees peering beneath a big RV when the door suddenly swung open. The sharp aluminum corner gouged her back before clanking to a stop against her knapsack. A big man hastily jumped down onto the cement block that served as a step. He grabbed the door, swung it shut. “Sorry,” he said breathlessly. “The dang closer thing’s broken.”
    By the time she stood up, his tone had changed from apologetic to irritated. He