THE FERAL STRUT

Chapter 52

Mary signed the Forest Service acceptance letter and dropped it off at Betsey March's office. Betsey was at her desk, hemmed in by stacks of file folders.

"I read about the bombing and all— pretty incredible," she said. "You actually saw the guy."

"I did. I could've stopped it."

"How?"

"He said he was with Game & Fish, but something was screwy. He was looking through a spotting scope. He started to get mad at me, and put his hand in his pocket. I was about to kick him. In the throat."

"Good Lord! What if he'd shot you?"

"I'm pretty quick. But Sister— I learned martial arts at Catholic school— drilled into me that when you hurt someone, it hurts you. A throat kick can be fatal— crushes the larynx. So I hesitated, just for a second or two. Then he pulled his hand out— no gun. What he was doing was setting off the bomb— by remote control. I heard it, but didn't know what it was. At first."

"How could you? Know, I mean. I'd never suspect a guy with a spotting scope of planting a bomb. I might think he was scoping out summer homes to rob, or that sort of thing. Do they have any leads on him?"

"Not really. He was staying at a motel in town, paying cash. He checked out the day before the bombing. Since then, zip. Vanished off the face of the earth."

"Is that— scary? Would you like to work at the desk here? Or in the Fire Center?"

Mary bit her lip and thought. "Is Elf Creek still open?"

"Yeah. Most people don't like it— too far out. Rough road."

"I'd like to go. I think it'll help me get, like, back to normal. But could I get a decent radio?"

"Sure thing. You didn't put the martial arts stuff on your application. Interested in bumping up your Law Enforcement cert? There's a course in June, after Fire School. You can get a Level II, with weapons training. If you feel like carrying a pistol."

"I don't think so. I hate guns."

"Oh— do you have to take your dog up there?"

"Dog? What dog?"