Wearing a grim expression, D’Shea only nodded as they pulled up and parked in front of the police station in downtown Fieldston. Before getting out of the car, D’Shea dialed the ranger’s number again. If it was an accident, I’m not going to report it. Maybe he was taking target practice and missed. As quickly as the thought crossed D’Shea’s mind, she classified it as unlikely. Hitting the end button, she turned to Evie and said, “Dale still isn’t answering. Am I nuts or does it seem weird he’d leave, knowing we were in camp—and leave the gate lock hanging? Please tell me I’m overreacting, hon.”

Evie shook her head and touched D’Shea’s arm. “I’m afraid you and I are on the same wavelength on this. It’s out of character based on the few interactions I had with him last spring. But,” she paused and drew out her thought, “the police may not think so. Let’s not go too far down that path until we talk with them.”

Evie and D’Shea stood impatiently in front of the desk sergeant waiting for him to finish his phone call, which seemed to be taking forever. “How can I help you two girls?” the sergeant finally asked after disconnecting the call.

“I need to report a shooting,” D’Shea said hurriedly, ignoring her flare of irritation at his demeaning language.