The Butterfly Forest

SEVENTY-SIX

I heard the approaching vehicle before I saw it. The SUV was a Ford Explorer owned by the park service, two people in the front seat. The driver slowed and pulled off the side of the road, stopping next to Billie and me. I recognized the driver. He was the same ranger I’d seen at Nicole Davenport’s gravesite, the same man who assisted the sheriff in the hunt for Luke Palmer. Ed Crews took off his dark glasses and asked, “How’s it going?”

“Okay,” I said.

“This is ranger Nancy Thornton,” he said.

“I’m Sean O’Brien. This is Joe Billie.”

Thornton nodded. She was at least a decade younger than Crews. Her narrow face had no make-up, and I could see tiny potholes from teenage acne across her cheeks. She had an open and natural smile. “Pleased to meet you both,” she said.

Crews glanced at the cigar in the Ziploc. “Looks like you’ve found something I’d like to see banned from all our national forests, damn cigars. It’s not the cigars that are so bad, it’s the idiots who come out here with their buddies to drink, shoot and smoke cigars. They, too often, toss ‘em without making sure there’s no hot ash. It’s enough to give Smokey the Bear a coronary.” He grinned. “You hoping that will match the one the deputies pulled out of the grave?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping.”

“Good luck. Let us know if we can help you.” He started to put the truck in gear.

I said, “Maybe you can help us.”

“How’s that?”

“Were you two with the search parties when they were here a few days ago hunting for the marijuana field?”

“I was on vacation,” said Nancy.

Crews nodded. “We had two members of our staff helping the teams the sheriff had out here. I was on one, and our botanist, Paul Ferguson, was on the other.”

“I’ve got a satellite map in my Jeep. Maybe you could show me the areas where the two teams searched.”

“Sure,” Crews said. “You two going to give it a go, too?”

“Maybe you could point out the search areas.” I stepped to my Jeep, waited a beat for him to come out of the truck, and walked over to them. I spread the map on their hood. “Okay, show us where we are now and the distance the teams covered.”

“Happy to,” he said, stepping into the dappled morning sunlight, a light that made the dye in his hair look like black shoe polish. “Okay, the search team Paul was with worked this area from Juniper Springs to Alexander Springs. The team I was with worked the opposite direction, from near the Yearling Trail across to Farles Lake. They used aerial surveillance over the rest of the forest.”

“Did you see any coontie?”

“Coontie?” He grinned. “You know, come to think about it, I don’t recall seeing any. But we were looking for a different plant. Coontie aren’t too easy to spot.”

“Apparently, neither is a marijuana operation.”

“This is a hellava big forest. Lots of places for crooks to hide stuff.”

“Yeah, I keep hearing that.”

“One time we found a car thief ring. They brought the stolen cars into the forest, stripped them and used a U-haul to truck the parts out to sell. We busted them in two-thousand-eight.” He lifted his foot to the running board and tied his shoe. Pine straw was stuck to the sole.

I said, “I remember seeing coontie in the vicinity of the marijuana plants in a photo from Molly’s camera. Didn’t you originally help Molly and Mark locate coontie so they could release the atala butterflies?”

“Absolutely, I gave them some suggestions as to where they might find the plants. They had a four-wheel-drive and could go just about anywhere in here. They were resourceful kids. Said they’d found some and would be coming back.” He paused, lowered his boot back to the ground, and walked around the truck, pine straw stuck to a small piece of duct tape on his heel. “It’s horrible what happened to them. I heard the guy they arrested out here, Luke Palmer, made bond.”

“That’s what I hear.”

He grinned, got back in the Explorer and started the engine. Ranger Nancy Thornton smiled as they pulled onto the dirt road and drove slowly away.

I turned to Joe Billie and pointed to the map. “Do you know this area?”

“Sure. I’ve been there as a young fella.”

“Let’s look in there. It’s a little north of the two huge areas the teams searched. Maybe we’ll find something.”

Billie studied the topography on the map. He pointed toward Alexander Springs and the St. Johns River. “This place, from river to springs, and up to west of Lake George is wet in summer rains. I know what the coontie looks like. It’s similar to a fern. My mother used parts of it to make bread. You won’t find coontie growin’ in the wet places.” He pointed a finger in the vicinity between Juniper and Salt Springs. “C’mon, Sean. Let’s head for the high country. When we find drier ground, there’s a good chance we’ll spot some coontie.”