“Good idea.”
I rooted around my go bag and found the spray. We doused each other front and back, like we used to before going on an expedition with Dad. I pointed at my bag. “I have an extra hat. Do you want it?”
Vera wrinkled her nose. “Fine. But my hair will get messed up.”
“I don’t think we’ll run into any Italian male models while out here, so you can risk it.”
We donned our hats. Vera looked sporty. I tucked my hair underneath and probably looked like a teen boy. I didn’t give a crap, though. At least that way there was a chance my neck might sweat less.
I locked the truck and pinned our location on a map on my phone so we’d be able to find our way back. Then I slipped the straps of my backpack over my shoulders—I never went into the woods without a few key items—and we set off.
“This isn’t bad at all,” Vera said as we walked.
It wasn’t. There was a small worn footpath that paralleled the canal. Since the water was about five feet from the path, I wasn’t concerned about gators or other critters. They were easily spotted out here in the open.
I was more concerned about the woods, but felt pretty confident that I had the tools and reptile expertise to handle anything.
We slowed about three hundred yards into our walk. Vera put her hands on her hips and looked toward the woods, to her left. “The house should be right about here.”
Vera took the lead as we filed into the woods. It wasn’t like the cool, damp forests of New England that I’d explored over the past several years.
We stepped into the thicket gingerly and picked our way through. I’d been worried the ground would be wet, muddy even, but thankfully it was solid and dry. That was the only blessing, however.
The air was thick with the pungent yet familiar scent of both Florida flora and decomposing vegetation. Palmetto fronds, armed with their spiky edges, threatened to shred our skin like cheese graters. I became tangled in a vine and flailed to extricate myself.
“Shitfire,” I said.
Shafts of sunlight, playing peek-a-boo through the tangled mess of branches, highlighted the wild chaos surrounding me. I felt moist everywhere, and I hated both the word and the sensation. Birds, hidden among the foliage, chirped and squawked, mocking our journey.
Still, this felt undeniably like home. My mind began to drift to all the times I’d accompanied Dad on hikes like this.
“You getting bitten?” my sister called out.
“Nope,” I replied. “We might want to keep it down. I think I can see a house up ahead.”
Vera stopped and we peered through the foliage. Mosquitoes immediately swarmed us but kept a respectful distance because of the spray. From experience, I knew that wouldn’t last long, and we’d be attacked sooner rather than later.
“Is that his place?” she hissed.
“Let’s get a smidge closer. Can’t make it out from this angle.”
We tiptoed in tandem, inching our way until we arrived at a ginormous boulder. We squatted behind it, but I suspected it wasn’t concealing our presence at all.
“Yup, that’s the one,” I said, slipping my backpack off. I unzipped the top and fished out a water bottle. “Here. Take a swig.”
Vera cracked it open, took a long sip, then handed it back to me. I took a sip and screwed the cap back on, placing it on the ground near the rock.
We draped ourselves over the boulder, gazing intently at the house. No doubt about it, we had hit the bull’s-eye. I recognized the pool, the shed, and the rear of the house.
I extracted a pair of binoculars from my bag and peered through them. “I don’t see Bruce or his son.”
“I swear I saw movement when we drove by. Someone’s here,” Vera insisted.
I handed her the binoculars, and she held them to her eyes.
Unlike my previous visit to Bruce’s, there was an enormous dumpster out back. It was almost as large as the shed.
I mentioned this to Vera, and she nodded. “Maybe he’s tossing out some junk before getting out of town.”