What's in a Name? by Terry Odell

Heck, he’d
probably have Windsor identified before she got as far as Henry’s
store.
    She added her toiletries to the
essentials she kept in her gym bag. Outside, the wind howled. The
lights flickered, went out, came back on. She set her Maglite on
the desk just in case. Even though it was after noon, the storm had
transformed everything to a black and white television show.
    She considered grabbing a carton of
yogurt, but the thought of eating turned her stomach. She picked up
the phone to let Stockbridge know she was on her way. Dead. The
lights flickered again. Definitely time to leave. She added her
revolver to her gym bag, picked up a carton of books and headed for
the Jeep parked beside the house. She froze. All four tires were
slashed. The park’s troublemakers? But why would they come here for
the first time, and in a storm? No, it had to be Windsor’s
handiwork. No wonder he was late this morning. What else had he
done?
    Shit. She’d moved Windsor’s EnviroCon
pickup to a clearing behind the cabin and she’d already disabled
it. Double shit. She went back into her office to retrieve the coil
wire she’d removed. The lights had gone off again and she shone the
flashlight into the desk drawer. While she rummaged through the
jumble of paper clips, rubber bands, markers, and other desk
detritus, she though she heard something—someone?—pounding on the
porch. Windsor? No way. Even if he got loose, he would damn sure
not be knocking. Must be the storm.
    “ There you are,” she
muttered to the elusive coil wire. Stuffing it in her pocket, she
headed for the door, yanked it open and stared at a park ranger,
hunched over in a wet uniform. Doug Peterson? Good. He’d help her
fix the truck and carry her gear. She raised her eyes and felt the
smile melt from her face when she met the eyes of an unfamiliar
ranger. Her heart thumped.
    “ Kelli Carpenter?” the
ranger asked, shouting above the wind.
    She nodded, unable to find her
voice.
    “ Ranger Ned Decker,
ma’am. Doug Peterson sent me. Are you all right?”
    At that moment the lights came back on.
Taking it as a sign she needed to relax, her nerves quieted a
little. She’d met most of the rangers, and even the ones in law
enforcement were protecting the parklands, not digging through old
Mexican police files. Enough paranoia. These were the good guys.
She put Decker in his early forties, curly brown hair that teased
his collar, a thick brush of a mustache and permanent crinkles
etched around his eyes.
    “ I’m fine, but did you
see my Jeep? Have you had any trouble in the park?”
    “ I noticed, ma’am, and
we had some bikers lately who got a bit unruly. Maybe they came
this way.” He crossed his arms across his chest. A gust of wind
spattered rain into the house.
    “ Come in,” she said.
“You’re soaked.”
    “ Thanks.” Decker
removed his hat, brushed water from his parka and stepped inside.
“Yeah, someone had a flat.” He gestured to his wet, stained
trousers. “Playing Triple A is going to cost me in cleaning
bills.”
    “ Were their tires
slashed too?”
    “ Nope. Normal,
everyday run-of-the-mill flat. But I’ll be sure to let headquarters
know about your … situation.” He pulled a pack of Doublemint gum
from his pocket and extended it toward her.
    She shook her head in refusal and tried
to focus. Should she tell Decker about Windsor? Caught between
wanting to get Decker to cart him away and wanting to pretend he
never existed, she decided in favor of the latter. No need to
mention Windsor. Jack knew he wasn’t a handyman. That was
enough.
    “ Where’s Peterson?”
she asked.
    “ Looking for some
missing hikers on the north trail.”
    That sounded like something Doug
Peterson would do. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Have you
been assigned here long?”
    “ Seems like it, but
it’s only been a week. Things have been busy. And I don’t think
I’ve adjusted to this stuff you call air, if you get my drift.
Where’s