Maybe Hattie was right.
Maybe I just needed air.
The trailhead looked deceptively friendly.
There was a small gravel parking lot, a wooden sign with the trail name burned into it in curling letters, and one of those cheerful park service boards with laminated sheets warning you about bears, snakes, and the dangers of underestimating elevation.
“See?” Hattie said, spreading her arms wide. “Isn’t this wonderful? And it’s totally not the opening scene of a murder documentary, much to the tourist board's disappointment.”
“You know it still sounds strange every time you say something like that,” I said. “Especially considering how many murders have actually taken place here.” My gaze darted to the trail head. “And now I’m once again thinking this isn’t a good idea.”
She winked at me befor
