“What is it?” I stepped closer to the men huddled around the bed of Randy’s truck. Lumpy, Randy’s old, nappy hound, sat panting near the cab. There was something else, too — shiny and black like a dress shoe. Little legs like bits of broken black bamboo jutted out at odd angles. At the front was a smallish head with a set of nasty pincer jaws — not huge like a Hercules Beetle, but wicked enough. Its body was about the size of a large rat.

“This some kind of gag?” I asked.

“Like hell. We found a few of them out at the cutting site. All dead like this one.” Randy leaned in and I could smell a hint of whiskey just under the coffee stench. “A couple of them looked like they were stuck in the mud — like they were climbin’ out.”

“What do you suppose it is?” Manny asked, a hint of fear floating just under his words. His usual ruddy face looked whitewashed and pale.

I bent over the tailgate, a little shocked by the possibility. “A beetle, I guess.”

“Damn big beetle.” Randy stroked his beard.

“You should really show this to Lane, you know Nancy Albricht’s kid. He’s back for the summer, and he’s studying entomology at Oregon State.” I looked at Randy. “This would be like winning the lotto for him.”

“Anto-mol-ogy,” Randy spoke slowly. “What’s that, beetle breeding?”

“Entomology. The study of insects. Bugs. Let’s give him a call.”

“It kind of looks like a common black beetle — family Carabidae. They’re an import from Europe. Not native to the Pacific Northwest, that is.” Lane Albricht, blonde and broad, stood in the center of the small group of men gathered around his father’s workbench, poking and prodding the specimen Randy brought from the forest. “Damn it’s big. Where’d you find this?”