An Altar by the River

by Christine Husom

  And Mandy Zubinski had been pretty cozy and comfortable with Deputies Carlson, Stauder, Brooks, and Edberg. She had spent a fair share of the evening with the four of them, acting like it was her personal duty to keep them entertained.

  Brian Carlson was one of my best friends and had never mentioned an interest in Mandy. That might have been due to the fact she was not one of my best friends. Stauder was married, but that hadn’t stopped him from enjoying the attention of an attractive woman all evening. Brooks was very quiet, and I never had figured him out. Edberg was about the same age as Smoke, and almost as nice looking.

  It was no secret that Mandy was attracted to Smoke. Maybe she preferred older men over younger men.

  None of my business. Any of it.

  Edberg. Was he really making a phone call in my den office, or was he looking something up on my computer? And without permission? No one used another’s personal computer without asking first.

  As I pondered, I cleaned and straightened, despite my earlier decision to wait until morning to finish. By one o’clock all physical traces of the party had been swept from my house. I made my way first through the garage, then the house, turning off lights and locking doors. My car was outside, but there was no hail in the forecast, so I didn’t bother pulling it into the garage. I grabbed a flashlight from my kitchen and crept into the den office as quietly as possible.

  When I opened the door, the light from the living room lamps fell on Smoke’s outstretched body. He was sleeping soundly, his lips letting out quiet puffs of air about every five seconds. Twelve respirations per minute. A normal rate for a resting adult. I smiled at my clinical assessment.

  I went to the computer armoire, turned on the flashlight, settled into my swivel chair, and laid the flashlight next to the computer mouse. I wiggled the mouse, and when the screen lit up, I went into My Documents. I didn’t have many documents stored, so checking through them went quickly. No one had opened any of them on April sixteenth. I logged onto the Internet and looked at the search history, checking if there were any sites I hadn’t been at myself.

  Strange. The sites I had searched were there, but they were out of order. The last site I had checked was my personal e-mail. The site before that was my work e-mail. The searches I had done on satanic cults, satanic ritual abuse, and dissociative identity disorder were all done before I checked the e-mail accounts. It was the last thing I did. Someone else had looked at the sites after I had. Had they checked my e-mail, too?

  I looked at my mailboxes. There were no new messages opened I hadn’t opened myself. But I couldn’t tell if the messages I had read had been opened again. I looked in the recycle bin. Nothing there I hadn’t personally sent. A wave of anger rushed through me. I had opened my house to friends and work associates, and someone had taken the opportunity to snoop through my files.

  Why? Whoever it was had gained knowledge of the research I was doing, privy to information he had no right to have.

  Bob Edberg. Was he the dirty cop, the one who had threatened Alden Armstrong all those years?

  The discovery guaranteed I would not fall asleep easily. I’d talk to Edberg, but not in the middle of the night. And I needed to verify with Smoke that he hadn’t used the computer before he fell asleep. It was remotely possible.

  After a day of cleaning and a night of entertaining, I yearned for a long, quiet rest. I turned off the flashlight and stepped over to my bookcase. There was enough lamplight from the living room to read the titles, and I selected a book I had started many, many times. It always put me to sleep. The only reason I kept it was for the rare night I suffered a bout of insomnia.

  Smoke wasn’t covered and would likely get cold during the night. I went to the den office closet and pulled an afghan my Grandma Brandt had crocheted for me off a shelf. When I sat and read in there, I liked to wrap myself in it and remember how I had felt cuddled in her warm embrace. I stuck my face into the yarn fibers, wishing she was still alive.

  I set the book on the armoire, freeing my hands to cover Smoke. As I bent over him, his eyes flew open. I caught a surprised yelp before it escaped my lips. His arms locked around me, and he pulled me against his body with enough force to take away my breath. My head was trapped between his neck and the back of the couch, and my arms were locked under his.

  “Smoke,” I struggled to say.

  “What?” He eased his grip, so I pulled my face out of its hold and sucked in a breath of air.

  Smoke started breathing heavily. Panting, like he was running.

  “Smoke, are you okay?”

  “Corky?” He stared into my eyes, inches away from his own. “You’re safe?”

  “That depends. You’ve got me in a near-death grip.”

  Smoke released my arms, but when I started to slide away, he gently eased his hands, one on my back and one on my neck, and pulled me against his chest.

  “God, Corky. I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep. I was in the middle of the worst nightmare. I’m not going to tell you about it, but it was nasty and I’m glad you’re safe. More than glad.” He massaged my back for another minute.

  It felt good resting in his arms. “You can tell me. It’s better if you do. It’ll help you get over it faster.”

  “It is not for the faint of heart. I was trying to get there to save you, but my legs were like lead. All I could do was watch.”

  “Watch what?”

  “There were a bunch of men in black-hooded robes standing in a semi-circle around this raised platform. You were lying on it, face up, sleeping, wearing a white flowing gown. Suddenly the guy in the middle of the group lifted up this dagger—like the one Jeffrey Trippen has—and was holding it with his hands over you—”

  “That is a bad nightmare. Did he kill me?”

  “No. You woke me up in time.”

  “Even if he had killed me, I heard somewhere that when you dream someone dies, it’s a sign of good things to come for that person.”

  “You think that’s true?”

  “I have no idea, but in the case of this dream, let’s believe that it is.”

  Smoke’s breathing slowed, and his heart eased its pounding against his chest wall. And mine. “Okay. Confession time. Truth be told, bad dreams sometimes scare me more than bad things in real life. Glad I seldom have a nightmare.”

  “Nightmares are scary. I’ve had a few doozies, that’s for sure.”

  “What time is it, anyway?”

  “After one.”

  “Your house is quiet. Sorry I conked out and missed the rest of the party. I can’t believe I slept through the noise.”

  “Things settled down not long after you came in here, and it’s pretty quiet with the door closed.”

  “It is. I should get home, but I have this gut feeling I should stay here and protect you.”

  “That’s because of your dream. The doors are locked, and I keep my Glock in my bed stand. On the other hand, there’s no need for you to leave. Close your eyes and fall back asleep—a nice, dreamless sleep. When you wake up in the morning, the sun will be shining and you’ll feel much better.”

  “At the risk of embarrassing myself, can I make a request?”

  “What is it?”

  “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

  Smoke surprised me now and then.

  “Let me shut off the lamps in the living room.”

  I went into the next room and turned off the lights, then found my way back to the couch in the dark. Smoke turned onto his left side and scooted his body into the back cushion. I picked up the forgotten afghan and threw it over him, then lifted a corner and climbed underneath it, stretching out next to Smoke, and rested my head on his bicep.

  My left arm dropped on his chest and his right arm fell across my waist. The one other time we were horizontal on a couch together was very different. We had gotten caught up in a passion that surprised us both. Smoke had stopped us before anything happened physically, but it impacted both of us emot
ionally and psychologically.

  “Ever hear of friends with benefits?”

  Smoke shifted. “Now is not a good time to talk about that.”

  “Thought I’d mention it as an option to consider.”

  “I’d marry you before I’d do that to you. Or to me.”

  The M word. Out of Smoke’s mouth.

  I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

  24: The Coven

  Noris phoned Cyril, requesting a meeting. Noris lived near the county park where they sometimes met, and they both agreed to be there at nine a.m. Noris jogged the half mile and waited. A few minutes later, Cyril pulled up in his red Cadillac and parked. Noris walked to the driver’s window, and Cyril rolled it down. Cyril’s dyed, jet black hair was a harsh frame around his face.

  “The report?”

  Noris handed him the printout on Gregory Trippen.

  Cyril nodded. “The other Manthes boy. He looks like Harlan Manthes returned from the dead. He’s in town?”

  “He was staying at the Oak Lea Motel. I saw him there Thursday, but he was gone yesterday. I drove by the motel a few times and checked some other places, restaurants, stores, et cetera, but he’s not around.”

  “Nowhere? If he came here looking for his brother, I find it hard to believe he would leave without finding him first.”

  Noris shook his head. “I don’t know where he is. We’ve got his address, so I can have our contact near Burlington, Vermont check on him.”

  “If he’s in Vermont, he’s out of our hair. We have bigger fish to fry. But if he’s here, we’ll need to keep close tabs on him. And Aleckson hasn’t filed a report on either of the Trippens?”

  “No, and the ATL is still active on Jeffrey, so we know he’s still at large.”

  “We need to find him before they do. You’re the deputy. It would be no problem explaining that you had to shoot a man who came after you with a weapon.”

  Noris was prepared, but if it came to that, he hoped it would happen to another deputy and not him. He didn’t want to draw that kind of attention to himself.

  “Yes, High Priest. And I was successful in planting the devices. We’ll be able to keep better track of Aleckson now. I got things set up on her end before midnight last night. And a little later on my end. I had an errand after the party that took longer than I thought. The equipment is up and running and should be in fine working order.”

  Noris smiled and nodded. “And I left my mark.”

  “Good. Keep me apprised.”

  “Of course, High Priest.”

  Cyril’s smile was more of a sneer.

  25

  I awoke on my den office couch with sunbeams warming my face. I was alone. It took me some seconds to bring the past night’s events to mind. I had fallen asleep in Smoke’s arms. He must have woken early and left.

  “I thought you’d sleep all day.” Smoke appeared in the doorway holding a cup in his hand. The sparkle was back in his eyes.

  I pulled off the afghan and sat up. My hair fell across my face, so I tucked the strands behind my ears. “I hope that’s coffee.”

  Smoke walked over and handed me the cup. “It is.” He sat down on the other end of the couch. “Did you sleep?”

  I took a sip of coffee. It was strong and black, the way I liked it. “Like a rock. You?”

  “Surprisingly well. And you were right. I felt much better after the sun came up.” He waved at the window.

  “I feel a little gross. Something about sleeping in my clothes does that to me.”

  “Yeah, I’m about ready to head home for a shower and a change.”

  “You know last night, when I saw Edberg come out of my den office?”

  “Sure. The reason I’m still here. I did not intend to go into such a deep sleep, however.”

  “I think if anyone had come in and seen you asleep, they would have left so they wouldn’t wake you.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Before you went to sleep the first time, did you use my computer, go online for any reason?”

  “I wouldn’t use anyone’s computer without asking first. Even yours. Why?”

  “Someone—probably Edberg—was snooping around on my computer last night.”

  He frowned. “That dirty bugger. What do you mean by snooping around? How do you know?”

  I told him the computer armoire was opened, the computer was left on, and the Internet sites had been viewed in a different order than I had viewed them.

  “Not very smart of him. Did he go to other sites, look something up, check his e-mail, or just look at your viewing history?”

  “That was it. Unless he deleted what he looked up, but there was nothing oddball in my recycle bin. He didn’t go into my documents at all.”

  “That makes no sense. Anything exciting in the site history? Naked men, naked women—”

  “Very funny. No, it was satanic stuff. Trying to understand more about Jeffrey and Gregory Trippen. And Doctor Fischer’s work.”

  “Someone used your computer without your knowledge and was checking your browsing history? Anybody from Internal Affairs here? Anything you’ve been involved with I should know about?”

  “I spent the night with a Winnebago County detective.”

  He cleared his throat. “So noted.”

  “It’s possible he didn’t know enough about etiquette, not to mention ethics, and wanted to look something up or check his e-mail. Maybe he had a pang of guilt realizing anything on my computer was none of his business. Something could have startled or alerted him, and he forgot to leave it the way he found it. If the computer had been shut down and the armoire closed, I would never have thought about the order of my website history the next time I used the Internet.”

  “I don’t think I would either. Well, let’s dust it for prints so we have evidence to back our claims when we go after Edberg. My kit is in my squad car. I’ll bring it over this afternoon and take care of it.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “What are you doing with your day off?”

  “A long run, a long shower, maybe read for a while. I want to spend some time with Gramps, and my Grandma and Grandpa Aleckson invited me over for dinner.”

  Smoke nodded and stood. “I’ll call you later, in the early afternoon when I figure out my schedule.”

  I got up and followed him to the front entry. “All righty. Later then.” When he was out the door, I headed to the kitchen for more coffee.

  A few seconds later, I heard Smoke’s voice calling from the living room. “Corky, come outside. You’re not going to like this.”

  I jogged out to meet him. “What is it?”

  “It’s your car. Someone keyed it.”

  “No!” I ran outside and stared at the quarter-inch-wide gash that ran most of the length of the driver’s side of my classic GTO. My father’s car. The car that had sat in a shed for twenty years after he died before my mother gave it to me.

  It was old, but almost like new. My father, Carl, had bought it when he was nineteen, a few days before he received his draft notice for the Selective Service of the United States of America. Carl had worked hard to afford the GTO and had driven it fewer than a thousand miles in the short time he had it. I’d added only ten thousand more.

  Carl had died in a Vietnam jungle. His car was a physical connection to the man who’d died before I was born. I imagined how proud he must have been, buying a brand new car complete with a V-8 engine, three speed manual transmission, disappearing windshield wipers, bucket seats, and hidden headlights.

  My mother had the original sales receipt. He had paid $2,800 for it. Carl would be shocked if he knew the amount of money people had offered me over the years for the old classic. A number of collectors called me on a fairly regular basis, wondering if I was ready to sell.

  I ran my fingers over the malicious act of vandalism. The tears in my eyes blurred the damage. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “Ah, Corky, come here.�
� Smoke gathered me into a warm embrace. “I’m so sorry. For your car, of course, but mainly because you never knew Carl. He would have been very proud of you.”

  There was no way to hold back the tears. I rarely cried, but when I did, it counted for something. Sobs started somewhere deep in my stomach and made me gasp for breath.

  “Let’s go inside,” Smoke directed as he guided me to the door. “There are some guys that do great body work. You won’t even be able to tell.”

  “You think they can match the original paint?”

  “I’d like to say yes to make you feel better, but I honestly don’t know. It was in storage all those years. And you keep it waxed and in the garage most of the time, so there should be minimal fading from the sun. All the paint codes are on record. They’re somewhere in the car, inside the door or the under the hood. We’ll look.”

  I nodded. “I shouldn’t feel this bad. It’s a thing, not a person.”

  “It’s okay, Corky. I think I understand.”

  “What bothers me the most is that someone did this on purpose. He—she—must hate my guts.”

  “Or be jealous of you. Your vehicle is worth big bucks. Call it in, get a deputy out to write the report, take pictures for the insurance company. Give him the names of everyone here last night.”

  A sob caught in my throat, and Smoke patted my back.

  He went on, “Chances are, though, it was random. Someone drove by, saw your car sitting under the garage light, and couldn’t resist marring a thing of beauty. Since no one leaving the party noticed it, it could’ve happened during the middle of the night.”

  “This side of the car was in the shadows, so I can see how no one would notice when they left my house.”

  “Yeah, now that I think about it, when I got here last night, I walked next to it on this side, and it was pretty dark.”