“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Not really enjoying myself, just making the best of it. It’s not that much fun, no matter how nice this room is.”
“I know. Are you at least gettin’ somewhere?”
“Yes and no. I’ve had a few leads. A nice visit with an old man in the senior’s residence that went on much too long. I couldn’t get him to quit talking. I guess he’s lonely. But everything seems to come back to these two guys, father and son, both named Hank, who were serial killers. You remember hearing about them a few years ago?”
“Oh, yeah. I guess I do. Didn’t remember the names, though.”
“Well, I Googled it. The news reports and so on always call them Henry. No one around here called them that, apparently. Here they were known as Hank Senior and Junior. Just Junior. I might have found out online if I’d thought about searching for Henry and not Hank, or serial killers for that matter. What I was going to tell you before I got sidetracked is, the owner of Dot’s put me in touch with someone who knew them.”
“As if anyone would Google serial killers when they were trying to find relatives. You’re not in danger, are you? I mean, those guys aren’t still around?”
“No, they’d be in jail if they hadn’t died in a fire.”
“Oh, I guess I heard about that, too. How will you find out more about them then? Won’t you have to ask their, er, relatives? That’s not who you’re meeting with, is it?”
“Not sure who she is or if she’s a relative. Something about working as a live-in caregiver or housekeeper. Her name’s Astrid, and she got an inheritance from the estate.”
“She’s probably related, then. But if they’re dead, why don’t you come home?”
“I did look at the airline schedules, but there’s only two flights heading east out of here every week. I’d have to leave this afternoon and I’m not ready to give up. I want to talk to this Astrid, for starters. I’m fine with waiting until Saturday. If I left without finding out more, I’d always be wondering if I was related to them. I really hope it turns out I’m not.”
“Well, be careful.”
“I don’t think there’s a serial killer gene, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. It was a father and son murder team after all.”
“Nurture, not nature.”
“I hope you’re right, otherwise I need to be worried. You could have the double killer gene, one from each parent.”
“Not funny.”
“Sorry. But be careful. And keep me posted.”
“I’m being very careful. Love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
She stashes her phone in her purse, digs out a Kleenex, wipes her eyes and blows her nose. Dodi. Poor sweet old horse. She’ll be missed. Fancy’s getting on, too. She’ll be lonesome without her pasture mate. They’ve been looking for younger riding horses for a while, so this will speed up the search.
She gets up and goes into the gift shop. The medley of vanilla, cinnamon and lavender scents from the potpourri and fancy soaps in little organza bags is pleasant but she barely notices. She buys a pack of Dentyne, the reason she came into the lobby in the first place, and manages a smile for the cashier.
As she comes back out, she notices Kiersten is on duty behind the reception desk, holding up her favourite coffee mug with “I HAVE ONE NERVE LEFT AND YOU’RE ON IT!” in bold black and red letters, beckoning. She goes and says hello.
“Hey, Kathy,” Kiersten says. “My break’s coming up. Wanna grab a coffee?”
“Sorry, can’t today. But thanks.”
“Everything okay?”
“Well, no. I was on the phone with my husband just now. One of our horses had to be put down last night.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry.”
“She was old. She had a good long life.” Kathy’s throat constricts and she tears up again.
“Still, it’s always hard.”
“Yeah. I’ll miss her.” Kathy’s voice breaks; she takes a Kleenex from the box on the counter and wipes her eyes again. “But on a happy note, I met someone who knows who I’m looking for.”
“Oh, great! So you’re off to meet him?” Kiersten asks.
“No, not him, a her. I was at Dot’s Diner last night. The owner knows someone who worked for the man who’s likely the one I’m looking for. It’s my first solid lead! I’m really hoping she can tell me something. I’m meeting her at ten. Wish me luck!”
“Good luck!” The phone in front of her buzzes; Kiersten smiles and gives Kathy a nod, then answers it.
♦ ♦ ♦
KIERSTEN IS TAKING her break under an umbrella next to the pool. The kids haven’t come out yet, so she has the whole pool surround to herself. It’s pleasant. She lifts her mug for a sip when her attention is drawn to movement on the patio outside 110. That’s odd, she thinks, Kathy’s back already?
She gets up and taking her coffee with her, leaves the pool enclosure. She heads down the sidewalk and through the open gate to Room 110’s private patio area. The patio door is open, too, so she taps on the glass, then steps into the room and says, “Hey, Kathy! It’s me! Back so soon?”
But instead of Kathy, a muscular young man with a shaved head and full sleeve tattoos comes out of the bedroom with a suitcase. With surprising speed, he drops it and lunges at Kiersten. She takes a quick step backward and bangs up against the doorframe. She drops the mug and it smashes on the concrete outside the door. Before she can turn and run, the man grabs her and pulls to him. He swings her around and slams her down on the floor before sliding the patio door shut.
“Stay down!” he hisses, and pulls the cords to close the drapes.
She yells, “Help!”
He drops to the floor on top of her, clamping his hand over her mouth. She bites down.
“Arghh!” he squawks as he jerks his hand away and slaps her, hard enough that she sees stars. “That was a slap! If you don’t shut up, it’ll be a punch next time. Okay?”
“Okay! Okay,” she sobs.
“Okay. I’ll let you up, but don’t try nuthin’.” He gets to his feet and stands over her as she sits up. Her eyes widen as he pulls a long knife out from under his pantleg.
“I won’t tell anyone!” she shrieks. “I won’t! I won’t!”
“No, you fuckin’ won’t!” He scans the room and in two strides is at the patio door; he pushes the drapes away to expose the pull cords, and cuts them off. Bending over her, he jerks her hands behind her and wraps the cord around her wrists.
“I won’t tell,” Kiersten sobs. “Just let me go.”
“Shut up!”
“I told you, I won’t tell anyone! Believe me!”
“I said, shut the fuck up!” He pulls her to her feet and shoves her down on a chair. She lands awkwardly, wrenching her elbow.
He stands staring sightlessly at the wall above the TV, fists opening and closing. Finally, he pulls out his phone and after a moment, says into it, “Ahhh, a contingency happened. Got it solved though ‘n’ I’m headin’ out.”
He turns back to Kiersten and says, “Okay, lady, me ‘n’ you are goin’ on a road trip.”
He disappears into the bedroom area and comes back with pillows. He pulls the cases off and slices into one with his knife, then rips it apart and uses a strip for a gag. The case from the second pillow goes over her head. He pulls her to her feet and drags her to the patio door, parts the drapes and slides the door open. After a brief pause, he propels her out. She stumbles along and if not for him holding her arm, would fall. Bushes scratch at her legs as he pushes her along the rough terrain. Then she’s shoved up against a car; the trunk lid opens, she’s pushed inside, and the lid slams shut.
She struggles. Tries to scream but can only make muffled noises with no volume. Kicks and thrashes, but to no avail. In moments, she hears a door open and a soft thump as if something was thrown onto the back seat. The door slams shut, then another door opens and closes, the v
ehicle rocks as if he’s settling into the driver’s seat. Something beneath her rattles as the engine coughs to life; the vehicle lurches forward, changes direction, then stops briefly before turning left and speeding away.
♦♦♦
KATHY STEERS THE Sorrento into the access to Dot’s, slowing as she drives into the front parking area. It looks to be full. She may have to park at the back.
There are two men outside the entrance doors as if they have just come out. One carries a briefcase and has a shaved head; he’s wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt and his arms are covered in tattoos. Just as she gets there, he trots down the steps and away. The other man looks right at her; he lifts his hand in a kind of wave, and smiles. Do I know him? she wonders. No, of course not, but he must think he knows me.
Ten A.M. is a busy time at Dot’s, coffee time for lots of people apparently, but there’s an empty parking spot at the end of the row just at the far corner of the building. As she goes to pull in, the bald guy steps down off the curb. His briefcase flops open and dumps its contents. He hunches down and begins scooping the papers off the asphalt, not so much as looking up as he sorts them into neat bunches before putting them away.
Great move, asshole, she thinks. He’s making such a production of gathering the papers it’s obvious he’s going to be at his task for a while, so she continues around to the back lot.
She pulls into a spot behind the diner and has the door partly open when she sees the man who waved coming around the corner, striding purposefully toward her. When he breaks into a trot, she experiences a jolt of panic and pulls the door shut. He comes up to her window. She powers the window partway down.
“Good morning,” he says with a wide smile.
“Good morning. Can I help you?”
“I don’t think so, but I can help you.”
“Oh?”
“I understand you’re looking for Hank.”
“Yes. How…”
“Annie mentioned it to me,” he says, and gives her another brilliant smile. “I recognized you from her description.” As he talks, he turns the cuffs of his dress shirt back, exposing tanned forearms lightly covered with blonde hair. “She didn’t tell me you were so pretty.”
He puts his hand up, curling his fingers over the top of her window. It’s a common enough gesture, maybe just casual, but she’s struck with the thought it’s as if he wants to stop her from closing it. Or maybe it’s just that he wants to make sure she notices his watch. It’s a big one. The kind of watch people insure for thousands of dollars.
“Oh, umm, well thank you. So, you’re Hank?”
“No, my name’s Clint, but Hank’s a friend of mine. Annie said she didn’t remember my buddy until after you left yesterday. She knew you were coming back this morning but she’s not working today so she wouldn’t have a chance to tell you herself. I told him about you and he said he’d meet you if you came to his office. Now that I see you, I doubt it’s the right guy, though. He’s almost seventy. Much too old for you.” He winks, drops his hands to his pockets and takes half a step back, as if inviting her to get out of the vehicle.
“It’s not like that,” Kathy tells him. This is promising: another Hank who is still alive, about the right age, and not a serial killer! Clint is a good looking man despite his longish hair and bushy eyebrows, she thinks. Nicely dressed. Pleasant voice.
But something in his body language sends up red flags. Despite his smile, he’s tense, like her dog Chewie when he’s waiting for the person with the ball to throw it. Why? Is it just that she’s still spooked after last night?
She scans the lot and sees no people, only parked cars, a few semi trailers, and the windowless wall that’s the back of the restaurant. She shrinks away from the door. Not everyone wants to kill you Kathy, she tells herself; still, when he reaches for the handle as if to open the door for her, she presses the lock button.
At the click of the door lock, a flicker of annoyance crosses his face. Did she really see that? She draws a deep breath, and asks, “Do you think he would he meet me here?”
“That would be asking a lot, don’t you think?” Some emotion plays across his face. Anger? He covers it so quickly she thinks she might have imagined it and reminds herself that what she’s feeling is the irrational fear her therapist says is a common result of post traumatic stress syndrome.
“I guess you’re right. It wouldn’t have to be today. If he’s coming to town in the next day or two, I could meet him then. Or, if you give me his phone number—”
“Look,” he cuts her off, “he doesn’t want everyone and their dog phoning him. There’s no point bothering him, trying to talk him into coming into town to meet you. He said he’d see you if you went to his office. I’m surprised he even agreed to that.” Then he smiles the frown off his face and says, “as luck would have it, I’m meeting with him this morning. You can ride with me.” He beckons to a low-slung black sports car.
“Umm, er, no, then I’d have to wait until your meeting was over and I’m meeting someone right now so I can’t now and so I’d rather you gave me the address so I can go myself.” She realizes she’s babbling, and takes a breath. With those eyebrows sticking out over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses, if he only had a big nose and a moustache, he’d be a Groucho Marx look-alike. Well, if his eyebrows, moustache and glasses were black, anyway.
“I could use a coffee so I don’t mind waiting until you’re done with your friend. No use both of us driving all the way out there! I’d love to have company on the drive, especially the company of a pretty little thing like you. It would give us a chance to get to know each other. Besides, then you can tell all your friends you had a ride in a nice new Porsche 911R.”
“Um, I don’t really know anything about cars.” She studies the car he pointed to, parked across the back lot a good distance from any other vehicles. “It’s beautiful. Why’d you park it so far away?”
“It’s a habit. I never park beside other cars. You’ve seen some of the beaters parked out front. Don’t want some fat asshat hitting a four hundred thousand dollar work of art with the door of their five hundred dollar piece of shit.”
It makes sense. Four hundred thousand! He must be well fixed to have a car like that. And he looks harmless. Maybe she should take him up on his offer to wait until she finishes up with the Danielsons.
“Come on. There aren’t many Porsches around, you know. Beautiful woman like you should never be seen in anything less.” His bushy eyebrows rise in the center in an expression of sincerity.
She reminds herself of the nice houses and expensive cars the guys at the head of The Children of Noah in Pillerton had. Those guys looked harmless too.
Besides, pretty, and now beautiful? Beware of flatterers! He’s coming on strong, and she’s learned from experience she needs to listen to her gut. “I can’t, Clint. I’m more of a farm truck person anyway. So if you could give me the address?”
He shrugs and says, “suit yourself. I don’t know the address, like the house number. I just know how to get there. There’s no sign at the driveway, just a big carved bear at the gate, which you can’t see from the road. It’s a bit of a trip, way up Bear Mountain Haul Road.”
“He has an office without a sign?
“His office is in his home. That’s where he is most of the time.”
“Wait a minute,” Kathy says. She digs through her purse for something to write on “What’s the name of that road again?”
“Bear Mountain Haul Road. It’s an old logging road. A little tricky to find. Take the Hundred and Twenty Mile Road turnoff from the highway… You know what? Like I said, I can get a coffee while you meet with your friend, and then I have to go back there anyway. Why not follow me? Then you can leave as soon as you’ve talked to him.”
Kathy shrugs. “Um, sure. That would be great, except I don’t know how long I’m going to be, and I have other things to do after.”
“If you’re thinking to go out there unannounced, forget
it. He’s particular about who he opens the gate for. I have the code.”
“Oh, okay. If I can just talk to him, I might not have to go at all. If you give me his number, I’ll call. Might not take more than five minutes of his time and maybe that’ll do it.” Knowing she won’t go to some remote location to meet the man, she lifts her phone and touches the screen, ready to enter a new contact.
Clint frowns as if deep in thought, pushes his glasses up and looks away, his eyes narrowing further. He gives his head a brief shake. Kathy thinks he’s not going to give her the phone number, but then he looks back at her and smiles. “It’ll piss him off if I give you his number, but you know what? For you, I’ll do it. The number, umm … Jeez, just a minute. I have it in my phone. You know what that’s like, right? Phone takes care of everything. I never learn a phone number anymore.” He pats his shirt pocket, then both pants pockets. “Damn! Left it in the car. Walk over with me.”
“Um, you know, I’ll just go inside, and you can give it to me when you come in for that coffee.”
He glances at his watch, then frowns and says, “Jeez, I see I’m running late. I’ll have to forget about coffee. Come to my car and I’ll give you the number.”
“If you could just text it to me, that would be great,” Kathy says, and rattles off her number. She powers up the window to cut off further conversation and backs out of the parking space, leaving Clint watching with an unreadable expression.
What made her do that? What was it was about him that made her reluctant to get out of the SUV? He looks so ordinary, so pleasant, and imagining him as Groucho Marx should have made him seem unthreatening, but instead something triggered her flight response. She must still be spooked from yesterday. The feeling of being watched and then the patio door unlocked. And all the talk of serial killers. Whatever it was, she breathes a sigh of relief at being away from him.
The Bear Mountain Secret Page 10
