by Trevor Scott
Wow. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I don’t see it,” he finally said. “And it’s too late to look into it. My dad died twenty-four years ago. My mom twenty-two.”
“Haven’t forensics changed since then?” she asked.
“Of course. But look at my mom. She was driving back from work after a night shift at a casino. They say she fell asleep at the wheel. Her car was destroyed, and by now it has been recycled. If someone ran her off the road, there would be no way to discover that after all these years. And my father died when a work vehicle rolled over him. Even if I could talk with people from the mine, I’m not sure I could learn anything new. Sometimes it’s best to let things go, Christina.”
“But what if there was a chance?” she asked, squeezing down on his hand.
“I would want someone to pay,” he said.
“Did my mother give you the thumb drive?”
“Yes. What’s on it?”
She shook her head. “She wouldn’t tell me. It wasn’t until I mentioned that you were a former federal agent that she decided to give it to you.”
“I’ll look it over,” he agreed.
“Thanks. Now, what about tonight? My brother Bobby works for this really cool estate about twenty-five miles north of here. He really wants to meet you and Robin.”
“I’m game,” he said. “We came here specifically to meet any and all relatives. Truthfully, we weren’t even sure that this was all real.”
“We’re real,” she said, and then gave him a big hug. She pulled away and said, “I wish we had known each other when we grew up. I feel like we’ve missed so much.”
He was feeling the same way. Part of him was pissed off at his parents for keeping the family away from him. He needed to get Robin alone to see how she felt. As if his sister knew what he was thinking, he got a text from her, asking where he was and what the plan was for the day.
“Your sister?” Christina asked.
“Yeah.”
“You seem to have a deep connection.”
“I’ve heard that’s common with twins.”
She smiled and almost said something.
“What?” he asked.
“Why don’t I meet men like you around here?”
“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places.”
She shrugged. “You might be right. It’s hard to like a man in Birkenstocks with a man bun.”
“You could come out west for a visit,” he said. “I’ll introduce you to some guys in cowboy boots.”
“That might be too much for me to handle.”
He laughed. “There’s a country western song that talks about saving a horse and riding a cowboy.”
She slapped his arm, almost identical to how his sister smacked him. “You’re as bad as my Papa.”
“I guess we’re related.”
“You sure are.”
They walked quietly back to her father’s house. It wasn’t until the return trip that he realized the old farmstead sat on a hill.
Robin was waiting for them on the front porch. “Did you have a nice walk?”
“She was showing me Pasquale’s property,” Max said. “Her old stomping grounds.”
Christina went inside.
Robin said, “I need something in the truck.”
He pulled out his keys and started to hand them to her, but she grasped his arm and led him to the truck.
“It’s in the back,” she said.
He found the key to the topper over his bed, and he opened the back end. Then he lowered the gate. “I thought you had everything in your bag,” he said.
She moved close and whispered, “I do. Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here. But something isn’t right.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“I saw Aunt Jackie give you something. Then the walk with our cousin.”
“It’s nothing,” he assured her.
“I overheard Uncle Pasquale talking to someone on the phone last night. It didn’t sound like nothing. He was arguing with someone. About us.”
“Did he use the land line or his cell phone?”
“I think the land line.”
“I’ll check into it,” he said. “Did anyone talk to you about tonight?”
“No.”
“They want us to go north to an estate where cousin Bobby works. They say it’s a really nice place where the family can get together. I said we’d consider it.”
“It might be a good idea to meet everyone,” she concluded.
“Let’s do it,” he said.
Robin went back toward the house and Max glanced at the safe he had bolted to the bed. Inside that gun safe were his long rifles and a couple more handguns. He also carried his passport and some cash in there. Just in case.
8
Max and Robin got the address for the place they were going near Manchester, Vermont. Before leaving town, they loaded up a cooler with beer in the bed of his truck.
Now, cruising up the highway and following the GPS lady’s voice, Max glanced at the lush Green Mountains to the east. By western standards, these mountains were more like foothills. Yet there was a great deal of beauty in them, and he guessed they would be spectacular with the changing colors of the leaves in the Fall.
“It looks like a squall might be coming in from the Adirondack Mountains to the west,” he said, gazing out the side window.
Dark clouds swirled high above the hills, but rain had not started to fall yet, giving them plenty of visibility to enjoy the Green Mountains.
Robin was on her phone again. She said, “The weather app says just light rain tonight, but the winds are expected to be heavy.”
He was used to wind out west, where only the terrain of the mountain ranges protected them somewhat. But Max guessed those mountains acted more like the wings on a plane, curling the winds over the sharp edges and speeding it up. Although they didn’t normally have tornadoes in Nevada, their winds could easily reach gusts of a hundred miles an hour.
“Will you talk to me, Max?” she asked.
“About?”
“This new-found family of ours. What are you thinking?”
“Do you want a breakdown of each person we’ve met so far?”
“I don’t know. I only concern myself with blood relatives, like Uncle Pasquale and cousin Christina. Jackie is not blood.”
True. Max knew that many families didn’t make this distinction, but in their case, it might be appropriate, since they didn’t grow up knowing all of them. There was no emotional attachment to the non-relatives. With blood relations, though, Max was seeing his own father in Pasquale. In the case of Christina, he couldn’t help but see her similarities to Robin.
“I like Pasquale,” Max said.
“Of course, you do. He’s you in about twenty years.”
“What about Christina?”
“I like her. She’s very open and a warm soul.”
He had to agree. “She reminds me of you.”
“We look nothing alike.”
“You don’t see it?” he asked. “You both have almost black hair. She’s at least five eight.”
“I’m five nine.”
“On a good day.” He smiled at her.
“For a woman, that’s pretty tall,” she surmised.
“Understand. But I was thinking more of voice inflection, facial expressions, and non-verbal cues,” he said. “You don’t see the similarities?”
“Maybe. Now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ll keep an eye out for these cues you talk about.”
“As an investigator, my job was to read people. Many can hide what they say, but they can’t hide how they react non-verbally.”
“Good point. I guess I should defer to you on these matters.”
Max’s phone buzzed and he saw that a text had come in. His phone was in a holder on his dash, plugged into a socket to recharge. He tapped the screen and read the text. Crap.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
&nbs
p; “The girl I was hired to find by the father in Portland,” he said. “I gave her my number and she thinks someone is following her.”
“You found her in Reno, right?”
“Yep. Working as a cocktail waitress at a downtown casino.”
“What does she expect you to do? You drive. I’ll answer her.”
Robin pulled his phone from the holder and said, “What should I say?”
“Tell her I’m out east and can’t help her,” he said. “She should consider talking with the Reno police.”
Another text came in almost immediately after Robin sent the text.
“What now?” he asked.
Before she could answer, the GPS lady told Max that he needed to turn left in a half a mile.
“I got it,” she said. “I thought you said you paid the father back.”
“I did. I kept only expenses. I gave him a bogus place of employment in the Bay Area, saying she didn’t want to return to Portland.”
He turned left onto a smaller road, which looked like it would bring them into a river valley.
“She said her father was really pissed. He must have checked on that address you gave him.”
“I didn’t tell you what the father had planned for her. He’s Iranian and had arranged her marriage to a forty-five-year-old man. But before the marriage, he was forcing his daughter to undergo female genital mutilation.”
“What? That’s barbaric. I thought that practice was given up years ago.”
“Hard to say. I understand it’s mostly prevalent in African countries. But this Iranian has been living in America for decades. I guess Muslims don’t want their women to enjoy sex.”
“I’m proud of you for not turning her over to her father,” Robin said.
“The guy seemed shady,” Max said. “He wanted me to drag her back to Portland, but I told him that would be considered kidnapping in America. Especially going across state lines. The daughter is twenty. She can make up her own mind.”
Robin put his phone back just as the GPS lady said to turn right ahead.
They cruised north again along a gentle river to their right.
“Who will be here by now?” Max asked.
“I don’t know. We might be the first. Christina said she needed to go by her coffee shop to check on some things.”
“Is that it ahead?” he asked.
“It looks like the picture.”
Sitting high on a hill above the river valley was a brick and stone structure that could have been a small European castle. A stone wall angled along the perimeter with a steep drop-off to the river below. GPS said to take a sharp right turn ahead.
When Max got to the turn, he saw that it was nearly a switch-back. The road narrowed to one lane as they rose up the hill, with large trees to their left and the stone wall to their right. Another stone wall ran along the hillside to the left as they got closer to the estate. Soon, the structure came into focus to their left as the road angled in a circle around to the back. Only a couple of vehicles sat in a large parking area under tall maples.
He parked his truck facing out and got out to stretch. He grabbed his phone, which was fully charged now. “Maybe I should call that young lady and give her some guidance.”
“Wait until we get to our room,” Robin said. “Should we get separate rooms?”
“Maybe they have a room with two queen beds. From the looks of it, not many people are staying here tonight.”
“Other than our new family.”
He closed his door and went to the back, pulling out their small bags.
“I’ll leave the beer in the truck for now,” he said.
“And my diet coke.”
“You want one?”
“Let’s see what they have inside.”
They wandered toward the back of the building, which was the main entrance. Max guessed the original owner probably used this walkway for their carriages to drop them off under the canopy. No need to get the landlords wet, he thought. Before going inside, Max turned and glanced at a number of large outbuildings. The largest one looked like a working barn. Another might have been quarters for the help. Perhaps his cousin Bobby lived there. The one thing he didn’t see was working garages. That must have been a bitch in the winter.
They went through two sets of doors together and climbed a number of stone steps. The place seemed to be a little out of prime condition, but was still very fine quality, with dark wood everywhere. The foyer was a tan plaster accented by dark wood trim and ceiling beams, that appeared structural. In one corner sat a floor to ceiling wooden grandfather clock, which struck three times now. This place was old, Max thought.
A younger lady dressed in what appeared to be an 18th Century dress, stood up from her desk in the foyer and said, “Welcome to the Winthrop Inn. You must be Bobby’s cousins.”
“It’s that obvious?” Max asked.
“You look a little like him,” she said. “My name is Martha Grant. I’m the manager. Bobby had to run a few errands. He should be back in a couple of hours. I have two rooms ready for you.”
“We could stay in one if you have two beds,” Robin said.
“This is the off season,” Martha said. “In the fall you can’t book a room here. Winter is also busy. Bobby said you would need two rooms. We have a very good rate for you.”
“How many guests do you have?” Max asked.
“Other than your family, just one other older couple had reservations,” the manager said. “But they called an hour ago to cancel. So, it’s just your family now.”
“It’s a cool place,” Robin said.
“Breakfast will be in the Four Seasons room behind you,” she said.
Max turned to view the other rooms. The room immediately attached to theirs looked like a library. Beyond that was an enclosed room that must have been added later. From there was a splendid view of the Green Mountains and a small river that wound through the valley below. He turned to his right and saw what had to be the main living room.
“This is a really nice place,” Max said.
“Thank you,” Martha said. “My great grandfather built this for his young bride in Eighteen Eighty-Two.”
“How big is the property?” Max asked.
“Only about eighty acres now,” she said. “It used to be a square mile back in the day. But the family eventually sold off pieces over the years. You might have noticed a few other buildings. Groups can rent those out as well. But Bobby wanted your family to have the full Winthrop experience. So, you have the main estate.”
“Is this place haunted?” Robin asked.
Martha cleared her throat. “That depends on if you believe in ghosts. Some have said they see strange things here. A few times a year we have a dinner murder mystery. Something you might be interested in. We also host a number of weddings here each year.”
“My sister was kidding,” Max said. “We did not arrive in the Scooby Doo Mystery Machine van.”
“Shucks,” Martha said. “That would be so cool. If you’d like to have a seat in the parlor while I check you in, I just made fresh coffee and put out cookies.”
Max handed the young woman his driver’s license and a credit card. Then the two of them wandered into the parlor, a room as wide as the estate, with vintage furniture set in little groups, so guests could remain intimate if they chose. The room was dominated by three things—a massive stone fireplace, a baby grand piano on the far side of the room, and large windows that gave them splendid views of the surrounding countryside on three sides.
“This is a really cool place,” Robin said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “You want one?”
“Sure. I could always use some caffeine.”
She handed her brother the first cup she had poured and then drew another one for herself. Then they separated and wandered about the room.
Max didn’t know much about art, but the paintings on the walls were very classy and appeared to be signed originals. He did recognize one artist, and
that painting alone would be worth at least ten thousand dollars.
Robin nudged up to Max and whispered, “This artwork is expensive. That’s a Jackson Pollack.”
Max shrugged. “It looks like a pissed off monkey splashed paint all over the place. But I like it.”
The young woman came into the parlor and said, “I have your rooms ready for you.” She handed back Max’s ID and visa, along with two keys. “You can decide who gets which room. They both have a gorgeous view of the valley and the Green Mountains.”
Robin grasped the keys from Martha and headed back to pick up her bag.
“Second floor,” Martha said.
They carried their bags up the center staircase and got to the second floor. There were a number of rooms on each side of the hallway. Each room had its door wide open, held in place by various ceramic animals. Instead of going right to their two rooms, Robin decided to go for a little tour of all rooms. Max shook his head and followed his sister.
The four largest rooms on the second floor were on the corners. All rooms had four-poster spindle-wood bed frames, with frilly bedspreads and pillow covers. The theme seemed to be floral in nature. The floors were hardwood and squeaky.
After viewing each room briefly, Max found their two rooms. Martha had put them in identical rooms with a south-facing view of the mountains and valley. They both had their own bathroom and the only difference was in the furniture.
“You choose,” Robin said.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said.
She glanced around and said, “You can have the elephant room, and I’ll take the fox room.”
Max checked the keys and handed the key with the fox on it to his sister.
They agreed to meet in a couple of hours, and Robin took off to her own room.
He closed and locked his door. Then he took off his hiking boots and lay back onto the bed, jabbing his gun into his side. He unclipped his Glock and set it on the table next to his bed.
He intended to rest his eyes, but instead fell right to sleep.
9
