Indelible

by Laurie Buchanan

  “Mick?” she answers, her voice filled with hope. “Well crap!” she says, shaking her head to let Niall, Fran, and Cynthia know that they hadn’t found Emma yet. “Which one?” she asks. “Okay. Thank you for letting us know. Please be careful.” Then she disconnects the call.

  “There isn’t any sign of Emma or Jason at Blanchard Hill, so they’re heading to the Big Four Ice Caves in Snohomish, the next set of caves on the list. They’re about an hour and fifteen minutes from here, but Joe’s taking I-5 with cherry lights and sirens to shave off time.”

  “Hey, big fella,” Niall says to Hemingway when he comes over and nudges his leg. “You’ve had your dinner, so you must need to go out. Hold on just a minute while I grab my jacket and torch. You might be able to see in the dark, but I can’t.”

  “Torch?” Fran looks at Niall inquiringly.

  “That’s right,” Niall says with a smile. “Outside of North America, flashlights are commonly known as torches.”

  “They say you learn something new every day. That’s my ‘something new’ for today,” Fran says with a laugh.

  The women can hear “the boys” getting ready for Hemingway’s evening routine. “We’ll be back shortly,” Niall calls over his shoulder before pulling the mudroom door shut behind him.

  “You hit the jackpot with that one,” Fran says to Libby.

  “Yes, but Niall hit the jackpot with Libby too,” Cynthia says, pointing to Libby.

  Laughing, Libby says, “We are fortunate to have each other, foibles and all.”

  Niall takes a deep breath and looks up. The moon is a well-manicured crescent between the clouds in the sky, and the night is wafting a salt-laden breeze from the bay. Every now and again a flurry of wind dispenses a sprinkling of rain that never amounts to anything more than that.

  Hemingway tries to poke his head in a bush to get a better sniff, but the Elizabethan collar makes it difficult. Niall smiles as an orchestra of startled crickets becomes instantly silent. “Hey buddy, you know you wouldn’t have to wear that thing if you’d stop licking the salve on your wounds.”

  Their continued meandering brings them close to Austen cottage. And though he can’t see them, Niall knows from Hemingway’s stance that his ears are perked. Tipping his head back for a better sniff, Hemingway catches a scent on the air. He looks at Niall, at least six feet away. Never slow on the uptake, he sees his chance and takes it.

  “Come back here!” Niall shouts, bolting after Hemingway.

  Hemingway keeps his nose as close to the ground as he can, but the blasted cone doesn’t help. He picks up his best friend Mick’s scent, and Emma’s too. Then he discovers two more. One is from the man he doesn’t like. The other is a human scent, but from a person he’s not familiar with. He keeps going.

  Niall finds Hemingway standing statue still, head to the ground. “There you are, you stinker. What’s gotten into you?” he asks.

  Hemingway doesn’t move. When Niall approaches, Hemingway still doesn’t move, nor does he look up.

  What the heck is he so intent on? Niall wonders.

  Aiming his torch on the ground in front of Hemingway, the beam picks up an object. Bending over to get a closer look, he says, “Well I’ll be damned.” It’s the matching pearl earring to the one Mick had dropped from his pocket onto the kitchen table earlier in the day.

  “Good boy, Hemingway. You’re such a good boy!” When Hemingway sees Niall pick up a stick, he thinks they’re going to play, a reward for finding the prize.

  “Not just yet, mister. I’m going to use it as a stake to mark this spot in case we need to find it again.” After that, Niall scoops up Emma’s earring with a leaf just like Mick had done and slips it into his pocket. “Race ya home,” he says to Hemingway and takes off at a dead run.

  When the mudroom door flies open with a bang, it startles all three women.

  Libby jumps. Her hand flies to her chest where her heart races. “What on earth?”

  Niall bends over, both hands on top of his thighs, trying to catch his breath. He raises his head slightly. “Someone, please give Hemingway a biscuit. You’re not going to believe what he found.”

  Happy to assist, Fran gets a biscuit from the jar and gives it to Hemingway.

  Once he catches his breath, Niall makes his way to the kitchen table and turns so that his right thigh is up against the edge. He reaches into his pocket just like Mick had done, and pulls the interior fabric until the pearl earring tumbles onto the table.

  “I didn’t touch it. When Hemingway found it, I scooped it up with a leaf like Mick did and slid it into my pocket.”

  Wide-eyed, Fran asks, “Do you think Emma’s dropped her earrings on purpose, like a trail of breadcrumbs?”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it,” Libby says. “She’s an intelligent woman.”

  “I’d like to see if I get the same energetic impressions from this earring,” Cynthia interjects. “Would that be okay with everyone?”

  “Yes,” comes their unanimous response.

  Fran asks, “Does each object—even if they’re the same thing and belong to the same person—have different stories to tell?”

  “I’ve never worked with two objects from the same person before,” Cynthia answers. “So I haven’t had the opportunity to find out. But I’d like to try.”

  Cynthia picks up Emma’s pearl earring, lays it on her left palm and covers it with her right palm. Then just like before, she rests both hands on her lap and closes her eyes.

  Fran has the tablet and pen ready.

  “Dark. Dank. Canyon. Foul. Slippery.” As before, there’s a long pause between each word. “Emma is above ground, yet under. She is alive. Burnt, or Berndt,” Cynthia corrects herself. “Devil.” Another long pause is followed by, “Jagged edges.”

  When Cynthia opens her eyes a few minutes later, Fran bursts out, “There are two extra things on the list, canyon and devil. The rest of them are the same.”

  “What?” Fran asks Niall and Libby who had both just gasped and are looking at each other with incredulous looks on their faces.

  “I think she’s right under our noses,” Niall says. “Thoreau cottage sits on the ridge overlooking El Cañón del Diablo—The Devil’s Canyon.”

  A surge of anger flares through Jason as he marches back to Emma. Grabbing her by the hair, he yanks her head back, and says, “Don’t pull a stunt like that again.” Through clenched teeth he continues, “I could kill you now, and I’d feel nothing but pleasure. But I won’t because I want to watch McPherson’s face when I slit your throat.”

  “Shouldn’t we go outside? You’re trapped in this cave. Unless there’s a back door, there’s no way out. You’re going to get caught.”

  Jason pronounces each word carefully so she can’t possibly mistake his meaning. “Risk is shrouded in complacency, and I’m never complacent.”

  Mick’s cell phone vibrates in his pocket. Pulling it out, he views the screen and sees it’s his sister. “Libby,” he answers. “What’s up?”

  “Mick, you’re never going to believe it. Hemingway found Emma’s other pearl earring. Niall marked the spot like you did when you found the first one. When he brought it home, Cynthia read its energy. In addition to the previous impressions, there are two more.”

  “What are they?” Mick asks, hope filling his heart.

  “Canyon and devil,” she answers. “Mick, we think they’re in The Devil’s Canyon.”

  “We’re on our way,” he all but shouts into the phone. “Call the station and have them radio Herb and Chris. Tell them it’s a Code 2—urgent, no emergency lights or siren.” Then he ends the call.

  “Joe, turn the car around. The other earring’s been found. Cynthia read its energy, and there’s a good chance that Emma’s being held captive in The Devil’s Canyon, right below Thoreau cottage, the one that Jason Hughes was staying in.”

  Joe punches the gas, “I’ll switch to Code 2 when we’re ten minutes out. If Hughes fell over the side of the cliff,
and with Ms. Benton in a wheelchair, it would have been difficult to make it this far. It makes a lot more sense that they’re closer to Pines & Quill.”

  Toni offers, “It feels like a bit of a wild goose chase to me. I find it hard to believe that we’re chasing Hughes and Benton all over kingdom come based on ‘impressions’”—she places air quotes around that word—“a psychic gave us.”

  “I’m not one to buy into the hoodoo-voodoo realm either,” Joe says. “But if you’d seen what I saw, you’d be much more inclined to believe what she has to say.”

  They ride in silence; the pursuit lights bathing the night in blue and white hellfire.

  Beyond the cave’s mouth, the evening sky is the color of a bruise. Backwashed in the dim light, Emma sees Jason cock his head. He heard it too.

  Turning toward her with menace, he hisses, “Don’t make a sound.”

  Returning to the kitchen, Libby says, “I just phoned the station. They put me through to Herb. He and Chris are on their way.”

  “Do you think Emma’s okay?” Fran asks the room at large.

  “I do,” Cynthia says with confidence, both of Emma’s pearl earrings still nestled in her palm.

  “I do too,” Niall says to a large bowl of over-stirred dough he’s taking his worries out on.

  To shift his and everyone else’s mind from what might be happening in The Devil’s Canyon, Fran says, “Niall, tell me how you learned to cook.”

  Looking up with a smile from a distant memory, he says, “My seanmháthair taught me.”

  “Seanmháthair,” she repeats, trying to pronounce it the way Niall had done. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s Scottish Gaelic for grandmother.” He then describes the hours he’d spent in the restaurant with his seanmháthair, the herbs and spices that had developed his nose, the aromas wafting from the kitchen out to the street. His heart swells and squeezes with the memories.

  “Thank you,” Libby mouths to Fran.

  The vehicle sensor buzzes, notifying them that Herb and Chris have arrived.

  Pushing a button on the wall by the intercom, Libby swings the entrance gate open remotely.

  A few moments later, headlight beams wash across the kitchen walls as the patrol car pulls into the curved drive in front of the main house.

  Libby opens the door as they’re about to knock. “No lights, no sirens. Thank you for honoring Mick’s request. He, Joe, and Toni have their radios off, and their cell phones on vibrate so they don’t make a sound.”

  “What’s going on?” Herb asks. And the four of them—Niall, Libby, Cynthia, and Fran—bring the two officers up to speed.

  “I want night vision goggles,” Joe whispers to Toni after tripping, sliding down the slope, then tripping again.

  Jutting her chin toward Mick’s back, she answers, “Yea, he moves like a mountain goat with those things.”

  Mick waits for Joe and Toni to catch up. Leaning in, he whispers, “Once we’re on level ground, don’t make a sound. I’m lead on this case, and I can see.” He indicates the night optics on his eyes. “If Jason Hughes is Andrew Berndt’s brother, he’s probably armed, definitely dangerous, and I don’t want any harm to come to Emma.”

  “We’ll be careful,” Joe assures him. “If Hughes is the guy who slashed the throats of those women, he’s deadly.”

  “I’m going ahead, alone,” Mick emphasizes. “Wait here until I come back or yell for you.” And with that, he vanishes into the foliage.

  “He’s a good cop,” Joe says, admiration in his voice. “He knows what he’s doing.”

  “Was a good cop,” Toni reminds him.

  “What in God’s name was that?” Fran asks, wild-eyed.

  “Those were gunshots,” Herb and Chris say simultaneously, scraping their chairs back as they rise to their feet.

  Everyone sprints through the front door. Hemingway on their heels.

  CHAPTER 24

  “You don’t actually have to write anything until you’ve thought it out. This is an enormous relief, and you can sit there searching for the point at which the story becomes a toboggan and starts to slide.”

  —MARIE DE NERVAUD

  Through the green monochrome tint of his night optics, Mick sees the jagged edges of an opening in a wall of rock. It’s wide enough for Emma’s wheelchair, plus a foot on either side.

  Looking down, he sees footprints, and what looks like drag marks, leading in. If I step out from cover, Jason will shoot me. If I stay here, he’ll kill Emma.

  Mick picks up a rock and tosses it into the opening.

  “What took you so long?” comes the voice of Jason Hughes.

  “Is Emma Benton with you?” Mick asks.

  “Mick, I’m—” Emma’s voice is cut off by the sound of a sharp slap.

  Anger flushes through Mick, slow and burning. The muscles in his arms tense. “Hughes, or should I say, Berndt, this is between you and me. Let me trade places with Emma.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jason laughs. “No. You’re going to join us. And if you don’t, I’ll send her out—one piece at a time—until you do.”

  Mick sends a text to Joe: Found cave. Jason has Emma. Going in or she dies. Move forward fifty yards. Stop. Remain quiet. Stay under cover.

  “How do I know you’re not going to shoot me when I step in?” Mick asks.

  “You don’t.” Jason laughs. “You’ll just have to trust me. Throw your weapon in first, and then enter with your hands above your head.”

  Mick sets the safety, then throws in the Glock, grateful for his ankle carry.

  He enters the cave and sees Emma in her wheelchair. His heart gallops at the sight of her. His mind floods with relief, dousing the nightmare images he’d imagined. She’s alive. He exhales slowly to make his breathing slower and more effective.

  As Emma leans toward Mick, Jason pulls her body back.

  Crouching behind her, he sneers. “You look like a bug-eyed frog. Take off those night vision goggles. And while you’re at it, turn around. I want to see if you were stupid enough to tuck a gun in your waistband.”

  Mick does what he’s told.

  “Okay. Turn back around.”

  Jason shoves a flashlight into Emma’s left hand. “Hold this on your lap and aim it up. I want Mick to have a good view when I slit your throat.” He yanks Emma’s hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck. “Don’t move.”

  Exhilaration soars through him. The power of life and death is his, and he’s drunk with the taste of it. Before starting his handiwork, he crouches behind Emma, rests his chin on her shoulder, and smiles tauntingly at Mick.

  Emma hears his breathing. Slow and measured—no panic, or lack of control. His breath is foul. The smell sweeps into her nostrils, nearly making her gag.

  Except for his face, no other part of Jason is exposed. Reaching into his left cargo pocket, he feels for his knife. “What the fuck?”

  When Jason turns his head to check his pocket, Emma slips her hand under her right thigh and fists the knife, blade down.

  Knife-less, Jason grabs his gun and stands up behind the chair. Emma feels his stomach at her back as he leans forward toward Mick.

  Adrenaline surges through her veins, accelerates her heart rate. I’ve got one chance. Standing fast, Emma catches Jason hard under the chin with the top of her head.

  She hears a primal, guttural sound ring throughout the cave. It takes a second for her to realize it’s her as she slams the blade back into Jason’s right thigh and twists it.

  Mick has a look of disbelief on his face as Emma flinches before toppling forward, face down on the ground.

  Then a bullet rips into Jason’s chest and joins the echo of Jason’s Beretta.

  Jason’s gun drops to the ground.

  “No, I wasn’t stupid enough to tuck a gun in my waistband. It was in my ankle carry.”

  Jason falls backward and hits the ground.

  “What the hell?” Weapons drawn, Joe and Toni enter the c
ave—each in a half squat, their torsos swiveling—to find Mick bent over Emma’s blood-stained back with two fingers on the side of her neck checking for a pulse.

  “She’s still alive,” Mick shouts. “Joe, radio Herb and tell him we need LifeFlight. There’s not enough clearance on the property, tell them to land at the entry gate. Then call Niall and tell him to get the ATV as close to the back of Thoreau cottage as he can. Toni”—He nods toward Jason’s body. “Check to make sure he’s dead.”

  As Toni kneels over Jason, he whispers, “I told her.” Then he loses consciousness.

  Pressing two fingers on his carotid artery, she feels a weak pulse. “He’s still alive.”

  “Lucky son of a bitch,” Joe says. “He’s already escaped death once. Mick, do you want Herb to get an air ambulance for him, too? Or should he just wait for a meat wagon?”

  “I’m not through with him. I want that bastard to live,” Mick growls. “Order another lift.”

  Herb and Chris try to keep up with Hemingway as he races toward the back of Thoreau cottage. “Wait up, Buddy,” Herb shouts.

  Libby answers on the first ring. “Yes. Yes. Okay, behind Thoreau. He’ll be right there.”

  “Who was that?” Niall asks.

  “Emma’s hurt. Mick needs you to bring the ATV to the back of Thoreau, then drive them to the front gate. LifeFlight’s on their—” She finishes her statement to Niall’s already-retreating back.

  Mick lifts Emma, cradling her in his arms as gently as he can. Stepping out of the cave into the fresh air, he feels her blood ooze down his arms, slow and insidious. The moonlight is tangled in Emma’s dark auburn hair. Please God, let her be okay.

  Joe joins Mick. “I’ll shine the light on the ground in front of you ’til we get to the top. It’s rough going under the best of circumstances, but if we both try to carry her, we’ll jostle her too much.”

  “Thanks, buddy. Did you call Niall?” Mick asks.