Blue Ridge Hideaway

by Cynthia Thomason

  “Where did you go?” Bret’s voice reflected uncertainty, as if he expected the ceiling to suddenly cave in on them. As if he’d experienced other symbolic ceilings caving in during his lifetime. “Pop?”

  “I was trying to turn that money into a whole lot more,” Clancy said. “I was hoping to give you that three grand with interest.”

  “Where did you go?” Bret asked again. This time the words seemed ground out of some dark place inside his memory.

  “I drove up to Mountain City, West Virginia, for a few days.”

  “Mountain City?” Bret closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Why did you go there?”

  Dorie leaned forward, trying to read both men’s faces. “I know exactly why he went there, Bret, and so do you.”

  Bret hammered his fist on the table. “Good grief, Pop. You lost that money gambling!”

  “I figured I could turn that fifteen grand into five times that much. I’ve always been lucky....”

  “You’ve never been lucky with dice!”

  “That’s not true. Why, lots of times I’ve...”

  “How much?” Bret asked. “How much have you got left?”

  Clancy turned his palms up on the table as if he somehow expected riches to fall into them. “I have...well, I had fifty-two bucks.”

  Dorie stood, marched around the table and loomed over him. But at only five feet three inches, her looming capabilities were limited. Still, she was gratified when he cringed.

  “Fifty-two dollars?” she said, pulling the bills he’d given her earlier from her pocket. “This fifty-two dollars? This is all that’s left of fifteen thousand?”

  He stared at the table. “’Fraid so. I had living expenses for that week, too. Hotels and meals...”

  Her entire body tensed before a trembling began in her legs and worked its way through her. She closed her eyes, fighting the desire to strike out physically at the man whose face swam before her, but what good would that do? She’d only end up in the same sort of place she’d visited two days ago when she met with her brother in a dank, gray-walled prison room.

  She pictured Jack’s face now and drew strength from the past. Since their father, a shiftless man with no ambition, had left them after Jack was born, Dorie had always been the rational child, the dependable one. Their mother stuck around until Dorie was legally an adult, and then she saw her chance and left. After that, Jack had counted on Dorie. And he needed her now more than ever.

  In the visitor’s room at the Broad Creek Correctional Facility, Jack had sat across from her, his hands folded, his gaze imploring her. “What do you mean he’s gone?” he’d asked when she’d given him the bad news about their funds being missing.

  “He just up and left after he signed the papers on the Crab Trap.”

  “But that’s your money. You earned it!”

  “I know, Jack, and I’ve spent the last five days trying to find out where he might have gone.”

  His fingers tightened until his knuckles turned white. “And did you? Find out, I mean.”

  “I think so. I hope so.” She’d explained about locating one of the regulars from the Crab Trap who’d spent long hours talking to Clancy about whatever old guys reminisced over. He’d been reluctant to tell her what she wanted to know, but finally relented when she made him see that Clancy had treated her unfairly.

  He’d told her that Clancy had talked about going to the mountains to find someone he knew. He remembered Clancy mentioning a place called The Crooked Spruce in the Blue Ridge chain. So Dorie had searched for The Crooked Spruce on Google, and come up with one reference only. Somebody had applied for a vendor’s license for a new business in western North Carolina.

  After visiting with Jack and reassuring him that she would do whatever she could to get his defense rolling again, she’d packed a bag and headed for the mountains hoping to surprise Clancy at his hideout.

  Now, even though she’d found him, she’d hit an even more impenetrable stone wall. She opened her eyes to erase the image of Jack’s face—desperate, sad, knowing she was his only hope. It wasn’t fair. Just because Jack had gotten into a few scrapes, the police seemed to believe he was guilty of shooting and killing a convenience store clerk in Winston Beach. But he’d been almost as much of a victim as the clerk had. Dorie knew that. She believed his story. He was only sixteen years old, her baby brother. She’d taken care of him all his life. She wouldn’t stop now.

  She let out the breath she’d been holding and fixed Clancy with her iciest stare. “You’re going to get the money,” she said. “You’re going to pay me what you owe me. I need that money.”

  The only sound that registered in her brain was her own heartbeat, pumping blood furiously through her veins. She’d never known she could feel such animosity toward another human being.

  Clancy didn’t blink, but she knew he was aware just how fragile her emotions were at this moment, just how close to the edge of rational behavior she felt and how precarious his situation was. He swallowed and ran a finger inside the ribbed neckline of his T-shirt. “It may take a while...” he said.

  “I don’t have a while. And I’m not kidding. I’m not leaving here without five grand.”

  Clancy darted a look at his son who’d remained silent. And then the old guy sort of smiled, attempting some of that charm he’d used to sucker her into revitalizing his restaurant. “Bret?” Despite his silly grin, his voice quivered on the brink of panic. “Don’t let her near the fireplace poker.”

  Bret stretched out his leg, rubbed a hand over his thigh and winced. “I don’t know as I could stop her, Pop.”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” she said. “How would I get my money that way? I’m just going to haunt you and threaten you and make your life miserable until I get every last cent.”

  Clancy turned his hands up on the table. “I don’t know how...”

  Bret rose slowly, as if even that simple movement pained him. He took a few steps toward a doorway that led from the room. “Pop, can I see you in the kitchen?”

  “Sure thing.” Clancy stood and strode after his son, moving so fast that Dorie could only conclude that he was grateful to be anywhere but in the same room as her.

  “Don’t even think about going out a back door,” she called after him. “You won’t get very far in the dark on this mountain. And I can run faster than you.”

  Bret stood in the entry, his hand on the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring him back.”

  She believed him. In fact, she was dangerously close to putting too much faith in this younger Donovan. He had that kind of face a person could trust, though she saw now that it wasn’t a perfect face. His complexion was ruddy from mountain winds. His eyes were crinkled at the corners from the accumulation of his life experiences, many of which Dorie suspected had been hard, especially knowing his father. Strangely, these imperfections only gave a sense of solid strength to him she could identify with.

  She could imagine him assuming a commanding stance whether he was talking with his father or a suspect. Yes, with his legs braced, his shoulders back and his penetrating gaze on a person’s face, he could convince anyone to do the right thing. At least Dorie hoped so.

  “We’ll be back,” Bret said. He watched his father slink into the kitchen. “And then I may just turn him over to you and a couple of hungry black bears.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ALONE IN THE ROOM, Dorie wondered what she was going to do if she couldn’t squeeze five thousand dollars out of these two men. Bret must have some money, especially if he owned this entire piece of property. She allowed herself to hope that he would bail his father out of this jam.

  She stifled a yawn and shook her head to clear her mind. Her brain was fuzzy from lack of sleep. She hadn’t eaten anything since this morning except for a candy bar she’d b
ought at the convenience store. Her bones ached from sitting behind the wheel for hours. Her emotions were frayed beyond what should have been normal even considering the abundance of stress in her life lately.

  Before leaving Winston Beach seven hours ago, she’d spent most of the morning at the attorney’s office, trying to convince him to keep working on Jack’s case. Counting on finding Clancy, she’d promised the lawyer more money soon and had finally extracted a promise from him that he would pass along the paperwork he’d accumulated to a new associate in the firm who would “revisit” the facts of the case and see what he could do. Dorie hadn’t met the associate, a man named Eric Henderson, but she had to accept Mr. Schreiber’s recommendation that this new attorney was clever and hardworking. Not to mention expensive. Waiting to hear from him only added more anxiety to an already-troubling day.

  She got up from the picnic table and rolled her shoulders to relieve tension that had left a dull ache in her neck. She walked around the room and tried to concentrate on details of the basically Spartan environment. Besides the pair of picnic tables, which took up much of the center of the space, there was one long, dark pine buffet table along the wall that flanked the kitchen door. The fireplace, almost large enough for two men to squat inside, filled much of the opposite wall. A comfortable pine-framed sofa and pair of chairs faced the fireplace, and a flat-screen television was mounted above it.

  One of the longer walls consisted mostly of windows which looked out on the screened porch. The opposite wall was lined with pine shelving. The scent of freshly milled wood was still strong in the room, suggesting the shelves were new. There was a state-of-the-art computer on a corner table.

  The ambiance of the room was masculine but peaceful, an homage to simplicity and nature. She breathed deeply, attempting to infuse her body with the tranquility of her surroundings even though there was nothing tranquil about her life now. And, as it turned out, nothing simple about what she’d come here to accomplish.

  She returned her focus to the door, walked closer and tried to hear what the men were saying. Clancy’s low, guttural mumbling was easy to identify. Dorie couldn’t tell what he was saying, but his muffled words seemed argumentative.

  The steady timbre of Bret’s voice was just as distinctive as his father’s but for a different reason. She wasn’t able to make out the specifics, but Bret seemed to be countering his father’s grumbling with rationality.

  She exhaled slowly and leaned against the door frame. She wanted to believe that Bret would devise a plan to pay her back, but her instincts warned her to remain wary. Even so, hope began a slow, steady battle with her skepticism.

  Her thoughts backtracked to when they had all entered the lodge. Bret had removed his mackinaw, hung it on a rack by the door, along with the Marlins baseball cap he’d been wearing. Maybe his cap was from Florida, but he seemed much more at home in this rugged, harsh climate.

  Dorie twisted so her shoulder was against the door, her ear close to one of the dark-stained panels. The conversation inside seemed to have reached a lull, prompting her to put even more faith in Clancy’s son. If he was reasonable, she could be, as well. She wouldn’t fall into the trap of judging all police officers by the few who’d treated Jack with such overt prejudice. That would be no more justified than watching cops judge her brother by the standards of all troubled teens.

  Yes, Bret would make this right. He would understand that his father had cheated her and, recognizing that their family honor was at stake, very well might assume responsibility for paying her the money his father owed. In a few minutes, with five thousand dollars in her pocket, Dorie could be on her way back to Winston Beach.

  * * *

  BRET PACED. It’s what he’d done back when he was on the Dade County homicide division and all the clues had been there, in front of his eyes, and he hadn’t been able to put them together. It’s what he did now when he was worried about his son, Luke, and wondered if the decision he’d made for both of them was the right one. It’s what he did when he thought of Miranda and how he could have saved her if only...

  Clancy sat at the kitchen table, his hands folded, his gaze fixed on his son. They’d discussed and argued the details of the debt, and Clancy had admitted his guilt.

  “Look, Bret, I know how you must be feeling. I screwed up again. I get that. When I’m able to put a few bucks in my pocket, the old demon comes back, and I just have to risk it on the bigger payoff.”

  “How many times are we going to have this conversation, Pop?”

  “This time is different, son. This time I really disappointed you. I’ll make it right. I’ll stay here and work on this project of yours until I pay you back the whole five grand.”

  “Pay me back? Now I’m supposed to hire you on top of everything else?”

  “You told me you were going to hire somebody. Why not me? I can work hard.”

  Bret stopped walking, turned and faced his father. Yes, he had admitted that he’d need to hire a helper to get the camp up and running in time. And his dad did have skills. “You bet you will,” he said. “I own you until this place is open and then some.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Bret stared at the door. “But what about that woman out there? What do we do about her tonight?”

  Clancy had the decency to look at least a bit guilty. He avoided Bret’s stare. “Maybe she’ll accept payments. I’ll send her a little every month until we’re square.”

  “You think that’s going to make her happy? Because I don’t. She wants the whole thing. I can’t see her leaving this mountain without the five grand.”

  Clancy seemed to shrink in his chair. “She does seem determined. Tell me, son, do you have five thousand dollars?”

  Bret had known this question was coming. Still every muscle in his body tensed. His reserves were running low. He’d spent most of his savings and the majority of his disability checks to get The Crooked Spruce ready. The last thing he wanted to do was pay his dad’s debt. Yes, he had five thousand, but he wasn’t ready to admit that to his father.

  “Oh, sure, Pop.” He pulled out a drawer. “It’s right here in the kitchen junk drawer!”

  “I didn’t mean here at the outpost. I meant anywhere.”

  “Do you know what she needs the money for?” Bret asked.

  “Haven’t a clue. She said she owes somebody. All I can say is that I don’t believe she’s in trouble with bad people or anything. She was a good worker. Came in every day. Never caused any problems.”

  The law enforcement wheels in Bret’s head continued to piece together the story of Dorie Howe. “Doesn’t mean she’s not into something illegal or dangerous, Pop. In my business—my former business—you learn that even the most innocent-looking people can be hiding something.” And with that can of mace and a hundred pounds of grit packed into her little body, Dorie Howe could be hiding plenty.

  At the image of her pretty face scowling up at him, he couldn’t resist a secret smile. He shook his head. Good grief, Donovan, you’ve been away from women too long!

  “Why don’t you check her out?” Clancy said. “Call one of your contacts from the force.”

  Bret had been thinking the same thing. Dorie had proved her case, and Pop definitely owed her, but she was so desperate to get the money that Bret’s cop instincts had gone on instant alert. Did he have the right to check her out? You bet he did. She was on his mountain, mixed up in his family. He not only had the right. He had an obligation. Especially with Luke due back in the morning.

  Luke. Thinking of his son brought to mind a whole different set of responsibilities. He honestly hoped the kid had had fun with his aunt and cousins the past week. He’d certainly been anxious to go, though Bret had been reluctant to agree to the time away. True, this mountain location wasn’t everything a ten-year-old could hope for. But Bret still believed he’d made
the right decision to get them out of Miami, away from the bad memories.

  And he’d done all he could to make the move seem like an adventure. In just a few months he’d taught his son survival skills, introduced him to tools and construction, taken him to town a couple times a week to rent video games, see movies, eat pizza. He’d thought he had all the bases covered, and yet the boy still seemed unhappy much of the time. And too excited about going to Atlanta with his aunt Julie.

  He refocused on his father and the current problem. “What do you know about Dorie, Pop? Family, friends, that sort of thing.”

  “Not much. I didn’t ask her a lot of personal questions when she applied for the job. She was like a saving grace when she walked in the Crab Trap that day, willing to work to put a little spit and polish on the place. A few people she knew stopped in from time to time, and they talked. I don’t know what about, but they seemed to like her. Left her good tips, I remember. I knew about that picnic company and how it was her living. But I just figured that made her more valuable to me. She knew something about food and service.”

  Bret took a sip of his coffee. “I’m going to call Rob at the department,” he said. “Let’s see what we can find out about Miss Dorie Howe.” He paused before adding, “She is a ‘miss,’ right, Pop? No husband or mobster boyfriend to show up here one day?”

  “Not married,” Clancy confirmed. “And if she has a boyfriend I never met him. She’s a cute little thing, though, so...”

  Bret had already determined that for himself but wasn’t about to let Dorie Howe’s cuteness deter him from what he thought was right. “Never mind, Pop,” he said. “As long as some husband isn’t going to follow her up here and put another plug in me.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Clancy said. “Can’t go through that again.”

  Bret took his cell phone from his back pocket. “Reception is always better at night,” he said. “Less interference from the towers. I’m going to give Rob a call now. Should have info by the morning.”

  “What about this evening? What are you gonna do about Dorie?”