On Tall Pine Lake

by Dorothy Garlock

  “There’s one thing we can do.” Frank wiped his brow with a handkerchief.

  “What’s that?”

  “She, and whoever cut her free, will go right back to the camp.”

  “Unless she goes to the sheriff instead,” Webb muttered. “If she does that, the whole area will be crawling with wannabe heroes looking for us. We’ll have to get the hell out of here.”

  “We’d better go back to Tall Pine Camp and see if she’s there.”

  The men returned to where they had left their bedrolls and supplies. Frank hung his binoculars around his neck and rolled up his bedding, leaving Webb to carry the rest.

  “When I catch her, I’ll teach her a lesson she’ll never forget.”

  Maggie was determined the boy would not get out of her sight, as he moved quickly through the dense underbrush. She had no idea where they were or where they were going. It took all her strength to keep up with him. She ached all over and her stomach growled. Hot, thirsty, and hungry as she was, the thought of being left behind kept her going forward.

  Ahead of her, Dusty suddenly stopped. “We’re here,” he said.

  “Where?” Maggie asked.

  Rather than answer, Dusty held back tangled bushes and nodded for her to go ahead. Still unsure of what she was to do, Maggie stepped through the opening.

  Before them, in a small clearing, was a weathered frame house set up on blocks. Two bentwood rockers sat on the porch. A tub full of yellow and gold flowers flanked the steps. Dusty whistled and two large shaggy dogs shot out from under the porch and ran to him, their tails wagging a welcome.

  “Is this where you live?” Maggie asked.

  “Yes.” The boy grinned.

  Before Maggie could say another word, a voice called from the house in a deep baritone. “Dusty? Is that you?” A man walked across the porch and down the steps toward them. He was tall, thin, and his long black hair was streaked with gray and tied at the nape of his neck. He was wearing jeans, boots, and a T-shirt with a peace sign on it.

  “Hi, Pop!”

  “Who’s that with you, son?”

  As Dusty’s father neared, the enormity of where she was and what she was doing came sharply into Maggie’s focus. The fear she had been fighting as they’d run through the woods came back five-fold. She was hungry and tired. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment when she realized she was still wearing her torn and dirty nightgown. By the time the man reached her, Maggie was hugging herself tightly with her arms.

  “This is my father, Avery Hathaway.”

  “Maggie, my name is Maggie Conrad. I was kidnapped from Tall Pine Camp,” she blurted over the barking of the dogs.

  “I found her in the woods. Tied to a tree,” Dusty explained.

  “Tied to a tree? Holy Moses!”

  “A couple of men were camped not too far away, so I waited until they were asleep before cutting her loose.”

  Avery Hathaway’s sharp eyes settled on Maggie. They were kind eyes, not cruel like those of the man called Frank. Tears of relief filled her eyes.

  “Do you have a telephone?” Maggie asked hopefully.

  “No, I’m sorry, we don’t have one,” Dusty’s father said.

  “My sister and I are staying at Tall Pine Camp. I need to get back there. She’ll be worried sick.”

  “You need some clothes and a meal. Dusty, do something with those dogs.”

  “Sir, I’m afraid the men will come looking for me,” Maggie said.

  “We’ll handle it if they come,” he reassured her.

  “You won’t let them take me, will you?”

  “No, not if we can help it.” The man turned and called to his wife, who had come out onto the porch. “Denise, come here, please. We have company.”

  The woman who approached wore a long colorful skirt. Her straw-colored hair was tied in two bunches and hung down over her breasts. She and Dusty shared the same hair color and blue eyes. Her husband reached out and pulled her to his side.

  “Dusty found this young lady in the woods. She needs something to eat and something to cover her nightgown.”

  “This is Maggie, Mom,” Dusty said.

  “Hello,” Maggie said shyly, holding her folded arms protectively over her chest. She looked at the smiling face of Dusty’s mother and, for the first time since her abduction, felt the burden of fear start to leave her.

  “Come with me, Maggie. I’ll find something for you to put on. Then you can eat and rest.” She gently put her arm around Maggie’s shoulders, her blue eyes filled with concern.

  “She was tied to a tree all night,” Dusty continued. “She’s worn out.”

  “Poor child. Avery, you and Dusty look around. We don’t want whoever did this coming here.”

  Avery nodded. “Dusty, get the rifles.”

  Maggie went with Dusty’s mother into the house. The large, comfortable room was cluttered with books and pottery. Colorful braided rugs covered the floor, and a couch with a collection of pillows sat against one wall. The easel that stood by the window held a half-finished painting. Pots of flowers were arrayed along the windowsill. A tall plant in the corner of the room almost reached the ceiling.

  “I’ve been busy with my painting this morning, so things are a bit messy,” Denise commented.

  “I’m thankful to be here.” Maggie’s lips trembled. “I was so scared in the woods. The really mean one was going to cut me with a knife, but the other one wouldn’t let him. I was afraid they were going to do more . . . you know, but they didn’t.” Tears rolled down Maggie’s face.

  “There, there, honey. You’ll be all right now.” The woman put her arms around Maggie and pulled her close.

  Nona watched from the porch of her cabin as the sheriff and his men trudged down the lane toward her. They’d spent the morning and early afternoon hours combing through the woods and along the lakeshore for any sign of Maggie. As they came closer, Nona could see their faces were grim. They had found nothing. Her heart sank. She turned away and entered the cabin.

  Inside, all was quiet. Mabel had gone with LeAnn to her cabin. Even Sam Houston was occupied in a rambunctious dream, his legs kicking in his sleep. Nona was alone. The thought of her sister being alone, or at the hands of unscrupulous men, filled her with dread. She allowed her shoulders to slump and buried her face in her hands.

  Buck up, Nona. You won’t do Maggie any good if you fall apart.

  She took a handkerchief from her pocket and headed out the back door and down the path to the lake, refusing to let herself wallow in pity.

  “Nona!”

  She turned to see Simon hurrying to catch up with her. His face was red and sweaty. She was grateful, so grateful that he was here with her. How could she ever have thought he was cold and unfeeling. When he reached her, his gaze was piercing as he scrutinized her face.

  “Did the sheriff and his men find anything?” she asked hopefully.

  “It might be nothing, but the sheriff talked to an old fellow who lives about a mile up the road. The man’s name is Galloway and he’s been in these parts as long as anyone can remember. He said he saw a couple of men entering the woods south of his place a couple of days ago.”

  “Did he recognize them?”

  “No.” Simon shook his head. “He said they were too far away for him to get a good look, but they didn’t seem to be the type to be camping in the woods. He watched them until they disappeared. The way they were going, he figured they were headed for Tall Pine Camp.”

  “When did he see them? Was it the morning Maggie disappeared?”

  “According to Galloway, it was a couple of days earlier.” Seeing Nona’s disappointment, he quickly added, “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t them. The guys Galloway saw could be the two who were in the boat. I’m going to the boathouse and ask Russ if he’s seen any strangers. He’s about worn himself out tramping the woods. Come with me.” Simon held out his hand.

  Nona walked beside him toward the lake. Even though her mood was stor
my, the day was another beautiful one. The mist had burned off the lake. A trio of ducks splashed down on the mirrored surface of the water, sending ripples in their wake. A gentle breeze stirred Nona’s fiery hair.

  When they reached the boathouse, Russ was working on an outboard motor. Parts were spread out on the dock around him. He looked up as they approached. His hands were black and a large streak of grease was smeared across his forehead.

  “Afternoon,” he called out. “Figured it was time to fix this old hunk of junk. Damn thing sputters and chokes no matter what I do to it. It’s about to drive me crazy.”

  “Seen anything, Russ?” Simon asked.

  “No, not a thing.” Russ had a look of concern on his face. “Maggie’s a good kid. Anything new?”

  “We might have something to work with.” Simon filled Russ in on what the sheriff had learned from Galloway and mentioned the possibility that it could be connected to the men who’d accosted Maggie on the lake.

  “Can’t say I’ve seen anything out of the ordinary.” Russ frowned. “The lake has been pretty quiet lately. It’s too early for duck hunters and the fishing’s been poor this summer.”

  “The sheriff also told me there were a few families of hippies living up in the woods but as far as he knew, they had never bothered anyone. Keep your eyes open. If you see anything, anything at all, tell me.”

  “I will.” Russ nodded. Turning to Nona, he added, “Don’t you worry, Miss Conrad. Maggie will be home, safe and sound, before you know it. I’m certain of it.”

  “Thank you, Russ.” She didn’t know Mr. Story very well, but he seemed an earnest and hardworking man. Maggie had obviously wormed herself into his affection. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I know I am,” the older man said confidently.

  As Simon and Nona walked back toward the cabins, Russ shouted up to them. “Please tell Miss Mabel how much I liked that pie!”

  Chapter 17

  MAGGIE AWOKE. A feeling of panic sent her heart racing in her chest as she struggled to remember where she was. Then she recalled rushing through the woods with Dusty, meeting his parents, and lying down on his mother’s bed. She was covered with a thin blanket. She had no idea how long she’d slept.

  On one side of the room stood a battered bureau, and on the other side was a curtained window. An oval braided rug lay on the floor. The room was spartan, but clean and cozy. Through the open window, she could see the woods beyond.

  A skirt and top lay across the back of a chair next to the bed. Dusty’s mother must have put them there. It felt good to strip off the grimy nightgown and put on the T-shirt and skirt. The T-shirt with the words “Make Love Not War” hung loosely from her narrow shoulders and the waist of the skirt was too large, but she tucked the shirt into the waistband, folded the band over, and pinned it with a safety pin that was already there.

  Pulling the bedroom door open a crack, she surveyed the rest of the house. Dusty was sitting at the table with his parents in the center of their living space. In a small kitchen area set off to the back was a wood-burning stove. A hand pump sat beside a tin-lined sink. A black-and-white-spotted dog lay curled into a tight ball underneath the table. The Hathaways were eating supper. Maggie’s stomach rumbled.

  The family was unlike any that Maggie had ever met. She had heard about hippies, but hadn’t thought they would be as nice as these people were.

  “Maggie, come join us,” Dusty’s mother called. Then to her son, “Please get Maggie a chair.” When she was seated, Mrs. Hathaway brought her a plate and utensils. The delicious smells made Maggie’s mouth water. A large bowl of potatoes, one with turnip greens, another of fried okra, and squares of corn bread were passed to her.

  “Maggie might want a glass of milk, Denise,” Avery said.

  “It’s goat’s milk, Maggie.”

  “I’ve never had goat’s milk.”

  “You might like it.” Dusty nodded at her.

  “I’m hungry enough to try anything” was all Maggie could manage before she attacked the food on the plate. She’d never been so starved in her life! “This is delicious!” she exclaimed between bites.

  Dusty chimed in. “My mom’s a darn good cook.”

  “Hush, boy, and let the girl eat.” Avery smiled.

  When Maggie’s appetite was finally appeased, she recounted her harrowing ordeal. She told the Hathaways about being abducted from the camp, waking up tied to the tree, and her and Dusty’s flight through the woods.

  “Why did the men take you?” Avery asked.

  “They’re looking for my half-brother. They claimed he owed them money. I don’t know where he is, so I couldn’t tell them anything. Dusty came along just in time. They said they’d hurt me if I didn’t tell them by morning.”

  “Some people are just plain crazy,” Denise said with a shake of her head. “I thought we’d be safer living here. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “I want to go back to my sister,” Maggie said. “She’s frantic by now.”

  “Dusty and I will take you back in the morning.” Avery glanced at his son.

  “Do you have a car? Can’t we go now?” she asked anxiously.

  Avery shook his head. “No car. We’ll have to walk to the camp.”

  “Do we have to go back through the woods?” Maggie moaned.

  “We know a shortcut. It won’t be too bad.”

  “But what if we run into those men?” Maggie persisted. “They’ll still be looking for me.”

  “At first light I’ll take a look around and be sure they’re out of the area,” Avery assured her.

  “But what if they see you? I’d be sick if you got hurt because of me!”

  “They won’t see me. I’ve lived in these woods a long time.”

  Maggie quickly stole a glance at Dusty. He smiled broadly. He was confident his father could make good his claim.

  “I have an idea,” Maggie offered. “Why doesn’t Dusty get the sheriff? He could lead him back to the house and then to where those men tied me up. We could catch them!”

  “By the time the sheriff got here, they’d be long gone.”

  “Don’t worry, honey,” Denise said soothingly. “Avery and Dusty will do whatever it takes to get you back to your sister.”

  “All right.” Maggie nodded. She felt she was in good hands.

  “Now then.” Denise stood up from the table. “Who wants molasses cookies?”

  “We should just kill one of ‘em.”

  “What did you say?” Webb looked up from his plate and stared across the table at Frank. The older man didn’t return the look, instead continuing to shovel forkfuls of beans into his mouth.

  “I said that we should kill one of ‘em. It’d make a hell of a lot more sense than traipsin’ around in the woods lookin’ for ‘em. The boss wants results, I say we give him results.”

  After finding that Maggie had escaped from the tree, they’d gone back to Tall Pine Camp to survey the area through binoculars. It had been hard going; the sheriff’s men were poking around in the woods and stopping every car to ask questions. Hours passed and the girl never appeared. After waiting until well after dusk, they’d picked their way back to where they’d hidden the car and headed for the dilapidated old camp. After scouting around the camp, they kicked in the door of a cabin set far back in the woods and thanked God the electricity hadn’t been turned off. They heated a can of beans on a hot plate they had brought with them. It had done little to improve their foul moods.

  “We should just kill one of them,” Frank repeated.

  “That ain’t gonna get us nowhere,” Webb argued.

  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Frank spat, fixing a hard stare on the younger man. Webb could see how dangerous Frank Rice could be. “Killin’ somebody’s the best way to get the rats runnin’. You should know that.”

  “I don’t know it. Explain it to me.”

  “It’s simple!” Frank dropped his tin plate on the table with a dul
l thud and got up to pace the room. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lit one. He puffed heavily as he talked. “Let’s say we go over and shoot that older sister, what do you think is gonna happen?”

  “If Wright don’t get us, the cops will.” Webb frowned.

  “You’re still thinkin’ too narrow! We kill the goose that’s protectin’ the golden egg, then Harold’s gonna come runnin’! He ain’t gonna give a good goddamn about his sister, but if that snake thinks his money is about to be found, he’ll be there.”

  “And then we nab him . . .”

  “Exactly!” Frank crowed.

  “But what if he don’t come?” Webb argued. He wasn’t above roughing someone up, but spilling blood made him nervous. Spilling a woman’s blood was even worse, especially since he had his doubts that she knew anything about Harold. “What if we kill her and Harold don’t show up? Then what?”

  “Are you crappin’ out on me? It won’t be the first killin’ for me,” Frank boasted.

  “That isn’t the way I do things.”

  “Listen to me! For the sake of arguin’,” the older man said as he sat on the edge of the table, “let’s say that Harold’s an even bigger son of a bitch than I think he is. We kill the older sister, the younger one’s gonna know we ain’t playin’ and is gonna sing like a bird! Lookin’ at her sister’s cold body will loosen her tongue!”

  “What about Wright? He ain’t gonna be sittin’ around with his finger up his butt while we kill the sister.”

  “One bullet will take care of him.”

  The coldness with which Frank spoke disturbed Webb. He’d had enough of this place, enough of Frank, and enough of threats and violence to last a lifetime. Still, the boss wanted results and he expected the two of them to get it.

  “We should call the boss,” Webb argued. “He’ll know what to do.”

  Frank scowled. “With all the goings on about us kidnappin’ that kid, the whole area will be lookin’ for anyone that’s out of place. We show up to use a telephone, the sheriff will be on us like flies on a rotting corpse.”