by Maggie Pill
I grimaced. Did my sister realize I was stuck in a rustic cabin with an annoying client and an outhouse, for crying out loud?
Assuming the question had a point, I read the message to Darrow, who shrugged. “She brought her clothes in the car, and we bought furniture once we got here.”
“She brought only clothing, nothing else?”
He thought about it. “Some other stuff came later by UPS.” He huffed in disgust. “Boxes and boxes of books.” Poking his chest he added, “Guess who did all the lifting when they came.”
“Did you help her unpack them?”
“No. She said she wanted to categorize them herself.”
I began to understand the question Faye had asked. Stacy had shipped something north, probably whatever she’d stolen from Max Basca. Darrow had been served as unwitting accessory to the crime she’d committed.
A text wouldn’t do. I had to call the office and actually speak to Faye, but there wasn’t even one full bar in the upper corner of my phone’s screen.
I moved around the cabin, holding the phone before me. Nothing. Setting it down, I slithered into my snowsuit and pushed my feet into the boots, tying them loosely.
“Where are you going?” Winston asked.
“Out to find a signal.”
“Cool. Are you going to get us out of here?”
“I’ll let you know.”
Outside, I went up the path we’d made to the ridge and tried the phone. Still no signal. Guessing the trees blocked the signal, I looked for a spot that was more open but higher than the cabin. I’d heard stories of people in remote areas standing on whatever was available, including tree stumps, to get a few bars on their phones. The cabin roof was high and open, but I didn’t see a way to get onto it. There were no stumps around, nor any trees that looked climbable. I looked again, slowing myself down and considering each possibility.
Of course. The outhouse.
Going to the woodpile, I took two substantial logs and carried them to the back of the small plank building, where the slanted roof was lowest. Setting them about a foot apart, I pressed the bottom ends into the snow and braced the tops against the wall. They made clumsy steps, but Correction Events have made me creative about getting to hard-to-reach places. Stepping onto one then the other lifted me to a point where my chest was at roof level. Brushing away the snow, I found a knothole and hooked two fingers into it. With that assistance I pulled myself up and caught a second handhold where two boards had shrunk, leaving a crack. It pinched a little, but I swung one leg up and pushed with the other, lifting my lower body up. With an extra push and a grunt of effort, I found traction and sprawled onto the roof.
The building was rickety, so I didn’t stand but instead spread my weight along the line where the roof met the wall. Digging my phone out, I held it before me. Two bars! I pressed the button that would connect me with Faye.
“Barb!” I heard a few seconds later. “Are you okay?”
“Not comfortable, but we’ll survive. What’s going on?”
“A lot.” The phone made a rustling sound and the volume faded a little. “Someone attacked Rory when he got back to Retta’s last night. He’s in the hospital.”
I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. “Is he—Is he all right?”
“He was unconscious when I found him, but the EMT said that was a good thing. His body shut down to protect his brain.” She cleared her throat. “Barb, I’m sorry.”
Waves of fear splashed through my mind, drowning logical thought. I wanted to be at Rory’s side. I wanted to know he was all right. I wanted the danger to be over, for him—for all of us.
Dragging my focus to the question she’d texted, I said, “Darrow says Stacy had boxes of books shipped north. I guess you think books were mixed with something else.”
“Stacy’s been feeding cash into her bank account with a cover story about running a string of car washes.”
“No large deposits to call attention to herself. Clever.”
“—Says Basca wants his money back, plus—” I missed the last words as the phone cut out.
“I’m losing you. So we’ll be out here a while longer?”
“Yeah.” Now her voice sounded scratchy. “Like to get—more food, but—Retta.”
“Don’t worry about that. Just get someone to arrest Basca and his boys.”
“—will. Take care, Barb.”
Stuffing the phone into my suit pocket, I clambered down from the outhouse, missing my step and landing on my back. It didn’t hurt, but I got a healthy dose of snow down my neck.
As I made my way back to the cabin, I digested what I’d learned. If our pursuers had waylaid Rory, they hadn’t found the book they were so desperate to get back. Rory’s injury was an emotional blow and a practical one. We’d lost our inside man, the one who believed in us, which left my sisters the job of convincing the state cops that hiding a murder suspect in the woods had been a good idea.
And Rory was unconscious. Was there brain damage? Had anyone called his daughter? I didn’t know her name or where she lived, but surely he’d written it down somewhere for emergencies. Was she on her way right now to sit by her dad’s bedside, as I would if I were there? I hoped so.
Remembering how his last kiss had made me feel, how his hand slid up my neck and into my hair, how he’d looked into my eyes afterward, I wanted to be there with him.
And what? I asked myself. Elbow his daughter aside? Announce you’re his girlfriend?
It was far too early for that. Better that I had other things to occupy my mind and my time. Pushing the cabin door open, I went inside to give Darrow the bad news.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Faye
After the static-laden call from Barb, I felt anxious and antsy. Usually the two of us discuss things, like our last case when we’d solved the problem of disappearing funds from a local charity’s collection jars. Looking at the evidence we collected, we’d concluded the thief was the director’s teenage daughter. I can’t say which of us figured it out. Barb and I complement each other, and it was difficult to only be able to exchange a few sentences.
Hearing click-click-click-tap, I turned to see Buddy coming into the office. His cast made the odd click sound, but he didn’t seem to feel pain when he put his weight on it. He explored the room, perhaps suspecting I had a second dog hidden on the premises. I watched in case he decided to mark his territory, but he didn’t.
In an attempt to make friends, Dale had offered the dog a bit of his homemade jerky at lunchtime. Not only did Buddy ignore the gift, he’d also snarled when Dale got too close. Dale had definitely been miffed as he set out the items he thought I needed to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When he turned away, I put the banana back and substituted grape jelly for strawberry, which is his favorite but not mine.
Retta had put her things in the den, which doubled as our guest room. To give her privacy, I moved my laptop next to my chair in the living room. She could watch my TV in the den, and I could play card games on the computer while Dale watched Gun-smoke and Wagon Train reruns in the living room.
Styx spent the morning with Uncle Dale in the workshop and settled in for a nap around 11:30. Knowing better than to separate him from Retta all night, I got another old blanket and laid it on the floor in the den. My plan was to sneak him through the front door once Buddy retired to our bedroom. As long as he didn’t actually meet Styx nose to nose, I thought Buddy would be okay. He seemed to be an out-of-sight, out-of-mind kind of dog.
I did office chores, worrying a little about Barb as I worked. She’d insisted she was fine, but for someone who preferred being alone and staying busy, it had to be torture to be stuck with a whiny client and nothing to do but wait. I hoped Winston was behaving, for his own sake.
Retta came in rosy-cheeked. “Brrrr! Where’s Styx?”
“With Dale in the workshop.”
“Has he met your dog yet?”
I frowned. “Buddy’s
new here. He needs more time.”
She waved a hand. “Your dog needs to meet your people, Faye, and he might as well meet Styx, too.” Before I could argue she was heading for the door. “I’ll get him before I take my coat off. Bring your dog out here, and we’ll introduce them.”
Though I sensed impending disaster, I went. I’m not one to argue, and Retta’s hard to stop when she gets an idea in her head. Buddy was napping on our bed, apparently convinced it was more comfortable than his. I should have scolded him, but he looked cute curled up between the pillows, nose resting on his paws.
“Hey, kiddo,” I said softly. “How are you feeling?”
His tail thumped, and I’d swear he smiled at me.
“Would you like to come out and meet some company?” I kept talking and petting him as I slipped the leash onto his collar, telling him how much he was going to like having another canine to play with. Buddy didn’t respond one way or another. He followed me calmly down the hallway until we got to the office and he saw Styx.
Retta had at least had the sense to put a leash on Styx, but with him it’s all about affection. He danced with excitement at the prospect of someone new to greet.
Buddy’s reaction was the opposite. Lowering his front half, he barked loudly, growling in between to stress his point.
I pulled him away and picked him up. Styx looked at us in confusion. He’s used to patient people who give him affection, not angry dogs who don’t.
Over the din, Retta said, “I was afraid of this.” Glaring at Buddy she ordered, “Doggie! Be nice!”
A person’s dog is like any other member of the family. While you might gripe about him, get mad at him, and even scold him, no one else should.
“There’s a strange dog in his house, Retta. It’s a natural reaction.” Holding my face close to Buddy’s ear, I said, “Calm down, kiddo. It’s okay.” As I patted his head, barks faded to growls, complaining but not as aggressive as before.
“At least he responds to your commands,” Retta said. “There’s hope for him.”
My face got warm and I pressed my lips together to hold back the “I told you so” that threatened. Unwilling to discuss my dog’s faults, I carried Buddy back to the bedroom, set him on his bed with a pat, and shut him inside. When I returned to the office, I glanced at the blanket under my desk. It was Buddy’s place, and we’d been content with each other’s company until Retta came along with her big ideas about a doggie date.
Retta was unhappy with the results of her experiment, but she tried not to show it. She took a seat by my desk, and Styx plopped down beside her, beautiful but clueless. He really is sweet, but in a brains contest, I knew Buddy would win.
With the dog problem on hold, Retta explained her trip to the bank in more detail. “It’s a little more information,” she concluded. “We just have to keep putting things together until something makes sense.”
Dale came in with a cup of coffee for each of us. “Break time,” he said cheerfully, setting down a tray with two mugs, some packets of sweetener, and a plate of cookies.
“Thanks, hon. You’re the best.”
When he left, Retta’s brow quirked. “Fig Newtons?”
“Yes.” I tried to keep my voice neutral.
“You hate figs.”
I sighed. “He wants to help.”
“By bringing you cookies you hate?”
I chuckled. “He loves them. To him it’s the best gift.”
“And you don’t say anything.”
“Retta, if everything you were able to contribute was suddenly taken away—”
“I’ve noticed he’s always at your elbow when you’re cooking. How do you stand it?”
I grinned. “It drives me nuts sometimes.” Feeling disloyal to Dale for saying it aloud, I turned to our case. “I didn’t find Stacy’s real identity. It’s good you got some answers at the bank.”
Retta bit her lip. “There was one weird thing. When I left the building, a guy on the street seemed to be watching me.”
“One of the men who kidnapped Win?”
She shook her head. “This guy was big like Carlos, but he wore a suit and tie and had a decent haircut.”
I got a bad feeling. “Barb saw a man in a suit hanging around the city office, and your description sounds like a guy who was at the diner when Gabe and I got your car.”
Retta stood and began pacing, reminding me of Barb in problem-solving mode. Styx looked up expectantly but relaxed again when she didn’t head for the door.
She tapped her upper lip with a finger. “Three sightings can’t be coincidence.”
I nodded. “We’ve seen Basca and the two who brought Win to the diner, so they sent a different guy to spy on us.”
“Four guys to find one book. It must be important.”
“They came to get it from Stacy, but something went wrong. They killed her before they got the book.”
Retta bit at her lip. “They thought Winston could tell them, but he got arrested for the crime they committed.”
“That brought them to us. They needed someone to contact him in jail and make a deal for the book.”
“Wasn’t it risky, involving you?”
“Not if you think everyone’s willing to cheat for money. If it worked, they’d have been gone from here in a few hours. When I refused Basca’s offer, he simply walked away. Even if I’d called the police, I didn’t have much to tell them.”
Retta took a few steps, thinking it over. “So when you refused to be bribed, they went to the hands-on method.”
“Right. Basca sends a guy to waylay Win with a story about being a government agent. They planned to get the book from him, kill him, and hide his body in the woods somewhere. The police would think he ran off rather than face trial for murder.”
“But we got Winston back, and they still don’t have the book. Now they’re pulling out all the stops.”
“Which means we need to be careful.”
“Really careful,” Retta agreed. “They killed Stacy Darrow, smacked Winston around, and left Rory to freeze to death. I doubt they’d hesitate to murder one of us.”
I realized that Retta and I were figuring things out together like Barb and I usually did. I felt a little disloyal, but Retta wasn’t bad at tossing ideas back and forth to reach the truth. Would Barb even consider—
“Ohmigod.” She was looking past me, toward the front door, where a vaguely familiar figure rounded the snow bank and started up our walk.
“Is that the guy?”
She looked at me, eyes wide. “It’s him!”
I glanced around the room, looking for something I could use as a weapon. There was nothing, and I promised myself I’d get a baseball bat at the very next opportunity and put it under my desk. We tensed as the big man entered the office, closed the door behind him to shut out the cold, and turned to us. He seemed even bigger up close. I doubted the two of us stood a chance against him.
Should I call for help? Even if Dale had been able, he’d gone back to his workshop. I glanced at the phone. If this man meant to hurt us, help would never arrive in time.
Desperately I looked again for a weapon. The only solid object on my desk was a stapler. I considered launching it at his head, but what good would that do unless I scored a direct hit?
Suddenly Buddy came rocketing out from the hallway, scrabbling a little as his casted leg slid on the slippery floor. He raced past Styx, who’d been napping. He turned, curious to see what the unfriendly dog intended. Buddy stopped a few feet back from the intruder and lowered his head, barking furiously. Not to be left out of the fun, Styx got up and started barking, too.
Dancing a little and snarling a lot, Buddy skittered in a semi-circle around the intruder, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he was to stay where he was.
With an excited “Woof!” Styx bumped past Buddy to greet the newcomer. As Buddy made more noise than a dog his size should be able to, Styx set his huge paws on the man’s shoulders, pinni
ng him to the door.
“A little help here?” The guy seemed less worried than he should have been, maybe even a little amused.
Retta spoke sternly. “Are you armed?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
I tried to recall how they handle such things on TV. “Hand it over,” I ordered, “or we’ll let the dogs have you.”
Now I was sure I saw a glint of humor in his eyes. “I can’t give you my weapon. It’s against the rules.”
Rules? With a Newfie on his chest and a mutt at his ankles, he kept the criminals’ code of behavior in mind?
Retta asked, “What are you doing here?”
Raising his voice to drown out my noisy canine he replied, “I came to discuss your current case.”
Discussion sounded better than the threats I’d expected. “Buddy, be quiet!” I ordered, and surprisingly, he obeyed, backing away until he was at my ankle. Satisfied that he’d subdued the interloper, he licked his chops and sat down.
Despite the odd situation, I noted that Buddy’s protective behavior involved mostly making noise. That was good. No one wants a dog that bites—unless, of course, biting is justified.
Retta pulled Styx back, and the guy wiped a little drool off his jacket. “My neighbor has a Newf,” he said. “They’re great dogs.”
To prove she wasn’t affected by praise for her dog, Retta gave a snotty little sniff. “That’s nice, but you might as well leave,” she informed him. “We don’t discuss our cases with un-involved parties.”
Still friendly, still smiling, he said, “Oh, I’m involved.”
He was part of Basca’s gang! Just before I reached for the phone to dial 9-1-1, he added, “I’m with the DEA.”
That stopped me, but Retta said, “That story’s been tried. Tell old Max we aren’t as easy to fool as Winston Darrow was.”
“You know Max?” he asked.
“We know lots.” That wasn’t exactly true, but her tone was confident. “My sister is going to call the cops. One more and we’ll set the dogs on you again.”
Styx held himself back with effort, his rear end all a-quiver, and I hoped a stranger didn’t realize he wanted a hug more than he wanted a piece of his arm. Buddy still growled softly every few seconds, though he stayed beside me, ready to defend his home and his human mommy.
