Peppermint Creek Inn

by Jan Springer

  He noted the reddish moustache and the red hair.

  Sam Blake. The man lying dead in the well. The shock of his remembrance almost broke Tom from his memory but he fought against the surprise, pulling himself back into his train of thought. He wanted to remember this. He needed to remember.

  The cop glared angrily at the other officer crouched in the corner, but he said nothing.

  Then he turned and stared down at Tom.

  Tom stared back, defiant.

  Sam Blake looked to be about six-foot-three. Maybe taller. The skinniest-looking guy he’d ever seen. His hair, what floated out from beneath his cop’s hat, was a dirty rusty red, the same color as the pencil-thin mustache hanging beneath the man’s bulbous-like nose.

  His gaze narrowed on the cop. “Who are you? What the hell am I doing here?”

  The cop’s anger dissipated. His lips upturned into one awful cruel smile.

  “So! You’re finally awake!” the cop drawled and slowly crouched down in front of him. “Thought I’d beat you a little too hard during the last round. Had me worried.”

  “What do you want?”

  “We’re not going to play that game again, are we?” he said sweetly.

  When he gave the cop no answer, a cruel smile crept across his lips and his voice lowered to a deadly tone that sent a shiver of dread slicing through Tom’s bones. “I’ll cut to the chase this time. You got it. We want it. Tell us where it is and we’ll let you go. It’s as simple as that.”

  He blinked not knowing how to comprehend what the cop said.

  You got it? We want it? Got what? Shock waves of nausea spilled through his gut.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Blake’s mustache twitched. The cruel smile evaporated and his black beady eyes narrowed into tiny slits.

  “Don’t toy with me, rat. I want the goods. I want it now,” he demanded between clenched teeth.

  Rat? Why was he calling him rat? What the hell kind of name was that? And what was the cop talking about?

  “Listen, there must be some kind of mistake. Just tell me what it is I’m supposed to have.”

  Blake’s hand slithered downward. Toward his boot.

  He gulped nervously as the cop’s black leather gloved hand slid into the boot and produced a .32. His blood ran cold as Blake lifted the gun slowly. Deliberately.

  In seconds the barrel was pointed straight at him. Directly between his eyes. Not more than three inches from his face.

  His stomach twisted into a sickening knot.

  “You don’t have to do this, man,” Tom whispered. He didn’t recognize his own voice. It sounded flat. Totally devoid of any emotion.

  “Just tell me where it is.”

  He flinched when he heard the clicking sound shatter the silent room. He watched in horrified fascination as the cylinder revolved to position a shiny new .32 bullet into the chamber.

  It was at this point he became fully aware of the saying “your life passes before your eyes”. However, nothing was happening. At least not in his case. Heck. Nothing passed before his eyes. Just a .32 and a grinning madman.

  A trickle of sweat dribbled down his forehead as his mind fought desperately against the exploding panic gripping him.

  He didn’t have the faintest clue as to what this man was talking about. Maybe the guy would listen to reason?

  “Listen, man. I’m serious here. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Wrong answer,” came his sharp reply.

  He braced himself. The gun pointed directly at his brain. The bullet would most likely knock him out before he could even feel a thing. Attempting to keep that one thought plugged squarely in his head, he felt some of his fear vanish.

  Panic dulled. Anger at being held against his will subsided. A warm feeling of peace greeted him and he found himself alone. With peace and with God.

  Then as if in a dream, he watched his own shackled hand slowly lift and float toward the gun, pushing it gently aside.

  “You can’t kill me,” he said casually. “I have something you want.”

  Blake’s eyes grew into giant marbles as his face twisted into an evil mask.

  “You are a dead man, rat.”

  The gun swung on him. A gunshot rang out.

  Tom jerked at the searing sound. He squeezed his eyes shut and his heart lunged into his mouth. He held his breath and waited for the life to pour out of him.

  Endless silence rang throughout the room.

  After a few moments, he realized cold air still entered his trembling lungs. Amazing. Somehow, the bullet had missed. He was still very much alive. And very much terrified. Or very much dead. But dead men didn’t have splitting headaches did they? Or the God-awful shivers.

  Reluctantly Tom opened his eyes to find Blake lying facedown on the hard rocky floor in front of him. A spreading blossom of red pooled across the man’s back.

  Horrified at the sudden turn of events, he’d turned his aching head to find the other cop, the one who’d been feigning sleep, standing in the corner. A small gray wisp of smoke curled from the gun in his hand. A satisfied smile lifted his lips.

  Tom cursed beneath his breath as he remembered the cop’s face.

  Jeffries. Justin Jeffries had saved his life.

  —

  A fresh, warm, fish-scented breeze wafted off the bay, gently rustling Tom’s blond hair. He stood stiff as a board. His jaws clenched tight as if he was fighting off some demons. His scowling emerald gaze scanned the nearby rugged cliffs.

  He seemed extremely upset, yet he hadn’t said a word to her as they’d trotted up the stairs from the bowels of the debilitated house. He’d headed straight for the shoreline and begun to scan the surrounding hillside. She wanted to ask him what he was searching for, but she opted to remain quiet. Past experience had taught her he’d tell her in his own good time.

  Suddenly his eyes narrowed. She followed his gaze. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, and yet—

  Sara peered closer. A casual observer wouldn’t have seen a thing.

  It took a moment but she definitely saw a tiny metallic glint twinkle in the sunshine about halfway up a nearby rocky cliff.

  “How’s your foot?”

  “Fine.”

  “You up for a little hike?”

  Sara nodded, puzzled by his suddenly excited behavior.

  “C’mon,” he grabbed her hand, leading her along the sandy shoreline, across the train tracks and toward the hillside.

  —

  Fifteen minutes later, they were both out of breath from the taxing climb as they stood on a narrow ledge of the steep cliff staring wide-eyed at a shiny, expensive, brand new-looking, flashy green motorcycle laid carefully on its side. And it wasn’t just any motorcycle. Gold lettering, written proudly across the gas tank revealed the words “Harley-Davidson”.

  Two shiny black helmets were strapped to the black leather seats.

  “Who in the world would leave such a beautiful bike out here in the middle of nowhere?” Sara asked softly.

  “It’s mine,” Tom replied excitedly as he surged forward.

  “Yours?” She watched in surprise as his rippling muscular arms lifted the bike into a standing position and kicked out the kickstand.

  A set of old, weathered black leather saddlebags hung from both sides of the bike. They contrasted sharply with the newness of the machine. Tom set upon searching through them.

  Sara pushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes and surveyed Tom closer. He didn’t strike her as the biker type. But on the other hand— The night he’d first arrived. Of course! He’d been wearing a heavy black leather jacket. Biker wear.

  Tom’s curse drew her attention. She felt her eyes widen as from one of the saddlebags he removed a fat billfold and with precise expertise began to count.

  Bank robber. The obscene thought popped into her mind. There must be thousands of dollars in his hands. Where would he get that kind of money?

/>   Drug money?

  She shook the crazy thoughts away. She wouldn’t go down the second guessing route. There must be a good reason why he had so much money on him.

  “Man, there must be ten grand in here. Tens, twenties and fifties.”

  He tucked the bills back into the wallet and handed it to Sara.

  Immediately she searched the contents for some ID. There was none.

  “These bills are all U.S.” Her eyebrows raised in wonder.

  “And they’re clean.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Not counterfeit,” he elaborated. “And in no particular order. That means its not dirty money. No one can trace it when it’s spent.”

  As if he suddenly realized what he was saying, he stopped talking and lifted his troubled gaze to peer at Sara questioningly.

  “How do I know this stuff? And why would I be tooling around with all this cash?”

  “Maybe you’re a banker?” She threw him a smile and ran her hand gently over the gleaming bike marveling at its beauty. She noted the two shining black helmets strapped to the leather seat.

  Two. One helmet was old and scruffed—the other one was shiny and new. Had someone been riding with him? Did the extra helmet belong to his girlfriend? His wife?

  From the saddlebag, Tom withdrew a small leather pouch, which clinked with repair tools, a couple of tins of food, a can opener and a map of Ontario. Unfolding the map, they noticed the ghost town of Jackfish had been circled in black.

  Cocking his head with curiosity he tapped the map with his fingertips. “I remember asking someone, a young lady I think, about any place that was really cheap to stay at. She mentioned a couple of hotels in town. And suggested I might be interested at taking a look at the ghost town of Jackfish while I was in the area.”

  “Where did you talk to her? How did she look like? Maybe we can find her and ask her questions about your conversation you had with her. You may have said something to her to indicate who you are.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t conjure up a face or a place. But—” His gaze flew over the nearby ground.

  “What are you looking for?”

  He took a few steps, bent over and overturned a fist-sized rock.

  “This!” Tom lifted a set of keys.

  “Obviously you’re regaining your memory.” She didn’t know if she should be happy for him or sad for herself.

  “Some of it. I’ll give you the details once we get out of here.”

  “Wait a minute!” Sara grabbed at the keys. “Your key chain. That long key. It looks like the key to my barn and this one.” Sara pulled at a short stubby key. “Is the key to my house.” She pulled at another one. “And this is to the loft.” She lifted her questioning gaze and met his confused green eyes. “Where did you get them?”

  He shook his head slowly. “I haven’t a clue.”

  “This explains how you had access to my barn. How you knew about the pictures in the loft. And that old bike in the barn. You were there.”

  Sara continued to examine the keys carefully. “These keys are from the first set we made when we’d first bought the inn. We only gave them to family. You know what this means?”

  She raised her gaze to meet Tom’s and jolted at his tortured look.

  “I could have stolen them from someone you know.” His voice was low and tight.

  Sara shook her head. “It means someone I know trusted you enough to give the keys to you.”

  “Or I could have taken them off someone’s key chain that indicated where they belong.”

  “You could have.” Sara decided to agree. She wasn’t surprised to see the look of shock cross his face.

  A somewhat watery smile settled on his lips as he suddenly realized the game she was playing with him.

  “Sorry. I should be positive. I was just—”

  “Being negative.” Sara laughed, and then grew serious. “Someone knew I was out of town and gave you the keys so you could stay at my place.”

  Tom finally nodded his head in agreement. “Okay. I can look at it from your perspective. Someone gave me the keys knowing you were out of town. That means someone close to you. But why haven’t they called to check if I’m here? Or left a message on your answering machine?”

  “I’d forgotten to turn the machine on when I left on my trip. And then the phones have been out most of the time you’ve been here, that’s why there aren’t any messages. See? Easy explanation.”

  “You’re right.” Instantly Tom’s demeanor changed and he hopped onto the bike, laughing like a little kid meeting his best friend after a long separation due to summer break.

  Sara’s breath caught as she realized she’d never seen him so happy. Cute crinkles zipped from the edges of his eyes and his laughter was joyous and free. It was contagious. She enjoyed this new man emerging right before her eyes.

  Jamming the key into the socket, he turned it and the bike instantly roared to life.

  “Your chariot awaits, my dear,” he chuckled and jumped off the bike, bowed and extended his hand in a sweeping motion toward the motorcycle.

  “I can’t get on that,” Sara gasped as the full meaning of his gesture hit home.

  Placing his hands on her waist, he pulled her towards him. Her heart accelerated with excitement as he pressed his large cock against her pussy.

  “Why not? Don’t you trust me?” She detected the mischievous glint light up his eyes.

  “It’s not that,” Sara lowered her lashes so she wouldn’t have to look into his face. So he wouldn’t see her embarrassment.” It’s just…well, I’ve never been on one before,” she shyly admitted.

  He grinned tenderly. “Is that all? You can be my good-luck charm then.” Seeing her concerned look he added, “You’ll like it. Believe me.”

  He unstrapped the newer helmet and handed it to her. “Have to put this on. For safety.”

  Obviously he wasn’t going to take no for an answer so she plopped the light helmet over her head. It fit perfectly and made her wonder who had worn it last. The girlfriend? Or the wife?

  An odd feeling she didn’t much like ripped through her. Anger? Jealousy? No way was she jealous. She’d never been jealous in her life before and she wasn’t about to start now. With a stubborn tilt to her jaw, she reached up and fumbled awkwardly with the strap.

  “Here let me,” Tom offered.

  For an unbelievably long time he stared into her eyes, his wonderful masculine scent invading her nostrils. With feather-light fingers he adjusted the strap, the touch of his flesh making her pulse quicken and her breasts tighten.

  “All ready?”

  Sara gave him a slight nod.

  Reluctantly he let her go. “A few tips about motorcycles. Keep your legs away from those exhaust pipes. They get hot and I don’t want you to get burned. Use the pegs. You can use the handle here to hang onto or you can wrap your arms around me. And you’ll have to move with me, too, when I turn. Okay, that’s about everything. Hop on!”

  Sara swung one leg over the smooth warm leather seat and sat down. The vibrations startled her for a moment as they traveled up her legs, thighs, along the butt plug he’d re-inserted after breakfast and rocked against her pussy.

  She sucked in a sharp breath and straddled the seat, enjoying the way her pussy spasmed and creamed with arousal.

  “Ready?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said trying hard not to be nervous about this first time.

  She jumped when he sat down in front of her and revved the engine. Her hands automatically flew off the awkward handle and she wrapped her arms securely around Tom’s firm belly, pressing her swollen breasts against his hot back. Pure pleasure coursed through her at this erotic position and she moaned softly.

  He threw her a concerned look over his shoulder. “You okay?”

  “No problem back here,” she lied. Except for what your cock sliding into me wouldn’t cure.

  “Hold on tight, sweetness,” he shouted a
bove the roar of his bike.

  Sara clamped her thighs tighter around Tom’s hips enjoying the vibrations from the bike and the wonderful sensations assaulting her body. He wasn’t kidding when he told her she was going to like this.

  “Let’s go get our stuff at the boathouse!” he hollered. “Then we’ll haul the stuff back to the truck and I’ll drive the bike back home behind you.”

  Hearty warmth splashed through her as he called Peppermint Creek Inn home. She didn’t have too long to relish the newfound feeling for he suddenly popped the clutch and the bike lurched forward slamming more sensations deep into her pussy. She tightened her grip around his lean waist as the bike began to descend, pushing her pussy harder into his luscious ass. Arousal mixed with fear as they plunged down the sharp angle of the slope. Closing her eyes, she buried her face into his broad shoulders as the bike hit a rock and jolted them, knocking her up off the seat momentarily.

  Oh, shit! We’re going to crash! Her mind screamed. But they didn’t. Her ass hit the seat again and she melted harder against Tom’s strong frame.

  Within seconds, she began to relax. Well maybe not relax, but she certainly began to enjoy the hot sunshine caressing her face and bare arms. She found herself smiling at how expertly he maneuvered the powerful cycle down the steep embankment and she was grateful to the cool wind for banking the fires that began to rage once again inside her, now that she knew she would be safe on this bike.

  Being so close to Tom was a heaven she never knew existed. Every movement in his body sizzled against her and she found herself wishing this carefree, erotic ride would last into eternity.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They were fully prepared not to stay at Peppermint Creek Inn but after checking the answering machine, Sara discovered Jo had called while they’d been away at Jackfish.

  Her sister left a message stating she and Garry were together working on a very serious case. They’d received her urgent messages and Jo would call back either tonight or tomorrow. Much to Sara’s frustration, Jo didn’t answer her cell phone or her pager when Sara quickly returned her call, thus forcing Tom and her to remain at her home to wait.