Mystery at Deadfall Lake

by Terry McGhee

  Copyright © 2013 Publisher Name

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: XXXXXX

  ISBN 13: XXXXX

  Library of Congress Control Number: XXXXX (If applicable)

  LCCN Imprint Name: City and State (If applicable)

  Preface

  Mystery at Deadfall Lake is a work of fiction. Deadfall Lake (s) is a real place in the Eddy mountain range, and part of the Klamath Mountains of Northern California.

  The Pacific Crest scenic trail passes through this beautiful wilderness area and welcomes all hikers. A major attraction is its solitude.

  All characters in Mystery at Deadfall Lake are fictional as are any descriptions of specific places of business or neighboring towns.

  Chapter 1

  Barb sat next to me on our rear deck enjoying a glass of wine, her face buried in a romance novel. Things were pretty quiet in our out-of-the-way, recreational community. If you didn’t hike, fish, ski, golf, or raft the river, it was pretty dull. I had to admit I was somewhat bored…OK, seriously bored.

  We were both retired, and I suspected Barbara might also be quietly struggling with our sudden application of the brakes to a busy work life. She had done a lot of traveling with me visiting fascinating places all over the world.

  “Hey hon, how are you really dealing with this small town life? Do you think we may have dropped too far out of the main stream?”

  She closed her book and leaned back in her deck chair. “I love it right now, and think we did the right thing. We’re not that old and I worry some about growing tired of doing pretty much nothing, and living in such a small town. I could always do some volunteer work at our hospital or maybe the hotel. Remember you do have those business frequent flyer miles you banked. If we get bored we can have a change of scene if we think it will help beat the blahs.”

  “You’re right…it’s not like we’re stuck here with no way out. I’m thinking that I just haven’t given it enough time. Maybe I should take some fishing lessons from one of the local pros.” I scrunched up my face thinking about fishing. I was kidding myself. I did not fish, and had no burning desire to take up the sport.

  Barb and I looked at each other quietly pondering this topic of retirement.

  ***

  My name is Jake Vincent. After a hectic, thirty-five years of traveling around the world on business, I was finally retired. My wife and I built our retirement home among the tall conifer forest in a small mountain resort town in Northern California. I swore never to go near another airport…ever! Well maybe not that long.

  I looked forward to doing nothing but reading, writing about some of my travel experiences, playing golf, and exploring the mountain back roads on my 2003 Vespa motor scooter. Barb and I could have those leisurely chats about all the this-and-that of our lives without interrupting phone calls and faxes.

  Barbara was an identical twin, I knew the minute I saw her at one of my high school basketball games, I had to ask her out on a date. This was not an easy thing for me. I was very shy and had never been out on a real date. The only way I could tell the sisters apart was by the color of their eye glass frames. It took me a week to finally make contact. My close friends threatened to be my unauthorized proxy unless I screwed up the courage to arrange the ‘ask-her-out’ meeting. They had it all planned out. I was to be positioned outside one of her classes, and as she emerged, I would speak the line I had been rehearsing for days: “Hello…I saw you at the last basketball game, and was wondering if you would like to go out on a date with me?” This trite line worked! The butterflies in my stomach finally were quieted. Well mostly.

  We were married while I was in college. She was eighteen, and I was twenty-one. She worked to help with the college expenses, and graciously accepted the several cross-country moves that would come later as part of my work career. I positively knew that we now were more in love than at the time dating in high school. We raised three great children, and they now have families of their own, giving us the precious gift of grandchildren. For all of these fifty-three years, my loving wife has remained the quiet and calm port in the storms that hit all marriages.

  I now was on the downhill side of sixty; had been a serious runner for twenty plus years during my travels, and never missed an opportunity to take a leisurely run when I visited any new locale. This included seventy-seven foreign countries. I had my favorites: Paris, London, Hong Kong, Bern, Santiago and many others. Avoiding the fine dining trap' that snatched most business travelers and added unwanted pounds had not been easy. My running kept the weight and the stress levels down. My scalp had given up the fight against baldness, and I now had a baseball-sized—and growing—spot of bare turf on my crown. I did not care anymore, as I was a man of leisure, right? My jokester wife told me that if it bothered me I could convert to Judaism and wear a yarmulke. Over half a century of marriage, I had grown to love her often-funny quips.

  My business occupation had involved security-risk analysis of large industrial facilities, military sites, US embassies, nuclear sites, intelligence-gathering branches of our government, and other sites prone to intrusion attacks by the nasty criminals of the world. I did my bit at protecting mankind from the bad guys. I pondered my new life, and was fully aware of the stark change. Was I really ready to let go of what was a unique, fun, and exciting time of traveling the world?

  ***

  This warm and sunny afternoon, I was dressed in what my wife called my “relaxing rig.” Loose cargo shorts, sandals, and one of the comfortable, hand-made cotton shirts I bought in Manila, Philippines. I remembered at the time of the purchase, the friendly woman who made them, and was selling them from a push cart. She could probably feed her family for a few weeks from the sale.

  I sat on our redwood deck, under the tall ponderosa pines, reading our local newspaper—for the second time—cover to cover. The squirrels were entertaining us as they chased each other around the tree trunks up and then down, to the forest floor to scamper over to another tall pine tree and repeat the game. They never seemed to catch each other and reminded me of young children playing tag.

  Murphee—our yellow Labrador retriever—lay at our feet with his chin nuzzled on his front paws. Old Murph was an easygoing, friendly dog and did not have a mean molecule in his body. The big guy was getting up in age, white fur already showing around his muzzle. He wasn’t interested in the noisy squirrels chattering at him; content instead to just kick back on our deck. I reached down and gave him a gentle scratch behind his ears. Murph raised his head, gave a couple of tail wags, and then settled back to his quiet contemplation of the good life.

  Barb put down her book and picked up the newspaper from the side table by my chair. She said, “Did you see this story on the back page? It’s in the Blast From the Past section. Seventeen years ago, a young couple went on a hike nearby and was never heard from again. This reporter is asking if anyone has any current information that might justify reopening this cold case. Why don’t you dig into this story? You know you like a good mystery puzzle. With your security and investigative background, I’ll bet the local police would be glad to show you the files on this closed case. Admit it, Sherlock, you’d enjoy digging into this unsolved mystery. You know your sometimes tedious job was always more exciting when you had a new challenge.”

  Snatching the paper from her, I flipped to the back page again. I must have just glossed over this bit of old news. “This is the Deadfall Lake trail. Don’t you remember? We hiked this trail our first or second year in the house. Wow, remember those wildflowers...it was breathtaking? That photo of us on the dead tree trunk was taken that day.”

  Early in my work career, I was hired by a major defense contractor company to study thei
r vulnerability to espionage and intrusion by thieves. Competition for federal government business was fierce, and employee screening, internal document protection, physical site security system design, and other measures to guard against loss of proprietary information were taken seriously. This contract lasted about three months, and I was given an ‘A’ commendation when my final recommendations were submitted. This early success helped me secure other employment in the security industry.

  Barb was smiling and nodding her head, obviously glad to see the growing twinkle in my eyes. She also knew she might have found something to keep me busy and out of her hair for a few weeks. She was capable of cunningly planning such a scenario, especially since she and her friends had been talking about driving to San Francisco for a few days of theatre and sightseeing.

  I thought more about the whole idea of getting back into the sleuthing mode. Barb suggested that this might be some ‘winding down’ work that would soften any shock from my abrupt cessation of a very busy work life to just sitting on the deck and doing nothing.

  With renewed energy, I awoke the next morning ahead of the sunrise. I brewed some freshly ground coffee and popped an English muffin in the toaster oven. I ventured out on the still cold rear deck and checked the fish in our garden ponds. “Lucky us,” I exclaimed to myself. “No visits by our marauding masked invader." Guess the raccoon had found better pickings elsewhere. I went back inside to enjoy the steaming dark roast coffee and plan my approach with the local gendarmes regarding the files on the missing couple. Barb had cautioned me to remember the small town mentality: go slow and try not to be too pushy.

  "What, moi?" I’d exclaimed wide eyed, with a faked hurt expression. "When have I ever been pushy?"

  She did a huge eye roll in my direction. "How about every time you just knew you had the answer to a puzzle and you thought someone was standing in the way?"

  "OK, I think I understand after a year of living here in paradise how the local police might react to my offer of help. I promise to be the picture of meekness.”

  “I won’t bet the ranch on that!”

  I thought I should eat breakfast to make sure my little gray cells were at their best when I talked to the police. Opening the fridge, I took out a fruit yogurt, small Tupperware container of fresh blueberries, and the carton of 1 percent milk. I snagged a small handful of nuts from a bowl and dug around in a drawer for the nut chopper. There was enough Kashi Crunch left to complete my quickie breakfast. “Yuck,” Barb said, screwing up her nose at my concoction. “I’ll make myself some scrambled eggs on toast after you leave.”

  I backed the jeep out of the garage and headed for town. I had dressed casual for the occasion and wore light brown khaki pants, low top trail hiking shoes, and blue denim, long sleeve shirt, complete with an American flag pin fastened to my front pocket. Wearing a suit and tie in our laid back town would have folks looking at you as if you were crazy. The three mile drive to town center was perfect for me to rehearse my opening remarks. The bright sun was peeking through the tall pines, and the Stellar Jays were noisily flitting from tree branch to the ground searching for a breakfast seed or nut.

  Convinced that a laid back, casual approach was the best, I unbuttoned the top button on my shirt. Parking spaces were plentiful this time of year. Our tourist season was several weeks away. Turning off the ignition, I flopped down my window visor and checked out my hair in the mirror. Maybe a not-so-neat a comb was better. Doing a quick hair muss, I thought how stupid I was acting. Barb would find a way to stick me with a funny comment if she knew.

  With a beat up old briefcase in hand, I pushed open the single glass door of the downtown police department office.

  The young lady in the small front office of the town police station was obviously a police officer herself. She was petite and slender with very short blonde hair. The badge pinned to her bright white shirt was so shiny it was blinding. Her name tag said ‘Sarah.’ “Good morning Sarah. My name is Jake.” I explained who I was, that I had an interest in reviewing an old cold case file if possible, and offered my pro-bono services as a “highly trained professional.”

  Wanting to let Sarah know I was fully attentive and trying to make conversation, I asked, “How many people work here in police HQ?”

  “About half.” With a broad smile and a chuckle, Sarah pushed open the small swinging gate and asked that I follow her. Wow, I thought, no ‘please call ahead for an appointment’ speech that would have greeted me in the big city. I was seated in a tiny room with a small beat-up wooden table, folding metal chairs, and no window. A coffee machine sat in one corner and smelled like a fresh brew awaited any occupant. I looked for, but did not see, the normal box of doughnuts. Maybe the chief was into the health thing. “Please have a seat, and help yourself to a cup of coffee if you wish. I’m sure Inspector Hannity will want to talk to you.” Sarah did a quick bow and backed out of the tiny room.

  Just as I’d bent over to sniff the coffee__it was burned__the door opened. A more-than-middle-aged, tall, overweight, and slightly pot-bellied officer with a full head of white hair entered the room. He looked like he may have played football when he was in high school or college. He looked familiar to me—I’d probably seen him in the market, or maybe the hardware store. When we’d first moved in, our neighbors told us that at some point we’d eventually run into everyone in town.

  “Hello Jake, I’m Inspector Hannity. Sarah told me you’re inquiring about an old case involving the missing couple up at Deadfall Lake.” His handshake was crushing, and I tried not to wince. He dropped a thick manila folder on the table. “I understand you’re retired. Why on earth would you want to spend time researching this old case? Our local reporter only printed the story because there wasn’t any new news worth reporting.” The inspector and I chatted a little, and I gave a brief background of my working life. I offered the testimonial letter from one of my major clients.

  “A large part of my work consisted of working with clients to inspect intrusion risks. Building roof and exterior facades most often had seriously weak points where an intruder could gain access. Also the business grounds exterior outside barriers such as fencing and walls could be security strengthened with intrusion detection electronics. Some clients would task me to investigate what appeared to be inside theft of property. An outsider often could see what the business owner could not. “Much of my time was spent investigating after-the-fact intrusions.” I offered him a copy of the letter of commendation I had received from my early security investigating work. “I simply am bored out of my skull and would like to review all the case notes, if you approve. Just to see if I might be of any help in figuring out what happened.”

  “Have at it. You’re welcome to go over the files, but they must remain here at the police station. These are all the notes available from each officer who was involved in the case. What say I leave you alone for a time while you digest the files? Let me know when you are finished, and I can try to answer any questions you may have. I am the only one still around that has some familiarity with the case. Our younger officers get the work experience here, and then most tend to move on to the big city—better pay and advancement opportunities.”

  The investigation documentation wasn’t that detailed or thorough in my opinion. Wendy and Roy, both eighteen years old, were noted as students at the local community college. They had met there, spent time together studying, hiking around the local mountains, and doing what any couple would do. Wendy had grown up in the town, and Roy had moved west on his own after graduating high school in the east. Neither of them had any kind of past trouble with the law. Not even traffic or parking tickets. Their grades were above average. Sounded like normal quiet lives to me.

  Wendy’s mother still lived in town, but a last note in the file noted that her father had died about five years ago. A town map with the address was marked, less than two miles from the police station. I’d visit the mother today or tomorrow after an OK from Inspector Hannity.


  I opened the door and told Sarah I was finished reviewing the file. She looked up from her computer screen. “Well I suppose that as a ‘highly trained professional’ you have solved the mystery already.”

  I grinned. “Even the pros need a few hours.” She jumped up and fast-walked down the hall. Ten seconds later Inspector Hannity entered the room.

  “OK Jake, can I answer any questions? By the way, I read the letters from your previous clients. I gladly accept your offer of assistance.” He helped himself to a cup of the foul-smelling, burned coffee. I had the distinct impression that he was forcing himself to tolerate my presence. The Inspector gave a couple of sighs and an eye roll as he propped his elbows on the table and cradled his head on top of his fists. OK, I thought, so much for my earlier pitch about my sterling qualifications. It was a small town, and I guessed he was just exhibiting the common friendliness we had found when we moved to the small resort community. This was the only place we had lived where virtually everyone waved and nodded to each other when out on the street or in the local stores.

  “The report says that the couple’s car, a 1970 Toyota sedan, was found at the trail head where a public forest road intersects. Were any clues at all found in the car?”

  Hannity gulped some coffee and scrunched up his nose at the taste. I made a mental note to pass on some of my tips on brewing tasty coffee. “Nothing was found in the car. A thorough search was done. There were no prints on the car other than those of Wendy and Roy.”

  “The car was Roy’s, but did he have another car, and did Wendy drive a car as well?”

  “As far as we could uncover, the old Toyota was the only car Roy owned. He worked odd jobs just to buy gas. Wendy’s mom did not work, and she drove Wendy to her classes. Wendy would sometimes drive the family station wagon when her mom couldn’t take her, or if Roy was unable to pick her up.”