“Hello!” Ginny put her warmest smile into the word, shook his hand, then settled down next to Charlie. “This looks like so much fun. I’m glad we decided to stop.”
Vincent nodded. “You should stay for the whole week. There’s tons of stuff to do. They even let women compete.”
“Oh?” Ginny forced her smile to stay put. “Is dogsledding something a woman can do?”
He shrugged. “Sure. It’s not as hard as the men’s events, of course, and you do need to be able to handle the dogs.”
Charlie perked up. “How do you learn to do that?”
Vincent was happy to share. He chatted eagerly about training runs and specialized vocabulary and the details of the sled and track. “I could show you, if you like.”
“I would. Can I get there on these?” Charlie indicated his crutches.
Vincent looked dubious. “Naw, we’ll need a ride, but I can do that.”
“Are the dogs yours?” Ginny asked.
“Yeah. Raised them from pups. They’re my babies. Well, mine and Dad’s. He owns the team, but I’m the lead trainer.”
Ginny expressed appropriate awe at this revelation. “May I come?” She opened her eyes wide and batted her eyelashes, just once, at Vincent.
“Sure. Let me go get the truck and I’ll take you over to the kennels. Be right back.” Vincent rose and hurried off, his step exuberant with health and excitement.
Ginny turned to Charlie. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“If you mean using a dogsled to cross the river, maybe, but I don’t see how you’re going to get me on a sled. I’m not entered in the race. I don’t have the right credentials. And that young man will never give up his chance at glory.”
Ginny nodded. “Maybe we can find someone else.” She accepted a sip of Charlie’s drink, but she wasn’t much of a beer drinker so she handed it back, then sat for a few minutes, thinking hard.
“Charlie.” She hesitated before broaching the next subject.
He looked at her over the rim of the mug, then set it down and gave her his full attention.
“It might be better if they thought you and I were, well, you know.”
“Married?”
Ginny paled. “No. You’re wearing a ring. I’m not. But, together anyway. Since we’re traveling together.”
Charlie nodded. “I know what you mean. They won’t bother you if they think you’re with me.”
Ginny dropped her eyes to the table. “Yes, and I’m sorry to have to suggest it, but it’s just until we get you safely over the border.”
“Are you ashamed of me, Ginny?”
She looked up, startled. “No! I just don’t want to hurt you.”
He studied her face. “You’re afraid, if we have to pretend to be a couple, it will dredge up painful memories.”
She nodded.
His eyes shifted to the beer. “This is the first drink I’ve had since you stopped me killing myself in the park.” He pushed it away. “It doesn’t even taste good. It’s just camouflage.” He looked at her then sat up and took a deep breath. “I owe you my life. I can do whatever it takes.”
Ginny blinked back sudden tears and nodded. “Here he comes.”
* * *
Monday Afternoon
Baileyville, ME
Jim came back to consciousness with a start. His neck hurt and he was vaguely aware of someone speaking to him.
“You all right?”
Jim nodded, blinking in the afternoon sun. It was coming in the window, almost in his eyes. He sat up and looked at the waitress.
“I must have dozed off.”
She nodded. “More coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
Jim glanced at his watch, then frowned and looked around for confirmation. There was a clock on the far wall. Sure enough, he’d been asleep for four hours. Four hours! He rubbed his face again, trying to think. She could be anywhere. He pulled out his phone and looked at it. No messages. Could he send her one? If the phone Gordon had lent her was actually off, she wouldn’t get it. Maybe she was checking every now and then, though, turning it on, then back off again. She’d want to hear from him, right? To let her know he was all right. Which was what he wanted, to know she was all right, and where she was. Except he was under orders to stay off the phone.
What little Jim knew about phones and the law came from television. He knew the technology allowed GPS location and that properly authorized government agencies could see what numbers a suspect’s phone had called. If he called Ginny, they would get Gordon’s phone number.
Jim struggled with himself until the fresh coffee had come and been drunk. This was an emergency. He really needed to find her. He picked up the phone and dialed the number to Gordon’s loaner. Phone out of service. Of course. What about a text? He tapped out ‘where r u?’ and sent it, getting another message saying the phone was out of service. She probably had the battery out, taking no chances. She understood the danger and was following the Laird’s instructions.
Jim gathered up his things and headed back to the car. He drove off the lot and headed north, following the highway and going slow, pulling over to let other cars pass and poking his nose into every available parking lot to look over the people and cars. No luck on the hatchback. He spotted a man on crutches and his heart leaped, but it turned out to be someone with a heavy black beard. Not Charlie. Lots of redheads, too, but not the right one.
He drove through Baileyville, then out the other side and headed up the road, making the Houlton international crossing just before last light, only to find it closed. So she hadn’t taken the car across here. He turned around and headed south again.
By the time he got back to Baileyville, it was full dark and the sleepy little town was jumping. Jim spotted at least three taverns, brightly lit and loud. He also saw arc lamps in use along the roadways, and lots of activity, and he could hear motors racing. He pulled into the parking lot of the next pub he came to and went inside.
He fought his way to the bar and ordered coffee, then turned around and looked at the crowd. They were well into their cups. Some were singing, their arms draped across each other’s shoulders. Some were arguing about the expected results for tomorrow’s race. Some were sitting quietly, watching the emotions heat up and Jim noticed firearms tucked discreetly into side holsters. He drank his coffee and slipped out again.
Back at the truck stop he pulled drinks and snacks off the rack then approached the girl behind the counter.
“Any chance of finding a room for the night?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Yer kiddin’, right?”
Jim sighed. “No harm in asking.”
She snorted. “No rooms available for twenty miles in any direction. People leave town and let their houses for the week, then live off the income for six months.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
“’Cept for the damage. Sometimes it takes weeks to clean up.”
“Campgrounds, maybe?”
“Same thing. ‘Less yer a trucker, yer out o’ luck, but it hardly matters. No one is gonna get much sleep ‘til this thing’s over. Everything open twenty-four hours a day to make the most of it. I’m working doubles to cover the store.”
Jim nodded. “Well, let’s just hope they’re paying you for it.”
She snorted again. “Not enough.” She handed him his change with a sour smile. “Have a nice time at the festival.”
Jim took his purchases out to the car. No rooms and no peace and quiet, which meant no opportunity to sneak across the border under cover of darkness. They might be sleeping in the car, of course, though without the sleeping bags and blankets, that might prove uncomfortable.
They might have driven along the highway until they found a place to sleep. That seemed more likely. He would do that, too. Get some sleep, then come back and see if he could find a message from her, or a clue, or something. He sighed heavily, his body aching from the cumulative effects of too much caffeine and too l
ittle sleep.
Either they were still here, or they were already over the border and halfway to Halifax. In which case, all he had to do was wait for the phone to ring. He got back in the car and headed north.
* * *
Monday Evening
Baileyville, ME
Charlie entered the tavern first, with Vincent holding the door for him. Ginny blinked at the crowd, and the noise. There was nowhere to sit and hardly any room to stand. Vincent brushed past Charlie on his way to the bar, shouting greetings to friends all over the room.
“Vince! Get over here!”
Ginny saw Vincent swerve, then gesture for them to follow. Charlie tapped a shoulder and the man in front of him turned, saw the crutches, then roared with laughter, but made a space for him to move through. It was like that the whole way. The crowd seemed to be sharing some private joke, at Charlie’s expense, but with the greatest possible goodwill.
When she and Charlie had managed to gain a bit of floor space in front of the table, she saw a large man in an argyle sweater grinning up at them. It was clear he had been celebrating for some time already.
“What are you doing in that rig tonight? You don’t have to suit up until tomorrow!”
Vincent seemed to think this the height of wit. “Joke’s on you, Steven. His is real!”
“Real? Really?” The big man rose and peered at Charlie. “Geez! What’d you do?”
Charlie glanced at Vincent.
“He wants to know how you broke your leg.”
“Oh!” Charlie’s arm came snaking around Ginny’s waist, pulling her to him. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell!”
This brought down the house. More than a half dozen of the denizens had been eavesdropping. They now turned their full attention on Charlie, grinning and laughing.
“Come on, man! She’s too skinny for me to believe that! How’d you really break your leg?”
“Bull riding. Got thrown.”
This too, was greeted with cheers and more than a few curious eyes.
“Where are you two from?”
“Texas.”
The other man, Steven, now made places for them at the table, bullying the previous occupants out of their chairs, and making Ginny and Charlie welcome in his domain.
“You’re a long way from home.”
Charlie nodded.
“Come for the Festival?”
Charlie shook his head. “Nope. Didn’t know it existed.” He looked around at the audience. “Looks like y’all are havin’ a good time, though.”
“The real fun starts tomorrow,” Steven said.
“We gotta get him into the race,” Vincent said to Steven.
Steven was still eying Charlie. “Well, he’s got the handicap. Can you shoot?”
Charlie lifted an eyebrow. “Some.”
Ginny smiled to herself. Taciturn Texan. Good move.
“Some.” Steven sat back in his chair. “Rifle?”
Charlie nodded. “I hunt.”
“Umm.” Steven turned to Vincent. “He’ll need a sponsor and a gun.”
Vincent grinned. “I can do that.”
“Excuse me,” Ginny interrupted. “What are y’all talking about?”
“The Busted Bum Biathlon.”
“The what?”
Half a dozen excited voices tried to answer her. Steven silenced them. “It’s a contest we have here at the festival. Real macho stuff. Cross-country skiing with one leg in a cast and targets the size of quarters.”
Ginny felt her mouth stretching into a grin. “How did you come up with that one?”
“One of the regulars broke a leg the day before the race a few years back, but he didn’t think it should stop him competing.”
Vincent grinned widely. “You showed ‘em, Steven! Almost won, too.”
“I see!” Ginny smiled at the local hero.
“What d’ you want me for?” Charlie asked. “You don’t know me.”
Steven glanced at Vincent, then back at Charlie. “Tomorrow’s the relay. We’re one man short.” He frowned. “If we can’t find a replacement for Zack, we’ll have to drop out. So far, no luck.”
Charlie nodded slowly. “What would I have to do?”
“Ski seven and a half kilometers, on one leg, shoot straight and hit all five targets, prone and standing. Highest team score wins.” Steven leaned forward across the table. “It’s not as easy as it sounds. It’s all in good fun, but the guys tend to get a bit competitive. You might find yourself tripped along the way.”
Charlie smiled. “I can handle myself.”
“Even with a broken leg?”
“Yup.”
“And you can shoot?”
Charlie looked over at Ginny and their eyes met. She nodded. Whatever risks they were running by registering Charlie in a race would be mitigated by the credit he was building with these men. They might be talked into helping.
“Last time I went out with the boys,” Charlie said, “I put every round in the ten at 600 yards. ‘Course that was a clear day with no wind and my own rifle.”
“Whew!” Steven stuck out his hand. “In that case, welcome to the team, Tex.”
There were additional details to sort out and Vincent came and went more than once, but Ginny found herself relaxing for the first time in days. She watched the crowd ebb and flow.
They were a cheerful bunch, laughing and singing and teasing each other. As the evening wore on, they also started competing, boasting of prodigious feats they planned to perform on the morrow. Several of them came up to her and spoke. She smiled and chatted and let nothing of her real life slip into the conversation. If one of them got too chummy, Charlie laid his hand on her shoulder and the interloper would retreat. There were women, too. Charlie collected a small harem of admirers before they left. All in all, a very pleasant evening, topped off by an example of northern hospitality.
“You’ll come home with me,” Vincent insisted. “Can’t have you getting lost tonight. All we’ve got is sofas, but they’re long enough even for you,” he looked at Charlie, “and plenty comfortable. I know, I’ve slept on them more than once.”
Ginny was happy to accept. They followed him to a modest house on the outskirts of Baileyville, met his parents and a sister and were quickly settled in the living room with blankets, hot drinks, and the waning embers of the evening’s fire.
Ginny was just drifting off when she was hit with a sudden pang of guilt. It had been hours since she’d even thought of Jim. She wished, heartily, that she could call him, but Angus had made it clear. She was to have no contact with anyone Tran could trace until Charlie was safely across the border and delivered to the Halifax Homestead.
Jim was probably here, somewhere. Gordon would have given him the same directions he’d given her, cross at International Avenue. Jim would recognize the potential of the Festival. With so many people on crutches tomorrow, Charlie could hide in plain sight.
He’d be looking for her, for them. Looking, maybe, for a signal from them. She should add that to her To Do list. And she should look for the SUV.
But even if she couldn’t find Jim, or he them, she had her assignment and the beginnings of an idea. A lot would depend on just how much testosterone was floating in the air tomorrow. Whatever happened, it promised to be an interesting experience.
* * *
Chapter 37
Tuesday Morning
Baileyville, ME
Jim had managed to find a room in the Danforth area, fifty miles north of Baileyville. Not cheap, but clean and good food. He’d gotten in around nine p.m., gone straight to bed, and slept ten hours. With a hot shower, clean clothes, and a lumberjack breakfast under his belt, he felt better. He also felt encouraged.
The TV in the breakfast area had included a segment from the local Game Warden, explaining the dangers of interacting with the Maine wildlife. To illustrate, he had shown a video clip of tourists on Hwy 9 trying to drive around a black bear that was in possession of the road.
Jim watched, fascinated, as the bear charged the vehicle, cameras recording the whole thing. The driver of the hatchback was a redhead.
The clip was too short to be sure, but Jim was convinced the driver was Ginny, the passenger was Charlie, and the hatchback was the one they had borrowed from the Albany Homestead. He drove back to Baileyville, parked in the public lot, got out of the SUV, and looked around.
At first he thought he was hallucinating. With each leg cast he spotted, he jumped. None were Charlie, though. He counted them. More than thirty in the immediate vicinity and more arriving each minute. He made his way to the nearest vendor and ordered coffee.
“What’s with all the broken legs?”
The vendor told him.
Jim took his coffee back to the car and climbed behind the wheel. One-legged skiing and sharp shooting. Talk about tough! But what a break! If he knew Ginny, she would be figuring out how to use this to her advantage. She was here, and so was Charlie. Now to find them.
* * *
Tuesday Morning
Dallas, TX
Five days and she was only just now hearing of it. Five days! If Detective Tran had been a swearing woman, she would have indulged in language that could have blistered the sun.
She read the transcript again. It was the testimony of an escaped felon, eight pages of it. He described a white van with Texas plates, two men and a woman, one of the men confessing to a murder and disposing of the body in a boat that had been set on fire.
There was no protocol in place for sharing the ravings of a bitter and apparently lunatic convict with other law enforcement agencies, but someone had eventually routed a copy of this to the Texas clearinghouse. The boat had triggered a match alert and the file had been forwarded to her. Not the actual file, of course, a summary, but there could be no mistake. It had to be Monroe.
Which put him in Roanoke, Virginia five days ago.
The other man and the woman could be anybody, but it was most likely they were Miss Forbes and Dr. Mackenzie. The physical descriptions matched.
Detective Tran’s eyes narrowed. She had spoken to Dr. Mackenzie on Sunday and he had earnestly told her he had not seen Monroe since they left Dallas.
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