Finding Abby: A Romantic Suspense set in the Colorado Mountains (Whispering Pines Mysteries)

by Rhonda Blackhurst

  She struggled to remember if the lights were working then or if she just used the light from outside. She couldn’t remember. At least not that she was one hundred percent certain. If the door handle in the boathouse would have turned, allowing for the possibility that the board had been blocking the door from opening, each incident individually had a plausible answer, but collectively they made her more than a little doubtful. Especially since the only way to lock the shed door was with a key.

  She bolted upright, Cooper catching himself from falling over with her sudden movement.

  “Mom,” he complained.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where you going, pipsqueak?” Jeremiah asked.

  But she didn’t answer. She descended the three stairs to the store in one step. Her bare feet slid on a patch of water. She caught herself on the edge of the counter and proceeded behind it. She bent over and there, beneath the register, was the key. She felt the leather wrist strap that the key hung on to see if she could feel any evidence that it had been outside. Nothing. Bone dry.

  “Abby?”

  She jerked her head up to see her dad standing in the doorway, Cooper standing beside him, his gaze glued to her. “Just making sure I locked the cash register,” she lied. “Let’s go watch the movie, shall we, guys? I think we’ve had enough excitement for the day.” She reached her father and elbowed him. “Well, some of us have, anyway.”

  She sat back down next to Cooper but jumped up again.

  “Mom!” Cooper said, exasperated.

  “Sorry, honey. Just one more quick thing.”

  She walked to the kitchen door and then the back door, making sure the deadbolt was turned on each, then crossed back to the couch. Gus had jumped up to where she had been just a moment ago and was snuggled in right next to Cooper. She looked at her dad who had nodded off to sleep, his chin on his chest, a light pfff each time he exhaled. She envied his ability to relax enough right now to fall asleep. As it was, she was certain she wouldn’t be getting a single wink of restful sleep tonight.

  Abby wedged her way in between Cooper and Gus, snuggling down deep in the cushion, hoping to lose her fear in the comedy Cooper had chosen to watch. Even he didn’t want a scary movie tonight. They had both experienced their own nightmare. They didn’t need help in experiencing another.

  As the movie played, Abby’s mind was everywhere but what was happening on the television screen. There was one thing of which she was certain—the wind did not close the cellar door. That would have taken one heck of a gust of wind, and if the gusts were that strong, the campers would have been overturned. Or at the very least, it would have caused them significant damage.

  The following day Abby asked Sam if he would change the light bulbs in the boathouse, the cellar, and in the utility shed, just to be sure they didn’t have another incident like the night before. She had heard from more than one person that July and August had a higher likelihood of afternoon storms. Monsoon season, is what they’d called it.

  Cooper and Abby were picking up sticks that were strewn over the grounds from the storm, piling them onto the bonfire pit so they could have a toasty bonfire for the weekend. Sam trotted over to them.

  “Ms. S?” he asked.

  “Hey, Sam. What’s up?” She dropped an armful of sticks onto the pile, briefly inspected a scratch from one of them on her forearm, and turned to face him.

  “The bulbs were gone in the boathouse and the cellar. I don’t know about the cellar, but the one in the boathouse was there just the other day. I know it was because I used it.”

  Her blood turned cold and fear put her in a chokehold. “Sam, could you come here for a minute?”

  “Where ya going, Mom?” Cooper called as she and Sam walked toward the house.”

  “We’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder.

  Sam followed Abby up the concrete steps and through the side door that led into the kitchen.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told him.

  She rummaged around in the cedar chest at the foot of her bed and returned moments later to the kitchen where she’d left Sam. She held up a photograph of Hunter and Cooper shortly before Hunter assaulted her for the last time.

  “Sam, have you seen this man around here anywhere?”

  Sam glanced at the picture. “I don’t think so.” He shook his head and looked at her.

  “Anyone that resembles him? Even a little?” She didn’t fully trust that Hunter wouldn’t alter his appearance just enough to delay being recognized. Her hand trembled as she continued to hold the photo.

  Sam took the photo and looked again. And again, he shook his head. “No.”

  “I need you to look very closely and be absolutely sure, Sam. It’s critical.”

  He studied the photo again, then shook his head slowly. “I don’t remember seeing him, but that doesn’t mean anything, Ms. S. I’m only here during the daytime and half the time I’m so caught up in what I’m doing that if someone doesn’t talk to me I don’t really notice them. Unless it’s a hot girl.” He grinned, the fair skin on his cheeks turning pink. “Is everything okay?”

  Abby looked at the photo Sam handed back to her, bitterness rising in her throat. “I hope so, Sam. I sure hope so.”

  When the phone rang at eight o’clock the next morning, Abby jumped to grab the receiver before it woke up Cooper. Lingering adrenaline kept Cooper up until the wee hours the night of the storm, Abby longer than that, and she wanted him to catch up on some of his lost sleep.

  “Hello?”

  “Abby?”

  “Gabriel? Is that you?”

  “It is. How come you’re whispering? I thought I had the wrong number.”

  “I’m not really sure.” She sighed. “I grabbed the phone before it woke Coop, but I’m downstairs.

  “You okay?”

  ”Kind of.”

  “You don’t sound okay.”

  “Huh. Thanks.”

  “You still sound beautiful, trust me.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s just that you don’t sound like yourself.”

  “No, I don’t suppose I do. Are you coming up today?”

  “That’s the plan. I work until late afternoon and then heading up after that. I hear Stewart is coming up this weekend too.”

  She detected a bit of attitude in the question. Real or imagined? “Yup, last I heard. I haven’t heard any differently anyway. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  Yeah, right. She smiled to herself. Hearing his voice was exactly what she needed.

  “I saw you tried to call last night. My phone was charging in another room so I didn’t hear it ring. By the time I saw there was a missed call it was too late to call you back.”

  “Given the fact I’ve hardly slept in two nights—”

  “Why?”

  She proceeded to tell him the cause of her insomnia then waited for his response.

  “Did you call the cops?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” he asked incredulously.

  “What do I have to give them? I got locked in the shed and Cooper in the cellar. I don’t have anything more to give them but suspicion.”

  “How about you leave the cops to do what they’re trained to do instead of putting limitations on them, huh? You don’t know what they can do.”

  Oh, Gabe, if you only knew what I know. She felt her throat constrict with anxiety which was becoming all too frequent again.

  “I’ll call next time.”

  “Well, let’s hope there’s not going to be a next time, Abby.” A brief moment of silence fell over the line. “I’m going to check out the area this evening when I get up there. In fact, I think I’ll check out of work early—”

  “Absolutely not. I won’t hear of it.”

  “The question is, Ms. Abigail, how are you going to stop me?”

  His voice was light, teasing, and she felt a flutter in her chest.

  “Guess I can’t, can I?”
she said, his flirtation contagious. “But really, Gabe, it’s nice of you to offer, but there’s no need. Between me, my dad, and Sam, we’ve got it covered.”

  “One out of the three isn’t good enough.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” she said, challenging him, enjoying the game.

  “It means that you declined to call the police when there was an imminent threat, so no offense, but I’m not trusting your judgment right now, and—”

  “Ouch!” she exclaimed, laughing.

  “Can you prove me wrong?”

  “No,” she said, admitting defeat.

  “ And Sam—well, Sam’s a wuss.” He chuckled.

  “Aren’t you quick to judge. And so harshly!” But she could hear the fondness in his tone when he talked about Sam. Could see it in his eyes when she watched the two of them together.

  When they hung up, Abby went to check in with Victoria in the store. Seeing that Victoria had everything under control, she slung her camera over her shoulder and headed toward the woods for a walk. The fresh mountain air, laced with the pungent smell of pine, along with a strong cup of coffee, was exactly what she needed to clear her head.

  She walked out to the studio her father had nearly completed, hoping he wouldn’t mind. Right now, it was exactly the thing to give her the mental boost she so desperately needed. She hoped her father would understand, but just in case, decided to keep it to herself, feeling just a wee bit guilty. But not enough to stop her.

  She had to come up with something for him to do with his time once this project was complete. In all honesty, Sam wouldn’t even need to stay on at all since her father was more than capable of doing the work himself, but Sam was part of the family. Besides, it wasn’t just a job to Sam, but his second home. When he leaves to go back to college, Jeremiah would have plenty to do and lots of time to do it.

  She reached the studio and looked at it in awe. The front of it was as perfect as she could have ever dreamed. Fiberglass French out swing doors covered the majority of it. The doors had top to bottom windows with blinds between two panes of glass.

  She ran her fingers over the smooth lever of the bronze door handles and slowly turned them, inching open the doors. She held her breath in anticipation of what he’d done with the inside.

  The interior of the doors was beautiful rich pine, matching the walls that ran on all three remaining sides of the studio. There was an open space on one end large enough for a modest-sized writing desk. In a corner on the other end was a reading chair flanked by an end table and small stained glass table lamp.

  She ran her fingers lightly along a bookshelf that lined the back wall. Her father’s talent ran deeper than what she’d even dreamed it did. He had created the absolute perfect place for her to work. It was as though he had read her mind and knew exactly what she’d wanted without her having to say a word.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, filling her lungs. She opened her eyes quickly when the smell of stale smoke assaulted her nostrils.

  She looked around to see if she could find the culprit of the smell, inspecting the outlets carefully. They looked fine, but if there was a short in one of them that caused the smell, would she be able to see anything on the outside anyway?

  She inhaled deeply again and stepped outside. It didn’t smell like cigarette smoke and it wasn’t bonfire smoke, but—what was it? She continued to walk deeper into the pines, scanning the vicinity. She glimpsed something familiar lying partially hidden under fallen pine needles. She bent down slowly, examining her find, gently nudging a pinecone so she could see it in full. There lay a blue BIC multi-purpose lighter just like the one she’d seen recently. The same damaged handle and all. She knew she saw it sometime in the past couple of weeks, she just couldn’t remember where she saw it.

  She set her travel mug down on the forest floor and picked up the lighter with her forefinger and thumb, holding it out at arm’s length as if it were a snake trying to strike. Thinking better of it, she set it back down as she’d found it, stood and looked around. The smell of smoke combined with the found lighter didn’t bode well, but she still didn’t see the cause of the stale smoke.

  She turned back but stopped dead in her tracks once she was within view of the backside of her studio. The scrub oak on the back corner of the building, once vibrant red, was now charred in places and wilted to nearly nothing where the dampness from the last storm prevented the fire from causing further damage. On the corner of the studio, where the half wall bathroom adjoined the working area, the paint was scorched. As she got closer for a better look, she not only smelled smoke but something much more pungent. Some kind of accelerant. She needed to get back to the house. Fast!

  She bypassed the store and went around to the side door that led into the kitchen.

  “Pops?” she called. No answer. Then louder. “Pops?”

  “He’s out talking to Gabriel,” Victoria called from the store.

  “Thanks, Vic. I’ll be right back.”

  She left through the kitchen door, the screen door slamming behind her. She walked toward Gabriel’s camper where her father stood, legs slightly apart, hands tucked in the front pockets of his Wranglers, listening intently to whatever Gabriel was saying.

  “I hate to interrupt—”

  “Then don’t,” Jeremiah said.

  “This is serious, Pops. When’s the last time you were out by my studio?”

  “Earlier today, why?”

  “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Nope. Can’t say that I did.”

  “Didn’t even smell anything?”

  “You know my smelling ain’t good.” He reached up and tipped his cap back, scratched his head, and slid his cap back into place. “What’s this about?”

  “Someone tried to start it on fire.”

  “What in God’s name …” Jeremiah said, frowning, sparks of anger in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in a very long time.

  Gabriel’s voice took on a low, serious growl. “This time we’re calling the police, Abby. This has gone far enough.”

  “I would, but it’s an police officer that started it.”

  “You know who it was?” Gabe’s eyebrows shot up.

  Jeremiah looked at her, his eyes dark.

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Arson is a serious accusation to make unless you’re very sure, not just pretty sure,” Gabriel said, his voice gentle despite his grave concern. “That’s even more reason to call the police.”

  She looked at her father. “Pops, you know it was him.”

  “Who?” Gabriel asked.

  “It would take too long to fill you in.” The last thing she wanted was for him to know about her past. It would make her too vulnerable. Too damaged.

  “He knows about Hunter, kiddo.” Jeremiah’s voice was low, his lips set in a straight, thin line.

  Abby narrowed her eyes and looked at Jeremiah. “And how would he know about Hunter?” Her voice matched his, words spoken between clenched teeth.

  “I told him.”

  “You had no right.”

  “Abby, don’t be mad at your dad. I asked him why—”

  “This is between my father and me,” she said, taking her eyes off Jeremiah just long enough to see Gabriel nod before she focused her attention back on Jeremiah. “Dad?”

  “I’ll go take a look at the damage done to your studio,” Gabriel said.

  “Reckon I’ll come with you.” Jeremiah started following him, and Abby watched from behind as they walked away in silence.

  Tears stung her eyes. This was something bigger than she could handle. She knew Gabriel was right. Despite her fear of police, she needed to get over it and call. There were other people’s lives in danger here as well. This was no longer just about her. Or even Cooper, for that matter. It was something much bigger that was growing out of control. Hunter had obviously tracked them down and followed them. And who knew how far he would go to get what he w
anted. Revenge. She slid her phone out of her back pocket, stared at it for a minute, and punched the numbers.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency,” came the voice over the line.

  24

  That evening after dinner Abby sought out Gabriel who was sitting outside his camper, book in hand, plastic flute of wine by his side.

  “Mind if I join you?” she asked.

  “Please.” He unfolded a second lawn chair for her and sat back down.

  “I’m afraid I owe you an apology,” she said, looking down at her hands.

  “For what?”

  His voice was gentle. She looked up into his eyes which held such kindness, but she could see hurt there as well.

  “You know for what.”

  “Why didn’t you want me to know about your ex-husband?”

  She toed the dirt with a flip-flop. “It’s not that it’s a big deal, it’s just that—well, I don’t want you to look at me differently.”

  “How would that change how I look at you?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands loosely wrapped around his glass. “Can I get you one?” He lifted it up.

  “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”

  “At all?”

  “On extremely rare occasions I’ll have a glass of wine. My dad has done enough drinking for both of us.”

  “Has done? He doesn’t anymore?”

  “I didn’t say that.” She rested her head against the back of the lawn chair. “Not as much, though. And I think I just choose to be ignorant and look the other way when I can.”

  “Well, not to worry. I have the occasional beer or glass of wine. Mostly after I’ve been reprimanded by a woman I have feelings for.”

  Abby chuckled. “Yeah? So that only happens occasionally?”