Forgotten Spirits

by Barbara Deese

  But Sierra hadn’t quit there. She’d gone on to make some off-color remarks about Peter’s father, and it had become clear to Foxy that her friend planned to keep things stirred up by flirting with both the father and the son. If Peter, the minister in training, had been a challenge, Foxy could only imagine Sierra’s triumph if she managed to seduce the older man who wore not only a clerical collar, but a wedding ring as well. On the ride home, she’d told Sierra to stop playing with people’s lives, and the younger woman had pouted and said Foxy couldn’t take a joke.

  Like a Chinese puzzle, these memories clicked into place. She searched Pastor Paul’s face for any likeness to Sierra’s son. He looked back at her with those dark eyes, so like Beau’s. Why had she never noticed the resemblance before?

  That memory and that resemblance unlocked another memory, this one more recent. When Foxy heard Sierra was living in Minnesota, she’d tried to arrange a meeting, but each time there was some complication or another. Their last conversation had begun as a lighthearted chat. Sierra couldn’t seem to find time to get together yet again. She claimed she was preoccupied with getting her finances sorted out. Evidently their move had complicated several plans and had interfered with Beau meeting deadlines to apply for scholarships, which meant Sierra was scrambling to find a way to pay for his college education.

  When Foxy had suggested it was time for Wylie to step in and help out, Sierra had been cagey and slow to answer. When she did, it was a vague statement about how he’d done all she could expect from him. Whatever that meant. Sierra explained she’d set up a small investment account years ago for Beau’s education, but admitted she’d had to tap into his college fund over the years to pay for things like sports fees, hiking boots, a school-sponsored camping trip to Yosemite, a used car. At that point in the conversation, Foxy had said something about “robbing Peter to pay Paul,” and that flippant comment had been met with utter silence. And then Sierra suddenly had ended the conversation. At the time, Foxy had thought it odd, even rude, but until now she’d seen nothing sinister in it.

  “What ever happened to your friend? Sienna, was it?” Again, he was working too hard to sound casual.

  “Sierra,” she corrected him without answering his real question. She sensed Vinnie inhaling as he was about to say something, and decided to answer him before Vinnie could give away anything. “We lost touch a while back.”

  “Hmm,” he said, running his finger around the lip of his mug. “That’s too bad. When’s the last time you talked to her?”

  Again, she conjured the picture of Pastor Paul, crunched down in a wheelchair, asleep, but this time the rest of the memory came to her. Her mother had been lucid that day. She’d asked about Sierra, too. “What about the dark-haired one?” she’d asked. “Did she ever get married?” Because of her hearing problem, Mrs. Tripp either spoke too softly or too loudly. That day, Foxy remembered, the conversation had been conducted at high volume.

  Foxy told her Sierra had never married, and then, because it was fresh on her mind, she talked about her frustration trying to get together with Sierra who’d moved to Minnesota. “I think she talks to Tina and Wylie more than she talks to me,” she’d complained to her mother. It was the day after her most frustrating phone call to Sierra. “She’s having big money problems because of her son, and she says she’s going to have to resolve it one way or another. I told her she has to stop letting Wylie off the hook,” she remembered saying to her mother. “I told her he needs to pay, but Sierra said not to worry because she had a plan to get money from Beau’s father.”

  Shivers ran from her neck and down her back as if a door had opened to the cold. At the time she’d been talking to her mother, she’d never considered that her old pastor might be of sound mind, and could have roused from his medication-induced stupor to hear everything she said to Mrs. Tripp. She’d even quoted Sierra’s last cryptic comment to her. “If I don’t see you soon, I left something with my parents for you.” It had meant nothing at the time, but now it all made sense. The wine! She was certain now that Sierra had had a premonition, and had left her some clue in that box of wine in case she wound up dead. If Foxy’s hunch was right, in broadcasting this information at the nursing home, she’d played a pivotal role in Sierra’s death.

  “I hate to nag, but you really should drink that before it gets cold,” said the man whose eyes so resembled Beau’s.

  “Oh, yes.” Foxy’s eyes fell on the mug. “I forgot all about it.” She and Vinnie leaned forward at the same moment, reached out and slipped their fingers through the handles, and raised their drinks. Foxy’s mug dipped suddenly. Cocoa sloshed on her hand and she joggled it the other way. As if they’d choreographed it, their mugs collided with enough force to crack one of them and splatter cocoa in every direction. “Damn it, I am such a klutz!” she said, brushing cocoa off her waterproof suit.

  Paul was on his feet. He grabbed a basket of paper napkins from the coffee table and dumped it out on the biggest puddle. “You go ahead and clean it up and I’ll make you some more cocoa.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Foxy said effusively. “I’d love that.”

  She and Vinnie locked eyes. She jerked her head to where the helmets and chopper mitts dangled from pegs on the right side of the door. As one, they sprinted to the door, zipping their jackets and snatching their headgear and mitts on the way out.

  “We need to draw him away from here. Then we can circle back and get help,” she said as they ran.

  “What?”

  “I’ll drive,” Foxy screamed to Vinnie over the howling wind.

  Together they raced to the machine she’d driven earlier. Vinnie jumped on first.

  “I said I’m driving!”

  “Fine!” He got off.

  She looked behind her. The door to the lodge opened and then she saw Pastor Paul blow through it and head away from them to the other side of the cabin. Foxy hopped on the snowmobile. She couldn’t get a good seal on her goggles, but it couldn’t be helped now. Vinnie took an agonizing few seconds to get his helmet and goggles on right, then buckled the chin strap and cinched the wrists of his mitts before he hopped on behind her.

  “He’s getting his car! Hang on,” she yelled and turned the key in the ignition. Vinnie clung to her as the snowmobile jolted forward, over a berm and onto the lake.

  Chapter 30

  At times, Robin could see only a few yards ahead, and heavy snow blanketed signs and obscured side roads. Afraid of missing their turn, Grace did her best to follow their progress on her cell phone, not an easy task since phone reception cut in and out as they got nearer the resort. They were on the home stretch now. They craned their necks to see any sign of “rustic cabins, nestled among pines in this quiet lakeside setting,” as it was described on the website. The white landscape went on for miles.

  “Well, that’s ominous,” Grace said, pointing out her window.

  “What?”

  “That sign back there. All it said was, ‘Don’t.”

  Robin guffawed. “You were looking for a sign.”

  By the time they saw the main building, they were practically on top of it and knew they’d arrived at the right place when they saw Foxy’s Saturn parked between two of the buildings. “There’d better be indoor plumbing. I’ve had to pee for the last hour,” Grace said as she stepped out of the car and waded through a small snowdrift toward the lodge.

  They reached the door at the same time. Grace rang the bell and Robin pounded on the door. Inside, Molly Pat barked frantically but no one came to let them in. Wind howled between the buildings, driving snow into their faces.

  Grace, practically hopping up and down with urgency, suggested it might be unlocked.

  Robin tried the handle and the door swung open, aided by a wind gust. Still barking, the dog shot out, circling them and leaping. “Did they leave you here all by yourself, g
irl?” Robin tried to pet the jumping dog, but Molly must have thought it was a game, because she nipped at her hands. It took some coaxing to get the dog back inside.

  “You’re acting very un-Molly-Pat-like,” Grace said. “Where did Foxy go?”

  The dog danced backwards yipping.

  While Grace went in search of the bathroom, Robin shrugged off her coat and was about to hang it on a peg when she saw a pair of shoes on the footrest of a recliner. The shoes appeared to be filled with feet. “Hello,” she called out, hearing the quaver in her voice.

  No one answered. The feet on the recliner didn’t even twitch. Everything had been off kilter since they’d arrived—Foxy was gone, the dog was agitated, and an unconscious man lay immovable in the chair. What more evidence did she need? The mentally sound part of her brain told her to run.

  With a hand over her heart, she stepped cautiously to the still figure, whom she recognized as Foxy’s brother. “Hello? Matt?” she called from two feet away. “Matt?”

  He didn’t budge. She pushed on his shoulder, gently at first and then with more force until his eyelids fluttered and he snorted loudly. Then her eyes fell on the wine bottle, and she was about to back away, embarrassed for disturbing him. She might have left him there, too, except that Molly Pat chose that moment to jump up with her paws on the footrest. Taking his pants leg in her teeth, she tugged.

  “Holy shit!” Grace said, from behind Robin, startling her even more. “Is that Matt?” Before Robin could answer, Grace shook him by the shoulder and yelled at him to wake up. His head flopped with her movements, and his breathing came out in snorts and gasps. “Call 9-1-1,” she yelled at Robin. “That is not normal snoring.”

  * * *

  The trail on the dirt road had been groomed earlier, but shifting and blowing snow obliterated it in places. Foxy took the first few snowdrifts like a pro, initially accelerating and then reducing the throttle pressure. Vinnie’s arms were tight around her waist, and when she pulled herself into a semi-standing position, they rose in unison.

  On one hard-packed patch, the skis started to slip and she applied the brake perfectly, but when she slowed for a turn, they got bogged down, coming to a complete stop, and they had to get off and use their hands to dig snow out from under the front of the skis.

  That’s when she heard the engine of the SUV. They turned to see Paul’s vehicle farther back on the rutted road, but coming fast enough to be on them in no time.

  Vinnie wasn’t about to wait for him to mow them down. He jumped onto the snowmobile. When Foxy pushed his shoulder and yelled at him to let her drive, he shook his head. He tugged her sleeve and she got behind him, with no time to lose.

  His first challenge was to take the turn at the right speed. Too fast, and he could flip the snowmobile, too slow and they’d get hung up again, where they’d be an easy target for the SUV.

  He took off, satisfied that his years of motorcycles and dirt bikes and downhill skis had instilled in him an instinct for when to lean and when to shift his center of gravity forward to get better visibility or backward to get better traction. She moved with him as if they’d done this before.

  Vinnie remembered the narrow opening where they could get snowmobile access to the lake. It was a calculated risk, and he was counting on it working. If Paul tried to follow them in his oversized vehicle, he could wind up wedging himself between trees. If they could ditch Paul, they’d be able to get back to Matt or stop for help at one of the houses across the lake before Paul got himself unstuck. If, however, Paul found another road to the lake, all bets were off. On a flat surface out in the open like that, the odds were even at best.

  He slowed too much and felt the treads slipping. Leaning forward and giving it a shot of gas, the machine slewed to the left, catching at the last second and giving them just enough spin to make the tight turn.

  “Woo hoo!” Foxy yelled in his ear. She’d plastered herself to his back and held on for dear life. They rocketed down the short stretch of trail. The snowdrift at the shoreline was bigger than he’d calculated, but all he could do was to gut it out. “Hang on!” he yelled. The instant the snowmobile was airborne, he felt the adrenaline rush and wanted it to last forever. They slammed down on the ice, still upright. He spun them around so they had a clear view of the lake’s edge. There was no sign of Paul and his SUV.

  Vinnie whooped and made a pumping motion with his fist. “I’m heading back to get Matt,” he yelled.

  “What?”

  “Matt!”

  She nodded and held on. He pointed them in the direction he thought they’d come from. They were closing in on the shore. Directly ahead of them, he saw what he thought was a branch sticking up from under the snow. He made a quick correction, and was almost jolted out of his seat by the force of their collision. The branch, he realized too late, was attached to something larger and more deadly. He gripped the handlebars and held on, even as he felt Foxy’s grip loosen. She shrieked in his ear, and then slipped away altogether.

  He felt the blood drain from his head. Their speed, he knew, had been insane for these conditions. He didn’t have to be an expert snowmobiler to know the impact when she landed on ice was going to be brutal. He had to focus all his thoughts on getting back to her.

  Squeezing the brake with his left hand, he started a controlled turn, leaning into it. At first all he saw was shifting snow. And then he saw a dark shape in the snow. As he got closer, he saw it was actually two shapes. Her head was attached to the larger of the pieces, and the other shape was part of a leg, he saw with growing horror. He gasped for breath. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of her beautiful body torn in half like that.

  Howling at the top of his lungs, he sped up to her. He didn’t hear the car’s engine behind him. The jolt, when the SUV clipped him, was powerful enough to send him and the snowmobile flying. He let go just before the machine rolled, sliding on its side in a slow arc. Momentum drove the SUV forward into the spinning snowmobile.

  Vinnie smacked down hard and felt something snap inside him. As he was slipping into unconsciousness, he saw the two machines merge into one black mess. And that mess was skidding right toward where he’d seen Foxy.

  Chapter 31

  Following the advice of the dispatcher, Robin and Grace, still in their coats and boots, maneuvered Matt off the recliner and onto the floor, where they rolled him onto his side, positioning his arms in front of him and a soft throw pillow behind him to keep him from rolling onto his back. His breathing immediately sounded less labored. It took them a moment to figure out what it meant to “tilt his chin up, while keeping his mouth in a downward position,” in what the dispatcher had referred to as the “recovery position,” designed to keep his airway unobstructed even if he threw up.

  Waiting for an ambulance, Robin checked his pulse while Grace patted his hand and talked to him. Molly, who’d kept quiet while the humans talked on the cell phone, went to the door and barked until Grace got up and let her out.

  The dog streaked past Foxy’s car, sniffing out two sets of footprints which led directly to the three snowmobiles by the garage. Turning to look directly at Grace, who stood watching from the doorway, Molly Pat bayed at her.

  “What on earth?” Robin said, standing to check out the racket. “I don’t speak dog. Do you?”

  “No, but I get the gist. She’s telling us something about Foxy.”

  “Do you think we can leave Matt?” Robin asked, coming to the door. “The dispatcher said they’d be here any minute.”

  Molly bayed again, leaving them no doubt what they needed to do.

  They both grabbed their mittens and hats and headed out the door. It took no great powers of deduction to see where a fourth snowmobile had been parked until very recently. The two sets of footprints ended, replaced by a corrugated swath in between the parallel lines of snowmobile skis, s
till visible in the falling snow.

  “I’m assuming one set of footprints belongs to Foxy, and the other to her ex-husband,” Grace said. Her hair slapped across her face and her eyes watered.

  Robin’s eyes were wide and she bit on her lower lip.

  Molly’s sharp bark told them there was no time to waste. The two women followed where she led them, around the far side of the garage to where the snowmobile tracks headed into the woods. Judging the path wide enough for their car, Grace grabbed Robin by the sleeve. “We can’t wait for help. We have to get to Foxy before—” She didn’t finish the sentence.

  They ran back to their parked car. “Molly, come!” yelled Robin, throwing her door open. That was all the prompting Molly Pat needed. They set out by car, following the fresh trail of snowmobile tracks, which soon converged with the wider tire tracks of a heavy vehicle.

  Grace leaned forward. “Someone’s chasing her.”

  Robin instantly pictured the black SUV Cate’s mother had seen in front of Foxy’s apartment. Wanda had described the driver as “biggish,” with broad shoulders and dark hair. He could be formidable even without being encased in three tons of steel, for which a snowmobile would be no match. For that matter, her car would lose that battle too.

  “Go left!” Grace pointed ahead of them to where the crude road split. Nodding, Robin took the fork that followed above the lake’s edge. Although it was manageable by car, at least so far, Robin knew one mistake could send them hurtling down the embankment. ­Picturing them hitting a tree or slipping off the road into a ravine, Robin drove with some semblance of caution.

  Perched with her hind feet on Grace’s thighs and her forepaws on the dashboard, Molly Pat yipped and yelped steadily as if urging them to hurry. Suddenly, her ears perked up and she turned her muzzle to focus her attention on something ahead and to their left.