Books by Sue Henry

by Henry, Sue

  “Because his hair was red,” Maxie finished.

  “How did you know?”

  “Never mind that,” she said anxiously, getting up from the table. “There’s a lot more I want to know from you, but first we’ve got to go tell someone about your friend in the pool. He may not be dead, you know. But he’s at least hurt and needs help as soon as we can get someone out there, so I’ve got to tell the park people.”

  Patrick shook his head and shrank against the wall by the dinette bench. “No, Maxie. I know he drowned Kim. I saw. I can’t go out there. He’ll be watching—he’ll get me.”

  “You stay here, then.”

  “But what if he comes back? I tried to run and hide, but he found me before.” He was shaking harder now, and she could see he was about to panic again, so she spoke quietly to calm him.

  “It’ll be fine. I’ll leave Stretch, and with the blinds closed no one can see you in here. I’ll be back as soon as I can—okay?”

  “I guess so.” But he clearly didn’t like being left alone.

  Maxie grabbed her keys, went to the door, and opened it to look carefully before getting out, but saw no one. From the ground she turned back to ask a last question.

  “Jessie went out to the pools. Did you see her?”

  “No. There wasn’t anyone at the pool or on the boardwalk when I ran.”

  “You must have just missed her. I’ll find her. You stay out of sight and keep the door locked.”

  Several park workers were hurrying back and forth along the boardwalk toward the hot springs pool when Maxie reached the parking lot, so she knew that someone had already found Patrick’s friend Kim. Perhaps a dozen others—campers, or those who lived nearby and had come to use the pools—were standing in a ragged group close to the near end of the boardwalk, talking together in low voices full of tense curiosity. She didn’t see Jessie anywhere, but a short man in a park uniform stopped her at the boardwalk.

  “Sorry, ma’am. You can’t go out, there’s been an accident.”

  “I know. Is the young man alive?”

  “I couldn’t say. They’re working on him now, and an ambulance is on its way, but it didn’t look good.”

  “Have you seen a tall woman with short blond hair? Her name’s Jessie Arnold, and I’m looking for her.”

  “I think she might be the one who was doing CPR on him, ma’am. She’s still out there with them.”

  Maxie was about to tell him that she must see Jessie right away—that it was an emergency—but looking up saw her coming toward them on the boardwalk. She was still wearing her blue bathing suit and carried her clothes and towel. Her expression was troubled, and she looked very tired. She was not walking with her usual easy stride but moved as if she was taking care how her feet found the walkway. She raised a hand to let Maxie know she had seen her waiting, but did not increase her moderate speed. As she reached the two who watched her, she shook her head unhappily.

  “He’s not dead,” she said in an odd clipped voice. “He finally started breathing, but it’s not good. The RCMP and paramedics are coming. They’ll take care of it. Let’s go back to the rig, Maxie.” To the ranger, “The other ranger has my space number if you need me for anything else.”

  He nodded, and they walked away. Maxie watched her closely and waited until they could not be overheard before telling her, “Patrick’s in the Jayco. Says his stepfather tried to kill that boy—one of those friends of his that Loomis mentioned—Kim something.”

  “Kim Fredricksen?” Jessie abruptly stopped walking and turned to stare at her with a confused frown. “Patrick? I was afraid it was him when I found that boy in the pool!”

  “You found him?”

  “Yeah,” she admitted, almost in tears remembering. “After I’d spent about ten minutes soaking without even seeing him. He was floating right there by the dam. Maybe if I’d seen him sooner…How did Patrick find you?”

  “Accidentally fell out of the brush and into my space—all scratched and bruised from running through the woods. He was almost hysterical—scared to death. His stepfather was right behind him. We hid in the Jayco and he pounded on the door till Stretch barked at him, and he went away.”

  Jessie’s shoulders drooped and she gave Maxie an exhausted look. “What the hell do we do now? I’m not inclined to try explaining all this to these people who don’t know anything about it, are you? It’s more than I’m worth right now. Besides, there’s Patrick to think of. He shouldn’t be there if his stepfather comes back.”

  “Somebody has to tell them something. We can’t let that boy just…be nameless. You didn’t tell them who you thought he was, did you?” She stopped, but Jessie knew what she meant—the boy Kim needed to be identified and proper care taken to notify his family in Wyoming. He was somebody’s son, after all.

  “Loomis—and Inspector Webster—should be here. It’s their case. Can we get hold of them?”

  Maxie stood thinking for a minute, then nodded emphatically.

  “Yes, but wherever they are it’s going to take them time to get here. I think we should get Patrick out of here—on up the road somewhere. How about this? Why don’t you go on back, get dressed, and take care of Patrick—see if you can find him something to wear besides that denim shirt of mine. Get your rig ready to go, and we’ll take off just as soon as I get back. I’ll find a phone and give the Dawson Creek RCMP a jingle—find out where Webster and Loomis are and how soon they can get here—talk to one of them if I can. But you’d better not tell Patrick that I’m calling the police. We don’t want him to do another runner. He thinks his friend Kim is dead, so be sure to tell him that he’s not.”

  “Where shall we go?”

  “As far as we can, I think. Got any suggestions?”

  Jessie thought a minute about the route ahead and what she remembered. “It’s about three hours to Teslin. There’s a place called Dawson Peaks Resort just this side of it, right on the lake, where we could get both motor homes out of sight from anyone passing on the highway.”

  “Works for me. You?”

  It worked fine for Jessie, though the thought of three more hours of driving would not have been her first choice. Still, she agreed that it seemed wise to take Patrick somewhere else. There were a lot of questions she wanted answered—just not right now. It all seemed too much to handle, and more than anything she wished she were home in Knik—even if home was only a tent until her new cabin was built. But there was also a red-hot spark of anger at everything that seemed to be closing in around them.

  18

  MAXIE FOUND A PHONE OUTSIDE THE PARK ENTRANCE by the highway and called the RCMP in Dawson Creek, reasoning that since Inspector Webster’s office was there, they should know where and how to find him. The dispatcher, hearing the facts of the near death at Liard and Maxie’s connection with Webster at Summit Lake, told her what she had anticipated—that he was out of the office, somewhere on the highway, and it would take a while to find him. But if Ms. McNabb would please wait by the phone, she would call back very soon.

  With nothing to do but wait impatiently, anxious to go back to Patrick and Jessie, Maxie paced back and forth for almost half an hour within hearing distance of the phone. She saw several cars, trucks, and motor homes turn off the highway into the park. Some almost immediately drove back out, turned away, she imagined, from use of the hot springs pool.

  She was considering another call to Dawson Creek when she was surprised to see a familiar eighteen-wheeler pull into the large open lot across the highway—overflow parking for the crowds that sometimes filled the parking spaces inside the park. She had imagined him far up the road ahead of them but was very glad to see Butch Stringer climb down from his Peterbilt and raise a hand in her direction.

  “Hey, Maxie. You the welcoming committee? How’s Jessie?” he called, starting across the highway to where she stood.

  “How’d you leave Summit before we did and wind up behind us?” she asked.

  “Some of the load sh
ifted. I had to stop at Toad River and take care of it.”

  He had almost reached her when the phone rang and she hurried to answer it.

  The dispatcher’s message was that Inspector Webster was on his way to Liard Hot Springs. He had requested that she stay in the campground so he could find her when he arrived. Would she do that?

  “Well—yes, if I can,” she agreed, though not really happy with staying put. “But tell him that if I’m not here, I’ll be on the road north—with good reason. Is Detective Loomis with him?” she asked, and was assured that he was. “How long will it be?”

  The dispatcher wasn’t sure but predicted something over an hour.

  As she hung up the phone and turned back to Stringer, who had been waiting near enough to listen, an ambulance drove up and turned in through the park gate. He watched it pass and a questioning frown creased his forehead, replacing his smile of greeting.

  “More trouble?”

  “Afraid so,” she told him. “I’ve got to get back to the Jayco. If you’ll walk with me, I’ll fill you in on the way and give you lunch, if you haven’t eaten.”

  Jessie had hurried back to the Jayco, found all its blinds down, and knocked on the door.

  “Patrick,” she called, “it’s me—Jessie. Maxie said you were here. Let me in.”

  There was no answer, but she could hear the dachshund pattering around inside. He whined but didn’t bark, recognizing her voice.

  “Patrick—it’s okay,” she said again, assuming he was afraid to answer her, but there was no response at all.

  She tried the door handle, and to her surprise it opened easily to show her Stretch waiting inside—no one else. Stepping in she looked quickly around, expecting to see Patrick Cutler, but the motor home was empty. Two glasses stood on the table, one empty, one almost full. She picked up a towel from the bench and felt its dampness—he’d been there, but where was he now? Had something frightened him into running again? Had his stepfather come back and somehow forced him to open the door? Maybe he was hiding nearby, somewhere outside.

  She stepped back out, closing the door behind her to keep Stretch inside, and called for Patrick. No one answered.

  Having no idea where he’d gone she couldn’t go after him, but maybe he would come back. She decided to change her clothes and wait for him or Maxie, whoever showed up first.

  Knowing Maxie had the keys, she locked the coach door from inside, then let herself out the driver’s door, locking it before she closed it. Walking across the road to the Winnebago, she climbed in, shutting the screen but leaving the door open so she could watch the road and the Jayco. Tank came out to greet her from under the table where he had been taking a nap, and she sat for a minute to pet him.

  “You are such a good guy,” she told him. “Bet you’d like to go out, wouldn’t you?”

  He had been so patient and good, even in the last day or two when she had been paying very little attention to him. So much had happened and she had been so focused on herself and the confusion around her that all she had done was feed and water him and take him out for short walks when necessary. Well, she would take him out now.

  She had noticed the chairs by the Jayco. It would be nice to sit there for a while, and when Maxie came back they could have something to eat. She thought she might be hungry by then, though now she still felt a bit nauseous. Once she had seen the heavy bruises on the boy’s arms, shoulders, and neck, she had been unexpectedly and thoroughly sick in the bushes beyond the deck.

  Again she wondered where Patrick could have gone and worried about him. According to Maxie, he had been afraid of the stepfather who was chasing him and who had evidently assaulted the boy in the pool. Why would he leave a secure place inside the motor home and take off again—especially without his clothes? But she did not want to speculate—there had been too much of that. Refusing to think about it, she got up and went to dress so she could take Tank out into the sunshine. Who knew how long it would last? How long did anything seem to last on this trip? Not peace of mind, certainly.

  Quickly she slipped out of her bathing suit, hung it to dry in the shower, and still feeling shaky and a little chilly, dressed in a pair of jeans, sweatshirt, and tennis shoes with socks. Thirsty after her time in the hot water, she took a can of tomato juice from the refrigerator, put a handful of dog treats for Tank and some crackers for herself in her pocket, fastened the leash to his collar, and went across to the Jayco, where she sat down in the sun to try to relax for a few minutes.

  She had been there for perhaps five minutes when Tank suddenly sat up from his place at her feet and she heard the crunch of feet on gravel directly behind her. Starting to turn, she suddenly felt a hard cold metal object against the back of her neck.

  “This is a gun. Don’t move and don’t yell,” a gruff male voice told her sharply. “Just sit still and listen—very carefully.”

  Tank, now up on all four feet, growled and bared his teeth menacingly, alertly watching whoever was behind her, ready to spring to her defense.

  “Keep that dog still if you don’t want to lose him.”

  Still holding the leash, she pulled it up short and held it firmly. “Sit, Tank. Stop that.”

  Reluctantly, he did, watching the man behind her alertly.

  “Now,” the voice behind her said, “when I tell you, you will get up and tie that dog to the picnic table. Then you will walk across to your motor home. You won’t look around and you won’t try anything stupid.” The pressure on her neck eased and the coldness disappeared, though she felt it was still there somewhere close. “Do it now.”

  Carefully, slowly, Jessie got up and did as she was told.

  Holding Tank to a walk close beside her, she moved to the heavy picnic table that the park provided in each space and fastened Tank’s leash to one wooden leg of it. Thinking fast, she did not tie it into a secure knot, but only looped the leash around itself once. He would be able to pull it loose if he tried, and she knew he would before long.

  “Sit,” she told him firmly. He sat again and looked up at her, doing what he was told but clearly not happy about it. “Stay, good dog.” She walked away from him and didn’t look back, knowing that at least as long as he could see or hear her he would remain where she had left him. Thank God he was so well trained.

  As she walked she could hear footsteps behind her—more than enough for one person. Someone whimpered—Patrick? Reaching the road, she glanced along it in both directions without moving her head, but no one was in sight. She walked on, slowly but steadily, without hesitating, and when she reached the coach door, stopped, waiting for instructions.

  “Open the screen and get in very slowly. Lean forward and put your hands flat on the table as far in front of you as you can and spread your legs.” It was a position from which it would be difficult to move quickly—a law enforcement position. Patrick’s stepfather was supposed to be a policeman in Wyoming, wasn’t he?

  Again she did what she was told and waited for what would happen next, her heart in her throat. There was a scramble, then a thump, as someone was shoved in and fell against the back of her legs. Glancing under one arm, she caught a glimpse of long bare legs on the floor—it was Patrick. The door was slammed shut, she heard the sound of the lock, and her captor stepped up into the coach. Abruptly he kicked hard at the boy, who grunted and cried out as the heavy boot connected with his body.

  “Move,” the voice said. “Get out of the way, you little shit. Get up there on that bench and be still. It’s your own fault you were scared and dumb enough to open the door.”

  There was another scramble as Patrick complied, yelping as he was assisted forward with another kick.

  Then Jessie could see him more clearly as he huddled to her left in the seat against the outside wall. The denim shirt that Maxie had mentioned covered his arms, back, and shoulders but flapped open in front, unbuttoned. He was so pale she thought he might faint, and his ragged breathing was accompanied by sobs he was attempting to
suppress. Drawing up his long legs, he wrapped the tails of the shirt around them, hugging himself into as small a space as possible. His face was tear-stained and terrified as he looked up at her, but as his stepfather turned his attention back to Jessie, she saw Patrick give him a swift glance full of anger and hatred, so he evidently hadn’t had quite all the resistance beaten out of him.

  “Now,” her captor said to her. “You will get behind the wheel, start this thing, and drive it out of here. Keep in mind that I will be right behind you with this gun aimed in your direction. You try anything and I’ll shoot one of you—and I don’t much care which one.”

  “Don’t you have your own wheels?” she asked, straightening and turning to look him in the face, trying to think of something—anything she could do to keep from following his orders.

  He was a big man, with muscled arms and shoulders, though he carried extra weight around his waist and stomach. As blond as his stepson was—normally—red-haired, he wore a dark jacket, jeans, and western boots. A pair of sunglasses concealed his eyes, but not his belligerent expression, or his anger.

  “My truck’s in the parking lot with all those goddammed people, where I can’t get it,” he snarled. “So we’re taking this rig. Get up there and drive—now.”

  19

  MAXIE AND STRINGER HAD GONE ONLY A FEW STEPS back into the park and she had started to tell him about the attempted drowning at the pool, when she heard a heavy rig coming from the campground loop road. Moving to the side of the road, she looked up to see a Winnebago like Jessie’s coming toward her. It was moving faster than the park’s allowed speed limit and did not slow as it approached, though she knew the driver had to be able to see that there were people on the road ahead. As it reached them, then sped past, throwing gravel from its tires as it swung around a bend in the road, she got a look at the person behind the wheel.

  The rig wasn’t like Jessie’s—it was Jessie’s—and Jessie was driving. She passed without a wave, or any indication that Maxie and Butch Stringer were anyone that she knew, staring straight ahead except for one quick glance in their direction, leaving them behind in the dust. Hardly slowing and without stopping, she swung the motor home onto the highway so fast it rocked, headed north. But her expression had told Maxie all she needed to know. Tight with stress and fear, eyes wide, every line of her face silently shouted help! And running full out behind the Winnebago was Tank, dragging his leash behind him.