Sam maneuvered the long pickup truck within a confined turnaround space and backed it up to a double garage door. He cut the engine and got out.
I turned to Rachael.
“This is Sam’s house,” she said. “Beautiful spot, huh?”
Everyone had piled out of the truck and Rachael and I followed suit.
Ron pulled me aside. “Didn’t get a chance to tell you this before the flight,” he said, “but we may have another suspect. I spoke with John O’Malley, the FAA designee who’s going to be monitoring Rachael’s record attempt.” He dropped his voice. “He says that another woman has also filed the paperwork for a record attempt. It’s something that has to be done months before the actual flight. Then the pilot has a three month window in which to do the flight and have it confirmed. Rachael’s at the beginning of her window—October, November, December. The other gal’s window runs out the end of this month. Don’t know if that means anything. She’s not been in the news and I haven’t had a chance to scout around with the ballooning crowd to see what her story is.”
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Someone named Elizabeth Pierce.”
“Liz Pierce! I met her. She’s a friend of Rachael’s.” I tried to assimilate the information. What was going on here?
“Meeting,” Sam announced, waving everyone over to him. He leaned against one of the huge pines while the group assembled. He cleared his throat for attention. “We had a closer call than I like this morning.”
The young crew members who hadn’t seen the bullet holes looked puzzled. Danny started to open his mouth, but settled back.
“No disrespect to our . . .” he started to say bodyguards but changed it quickly, “friends here. But this is how we’re going to do things now.”
Ron spluttered but I gripped his hand and dug my nails in. Sam clearly didn’t want the entire crew to know the whole story. We should see how he wanted to handle it.
“We’ll offload the balloon here and put it in the garage,” Sam said. “Rachael, Ron and Charlie will stay here while I drive the guys back to their cars. When I get back we’ll discuss plans and decide how or if tomorrow will happen.” Meaning the record attempt.
Rachael stirred but kept silent.
“I don’t want anyone to say anything,” he stared at each of the young crew members, “to anybody about this. Not a word about where we’ve put the balloon, where Rachael is, what’s going on with the record attempt.” He met each of our eyes.
“No partying tonight, guys.”
A restless wave flowed through the group.
“I mean it. I need you fresh and alert in the morning.” And not out socializing where you’re likely to open your mouths. He didn’t say it but they all got it. “We’ll be in touch by phone once we finalize the plan.”
He gave a little round-em-up signal and the boys began unloading equipment. Within five minutes everything had been stashed in one side of the double garage.
“Ron, on second thought, come with me. My car’s still at the field and I’ll need a second driver.”
My brother, who’s usually so much the runner-of-the-show, quietly climbed into the truck’s shotgun seat.
“Charlie, you and Rachael stay inside until we get back. Keep everything locked.” Sam stood beside the truck until Rachael and I went into the house. She made a show of locking the door and giving him an okay sign through the door’s upper glass panes before he climbed into the driver’s seat. We watched as the truck rolled down the narrow drive, then everything grew quiet.
“Rachael, did you know Liz Pierce had also filed for an altitude attempt?”
“What?” Clearly this news surprised her.
“Ron just told me. She must have done it months ago because her time-frame is almost up. She has to do it before the end of this month.”
She got quiet and turned away from the door.
“Is there any chance she wants this record bad enough to try to scare you away from it?”
“Oh, surely not,” she said. “I mean, anyone in the whole country could go for the same one. I could set it first and she could come along and beat me. Or vice versa.”
She said it lightly enough that I felt somewhat reassured.
“Mind if I scout around?” I asked. Remote as the place might be, I wouldn’t feel entirely at ease until I knew every window and door.
“Go ahead. I’m going to make a cup of tea, you want one?” I followed her down the narrow entry hall that opened into a large, sunny greatroom. A glance showed the kitchen on the left, a big sun room on the right, French doors leading to a deck at the back.
Done in shades of Wedgwood blue and cream, the living room area featured a huge wraparound sectional sofa, rustic wood coffee table, oak entertainment center and blue enameled woodburning stove. To the left, stairs led to a second story. Beyond them a well-equipped kitchen with deep blue tile floor and countertops looked like a chef’s dream. A wide counter opened into the dining room portion of the expanse. Oak high-backed stools at the counter provided an informal eating spot, while the dining table stretched the full length of that spacious room, easily seating eight. Rachael filled a large kettle at the kitchen sink and set it on a burner.
“Black or herbal?” she asked, opening the doors on a cleverly hidden pantry.
“Black,” I said.
I circled through the kitchen and dining areas, back to the living room. Through the glass doors I saw a small, cozy deck furnished with a small grouping of chairs and a neat little table-umbrella arrangement for eating outdoors. A large barbeque grill against the wall gave further testimony to the fact that Sam liked to cook.
I stepped out to the deck and walked its perimeter. At the far end, it looked into the dining room window; at the opposite end, near the French doors, an opening let out onto a gravel path that circled the house. I stood at the railing a moment and took a deep breath of pine and cedar. Except for the chirping of birds and the occasional skittering of a squirrel in the trees, silence enveloped the place.
A mere twenty feet from the back of the house the forest closed in tightly, I followed the gravel path to the right, rounding the corner of the sun room. Inside, I could clearly see Rachael in the kitchen pulling mugs from a rack. A shiver of apprehension coursed over me. An old phrase about people in glass houses ran through my mind.
Beyond the sun room, the wrap-around porch led to the front of the house. I took the two wooden steps up and faced another sliding glass door into a room I’d not seen yet. I tried the door and found it locked. Good.
Porch furniture of heavy wicker with cushioned seats stood invitingly at the wide corner where the ninety degree angle cut back toward the front door where we’d first come in. Past that, the double garage doors stood solidly closed. I picked up the gravel path again on the far side of the garage and followed it past the kitchen and dining room windows, back to the French doors where I’d come out.
“Tea’s ready,” Rachael called as I came inside.
I took a mug and drifted through the living room. Double doors revealed that the small room I’d noticed from the outside was a study. I’d spotted one telephone in the kitchen. Another sat on the desk in here.
“What’s upstairs?” I asked Rachael.
“Two bedrooms and two bathrooms. Take a look,” she said.
I climbed carpeted stairs to a landing where a small bedroom, dressed in ruffles and lace, looked out over the driveway, toward the pen with the two Rottweilers. A bathroom on the same level featured a large window that extended from eye level to the ceiling, staring out into the trees.
Up another short flight of stairs, the master bedroom looked out over an open railing to the living room below. A doorway led to a small upper deck with a hot tub. A huge pine grew beside it and I briefly wondered whether it shed needles into the tub every time the cover stood open.
A second bath gave pretty much the same view as the first. Pastel wallpaper in shades of lavender and blue, along with fra
med prints of impressionistic girls in filmy white dresses gave the room a decidedly feminine tone. I nosed around in the bathroom for a moment but found only male products. Not so much as a pink toothbrush to indicate that Rachael ever spent the night here.
“Lots of feminine touches for a guy’s house,” I commented as I came back downstairs.
Rachael had taken a spot on the big, cushy sofa, her legs folded under her and her hands wrapped around her mug using it as a mini heater.
“Sam’s wife,” she said. “She died three years ago, but aside from giving away her clothes, he apparently hasn’t changed a thing.”
“Must feel kind of strange to you.”
“Kinda. Guess it’s the main reason we haven’t moved in together. Living with a ghost in a cozy-country style house just isn’t my thing. And Sam loves the mountains and his dairy goats. I can’t imagine that he’d ever agree to move into the city.”
I settled onto the sofa, stretching my legs along the opposite length of the big L from where she sat. “So, does that mean there’s no future for you two? I get the feeling Sam really loves you.”
“He does. I don’t doubt that. It’s just . . . I don’t know.” She drained the last of her tea and got up to pour another cup. “With everything this week, you know. I just can’t think about it right now.”
“Yeah.” I had a lot of thinking to do after this week, too. I should have told Drake about my pregnancy suspicions when he called yesterday. I handed my mug over for a refill when she offered.
“Rachael, about your father . . .” Dean Patterson’s revelations yesterday still preyed on my mind.
“I can’t, Charlie. I can’t even think about him right now.”
“Even though we know he didn’t send the—” I jumped when the phone rang.
“I tried your cell, but it says you’re out of area,” Ron said when Rachael handed the phone over to me. “Guess the mountains or the trees are interfering with the signal.”
“So, what’s the plan now?” I asked.
“Sam and I are going to run by the office. I had a couple more computer checks in the works and I want to see if the information has come in. We want to stay clear of the balloon field for a couple more hours anyway, then we’ll get Sam’s car and come back out there. After that, we’ll see.”
I walked out to the back deck, taking the conversation out of Rachael’s earshot. “Are you guys planning for us all to spend the night out here?” I asked. “This house is isolated, sure, but if anyone finds out where we are, it’s a security nightmare. There’s not a drape or window shade in the place and even the second floor rooms are easily accessible.”
He pondered that for a minute. “Guess we’ll have to figure out something. Look, it’s coming up on noon. I’ll give you a call when we get ready to head back that direction. Scout around a little and see if you can map out an exit strategy.”
Lucky me. I’m an accountant. What do I know about exit strategies? I carried the silent phone receiver back inside and locked the door behind me. Rachael had burrowed into the soft cushions on the big sectional and was dozing soundly.
I crossed quietly to the stairs and went up to the front bedroom, the ruffled one. Its large windows overlooked the driveway and dog run. The two Rottweilers paced along the fence between their water tub near the house and the front property line. By positioning myself at the left edge of the window I had a clear view down the driveway, nearly to the gate. Using this as a lookout point, we could easily know when anyone tried to approach the house—at least by the conventional method. I decided to walk down and see if Sam had closed the gate. Anyone who wanted to drive up to the house would manage to set off the dogs before they got close to us.
Rachael looked so peaceful on the sofa as I walked downstairs and let myself out. I wished I could relax enough to take a nap, too, but felt too keyed up at this point. I walked most of the two hundred yards to the gate before I realized that it was already closed. The two dogs trotted parallel to the drive, keeping wary eyes on me but seemingly accepting of the fact that I came here as an invited guest.
I examined the gate. It had only a standard latch, no chain or padlock. It certainly wasn’t going to keep anyone out. The fence, except for the dog’s enclosure, consisted of regular three-strand barbed wire, fine for keeping cows and horses in their rightful places, but useless against most anything else. Sam had said that the property was five acres. Knowing that a person could get through this fence at any point didn’t do a lot to reassure me. I could only hope that our security lie in secrecy. No one had any reason to think they could find Rachael here. No one except her six crew members, anyone they might speak to, or god-only-knew how many people who knew where Sam lived. Yeah. Reassuring.
I trekked back to the house where I rechecked all the doors and windows before taking up a post in a rocking chair near the front window in the upstairs bedroom. The next thing I knew, I was pulling myself out of a groggy sleep. For precious minutes, I drifted between the uncertainty of my location and the leaden feeling that I couldn’t drag myself up from the depths of sleep.
A stealthy sound of metal on metal came from somewhere within the house and I scrubbed at my eyelids with sandpapery fingertips to force them open. Sam’s house. Clarity came in a flash. I stood up too fast and had to grip the arm of the rocker to keep my balance. After a minute I stepped out to the landing and scanned the lower floor. Rachael no longer lay on the sofa and I began to pick up the tiny sounds of someone puttering in the kitchen—pan against burner, the tinny clink of flatware in a drawer.
“Oh, there you are,” she said as I walked into the kitchen. “Hungry?”
“What time is it?” I couldn’t even begin to remember when I’d last eaten.
“Nearly four.” She’d opened a can of soup and proceeded to pour it into a saucepan.
“I must have slept three hours!” Three hours in a chair, which no doubt accounted for the nagging crick in my neck. I rubbed at it as I watched her move about the kitchen.
Outside, the light had taken on a golden glow as the sun lowered in the sky. Bars of light scored the upper reaches of the living room walls and threw umber streaks across the pine tongue-and-groove ceiling. I strolled to the windows in the sun room, noticing that the ground around the house was entirely in shadow.
“What’s the word from the guys?” I asked. “They should be getting here any minute, shouldn’t they?”
“They haven’t called,” she said. “I tried to call Sam’s cell, but it didn’t work. Oops—”
She dashed to the range top, where bubbling soup threatened to flow over the top of the pan. She grabbed the pan and switched off the burner in one deft move.
“I hope you like minestrone and I hope you like it hot,” she said.
I took a seat on one of the oak bar stools where she’d laid out two place settings on the counter. “Sounds great to me.”
She passed a plate of garlic bread she’d magically produced from somewhere. The smells of spicy soup and fragrant bread caused a rumble in my stomach and I didn’t waste any time. Not another word passed between us for at least ten minutes.
“More?” she asked, carrying her bowl to the stove.
“No, thanks, I’m doing great.” Now that my hunger pangs were subsiding I’d begun to wonder again about Ron and Sam. My brother isn’t always the best at checking in with me, but he’d said he would call before they left town. On the other hand, he’s notorious for getting into the middle of a computer search and losing all track of time. Maybe I better nudge him.
“You tried Sam’s phone,” I said, “maybe I should try Ron’s.” I picked up the cordless handset, punching the familiar numbers.
“That—”
“Hmm, not getting anything,” I muttered.
She set her spoon down and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “That’s what I started to tell you. It didn’t work.”
Trickles of dread edged up my forearms. “I thought you meant Sam’s cell phone di
dn’t work.”
“No, this phone didn’t work. The line seemed dead.”
Chapter 22
My soup threatened a return visit. I dropped the telephone on the counter. “Rachael, why didn’t you tell me this immediately?” My voice came out high and edgy.
“I didn’t . . . I mean, do you think . . .” The color had gone out of her face.
I dashed up the stairs and posted myself at the edge of the front window. The shadowy driveway looked the same as before. One of the dogs was asleep at the door of their wooden doghouse. The other must be near the front of the property. My pulse slowed a tad. Surely they wouldn’t be so completely unconcerned if a stranger had come anywhere near the house.
“Charlie?” Rachael stood tentatively at the bedroom door. I spun around at the sound of her voice.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything out of place outside,” I said.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t panic because the phones up here are always acting up. Electricity too. They’re out for awhile then they come back on.”
That knowledge reassured me somewhat. But I didn’t like the feeling of being so cut off. No cell service, now no regular phone service either.
“Is it chilly in here?” I asked as we walked back down the stairs.
Outside the wide sunroom windows the shadows had deepened, giving the forest a dull gray old-black-and-white-movie feel. I considered what would happen when it truly became dark. The minute we switched on lights inside the house the outdoors would feel even darker, and we’d be as exposed as fish in an aquarium.
“I’ll get some wood for a fire,” Rachael said.
“Where is it?”
She gave me a funny look.
“The firewood, where is it kept?”
“There’s a stack at the side of the driveway, near the dog run, and there’s more in the garage.”
“Get it from the garage.” I watched her unlock the door in the kitchen that led down the steep flight of steps. “We better round up some flashlights,” I said. “Where are they?”
“Hmm . . . let me think.” Distracted from the garage mission, she turned to begin rummaging through kitchen drawers. “Here’s one. And I think Sam has more on his workbench.”
Balloons Can Be Murder: The Ninth Charlie Parker Mystery Page 17
