Strangers in the Night

by Patricia H. Rushford

  CHAPTER 34

  By the end of the day, they had discovered a critical and gruesome part of Cold Creek’s past. When removing the bones they discovered the skeleton of a fetus along with a rusted knife. The bones were very old and thought to be those of old Doc Carlson’s missing wife and unborn child.

  Samantha shared the journal and other writings with the police. There was but one conclusion they could make. The doctor had killed his lovely wife. He’d put up a fake wall to hide her remains and told everyone she’d run off. Perhaps he’d thought her unfaithful, or perhaps she’d tried to leave. No one could say for sure. Isabelle suggested that there might have been something going on between her uncle and Doc’s wife.

  No wonder the doc had moved out of the house. What they didn’t know and might never know was why Doc had gone back to the house to hang himself. It was a find that brought forth stories of ghost sightings and eerie sounds. Dawn shuddered when she heard the news and asked Abbie how she could possibly want to live there now, but Abbie wasn’t about to change her mind. The history only added to the mystique. One morning a few days later, when the flurry of activity over finding the bones dissipated, Abbie went back to the house to see how Brent was progressing.

  She examined the lovely staircase Brent had restored. The house still needed electrical updating, but Brent thought she’d be able to move in within a couple of weeks.

  As evening settled in around Cold Creek the next Saturday, the townspeople got together for their weekly campfire near the B&B. They gathered at the edge of the lake where a fire pit had been established a century ago. Rustic wooden benches circled the stone pit. Though she’d heard about it and thought it was a wonderful way to bring the community together, Abbie hadn’t yet been able to experience the event and was pleased when Jake suggested they go. She had struggled with whether or not to bring Emma with her and in the end decided to do so. Her parents had come along with Skye. Emma was standing between her nana and papa at the moment, talking with Cassie.

  Keith and Travis started the fire.

  She’d gotten to know both men and couldn’t imagine either of them participating in any criminal activity. Yet they both fit the description of the man in the bank robbery article. They were both around five-ten and slender. Travis had dark hair and eyes. Keith’s hair was lighter and he had brown eyes as well. They were around the same age.

  Abbie shook off the idea. She was beginning to see the robber in everyone she saw.

  And yet… Barbara had come to this area for a reason, and her mother believed it was because she thought the man who had robbed the bank and taken her friend hostage had escaped Portland and settled here. Suppose Barbara had suspected Travis? Why would she take the chance of dating him? To get close enough? To search his home? Again she thought about the article she’d found in his kitchen. Had it been there the entire time, or had someone placed it there? If so, who? Barbara had taken a terrible chance even looking for the man. She suddenly realized that if Barbara recognized the robber, he might have recognized her as well.

  In her journal Barbara had written about going to the police a number of times, thinking she’d found the robber. Her leads had never panned out. Eventually, after over a dozen false tips, the authorities had stopped listening.

  What or whom had Barbara discovered here, and was it that discovery that had gotten her killed?

  Jake nudged her, bringing her back to reality. “Ready for a roasted marshmallow?”

  “What?” Abbie veered from the crazy path her thoughts had taken. “Oh, sure.”

  “What were you thinking about?” Jake grinned at her and lifted a perfectly browned marshmallow from the coals.

  “Nothing important.” She pulled the soft gooey treat from the end of the stick. “Thank you,” she said before popping it into her mouth. She really needed to stop speculating about Barbara’s murder. There was no reason to think the robbery was connected with the notes she’d received. And why she kept slipping Travis into the bad guy role, she had no idea. She savored the warm, sweet taste of the marshmallow and then had another—this time with chocolate and a graham cracker.

  “You were pretty deep in thought.”

  She sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about Barbara.”

  “Hmm. I think about her too, but there really isn’t much point, is there?”

  “I suppose not.” Abbie needed to stop obsessing over possible suspects.

  For the next few days Abbie worked on plans for the artists’ colony. Having been through all the buildings, she worked with Brent to determine which of them needed the least amount of work. She hoped to be able to bring artists in by October and put on the first artist show by the first of December, in time for Christmas.

  She visited art galleries up and down the coast and placed ads in newspapers in Oregon and Washington to let artists know what she planned to offer. Travis had provided a few names as well. By the week’s end, she had ten artists willing to participate, five of whom volunteered to serve as board members.

  She had also spent some time sprucing up her wardrobe. She found a great shop in Oceanside where she bought a variety of outfits to wear when she interviewed the artists. Today she wore a long tan skirt and vest with a cream ruffled blouse and a loosely woven shawl of orange, red, cream, and tan yarns.

  Pulling the community together had filled her days and her mind, but her thoughts were never far from Barbara. After breakfast, she’d gone to the Victorian to see how the remodel was progressing and spotted Travis examining something under the porch steps.

  He jumped back when she called his name. “Whoa. You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

  “Sorry. What were you looking at?”

  He stepped away from the porch. “Nothing. I thought I saw something is all. Probably just a rabbit.”

  “Hey, Abbie.” Keith came out of the house. “I thought I heard you out here.”

  “I just came over to see how things are going. I’m anxious to get moved in.” She let her gaze wander over both of them. Once again, the picture of the fugitive drifted into her mind.

  Could Travis be the bank robber and/or Barbara’s killer? Or Keith? No, no, no.

  She had to stop this nonsense. Both men had been working for her for weeks and she had no reason to believe they had anything to do with Barbara’s death. They were nice guys who happened to live in Cold Creek and who knew Barbara.

  “Shouldn’t be too long now,” Keith said. “We’ll need to shore up the porch and repair some of the rotting wood. Brent wanted us to finish up the interior before we tackled the outside.”

  Abbie nodded. “I really appreciate all the work you’ve been doing.”

  Travis grinned. “It’s been fun restoring this place. Feels like a page out of history. I really hope this idea of yours takes off.”

  “Thanks, Travis. I do too.” She again chided herself for considering him a suspect.

  “That reminds me,” Travis said. “I have a couple of friends who show at Newman’s Art Gallery in town. Genna is a potter and Lindsay is a watercolorist. They’re both exceptional, and when I told them about the artists’ colony, they said they’d be interested in teaching as well as showing their work. I thought of my friend Eric too. He’s a potter, but he specializes in Raku.”

  “Raku.” Abbie said the word almost meditatively. “I love that stuff.”

  Keith frowned. “What’s Raku?”

  “Raku is a special kind of firing where the artist takes a very hot piece from the kiln, tosses it into a barrel of combustibles, and quickly places a lid on it,” Abbie offered. “The combustibles catch fire and leave brilliant coppery colors and indentations on the pottery piece. The results are spectacular.”

  Keith nodded. “Sounds nice.” He walked off, scratching his head.

  “Anyways,” Travis said, “I thought I’d invite them out to my place for dinner in the next day or two so you could meet them.”

  “I’d love that.” Travis had been even
more helpful than Jake had when it came to meeting the artists in the community. Of course, being an artist himself, he knew most of them.

  “Good. Bring Jake. I’ll do one of my famous barbeques.”

  “Perfect. Let me know if I can bring anything.”

  “Just yourselves.”

  Abbie waved good-bye as she headed for the hotel, where she found Brent sitting on a stool, his casted leg stretched out in front of him, sanding the front of the bar. A large work light formed a cone around him. Though the boards had been taken off the windows, the daylight coming in wasn’t enough to provide the light he needed. He looked up when she came in. “Abbie, what a nice surprise.”

  “Hey, Brent. How goes it?”

  “Great. I gotta tell you, the more I work on this place, the more I’m loving it.”

  “Me too. How’s the leg?”

  “A pain in the you-know-what, but the cast’ll be off soon. Fortunately, there’s plenty I can do that doesn’t require walking or standing.” He hesitated. “Did you need something?”

  “I just stopped to see how you’re progressing.”

  He gestured toward the bar. “Sanding is almost done on the bar. This is one amazing place.” He chuckled. “I’ll have to show you what I did yesterday.” He picked up his crutches and hobbled around to the back of the bar. “I cleaned the glass, replaced the mirror, updated the wiring, and replaced the old burned-out bulbs with the new fluorescent type. Come here and I’ll let you do the honors.”

  She walked around beside him. He pointed to a light switch that had yet to be mounted. “Go ahead and turn it on.”

  She did. The light flickered for a moment and then lit up the stained glass that framed the large mirror. “It’s beautiful. I knew it would be, but—look how bright the colors are.” Her gaze took in the intricate design—the red hues of the roses, the greens of the leaves.

  “Yeah.” Brent grinned. “Just think, a hundred years ago customers sat here at this bar, looking at this—this masterpiece.”

  Abbie walked around the room, her gaze never leaving the glass. “I didn’t expect it to be so elegant. It makes me feel like I paid too little for the place.”

  Brent chuckled. “Trust me, Abbie. You may have gotten a good deal, but the remodel isn’t going to come cheap. We’re really lucky the glass was in such good shape. As it was, I had to hire a stained glass artist to secure some of the lead.”

  “I didn’t realize that.” She asked for the artist’s name and added it to her collection.

  She wandered around the town for a while, making notes. At around noon she decided to head back to Oceanside for lunch and a nap with Emma.

  As she approached the Victorian, she realized that she’d forgotten to talk with Travis about finding someone to run the program with her. Perhaps one of the artists he had mentioned, although she planned to offer Travis the position first.

  Neither Keith nor Travis was inside, and Abbie suspected they’d gone somewhere to eat. She stopped by the B&B and found Dawn and Keith standing out by his truck, talking.

  “Don’t worry about it, okay?” Keith was saying. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “When?” Dawn sounded none too happy. “You should have moved it before now… .”

  Keith must have seen Abbie, because he stopped his wife before she could say more. “We’ll talk about it later. Abbie’s here.”

  “I’m sorry.” Abbie took a step closer. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was looking for Travis.”

  “No problem.” Dawn’s annoyance disappeared behind a smile. “I imagine he’s at home.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see if I can catch him there.”

  She walked back to the Victorian where she had parked her car, and a few minutes later she pulled into Travis’s driveway beside his pickup. She was halfway to the house when she heard a gunshot. The bullet zinged into a nearby tree, ripping the bark. She froze for a moment before adrenaline took charge and propelled her forward and into the woods.

  Early on, Jake had mentioned hunters, but Abbie feared that the bullet had been meant for her. She expected Travis to come out of the house to see what was going on, but there was no sign of him.

  Staying under cover of the woods and scrub brush at the perimeter of Travis’s yard, Abbie made her way around to the back of the house. If she could make it to his porch, she could crawl under it and hopefully find protection there. She straightened and looked around, thinking to make a run for it. Someone opened the patio door. Travis. He must have heard the shot and come out to investigate.

  Relief lasted about two seconds. Someone wearing a ski mask and sunglasses stepped onto the porch and scanned the treeline alongside the lake through the rifle’s scope. He stopped then pointed the rifle point-blank at her. This was no hunter.

  She dove into the water just as the rifle exploded. A dozen or more thoughts scrambled through her head. Pain shot through her right leg. She’d been hit.

  Fearing the shooter would try again, Abbie ducked behind a large downed tree that floated on the water. The shooter, apparently satisfied that he’d hit her, jumped off the deck and headed into the woods toward Cold Creek.

  Abbie forced herself to breathe. The icy water had saturated her clothes, weighing her down. She managed to crawl out of the lake. Sitting on the bank, she lifted her skirt to reveal a cut on her thigh. Blood mixed with water ran down her leg and into her skirt. She was going to be sick.

  “Focus, Abbie,” she told herself. “You have to stop the bleeding.”

  Shaking more from terror than the cold, she twisted excess water out of her shawl and wrapped her wounded leg as tightly as she could then tied a knot to keep it in place. She fell back against the grassy bank, her mind whirling. She had to get up. Find help. If she could just make it to Travis’s house—she could call Jake. But no. What if the shooter had been Travis? He’d come out of the house, hadn’t he?

  She had to get out of there. Abbie forced herself into a sitting position and turned over to rise up on her knees. She sucked in a deep breath and then, staying low and once again under cover of the woods, made her way to the house. She must have fallen a dozen times. She saw no sign now of the shooter as she emerged from the woods and headed for her car. She was about to get in when a motorcycle pulled into the driveway. The driver took off his helmet as he strode toward her. Travis.

  “Abbie.” He stood there, apparently in shock, as his gaze roamed over her wet hair and clothes. “What in the world happened? What are you doing here?”

  She started shaking from the chill. “I came out to see you and someone started shooting at me.”

  His gaze took in the bloodstains on her skirt. “You’re bleeding.”

  She looked down at the darkening patch of blood on her thigh where the blood had soaked through. Her knees buckled.

  Travis caught her, lifted her into his arms, carried her into the house, and set her on the sofa. He lifted her sopped skirt and took off the shawl to examine the wound. It was still seeping but not as badly. Going to the kitchen, he pulled a towel out of a drawer and returned to wipe the area around the wound dry.

  The bullet had sliced through about two inches of flesh. “Looks like it just grazed the skin,” he said. “That’s good.”

  “It doesn’t feel so good.” Abbie looked away.

  She winced when he pressed the cloth to the wound. “Hold this and put some pressure on it while I get my first-aid kit.”

  She heard a couple of doors slam, and when he came back, he was carrying a large white box. While he bandaged up the wound, Abbie explained what had happened.

  “Are you sure he came out of my house?” Travis finished by wrapping an elastic bandage around the leg. “Are you sure?”

  “Trust me. I would never in my wildest dreams make up something like this.”

  “I believe you. What I can’t fathom is why someone would fire at you. The only thing I can think of that makes sense is that it was a hunter who mistook you for a deer.”


  “I suppose that’s possible. I mean—who would want to kill me—except maybe the guy who’s been leaving me those notes.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke.

  “You have a point.” Travis stood. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes before you end up with pneumonia.” He disappeared into the bedroom and came back with a sweatshirt, boxer shorts, and a pair of khaki shorts. “I don’t have any women’s clothes so these will have to do. Take off your wet things and I’ll warm up an electric blanket for you to wrap up in.” He turned away. “I’d better call Jeff and Jake. You should have Jake take you to a doctor.”

  She nodded. Jake was coming.

  Abbie couldn’t stop shaking. She rubbed the wetness from her skin and pulled on the red sweatshirt. The clothing, though baggy, had already begun to warm her. When she emerged from the bathroom, she was still shivering and couldn’t wait to get under the electric blanket.

  She heard voices coming from the living room. Travis was with Detective Meyers and Tim. As before, the detective wore a brown suit, and under his jacket Abbie could see a holster.

  “Hello again.” Puzzled, Abbie shook his hand and sank into the chair where Travis had placed the warm blanket. She wrapped it around herself and looked at Travis. “I thought you called Jeff.”

  “I did. Detective Meyers is here about something else, but he wants to hear your story.”

  “I understand someone shot you.” Meyers settled back into his chair and lifted a small notebook out of his pocket. “Want to tell me about it?”

  Abbie shared her story again and glanced at Travis before going on. “In all honesty, I thought it was you, especially when the guy came out of your house.”

  “Definitely not me.” Travis shook his head. “I’m sorry this happened. It could have been anyone. I usually don’t bother locking my doors.”

  “I don’t suppose you can ID the guy.” Meyers tapped his pen against the notebook.

  “No.” Abbie frowned, trying to remember. “He was wearing a mask—black, and a greenish plaid shirt. Jeans, I think. I was too busy trying to stay out of sight.”