by Alice Sabo
Dark Deeds
Alice Sabo
Kindle edition February 2015
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright (c) 2015 by Alice Sabo
Cover design by Alex Storer www.thelightdream.com
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed, electronic or other media without permission.
This book is dedicated to everyone who has had to deal with addiction in their lives, and in the lives of their loved ones.
Chapter 1
Asher Blaine huddled on top of the submerged vehicle, shivering in the weak morning light of early September. He was sitting in a couple inches of muddy-smelling, ice-cold pond water. His driver stood on the hood, thigh-deep, banging on the roof and cursing in two languages. Asher didn’t drive anymore because he’d lost his license from one too many DUIs. He wondered if he would get in trouble for this accident even though he was only a passenger. And then there was the media to consider. Reporters would be all over this as soon as word got out.
“There’s no frigging service!” the driver growled as he pivoted looking for bars.
Asher couldn’t remember the guy’s name. He was a surly young man the production company had sent to pick him up at the airport. Somehow the driver had miraculously managed to get out of the sinking car without dropping his phone. Since there hadn’t been more than a second before they left the road and sank in the pond, Asher was betting the phone was in his hand before the crash. And probably the cause of it. He flinched as the driver pounded a fist on the roof of the car splashing them both.
“Happens four, five times every year,” the fellow on the bank said. “Somebody comes round that curve too fast and before ya know it, they’re in Jenkins Pond. We been askin’ for a guardrail for years. It’s been since. . .well now, before my time, I can tell you that. Yes, sirree. Started right after they put this here road through.”
The old man started in on a history of the road and the pond and all the people who’d been dragged out of it. Asher stopped listening, but kept nodding and smiling attentively. No reason to antagonize the locals. He coveted the old man’s heavy Carhartt overalls, despite the years of stains. At this point, with hypothermia threatening, he even envied the long beard. Asher hoped that he wouldn’t be recognized. With his long, brown hair skinned back in a ponytail and sunglasses hiding his lively blue eyes, he could usually stay incognito. The recent work he’d gotten in a few national commercials had made his handsome face more familiar than it had been in a decade. Today his sunglasses were on the bottom of the pond, and his hair hung in bedraggled locks dripping with duckweed. That was almost as good of a disguise. “Can you call for help?” he asked when the man finally stopped talking.
“Oh, no need.” The man pointed over his shoulder toward a house on the other side of the road. “Irene May keeps an eye out. She’ll have called Sheriff Danson by now.”
“Oh, g-g-g-good,” Asher stuttered as his teeth clacked with the cold. His wet clothes were clammy against his skin. The slightest breeze felt glacial.
“See this is a county road and a state road, and they been fighting about who needs to pay for the guardrail. . .” he trailed off as the sheriff’s car pulled up. The old man ambled over to wait as the sheriff got out of the cruiser and put his hat on.
“I’ll pay for the bloody guardrail,” Asher grumbled.
“Help!” The driver stood up on the hood of the SUV and waved. The sheriff was a tall, thick-bodied man. Clean-shaven, short hair and crisp uniform told Asher he was a man who did his job well. The blank stare he gave them said he did not suffer fools gladly.
“I think he can see us,” Asher said with a sigh. The car was twenty feet from the bank in water that was shoulder-deep on him. He’d noticed that when he’d been able to stand after swimming out the car window. And if he’d had a brain in his head, he’d have swum to shore. But the driver’s hysterics had infected him, and he’d climbed atop the vehicle without thinking. Another case of letting others control his life. Asher pushed that thought away. He was starting over. No one had control over him now which meant he needed to be smarter about everything, think things through more carefully.
Sheriff Danson came to the edge of the pond and surveyed the scene: the sunken car and the two of them on top of it. “Anybody hurt?”
“I think we’re both okay,” Asher said as calmly as he could. This was a stupid thing, and even though it wasn’t his fault, when it hit the media rumors would start that Asher was partying again. It didn’t matter how long he’d been sober, or that he was married with a family now. That wasn’t newsworthy. Accidents and incidents were what sold. And a picture of him soaking wet, with weeds in his hair, at the scene of a car crash would definitely sell. That thought was followed by the observation that there wasn’t any sign of paparazzi, just the old man and the cop. Asher felt one worry roll off his back.
“It ain’t deep,” the sheriff said, a patient expression on his tanned face. “You’re gonna need to wade outta there.”
Asher had been thinking that very thing, but the thought of getting back in the icy water was daunting. There wasn’t any danger. He already knew how deep the dark, scummy water of the pond was, and he was a strong swimmer. Not that he’d need to swim.
“I can’t get in that water!” the driver shrieked. “It’s freezing.”
“It’s cold, but it ain’t froze yet,” the sheriff said with a shake of his head. The man in the overalls nodded in agreement. They both folded their arms as if on cue. Asher had the feeling this was the highlight of their day, and although he considered himself an entertainer, this was not something for his resume.
Asher crawled across the roof toward the driver and grabbed his arm. “Sooner we’re out, sooner we get warm.” He slid into the water dragging the squealing man along with him.
The sooner part didn’t happen as fast as he’d hoped. The sheriff wrapped them in blankets and offered to take them to the local urgent care clinic, or the hospital which was an hour away. Asher declined. He asked for a ride to the guesthouse that he’d rented which turned out to be only a half-mile down the road. Asher pushed down on the anger and the slew of if-onlys that his brain started spewing, but allowed himself an angry glare at his waterlogged driver.
The sheriff dropped Asher off at the front door of a rambling Victorian. He gladly left the driver in the backseat of the cruiser, waving his phone and still complaining about the lack of service. After thanking the sheriff, Asher went into the house, his feet squishing in his shoes. The foyer had a small reception desk. He rang the bell on the counter, worried about the puddle he was creating on the carpet. He was chilled to the bone and starving. There was a sitting room to one side and a breakfast room on the other. He wondered if he could ask for breakfast this late in the day.
The owner, Mrs. Wheatly, came barreling down the hall. “Irene May called me. Figured you might be one of the Hollywood people coming in. You poor thing, you must be soaked to the skin.”
Asher nodded numbly. He glanced around the silent rooms. Not a reporter in sight. That was a relief of gargantuan proportions. The cross-town grapevine about the Hollywood People might be a different type of worry. Asher forced a smile, hoping he looked friendly, if not charming which might be impossible stinking of pond water and dripping wit
h duckweed.“I’m booked under Ellie Davis.”
Mrs. Wheatly paged through a big reservation book. “You’re in the Chantilly Lace cottage,” she said with a smile. “Just this way. We’ll have you in the hot tub in no time.”
Asher whimpered with yearning for a steamy soak. He eagerly followed her out the back door of the main house. Across a broad driveway, there were three large cottages separated by lawns and flower beds with tall shrubs giving each one privacy.
“We have intermittent cell service,” she warned him. “I know that’s an issue. And we’re working on a solution. For now, Chantilly has a landline that you are free to use. Coffeemaker, microwave and iron, also,” she said proudly. Mrs. Wheatly led him to the one on the far left. She ushered him in, gave him a lightning tour: sitting room, kitchen with the landline, bathroom, two bedrooms. Then she handed him a robe and pointed him out the back door to the hot tub.
The little tub sat on a flagstone patio, screened with a lattice fence that had an overgrown rosebush interwoven. A few late blooms dotted the thorny branches with blood red. Beyond the lattice, a rolling lawn merged into dense woods on three sides, the big house and three cottages made the fourth. The sun shone down through a thick canopy of leaves making them glow lime green against blue velvet shadows. Asher ducked back into the house to strip out of his wet clothes. Seconds later, he sank down in the bubbling water with a sigh of pleasure. His chilled skin protested at first, but quickly acclimated to the soothing heat. Steam rose around him. He closed his eyes and forced his muscles to unclench. He had arrived.
The driver had ranted about leeches when they’d slogged out of the pond, ankle deep in muck. That was something Asher hadn’t considered. He inspected his skin through the churning water. This wasn’t the best start to his big come-back movie. With his disreputable history and being on the backside of forty, he wasn’t going to get another chance like this. It wasn’t just his career riding on this movie. The past year had been a time of regaining trust, rebuilding friendships with George, Ellie and Denny, one careful step at a time. Asher was well aware how fragile their trust was. One slip and he would lose everything.
George was a well-known director, and Denny worked for an agency with a lot of clout. Ellie, now Asher’s wife, had become a savvy producer in the years that they’d been apart. Together, the three of them had done some magical bargaining and gotten him cast in the lead role of a summer blockbuster. There would be mysterious black-robed villains and sword fights and a couple of racy love scenes. Asher had been astonished that any studio would bet that big on him, again. If this movie took off, there would be sequels. He had signed a three-picture deal at Ellie’s assurance that she would be with him every step of the way. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he was ready for all that, but the fact that it was being filmed in North Carolina had tempted him. George had tipped the scales by telling him that he could rent a mountain chalet in a quiet little town for a few months while they did all the location filming. Fall in the Blue Ridge Mountains sounded fabulous. He could get out of LA, away from too many temptations. The nearest town, Asheville, was over an hour’s drive away. Peace and tranquility.
And car wrecks on narrow mountain roads. Denny would read him the riot act when he heard about the accident.
It had all seemed simple when they’d discussed it. George would direct. That made everything a lot easier since Asher had worked with him several times before. Denny had insisted that it was time for him to start going big again, but isn’t that what an agent is supposed to say? Asher wanted to be in this movie. He also needed to stay sober. To do that he needed his friends and family around him. They all insisted he was ready, but now Asher was on his own thousands of miles away from them. A silly smile planted itself on his lips. His wife, Ellie, and son, Thomas, and that astonishing gift that he had never expected, baby Sharon.
He’d left while the kids were sleeping. The flight had been ridiculously early. He’d boarded the plane at LAX in the dark and arrived in Asheville at the crack of dawn. His driver had been late and grumpy. They’d gotten lost and had to backtrack. The winding roads hadn’t had enough signs, and he’d been sure that they were lost several times. The GPS didn’t work. There wasn’t any cell service. And now all his clothes and electronics were in the trunk of a car being towed out of somebody’s pond.
Asher groaned and ducked under the water. Maybe he could cross this day off and start over. No matter how he planned, weird stuff always happened to him. Which was exactly why he had traveled out here weeks before the filming would start. His life was one bizarre coincidence after another. If he was lucky, this morning’s incident would remain as local gossip and not hit the internet. That was probably asking too much, but he hadn’t seen anyone with a camera. He surfaced with a grunt, planning to stay in the hot tub until at least dinner if he could put off eating that long. As if in disagreement, his stomach growled.
A sound intruded. A spooky, something very wrong sound. He hit the switch killing the water jets. In the silence of the back yard only a bird called out. He heard the far away rumble of a truck’s brakes out on the interstate. The roads around here were so steep that they had run-away lanes.
And there it was again. A sound like a person in trouble coming from the woods. Asher vaulted out of the hot tub, and pulled on the robe and slippers provided for guests. He padded across the shadow-streaked lawn towards the woods feeling equally adventurous and stupid. Was this the male equivalent of the woman in the negligee carrying a candle down the hallway in the haunted house?
A soft sound like fabric tearing and then a grunt.
Asher halted at the edge of the woods thinking of leeches. Well, not actually leeches, but things that he didn’t foresee. Like badgers and bears and other things with big teeth and nasty dispositions and a penchant for biting tourists. The angle of the sun through the branches made it hard to focus on the undergrowth. Everything was striped, bright and dark.
He stood for a long time at the edge, listening and waiting to hear the sound again. There were the incidental noises of birds and probably squirrels. Leaves danced over his head with a whoosh and rustle, shuffling the shadows around him, and finally his eyes saw what was lying on the ground ten feet in front of him along a fallen tree trunk. There was blood and bits and torn, stained clothing. He couldn’t identify the bits, but it was bad. Very bad. He was glad his stomach was empty because everything would have come up otherwise. He took a step back involuntarily and almost fell over his own feet. With his heart pounding, he backed away carefully in the floppy slippers, sure there must be some great beast hiding in the trees about to devour him, too.
As he turned to leave, something caught his eye. Right at his feet, under a spiky green shrub, lay a bloody shoe. That was the last straw. His legs were rubbery as he jogged across the yard to the cottage. He burst into the kitchen, grabbed the landline, and called 911.
Chapter 2
“911. Fire, ambulance or police?” a woman’s crisp voice demanded.
“All, I mean both.” The question had surprised Asher. “There’s somebody dead in the woods.” At least that’s what he meant to say, but the words got garbled because he was suddenly shaking again.
“Sir, have you been drinking?”
And there it was. That accusation that he was at fault, unreliable, idiotic, under the influence. It made him feel ashamed and guilty. He stammered out his answers getting more confused as he went. No, he didn’t know his address. No, he wasn’t sure if the body was male or female. Yes, he’d left the scene. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Why didn’t she send the police and stop peppering him with questions? She started to repeat the same questions. He wondered if she expected different answers.
There was a knock on the door. Asher could see a bulky man in a big hat through the lacy curtain. He hung up on the woman and flung open the door. It was the same sheriff as this morning which of course made sense. How many sheriffs did they have in a county this rural? But did
it really have to be the same one?
“Asher Blaine?” He sounded cordial but the steely blue eyes were all ice.
“In the woods,” Asher blurted out. He didn’t care if the man thought him an idiot. Wouldn’t be the first. This was too serious to be worried about first impressions. He headed out the back door as fast as he could get his wobbly legs to go. Behind him, he heard the sheriff’s heavy boots following as he grumbled about out-of-towners.
Asher stopped at the edge of the woods and pointed. “It’s there.”
The sheriff moved past him into the shadows. Asher shuddered as a light breeze chilled him in his soggy robe. He was feeling very exposed with nothing on under it. He glanced back at the hot tub wondering what a person could see from this point in the yard. The screen around the tub was only lattice, but the intertwined roses obscured the view. Could someone have been standing right here while he was half-asleep soaking in the hot water? That gave him a different kind of chill.
“What exactly did you see?”
Asher whirled around in shock. “It’s right. . .” But there was nothing there. He walked over to where he was sure the bloody bits had been. The leaves and dirt were rucked up. Could someone have dragged it away while he was on the phone? “This is insane.”
“Good choice of words,” the sheriff said dryly.
“No, no, no.” Asher spun in a circle, searching the clearing for clues. “There was a body right here. It was awful. Torn up.”
“You hit your head when you crashed?”
Asher’s heart sank. Was this some awful practical joke? “No. My head’s fine.”
The sheriff took a step too close. “Lemme see your eyes.”
Asher allowed the examination hoping it was for concussion and not drugs. The sheriff moved away. “Pupils look okay.” He shrugged. “No alcohol on your breath.”
“No. I don’t drink anymore. . .or anything.”
