Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  He followed my voice into the room. “Nope. Never found Miss Right.”

  It didn’t seem to bother him, and I wondered if he’d always felt that way. “Are you okay with that? Don’t you get lonely?”

  He chuckled. “I don’t have time to get lonely, Mrs. Hollister. Not chasing the likes of you around the Adirondacks. And I have a very understanding cat.”

  I turned with two coffee mugs in hand and motioned toward the little vintage Formica table and chairs in the corner. “A cat? How wonderful. They’re great company.” I urged him to sit. “Sugar and creamer’s on the table. And McCann?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Call me Marcella, will you?”

  He sat and stirred sugar and powdered creamer into his cup. “Okay, Marcella. Do you have the stuff here?”

  I snorted. “Right to the point. No small talk, huh? Of course. Did you think I was going to lead you on a wild goose chase for it?”

  He guffawed. Another revealing moment in the life of the man I’d come to think of as gruff and cold. I’d been so wrong.

  “I’ve got it all right here.” I reached over to the counter top behind me and took the shoebox down. “Let me show you.”

  “I guess fingerprints are going to be a moot point, huh?”

  I ducked my head and pretended to care. “Oh, sorry. I couldn’t wait.”

  He motioned toward the box. “No problem. Anyone of interest is probably dead, anyway.”

  “Thank God,” I muttered. “Okay, let’s start with the photos. Are you ready for this?”

  I showed him Ramona’s name on the back of the picture of the twin girls. He sat up straighter than I’d ever seen him, growing three inches in a second. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I said.”

  We went through all of the material, and I told him about the call to Roberta. “I just need you to promise me one thing, McCann. Well, two things.”

  “What?”

  “Let me keep the necklaces here. I don’t want them locked up in some dusty evidence box forever.”

  He nodded. “No big deal. And?”

  “And let me meet Roberta first. Let me find out what my father wanted her to show me before you descend on her.”

  He cringed. “I suppose there’s no hurry. Even if she’s hiding the money, she’s not going anywhere. She wants to meet you, right?”

  “Right.”

  “But you must promise me one thing, too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That if she shows you a bucketful of money, you’ll call me right away.”

  I took another sip of coffee and smiled into his eyes. “It’s a deal, McCann. I don’t give a rat’s behind about the money.”

  “There’s one other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  His eyes winked over his coffee mug. “Please, call me Gordon.”

  Chapter 43

  The drive back to the Adirondacks on Saturday was blessedly eventless. An hour before we arrived, we pulled over to a grassy rest stop and feasted on deviled ham sandwiches, tiny Gherkin pickles, chips, bottled green iced tea, and homemade peanut butter cookies. We’d left the birds and my mother in Nina’s capable hands. One consolation was that there were no more villains lurking in the bushes to break into our house or terrorize my family. Tiramisu (I still couldn’t call him Blount), Jaworski, and Wendell and Yale Barksi were all in a very different place now. The unforgiving part of me secretly hoped the bunch of them was burning in Hell.

  We followed Route 30A north to Route 30, passed the turnoff for the cabin, and went north until we found the Mountain Memories Café and Gift Shop. It sat alone on a sloping hill with freshly graded grounds dotted with bright containers of petunias and the ubiquitous hand-carved wooden bears scattered among the picnic tables. Everything looked fresh and new.

  We parked on the side of the building, amidst a variety of cars and walked up three steps to the porch. Café tables and chairs were scattered outside, with an assortment of young campers in grungy jeans and tee shirts hunkering over their laptops with Internet-hungry eyes and Facebook-deprived minds. We went around the side and entered through a set of glass doors into the café. I stopped to admire the design of the place. It was woodsy, yet elegant. Joni Mitchell crooned “Chelsea Morning” from speakers hidden strategically about the shop. I smiled when she sang, “and the sun poured in like butterscotch and stuck to all my senses.” It had been one of the favorite songs of my youth, and the sun was indeed shining into the shop, glancing off glassware and sparkling on tastefully displayed jewelry around the shop.

  In the café, six tables and chairs were filled with guests who sipped coffee or munched sandwiches. The walls were covered with original photo art, signed by the artists, delicate glass globes, birds made with real feathers with gems for eyes, a big black reproduction wood stove, and silky scarves displayed on a rack. I smiled in spite of my nerves, passed a display case filled with chocolate layer cake, gourmet muffins, and croissants, and moved into the main gift shop.

  Two floors of gifts exploded in color and unique designs. Jewelry, soaps, candles, linens, toys, hand-painted boxes, tapestries, wind chimes, and bowls full of various glass beads crammed the shop. I wanted to buy dozens of items, but stopped myself. Maybe later.

  Beneath the cash register counter, a Weimaraner snoozed. She lay with her nose on her silky paws, her lavender fur glistening beneath the lights. Her sides heaved every few minutes. I thought she seemed terribly bored.

  A light footfall on the stairs made me look up. Roberta Mendoza descended wearing khaki shorts, a blue denim long sleeved shirt, and hiking boots. She sported a safari hat and a ready smile.

  “Roberta?” In spite of my nerves, I fell forward and hugged her. It seemed as if there was no other choice, because she looked at me through my stepfather’s amber eyes and smile. “You look so much like Dad.” My eyes misted over. Could she and Ramona have been my father’s sisters?

  “Dear Marcella. Raoul told me so much about you.” She turned to Quinn. “And you too, Quinn.” She took his hand and squeezed it affectionately. “Have you met Mimi?” She leaned down to coax the Weimaraner from her sleep.

  Mimi rose and stretched, then butted her head against my legs with affection. “Oh my, you are a sweetie, aren’t you?”

  She wrapped herself around me, then treated Quinn to the same greeting and jumped up on Roberta’s chest. Her big paws rested on Roberta’s shoulders and she lapped her chin as if Roberta really needed a bath.

  “Are you ready to go, Mimi?” The dog barked once, then licked her chin again. “And how about you, Marcella?”

  I looked down at my sandals. “I just need to use the rest room and then change into my boots.”

  “Right this way, hon.”

  Inside the pretty restroom, I faced my reflection in the mirror and noticed questions swimming in my eyes. I burned with curiosity and didn’t know if I could wait one minute longer to find out what Raoul wanted Roberta to show us.

  I used the facilities and changed into my hiking boots. Quinn had already donned his boots when I emerged, and we climbed into Roberta’s 1957 green Chevy pickup. Mimi rode in the back, her ears flapping in the breeze with her snout raised to catch the animal scents that filled the air. The truck accelerated smoothly, its engine perfectly tuned. After driving south for a few miles on Route 30, Roberta turned left turn on Cricket Road.

  “It’s just a little farther,” she said. Her bronze skin seemed to know the sun. Nests of fine wrinkles crinkled when she smiled. Beneath her hat, her smooth iron gray hair was pulled back into a long ponytail, held together with a wood and leather clasp.

  In another few miles, Roberta pulled into a sandy parking area. We got out, doused ourselves with bug spray, spread sunscreen over our exposed areas, and studied the state park trail marker. “One point five miles to Lone Owl Lake. Three point five miles to Lake Monroe. Seven miles to Belmont.” Mimi sniffed the ground around the sign, and started up the trail
until Roberta called her back.

  “Wait, Mimi. Just a minute, baby.”

  We entered our names, addresses, and phone numbers on the trail ledger. The form also called for an estimate of how many people were in our party and how many days we’d be on the trail. I noted there were no other entries for today and the last person to sign in and out was a man from Gloversville a week ago.

  Roberta gave us a speech before she’d let us begin. “First of all, you must be careful. This trail isn’t groomed. Far from it. It’s very easy to slip on a wet root or twist your ankle on a stone. Look down, chose your footfall carefully, and stay alert. If you get tired, you must let me know. Exhaustion is your enemy, and when you’re too tired to place your feet carefully, accidents will happen. There’s no cell signal here, as you’d expect. And no way to get help unless we climb back down.” She took both of our hands in hers. “So please, be careful.”

  We promised to follow her instructions. We hefted our packs onto our shoulders and started up the trail. When we crossed the first of many wooden bridges spanning a narrow creek, we quickly saw what she meant. Large round stones covered the trail that looked like a winding, uphill creek bed. Water trickled beneath them, but there were occasional dry areas to step on along the sides. Big roots, slippery expansive flat rocks, and plenty of fallen sticks and logs dotted the trail. We had to step carefully, and couldn’t get a good pace going. I’d figured one and a half miles up the trail would take only a half hour or less. I was gravely mistaken.

  I’d packed three water bottles, some granola bars, oranges, and chocolate bars in my backpack. Quinn’s backpack was empty, and I think he hoped it would be filled with some very large bills when we descended the mountain. I didn’t care about the money—I just wanted to know what had happened and how Dad fit into this whole story.

  I wasn’t sure what Roberta’s pack held, but assumed it included first aid and emergency supplies. McCann had declined our invitation to climb, but promised to meet us the next day at Tall Pines. My rental period still had a few days left on it, and Quinn and I planned to stay overnight, in spite of the traumatic memories. I told myself it wasn’t the cabin’s fault. It wasn’t the river’s fault. It was that bastard Tiramisu and his conniving niece who’d brought stark horror to Tall Pines. My goal was to erase those memories with sweet ones.

  During the long walk up hill, Roberta asked questions about my mother and why she couldn’t accompany us. We shared a shortened version of the story of Tiramisu with Roberta. She worried about Thelma, and said she’d known Tiramisu (Blount’s) family growing up. She also said she wasn’t surprised he’d ended up a villain, and that she’d disliked him intensely in high school.

  Large, moss-covered granite rocks flanked the trail. Giant trees, wild hydrangea, pinecones, ferns, and an amazing assortment of birds accompanied us. Occasionally Mimi strayed a bit off trail, but she always came back to join us, poking her cold wet nose in our hands. By the time we’d climbed for forty-five minutes, Mimi was covered in mud to her belly, and I called for a rest.

  “How much farther is it?” I asked. The difficulty of the climb had astounded me. In spite of being in pretty good running shape, this hill challenged muscles I rarely used. My feet were sore, my thighs ached, and even my back complained. After passing around the water bottles, I wiped the sweat from my brow and took a long drink.

  “Oh, honey. We’re only halfway there. This climbing goes slow, and you can’t push it.”

  Quinn looked whipped, too. But his eyes gleamed with anticipation. “Roberta? Can’t you tell us now? Where’s the money? And how did Raoul get it?”

  A mischievous smile crossed the old woman’s lips. “Sorry, Quinn. I promised Raoul I’d reveal the truth to you at the top.”

  I refastened my ponytail and cocked my head to the side. “Really? Did he actually plan out the whole scenario?”

  She stood and closed her eyes as if soaking in the sun that dappled her skin. “He did. It’s been planned for many years, my dears. Now, are you ready to climb again?”

  The last half of the climb was hell. At each curve in the trail, I was sure the lake would appear beyond the bend. After five or six such moments of expectation, I almost gave up hope.

  “We’re close now,” Roberta said. She stopped to shift her backpack, then pointed to two triangular piles of stones that marked a side trail.

  “It’s here.”

  Mimi led the way, as if she’d been on this trail a thousand times. For all I knew, she had.

  The land sloped downhill now, and the landscape changed to a thick forest of tall spruces that shaded the ground. The trail was not as pronounced as the main track had been, but Mimi and Roberta didn’t hesitate.

  In the distance, azure water glimmered. Quinn and I stopped and held hands, captivated by the sight before us. Lone Owl Lake. We’d made it.

  Chapter 44

  “See?” Roberta said. “It’s not too far now.”

  Encouraged by a glimpse of the pristine lake glittering through the trees, I received a burst of new energy and hurried after Roberta on the winding dirt path. The aquamarine lake flickered in and out of view. Quinn followed close behind, and Mimi wound between us in serpentine patterns, like a fluid sentinel who feared we’d get lost if she didn’t keep us on the trail. I ran my fingers along her smooth coat each time she passed, and she licked my hand as if to assure me. Adrenaline coursed through my body, shooting tingles through my body.

  The forest was alive with creatures. Red squirrels and chipmunks chattered and scampered in the trees, and birds flitted across the path and overhead. After a few minutes of hiking, I almost stepped on some droppings that looked too big to have been produced by a dog.

  “Roberta?”

  She turned to look at the ground where I pointed.

  “Are these bear droppings?” A shiver raced up my spine.

  Roberta grinned and dropped to a squat to examine them. “No, dear. Though we have plenty of bears around. But these are from a moose.”

  “Moose?” Quinn and I exchanged a wary glance, and my eyes raked the woods for signs of monstrous brown animals with antlers wider than Quinn and me stretched head to toe. I hurried to catch up to her again, looking behind me nervously.

  The lake had disappeared when we descended into a wooded valley, but I knew it was close, so I didn’t worry. Chickadees—black and white with pudgy little bellies—gathered in a bush to my right. They hopped from branch to branch, chirruping and cocking their heads at me. They seemed almost tame, and I wondered if I put my hand out with birdseed if they’d light on my palm. Mimi soon dispersed the notion when she flapped the bush with her long tail and scared them off.

  Quinn pointed to a manmade structure on our left. A campfire built from rocks and concrete sat in a shady clearing. The ground was flattened around the grill, and wooden planks lay across boulders, forming benches around the fireplace. I wondered if my stepfather had made camp here in the past when he was a boy. Or had Roberta built this site? So many questions. But Roberta had left us in the dust again, and we hurried to catch up.

  After sloping downhill for a while, the path started to climb again. I felt my lungs tighten when the last segment turned up again. Quinn panted behind me, occasionally swearing when he skidded in a muddy patch and slipped. I followed Roberta’s example, and held onto small saplings that grew along the side of the trail. We pulled ourselves up the last ten feet and landed on a small grassy plateau that leveled out to kiss the unspoiled lakeshore.

  Once again, we stopped to stare at the scene before us. Quinn’s hand reached for mine. Roberta’s face shone with pride.

  The pristine lake glinted in the afternoon sun, placid and green. White and silver birches clustered along its shore, dipping toward the water in graceful arcs. A small island stood to the west, centered by groups of silver bark trees pointing reverently to the sky. Mounds of packed dirt and logs punctuated the water in front of the island, well-constructed homes for beaver families
. One colossal dead pine lay to the east, its trunk still anchored in the shore and its top submerged almost a hundred feet into the lake.

  Red and turquoise dragonflies darted from flower to flower, stopping to rest on lily pads that dotted the shallows. Pink, yellow, and white flowers bloomed on their flat glossy petals. A fish jumped in the distance, sparkling gold over the green water.

  Roberta led us to a cluster of granite rocks by the shore. I recognized the scene—it matched the background to the photo of her we’d found in my stepfather’s safety deposit box.

  We huddled together, soaking in the splendor of the scenery. Birds flew overhead, darting and swooping through the air from tree to tree. A kingfisher dove toward the surface and came up with a flapping silver fish in its beak.

  “My dear.” Roberta took my hand again and looked at me with soulful eyes. “What I have to tell you may be hard for you. But please listen carefully before you judge.”

  I nodded, my eyes open and my face solemn. Quinn scooted closer to me for support.

  “I need to tell you two things. They both have to do with Raoul’s past. But before I do, I want you to know… No. He wanted you to know that he adored you. He thought of you as his only daughter and loved you as if you were his blood. He wanted to protect you. And he asked me to wait until he was gone to tell you the story.”

  “Protect me from what?” I said. I immediately thought of Tiramisu.

  “From things he was ashamed of. From events that shaped him. From the knowledge of his past.”

  Could she be any more elusive? “Roberta. Please. I need to know.”

  She squeezed my fingers. “I know, dear. Bear with me.” She got up and started to pace back and forth between the shore and the boulders. “Let me start with his birth. Okay. I’m just going to blurt it out. Your stepfather was born into a body that didn’t match his mind.”

  Quinn sat up straighter. “What?”

  I watched and listened with my heart whomping like a helicopter’s rotor. I felt like I’d take off into the stratosphere at any moment.