“And bug spray. Don’t forget that.” I swatted a deerfly from my head. “The deep woods kind.”
With his usual efficiency, he got everything inside and unpacked in twenty minutes. With Beau nosing behind me the whole time, I put the sheets and pillowcases on the bed and laid out the towels in the bathroom. We still hadn’t stocked the place with linens and towels, but this afforded a good opportunity to do so. We could leave the Walmart specials here for our next trip.
When we were done, my husband grabbed two quilts and our pillows. “Do you want coffee?”
I helped him with the bundle. “No, I think we’re gonna need some sleep. How about a glass of ice water from the spring?” The water at Tall Pines was pure and clear, the best I’d ever tasted.
Instead of bug spray, Quinn suggested we try one of the oil blends called Purification. Among other essential oils, it contained citronella. We dribbled bits of the oil on ourselves, spread it onto our skin, and settled into our chairs a few feet behind the post-and-rail fence that guarded the steep incline. The porch light illuminated our immediate area. Beau lay beside me, heavy head tilted sideways on his big paws. His eyes searched mine.
“Don’t worry, pal. We’ll find your mother. I promise.” I leaned one hand down to ruffle his ears and stroke the soft hair at the top of his head. He seemed to believe my promise.
We’d been here frequently enough to forget the bad memories that had stained the land last summer, but the clear, clean water had drenched the bloody patches on the islets and cleansed the rocks so that we would never, ever think of Earl Tiramisu or Agent Jaworski again.
Well, hardly ever.
I shook off the thoughts and let the river lull me, then reached for Quinn and rubbed my thumb over the back of his hand. “Do you think we’ll find her soon, honey?”
His voice sounded thick. His head nodded toward his chest. “Uh huh.”
I snuggled down into the quilt, hearing the first bird of the morning. Her pure song trilled in the cool breeze, reminding me of an aria from “La Traviata” that I’d sung when I starred in the opera during my masters’ program at the world-renowned Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York. I sighed and remembered the absolute pleasure the act of singing had brought me. Maybe someday I’d try again. Or maybe I’d even try out for an opera. The local Rochester group put on several nice productions a year. It might be time for me to investigate them.
“Honey? I think I’ll start up my voice lessons again. What do you think?”
“Mmghdf.”
His soft snoring made me smile. “That’s okay, baby. You sleep. I’m right behind you.”
In spite of the faint hints of light that sparkled in the mist across the wide, shallow river, my eyes grew heavy. With a deep sense of security, I let myself drift off to sleep against the soothing sounds of the Sacandaga.
Chapter 11
I woke with a stiff neck and sore back. Squinting toward the mountains, I was surprised to see how brilliantly the sun glistened on the rushing water. A sweet breeze rustled the leaves of the young elms and birch trees that poked up along the low bluff separating our property from the river, and raised a few strands of my hair, caressing my skin. I closed my eyes again, soaking in the essence of the place.
A pudgy chickadee chirped overhead. And the far off squawk of a crow resonated against the sturdy trunks of the trees surrounding me.
Surprised, I looked up at the sun, which was almost directly overhead.
Damn. I’ve slept too long.
The sound of the van’s tires rolling over the pine needles on the drive caught my attention. I stretched and got up, then padded barefoot around the side of the cabin to find Quinn unloading groceries.
“What time is it?” I pecked him on the cheek and looked inside a bag holding lettuce, peaches, and tomatoes.
“’Bout eleven-thirty.”
“Whoa.” I stretched again. “When did you get up?”
“Nine.” He smiled and headed up the stairs.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” I grabbed a few bags and followed him inside, plunking them on the kitchen counter.
“You needed your rest, babe. And I had to get some fresh food in here. Didn’t make sense to disturb you. You looked so peaceful.”
His smile was so sweet, I couldn’t be mad. I did feel rested.
Beau sniffed at a forty-pound bag of dog chow.
“Hey, buddy. You hungry?” I leaned down to pat his soft fur. He wagged his massive tail and seemed to smile. “Okay, come on. Let’s give you a nice big dish of food and some fresh water.”
After taking care of Beau, I grabbed a yogurt from the fridge and ate it slowly, watching the river through the sun porch windows. The more I woke up, the more my mind moved into overdrive.
I had to make that phone call. Now.
I walked to the landline phone on the little table situated between our two rockers, and bent over to pick it up. As if I’d been stabbed, my back spasmed and twisted, hurting like hell. “Oh my God.”
I fell into the rocker and dropped the phone.
Quinn ran to my side. “What’s wrong?” He took my hand and kissed it. “Babe?”
I moaned and turned sideways, trying to relieve the pain. “My back. I guess it’s from sleeping on that chair all morning.”
Light filled his eyes. “Wait. I’ve got something for that.” He ran over to the dining room table and flipped through the big essential oils reference book. “Pain. Spasms.” In two seconds, he reached the page and started reading aloud. “Recommended treatment: Panaway, a blend designed to reduce swelling and relieve pain. Also useful is balsam fir, peppermint, wintergreen, Relieve It blend, and the Deep Relief roll-on.” He pulled all of the oil bottles out and lined them up, quickly searched their labels. “Here. Here it is. Panaway. Blue label. Let’s try this first.”
“It won’t work, Quinn. It’s just a scam.”
With eyebrows arched as if I’d dare question the value of his newfound obsession, he opened the bottle and poured some into his hand. “Show me where it hurts.”
I sighed. “Fine. It’s my lower back. But I’m gonna take Advil if this doesn’t work.”
“Of course. Now, lift up your shirt.”
“It’d be easier if I was lying down.”
“Okay, come on.” He led me to the bedroom. “Lie on your stomach and pull your shirt up.”
I did as he said and let him massage the Panaway all over my back. The room instantly filled with the scent of wintergreen, reminding me of the Life Savers we’d gobbled as kids.
“Do my neck, too. Just in case.”
Other scents mingled with the wintergreen, perfuming the air. I thought I detected the aroma of cloves. “What’s in that stuff? It smells really good.”
He went back to get the book and started to read. “Wintergreen, which has an active constituent similar to cortisone; cloves, which contains eugenol, used by dentists to numb gums; peppermint, calming for the nerves and for nerve and muscle pain; and helichrysum, which works like a topical analgesic.”
I lay still for a few minutes, feeling the cooling sensation work its way deep into my muscles. I hardly dared to move, the pain had been so bad.
“How’s it feel?”
“Good, in this position.”
“Try getting up.”
I groaned and shook my head against the pillow. “I don’t want to. It’s gonna hurt.”
“Come on. Just take it slow.”
I sat up gingerly, expecting to lurch away from the sharp pain. But nothing happened. With a smile, I twisted left, then right. “My God.”
A smug look crossed Quinn’s handsome face. “Told ya.”
I stood, walked a few paces, and faced him. “Damn. When you’re right, you’re right. The pain’s gone. Give me that stuff.”
He held it up in the air, and I pretended to fight him for it.
“Nope. It stays in the collection. We’ll take it with us, wherever we go. Deal?”
&nbs
p; With a laugh, I collared him and kissed his lips. “Deal. Now let’s make that phone call.”
***
I’d saved the number in my iPhone, but since we had no service in this area, I had to read it off the display and punch it into the landline. “It’s ringing.”
It went unanswered for two hours. I tried every half hour, letting it ring itself off the hook. When hunger stopped me, Quinn made a Greek salad. We sat together by the river, enjoying it with cold iced tea and Beau’s big body by our feet. At three-thirty, I tried again.
An elderly man picked up, his voice frail and tremulous. “Hello?”
I almost leapt in the air, I was so happy to get an answer. “Sir? My name is Marcella Hollister and—”
“I’m not buying anything, miss.”
“No! Don’t hang up. Please.”
“You need to take us off your list. We’re in the No Call Directory. You could get in a lot of trouble—”
“This isn’t a sales call!”
“Huh?”
“I’m a friend of Callie Lissoneau, Sky’s sister.”
Silence.
I tried again. “You called Callie the other day. About a package. Sky’s stuff.”
“I, er…”
“Please. Please! Callie’s missing. Her sister’s been murdered. And we really need your help.”
The line crackled. I heard him breathing.
“Sir?”
He spoke softly now, muffled, and the phone rustled as if he were speaking with his hand partially covering the receiver. I wondered if he’d moved around the corner so whoever was there couldn’t hear him. “I didn’t make that call.”
Anger built inside me. “Yes. You did. We did star six-nine on her phone.”
“No, I mean it wasn’t me who called.”
“Then who was it?”
Silence.
“Sir? Are you there? Please.”
He whispered so softly now, I barely heard the words. “It was my son.”
Flummoxed, I sat silent for a minute. “Your son?”
“Yes.”
“Is he there?”
“No.”
“Where can I find him?”
“You can’t. I have to go.”
The line went dead.
Chapter 12
“I’m calling him back, damn it.”
Quinn touched my hand. “Before you do, tell me what he said.”
I gave Quinn the details, getting more frustrated by the moment.
Who is this guy? Who the hell is his son? Was he Sky’s friend? And why doesn’t he want me to find him?
“You said he whispered,” Quinn said. “Right?” He started to pace. Beau got up and followed him in tight circles around the opened living area that included a dining room table and chairs, loveseat, two rockers, a long futon, and a television center. “So he doesn’t want whoever’s there to hear him.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand. “Maybe he’s hiding from the same bastards who are after the memory stick.”
“Yeah. Maybe the old man’s an accomplice. In whatever Sky’s up to.”
“Makes sense.” Quinn started to pace again.
I reached down to stop Beau from following him. Again, I felt a tingle when I touched him. I idly wondered if it was a static charge. “Do you think Sky’s doing something illegal? I mean, where in the hell did he get those emeralds?”
“Maybe he stole them from the Mafia. And they’re after their loot.” He smiled, amused at his scenario.
“Be serious.” I swatted his backside when he passed, and he made a face at me. “It’s not too far-fetched. Except your mother said those thugs wanted the memory stick and didn’t mention the emeralds.”
“That’s because they probably already got them from Callie’s.” I took the memory stick out of my pocket. “But we’ve got to try again. Will you help me figure out the password?”
He stopped, leaned down, and brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. “Of course, babe. We’ll try the phone call again later. Maybe the old man’s wife will answer and give us more details.”
We brought my MacBook Pro outside and booted it up, sitting on the Adirondack chairs overlooking our river. I inserted the stick into the USB drive and waited while it hummed, flashed, and asked me for the password.
“Did you try birthdates?”
I nodded. “Of course. Callie’s. Sky’s. Even her parents’.”
“What about home phone, street address?”
“Uh huh.”
“Zip code?”
My eyes lit up. “No! I forgot that one.” I typed in our zip.
INCORRECT PASSWORD. TRY AGAIN?
“Damn.” I tapped my fingers on my armrest. “I’ve got to think.”
Quinn looked into the distance, musing over possibilities. “Marcella. If whatever’s on this memory stick is so vitally important that those bastards would kill for it, and probably kidnapped Callie for it… then Sky wouldn’t just make up a password that anyone could figure out.”
I fumed and sighed. “I know, honey. I know.”
His eyes sparkled. “Maybe he left a clue somewhere in that backpack.”
I hadn’t thought of that, but shared his excitement and sat up straight. “Maybe.”
Quinn jumped up before I could. “Be back with the stuff. Want some wine?”
A grin spread across my face. “You bought wine?”
He nodded. “Semi-dry Riesling. Of course.”
“Fill up my glass, honey. We’ve got lots of work to do.”
He came back outside with the heavy pack on his shoulder, balancing two glasses of cold wine. I closed my Mac and leaned it against the nearest tree trunk, then took a sip. “Oh, that’s a good one. Where’s it from?”
“Yates Cellars. On Keuka Lake.”
“I love that place.”
He flashed a smug smile. “I know.” With a flourish, he took out the contents of the bag, including the reference guide for oils.
I tried to think where I’d hide a password if I were Sky. My first idea was that the inside book covers or book spines might have been slit open and re-glued, maybe with a thin sheet of paper inserted inside. I checked both the oil book and the book of sonnets, but found no hints of tampering. No bulges or bumps. I handed Quinn the reference guide. “See if anything’s marked in there. You know, circled, crossed out, highlighted?”
“I’ll check. You do the same with Mr. Shakespeare.”
We flipped pages in silence for ten minutes. My wine glass grew empty and my heart heavy. There were a few lines underlined in the Shakespeare book, but they were actually beautiful sections and probably had nothing to do with codes. I tried anyway, typing in the words in every combination we could think of. “Damn. I don’t think this is it.”
“Me neither. But don’t give up hope.”
I straightened my back. “Give me more of that Panaway, will you, honey?”
He slathered the liquid onto my back again. “Ahh. Nice.” I took the bottle in my hand and turned it around in the light. “Who would ever have thought?”
“It makes sense, honey. They combined ingredients from naturally occurring plants, probably meant for us to use medicinally since the beginning of time. The good Lord knew what he was doing when he surrounded us with these things.”
“Good point.” I inspected the bottle again. “Hey. What about the oil bottles? Could there be any markings on them?”
He lifted out the zippered case with the rest of the bottles and laid it open on his lap. “Let’s see.”
I grabbed a few, studying their labels. “I don’t see anything.”
He cleaned his reading glasses on his tee shirt and squinted in the sun. “Wait a second.”
I leaned closer. “What?”
“This one has something scratched into the label. Really tiny, though, I can barely read it.”
I grabbed the bottle of cypress from him. “Let me try. My glasses are stronger than yours.”
We both used drugstore glas
ses for reading, but I’d needed the 2.50 magnification since last year. Quinn’s eyes were slightly better than mine; he used the 1.75 lenses.
I studied it in the bright sunlight. “It’s an asterisk. I think.”
He handed me the pad of paper and pen. “Write down the name of it. I’m going to check for more marks.”
“Use my glasses.” I swapped with him. “Better?”
“Uh huh.” He peered at the peppermint and then grabbed the lemon. “Yes! Another star.”
With over forty bottles in the case, it took a while to go through each in search of the markings. But in the end, we had a collection of eight bottles with stars scratched into the labels. I read them off. “Cypress. Lemon. Melrose. Eucalyptus. Rosemary. Abundance. Lemongrass. And Aloes/Sandalwood.”
“Give me the pad.” I handed it to him, and he began to scramble the letters. “There’s too many letters here. We could make hundreds of words.”
I watched over his shoulder. “What about just the first letter of each oil?”
He wrote them down across the top of a new page. “C-L-M-E-R-A-L-A, or A-S. I’m not sure if we should include the S from Sandalwood.”
I started to put them together out loud. “Clam. Calm. Real. Realm. Alms. Erma. Call. It’s almost Callie! Let me try C-A-L-L.”
Quinn looked doubtful. “Try it. But what about the rest of the letters?”
I flipped open my Mac and tried it with no luck. “Damn. What else have we got?”
He frowned. “Let’s put the two L’s together. They’re often next to each other in names and words, right? Like in y—”
He stared at the pad of paper, his frown deepening.
“What? What is it?”
He turned to me with hooded eyes. “Like in your name, Marcella. M-A-R-C-E-L-L-A.”
I stared at him. “I don’t think—”
“Try it.”
I typed slowly and carefully, all in caps. With relief, I showed him the result. INCORRECT PASSWORD. TRY AGAIN?
“Type it again, with just M capitalized.”
I did, with no results. Happy at least that Quinn wouldn’t have a fresh reason to be jealous of my history with Sky, I sighed and patted his arm. “See?”
“Now try them all in lower case.”
Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set Page 30
