by B. J Daniels
She laughed. “What would you like me to tell them?”
Austin thought about that for a moment. “I’ll try to make Christmas, but if I don’t...”
“They’re determined you will be at the grand opening. They’re going to put it off until you’re here. Don’t see any way out for you.”
“I guess it’s too much to hope they’ll go ahead without me if I don’t show.”
“Yep. Should I tell them you’ll be getting back to them?”
“Tell them...I’ll see them as soon as I can. You, too. If I can make Christmas, I will be there with bells on.”
“Your cabin will be ready.”
* * *
“EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT?” Gillian asked as she saw him pocket his cell phone.
“Fine. I talked to my cousin. She’ll let my brothers know that I’ve been...detained.”
She hated that he already had problems with his brothers and now she was making it worse. He followed her into the living room, the two of them sitting as they had the night before. “Are your parents still alive?”
He nodded. “Divorced. I was born in Montana, but my mother took all five of us boys to Texas when we were very young. My father stayed in Montana. Now my mother has remarried, and she and her new husband just bought a place near here where three of my brothers are living.” He shrugged.
“You’re lucky to have such a large family. After we lost our parents, it was just Becky and me. With her...” She fought the stark emotion that had her praying one moment and wanting to just sit down and bawl the next.
“I’m sure you already called the hospital. How is she doing?”
“There’s been no change, but the doctor did say she is stable and he is hopeful. Have you ever lost anyone close to you?”
“A friend and fellow deputy.” Austin hadn’t gone a day in years without thinking about Mitch. “He was like a brother.” He’d been even closer to Mitch than he was to his brothers. “He was killed in the line of duty. I wasn’t there that day.” And he’d never forgiven himself for it. He’d been away on barbecue company business.
“I’m sure it gets better,” she said hopefully.
He nodded. “It does and it doesn’t. You can never fill that hole in your life. Or your heart. But you put one foot in front of the other and you go on. Your sister, though, is going to come back.”
“I hope you’re right.” She cleared her throat. “Right now I can’t imagine how to go on. I’d hoped Becky had left me a letter, some kind of message....” Her voice broke.
“Tell me what you remember she said in what time you did have with her yesterday. It might help.”
Shaking her head, she got up and walked to the opening into the living room. The December day glistened with fresh snow and sunshine. The bright sunlight poured through the leaded glass windows. Prisms of color sparkled in almost blinding light. She’d always loved this room because of the morning sunlight, but not even the sun’s rays could warm her right now.
“Becky talked about our childhood.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“In Helena. But we spent our summers at our grandfather’s cabin. My sister mentioned the time the wind blew down an old pine tree in a thunderstorm. Becky and I loved thunderstorms and used to huddle together on Grandpa’s porch and watch the lightning and the waves crashing on the shore.” A lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t lose her sister.
“Where is your grandfather’s cabin?”
“Outside of Townsend on Canyon Ferry Lake.”
“You think your nephew is at your grandfather’s cabin?”
She shook her head. “The cabin’s been boarded up for years. That’s why what she said doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe she left you a message there,” Austin suggested. “The only place she mentioned was the cabin, right?”
Gillian nodded.
“If your sister was in her right mind enough to hide her son and try to get Marc Stewart out of his life, then anything she said might have value. Can we get to the cabin this time of year?”
“The road should be open. They get a lot less snow up there than we do down here.”
“What is the chance Marc knows about the cabin and will go there?” Austin asked.
She felt a start. “If he remembers it... I think Becky took him there once when they were dating. Since it was nothing like his family’s place in Island Park, I don’t think he was impressed.”
“I suspect there is a reason your sister reminded you of the downed tree and your grandfather’s cabin. How soon can you be ready to leave?”
Chapter Sixteen
Marc watched his side mirror as he drove toward Townsend, Montana. His mind seemed sharper this morning. His face still hurt like hell, though. He’d changed the bandage himself, shocked at the damage his wife had done and all the more determined to kill her.
Last night, he’d managed to lose his tail and find a cheap motel at the edge of town, where he’d fallen asleep the instant his head hit the pillow.
It was this morning after a shower that he’d thought of that old moose head he’d seen at the bar and remembered his wife’s family’s cabin. Rebecca had taken him to see it when they were dating. As far as he knew, though, Rebecca and her sister still owned the place.
She’d been all weepy and sentimental because the cabin had belonged to her grandfather who’d died. Apparently she and her sister had spent summers there with the old man. He didn’t get the weepy, emotional significance of the small old place in the pines. That was probably why he’d forgotten about it. That and the fact that they’d never returned to the place.
But he was good at getting back to a place he’d only been to once. He paid attention even when someone else was driving. Given how his wife felt about the old cabin, wasn’t it possible she might return there when she had something to stash?
He drove toward the lake. The sleep had helped. He felt more confident that he could pull himself out of this mess. Ahead, he saw a sign that looked familiar and began to slow. If Rebecca had hidden the ledger at the cabin—which he was betting was a real possibility—then he would know soon enough.
Marc hoped his instincts were right as he turned off the main highway and headed down the dirt road back into the mountains along the lake. It had snowed so there was a fine dusting on the road, but nothing to worry about. This area never got as much snow as those closer to the mountains.
The road was the least of his worries anyway. He thought of Gillian and the cowboy deputy. Would Gillian think of the cabin?
Swearing under his breath, he realized that if he had, then she would, too. Maybe she was already there. Maybe she already had her hands on the ledger. The thought sent his pulse into overdrive.
But as he turned onto the narrow road that led up to the cabin, he saw that there were no other tracks in the new dusting of snow. His spirits buoyed. Maybe he would just wait around and see if Gillian showed up. It was a great place to hide out, especially this time of year.
He knew her. If she thought the ledger might be hidden at the cabin, she wouldn’t tell the police. She would come for it herself. This cabin meant too much to her to have the police tearing the place apart looking for the ledger and any other evidence they thought they might find.
Even if the Texas deputy was still with Gillian this morning, it would just be the two of them. Marc hoped he was right. He’d brought several guns, including a rifle. This cabin that meant so much to his wife would be the perfect place to dispose of Gillian and the cowboy.
* * *
THE CABIN WAS back in the mountains that overlooked Canyon Ferry Lake. Huge green ponderosa pines glistened in the midday sun among large rock formations. It had snowed the night before but had now melted in all but the shade of the pines.
&nbs
p; “Turn here,” Gillian said when the road became little more than a Jeep trail.
Austin noticed tracks where someone had been up the road. He figured Gillian had noticed them, too. It could have been anyone. But he was guessing it was Marc Stewart. As the structure came into view, he saw that the windows were shuttered. At first glance, it didn’t appear anyone had been inside for a very long time.
But as he parked, Austin saw that the front door was open a few inches and there were fresh gouges in the wood where whoever had been here had broken in. The old cabin looked like the perfect place for a wounded fugitive to lay low for a while and heal. Even though there was no sign of a vehicle and the tracks indicated that whoever had been here had left, he wasn’t taking any chances.
“Stay here,” Austin said as he opened his door and pulled his weapon. Long dried pine needles covered the steps up to the worn wood of the small porch. There were footprints in the wet dirt, large, man-sized soles. Austin moved cautiously as he pushed open the door. It groaned open.
A stale, musty scent rushed out. Weapon ready, Austin stepped into the dim darkness. The cabin was small so it didn’t take long to make sure it was empty. As he looked around the ransacked room, it was clear that Marc had been here. From the destruction, Austin was betting the man hadn’t found what he was looking for, though.
In a small trash container in the bathroom, he found some bloody bandages. From the amount of blood, it appeared Marc had been wounded enough to warrant medical attention. But no doubt not by anyone at a hospital, where the gunshot wound would have had to be reported.
When he returned to the porch, he found Gillian sitting on the front step looking out at the lake in the distance.
“He was here, wasn’t he?” she said. “Did he—”
“I don’t think he found anything.”
Gillian nodded.
“You don’t use the cabin?” Austin asked as he looked at the amazing view.
“No. It stayed in the family, but after my grandfather died...well, it just wasn’t the same.”
He watched her take a deep breath of mountain air before letting it out slowly. “I haven’t been here in nine years. I doubt my sister has either, but I continue to pay the taxes on it.”
Austin didn’t want to believe that Rebecca Stewart had just been babbling when she’d mentioned the cabin. She had to be passing on a message.
“Would you mind taking a look around and see if your sister might have left you anything inside that Marc missed? He made a mess.”
She nodded and pushed to her feet. There were tears in her eyes as she entered the cabin and stopped just inside the door.
Austin gave her a moment. He tried to imagine what it must have been like to visit here when Gillian’s grandfather was alive. He and his brothers would have loved this place. Even at his age, he loved the smell of the pine trees, the crunch of the dried needles beneath his boot heels, the feeling of being a boy again in a place where there were huge rocks and trees to climb, forts to build and fish to catch out of the small stream that ran beside the cabin.
At the sound of her footfalls deeper in the cabin, he went inside to find her standing in the small kitchen. “My grandfather liked to cook. He made us pancakes.” She looked over at Austin. “You remind me of him.”
He couldn’t help being touched by that. “Thank you.”
Dust motes danced in the sunlight that streamed in through the cracks of the shutters. The interior of the cabin looked as if it might have been decorated in the 1950s or early 1960s. While rustic, it was cozy from the worn quilts on the couch and chairs to the soot-covered fireplace.
“There’s nothing here.” She shook her head. “Becky hasn’t been here. She would have left at least a glass or two in the sink and an unmade bed. Everything is just as it was the last time I was here—except for the mess Marc made searching the place.”
Austin couldn’t help his disappointment. He’d hoped Rebecca had mentioned the cabin for a reason. Maybe she had been out of her head. As much as he wanted to find this ledger that would nail Marc Stewart to the wall, his greatest fear was for the boy. With whom would a woman possibly not in her right mind have stashed her ten-month-old son?
* * *
MARC HAD WAITED after he’d searched the cabin looking for the ledger. It wasn’t there. He’d looked everywhere. He’d thought that maybe if Gillian really hadn’t known what her sister had done with it that she and the cowboy might show up at the cabin.
But he’d never been good at waiting. Still, even as he was leaving, he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that Rebecca had been there. Had she left some message that he hadn’t recognized? Frankly, he’d never thought his wife as that clever. But then again, he’d been wrong about how strong she was.
Belatedly, he was realizing that he might not have really known his wife at all.
* * *
RAW WITH EMOTIONS, Gillian looked around the cabin for a moment longer before turning toward the front door to escape even more painful memories.
She stumbled down the porch steps, breathing hard. Even the pine-scented air seemed to hurt her lungs. It, too, filled her with bittersweet memories.
Behind her, she heard Austin locking up the cabin. She felt as if she was going to be sick and stumbled down to the fallen tree her sister had reminded her about. Why hadn’t Becky left her a clue? She’d wanted Gillian to find the ledger, get Marc put away and take care of Andy. But how did she expect her to do that without some idea of where to start? What had Becky been thinking?
She prayed that her sister had left Andy somewhere safe until she could find him.
“Is this the tree that blew over?” Austin said behind her, startling her.
Gillian stood leaning against it. The pine was old and huge. It had fallen during a summer thunderstorm, landing on a large boulder instead of falling all the way to the ground. Because of that, it laid at a slight slant a good three to six feet off the ground. She and her sister used to walk the length of it, pretending they were high-wire artists. Gillian had a scar on her arm from a fall she’d taken.
She told Austin about the night the tree fell and how she and Becky had played on it, needing to share the memories, fearing they would vanish otherwise. “It made a tremendous sound when it crashed,” she said, her voice breaking.
“I was thinking earlier how my brothers and I would have loved this place.”
She watched Austin walk around the root end of the tree. Most of the dirt that had once clung to the roots had washed off over the years in other storms. But because of its size, when the tree had become uprooted, it had left a large hole in the earth that she and Becky used to hide in.
“Gillian.”
Something in the way he said her name made her start. She looked at his expression and felt a jolt. He was staring down into the hole.
“I think you’d better see this.”
Chapter Seventeen
Austin stood back as Gillian hurried around the tree to the exposed roots and looked down into the deep cave of a hole. “What is that?”
She made a sound, half laugh, half sob. “That’s Edgar.”
“Edgar?” he repeated as she clambered down into the hole. She picked up what appeared to be a taxidermy-type stuffed crow on a small wooden stand and handed it up to him before he helped her out.
The bird had seen better days, but its dark eyes still glittered eerily. She took the mounted crow from him and began to cry as she held the bird to her as if it were a baby. “Edgar Allan Poe. Becky and I made friends with Edgar when he was young and orphaned. We fed him and kept him alive and he never left. He would fly in the moment we arrived at the cabin and caw at us from the porch railing. He followed us everywhere,” she said excitedly and then sobered. “One time we came up and we didn’t see him. We looked around for
him...and found him dead. It was our grandfather’s idea to have him mounted. Edgar had always looked out for us, Grandpa said. No reason he couldn’t continue doing that.”
Austin thought of the odd pets he and his brothers had accumulated and lost over the years and the attachment they’d had with them. “Your grandfather was a wise man.”
She nodded through her tears. “Becky and I took Edgar to our tree house so he could keep an eye out for trespassers.”
“Your tree house? Is that where you left him?”
Gillian met his gaze, hers widening. “Becky put Edgar here. That’s what she was trying to tell me...” She pushed to her feet. “She did leave a message, since the last time I saw Edgar he was still in the tree house standing guard.”
“Did Marc know about it?”
Gillian frowned. “I doubt it. He didn’t like the outdoors much and his family’s cabin was so much nicer on the lake in Idaho. Also I’m not sure how much of the tree house is even still there. It’s been years.”
Austin followed Gillian into the woods. They wound through the tall thick ponderosa pines. The December day was cold but clear. Sunlight slanted in through the trees but did little to warm them. The skiff of snow that had fallen overnight still hung to the pine boughs back here, making it feel even colder.
As they walked, he watched the ground for any sign that Marc had come this way. It was hard to tell since the ground was covered with pine needles.
They had gone quite a ways when Gillian stopped abruptly. He looked past her and saw what was left of the tree house. It was now little more than a few boards tacked up between trees. The years hadn’t been kind to it. What boards had remained were weathered, several hanging by a nail.
He could feel Gillian’s disappointment as they moved closer, stepping over the boards that had blown down. A makeshift ladder had been tacked to a tree at the base of what was left of the tree house. Austin tested the bottom step.
“I don’t think it’s safe for you to go up there,” Gillian said.
