Murray was still at her desk, as per usual these days. She answered the phone on the first ring. “Hey. I was about to leave. I just got those reports finished, and tomorrow should be an easy day for me.” She sounded tired but relieved.
“Coughlan’s still gone?”
‘Till Monday, then it’s crunch time again. What’s up?”
“What’s new? Let’s see, Kip cut his hand on a paper cutter at school. He fell on it, actually, said a backpack suddenly appeared in his way and tripped him. We ended up at the hospital getting fifteen stitches in his hand. And the dragon has decided to start moving around, and now I’m getting visions from it.”
“Dragon? What dragon?”
“The one Daniel had. It moves.” I felt like an idiot, but Murray had seen stranger things than inanimate objects deciding to hoof it somewhere. She’d believe me.
She coughed. “It’s a statue, Em. It can’t move.”
“Oh, yes it can.” I told her about the two times we’d caught it in action. “I was going to wait until we reached the resort to tell you about the visions, but I might as well tell you now.” I detailed the two scenarios I’d witnessed while holding the statue.
Murray was silent for a moment and then said, “I think you’d better find out more about that thing. Are you sure it’s safe to have in the house?”
“Uh, I dunno. It hasn’t done anything, other than turn around in circles, break the chain on my pendulum, and take me on a couple of virtual reality trips. I guess it’s okay. I’m carting it along with us tomorrow; there’s a woman in Glacier that Harlow hooked me up with. An expert on Ming dynasty art, I understand. Has the police department officially given up looking for Daniel’s next of kin? I’m thinking that maybe they know something about it.”
Murray put me on hold for a moment while she dug out his file. “Yeah, we’ve closed it down. We haven’t been able to locate any family, and we just don’t have the manpower to do a thorough search. Nobody seems to know where he lived. His license was expired, and the address on it is out of date.”
“Then I’ve got some sleuthing to do. I’d like to be prepared for any other surprises the creature might have up its scales.”
She laughed. “You’re talking about that statue like it’s alive. You’d better watch it, Em, before your imagination gets away with you. You know, you manage to get yourself in some interesting predicaments, and you usually drag us all along for the ride.”
“Speaking of predicaments, did you find Jimbo yet?”
She reluctantly told me she hadn’t and promised to make sure a prowl car passed by the house a couple times a night for the next few nights. We chatted a little more, and then she asked, “Do you mind if I add one more person to our camping trip?”
“Another? Who is it?” This was going to be a real gathering. I just hoped that Kip wouldn’t ask to bring Sly. I’d tried to put an end to the friendship earlier in the year but ended up feeling sorry for the little runt and let Kip start playing with him again, but Sly still bugged the hell out of me. I just knew he was going to grow up and turn out to be a con man.
“White Deer’s coming into town. I thought she’d enjoy the trip.”
White Deer, I liked. “Bring her along, she’s more than welcome. But I think that’s all that will fit in my car.” Three adults, three kids and a passel of camping gear. Yep, it would be a snug trip, even in my monster SUV.
Murray said she’d be here at around four p.m., and I told her we’d be ready to go. Kip looked over at me from the computer as I hung up. “White Deer’s coming along?” I nodded, and he cheered. The kids had taken quite a shine to her in December, when she’d been visiting Murray. Murray’s aunt was following the path of a native healer, though she tended to do things with an updated twist; I gathered her decisions didn’t always fly with some of the elders of her tribe.
I glanced at the clock. “Bedtime, skipper. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day, so you hop upstairs and get into your pjs.”
He exited his game and put away the GD. I asked him if he wanted me to come up and tuck him in, but he shook his head. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Mom. I can put myself to bed.”
My heartstrings quivered, but I gave him a quick hug and peck on the cheek. “Good night, then. You go right to sleep.” After Kip trundled off to bed, I curled up on the sofa, wondering what I should do about all the chaos that had been happening lately. Could there be a common focus? I couldn’t get a handle on any out-of-the-ordinary energy hanging around, other than my weird but pretty dragon buddy, but that didn’t mean some force wasn’t around, cloaking itself from me.
I glanced over at the computer mat Kip had vacated. Might as well get started investigating Daniel Barrington’s past. Though not a computer whiz by any means, I could handle basic searches on the net. I slid into the chair, brought up a browser, keyed in Daniel’s name and hit Enter. A few seconds later, the browser displayed a number of results. I began to click through the web sites; the first few pages were no goes, but on the twenty-fourth web site—pay dirt!
The site was one dedicated to psychotic criminals from England. Oh great, had Daniel been a psycho? But no, when I clicked on the name Harrington, I began to understand some of his misery. The entry was scanned from a newspaper clipping, dated October 5, 1975. I skimmed through, until I came to the meat of the article.
Harcourt Barrington, 54, was brutally murdered last night by Cheever Douglas, an inmate from the Rainhill Mental Hospital. Douglas escaped in a laundry bin. Once outside the institution, he fled to the outskirts of London where, caught in a downpour, he sought refuge in a farmer’s barn. Ian Landers, the farmer, spotted Douglas and chased him off, but not before the inmate managed to secure an axe. Douglas is then thought to have made his way to the Barrington estate, where he broke in and used the axe to murder Harcourt, striking him twenty times.
Barrington is survived by a daughter, Deirdre, 20, and a son, Daniel, 16, both of whom were staying with friends in the country during the attack. Barrington was preceded in death by his wife, Molly, who died in 1967 when she was struck by lightning.
Douglas was caught in a nearby pub, the murder weapon tucked behind a tree near the establishment. His fingerprints were found on the ax and in the victim’s home. He is being held back at Rainhill pending his court date.
There was little more on the story or on Daniel’s background, but by now I was thoroughly fascinated. The past held some dark memories for him. His father was axed to death, his mother struck by lightning. I wondered just
when Daniel had left England. I glanced at the clock. Almost eleven, but maybe I’d look just a little further. I flipped through several more sites and was about to give up the chase when I stumbled across a death notice from an Alberta, Canada, newspaper. From 1986, it must have been archived after the fact.
Peace River, Alberta, Canada December 22,1986
Marissa Barrington, 26, and her twin boys Charles and Daniel Jr., eighteen months old, were killed this morning in a freak accident when the car they were in crashed through the West Mirror Bridge and sank in the icy waters of the Peace River. Mrs. Barrington was driving the car, and witnesses say it looked like she hit a spot of black ice and lost control. Rescue attempts were mounted but too late; mother and sons were dead by the time rescuers pulled them from the waters. Funeral arrangements are being made by Harper & Harper’s Eternal Rest Funeral Home. Mrs. Barrington is survived by her husband, Daniel Barrington….
I stared at the picture of the family. Daniel was young, smiling for the camera, eyes bright and happy. Marissa Barrington had been a dark redhead with delicate skin. She bore a refined look, with a sparkle in her eye that told me I probably would have liked her. The babies were adorable … babies who’d never had the chance to grow up.
I printed out the information from the sites and stuffed the pages in a file folder. No mention of the dragon, no mention of his childhood other than the murder of his father and the bizarre death of his mother. P
oor man, losing his wife and twin boys must have hit him hard. Where had he been during the intervening time? Had other horrible things happened to him?
My mind wouldn’t shut up as I turned off the computer, yawning so wide my jaw popped. Fascinating or not, it was time for bed. I checked the doors and made sure they were locked, then trudged upstairs and fell into a dreamless, uninterrupted sleep.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, while I was packing the Cherokee, Oliver showed up. I gave him a cool smile. I wanted to like the man since he was Ida’s nephew, but the truth was, I didn’t feel comfortable around him and couldn’t pinpoint why. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you have someone to look after your cats while you’re gone?”
I shook my head. “Thanks, but I dropped them off at the kennel early in the morning.”
“I can save you the money.” He leaned against the car.
My patience was beginning to wear thin. “No, I said I’ve already taken them to the kennel. They’ll be taken care of, and I won’t have to worry about them.”
He backed off. “No problem, just thought I’d offer. So, ready for your trip?”
I bit my lip. The poor guy was really trying; maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt. I’d promised Ida I’d keep an eye on him, and three years in prison had to have skewed his sense of courtesy. No doubt Ida would whip his manners back in shape once she returned.
“Yeah, and we sure need it,” I said. “The past week and a half have been traumatic, to say the least. Maybe by the time I’m back, they’ll have caught whoever ripped off my shop.” He offered to help me arrange the tent and bags in the car. I accepted, then waved as he took off up the street.
I put in a call to Cinnamon to make sure everything was running smoothly. She said, “Any smoother, and we’d be out of business. We have no stock, and we’re down to the lunch crowd.”
“Good point,” I said. I made sure she had my cell number and the numbers she would need if she had to call Safety-Tech.
By the time I went to pick up the kids at school, the car was packed except for the ice chest. When we got home, Randa raced upstairs to dig out her old telescope, since I refused to let her take her new one. I told her to double-check her window to make sure it was shut tight and locked. As she burst back into the front yard, Lori’s mother stopped her BMW in the middle of the street, just long enough for Lori to scramble out of the car. I waved, but the woman had already squealed off in a cloud of dust. Somehow, I didn’t think we’d be getting together with the Thomas family for dinner any time soon.
One last stop at the e”tagere to tuck the dragon into a padded package, and we were ready. Mary Sanders’s address was secure in my purse, though I supposed she wouldn’t be hard to find in such a small town. I locked the door and went out to stow Lori’s backpack in the SUV just as Murray and White Deer rolled into the driveway, with Joe right behind them. He made us stand back while he transferred Murray’s equipment to my car. Murray grimaced when I asked how her day had been.
“One of those ‘don’t ask’ days. I’ve been getting enough of those to last a lifetime. Hey, Joe’s done! Let’s roll. It’s going to get dark pretty quick in the mountains.”
I gave Joe a hug; he pulled me close and tapped me on the nose. “You be careful, witchy woman. I don’t want to have to come rescue you again.”
“You be careful at work this weekend,” I countered. “You’ve got a dangerous job, and I want you to promise me to watch your step.”
He gave me a quick squeeze. “You’ve got it, woman! I’ll be careful. Say hi to Smokey the Bear for me!”
Laughing, I motioned to the others, and we piled in the Cherokee, leaving Murray’s car in the driveway, and headed for the highway. Pushing aside worries about Jimbo and conks on the head and dragons that moved by themselves, I made the decision that nothing was going to ruin this weekend. Nothing.
Nine
A S WE WOUND through the road leading to Mount Baker, the sun slowly began to sink into the west. Days in the temperate rain forest always seemed to darken earlier than they did in the city, with thickets of fecund vegetation crowding out the light. Few people realized just how alive these mountains were. The Cascade Range had given birth to a family of volcanoes. Mount Rainier, a pristine, snow-covered peak, was as dangerous as she was beautiful, towering over Seattle as a constant reminder of the destruction forces that had, and would again, overwhelm the coastal region.
As if to prove her sister’s claim, Mount St. Helens blew her stack in 1980 and laid waste to a swath of land that now resembled the craters of the moon. I’d been there once, picking through the desolate and eerie landscape. And then there was “our” volcano. Isolated, covered in glaciers and snow, Mount Baker housed some of the most rugged forests in the state. Buttressed against the North Cascades National Park, the mountain claimed a quiet and isolated throne for itself.
As we hugged the curves on Highway 542, Murray and I quietly discussed what I’d found out about Daniel’s past. With Lori and Miranda immersed in a debate about women astronauts, and White Deer and Kip chatting away, I didn’t have to worry about being overheard.
By the time we reached Maple Falls, I’d been driving thirty-five minutes, and it was nearing six p.m. We made a quick stop for last-minute supplies, then headed on toward Glacier, some seven and a half miles up the road. The town, barely larger than a postage stamp, was located within a valley inside the Mount Baker National Recreation Area, and acted as a gateway to the Mount Baker Wilderness Area. We rolled on through, anxious to get to the lodge before dark.
“Where’s the lodge?” Murray consulted her map.
“Left on Paintbrush Loop, about five miles ahead.” I opened my window and took a deep whiff; the air was so clean and crisp here that it pierced my lungs. The vegetation grew thick as the highway curved along; firs heavy with moss crowded both sides of the road, leaving only a narrow runway of sky to filter through. As we pushed farther into the heart of the forest, the light became muted, dappled with shadow, offering dark recesses within the thickets. The racket in the car began to die down as the ever-present trickling of miniature waterfalls alongside the road grew louder.
“There’s the turnoff,” I said, pointing at the gravelled drive to our left. Named for the wide swathes of Indian paintbrush that bordered the roads during summer, Paintbrush Loop led through a thick copse of cedar and fir, out into an open meadow containing the main lodge of Tyler’s Resort, along with seven cabins. Patches of snow still dotted the upper reaches of the lea. Since the resort was so popular, I’d made reservations early, just in case, but the parking lot was nearly empty. We tumbled out of the Cherokee.
I stretched and popped my back. A sudden gust of wind sent me reeling. Nothing like mountain air to wake up the senses. “Come on, let’s go check in.”
The lodge had been built sometime in the sixties but had been recently remodelled. To the left, the lobby led to a dining room; to the right stood the inevitable gift shop next to the rest rooms. While Kip and Miranda headed to the bathrooms, I gave my name to the registration clerk. She pushed the book across the counter.
“Hello, I’m Marjorie. Please sign in and list all members in your party.”
I did as she asked and handed over my credit card. She swiped it through the slot. “Not many people here,” I said, glancing around.
Marjorie shook her head. “April’s our transition month. Too late for skiers, too early for summer tourists. You can have your choice of cabins. They all have the same layout: two bedrooms, a small kitchenette-living area, full bath, gas heat, and a woodstove. There’s a fire pit outside each cabin, along with a picnic table, so you can roast marshmallows if you want. The firewood’s in the bin next to each cabin.”
She showed me a map, and I chose Meadow Lark, the cabin farthest away from the lodge. It might be too cold to camp outside, but at least we wouldn’t have to be next to the main drive.
She typed in our cabin number on the screen. �
��Newly-weds are staying in Briar Rose, and an elderly couple is staying in Salmon Creek, closest to the lodge. They have a chocolate Lab, but he’s well-behaved. Other than that, you’ve got the entire area to yourselves. The lodge is open twenty-four hours a day; if there’s an emergency, just come on in and push that buzzer. Somebody will be out to help you immediately.” She pointed out the emergency buzzer. I hoped we wouldn’t have to use it.
“There’s a pay phone outside the lodge and two in the lobby. The dining room is open from six a.m. to three p.m., and from five p.m. until nine-thirty p.m. Last seating for dinner is at nine o’clock. The hot tub and swimming pool are around back, with an outside entrance. They close at ten p.m. Here’s your receipt and your key cards.”
Yasmine Galenorn - Chintz 'n China 02 Page 15
