by Darci Hannah
Once all the guests had checked out, the remaining employees were told they had the next two days off. It really wasn’t safe at the inn with the killer still on the loose. Hopefully he would be apprehended soon.
And for that I had a plan.
∞
Giff, having earned his Sunday night chicken potpie dinner at Edna’s with his vote, begged Tay to accompany him. “She was so grandmotherly, but I may have given her the wrong impression. Once she got hold of that giant gilded cherry she became very handsy. Couldn’t keep her old dough hooks off me. Come with me! Whitney, for obvious reasons, wont. It’ll be fun,” Giff promised. “After dinner, we can go back to your place and shop online for rare antiques.”
“Stop,” Tay told him, holding up a hand. “You had me at potpie.”
Hannah, meanwhile, had to run off to teach her Sunday evening yoga class at the retirement center. The moment my friends left and the inn was relatively quiet, I pulled Tate into my bedroom and shut the door.
“Whoa. Hands in your pockets, lusty dutchman,” I reprimanded him, realizing he’d gotten the wrong impression.
“But babe, aren’t we celebrating your sweet victory?”
“No. You’re still on probation. Listen, we have to call Jack and see if he’s learned anything from Bill Bachman.”
Tate lounged on my bed while I made the call. Jack, I could tell, was frustrated. Bill had been in the interrogation room since I’d tackled him to the pavement and was still refusing to talk.
“It’s okay,” I told him. “Just get back to the inn as soon as you can. I’ve learned a little something about Finn. Sorensen’s just checked his references and they’re all fake. Also, his green card’s expired and he’s an illegal. And you’re not going to believe this, but Tate once followed the boys to their party spot. Remember Kenna’s map? Well, Tate thinks he’s been there and believes he can find it again.”
The plan was simple. At midnight, Jack and Tate would slip into a canoe with MacDuff and paddle to the place Tate had seen Erik and Cody land their stolen boat weeks before. Standing off-shore, providing backup, would be Sergeant Stamper and Officer Jensen in the police boat. Hopefully MacDuff would pick up Finn’s scent and lead Jack and Tate through the woods to the party spot. They hoped to catch Finn sleeping there, or at the very least unaware. Jack had a hunch that Erik might be there as well. Because even more than catching Finn, he wanted to find the boy. If Finn ran, or posed a threat, Stamper and Jensen would rush in, flooding the area with light and extra manpower. Jack was aiming for simple, silent, and quick.
Simple, maybe. But this plan had a few hitches, namely the fact that I had taken a refreshing nap and was determined to tag along. My argument was sound. I deserved to go because I was knee-deep in this case as well. I’d also had my share of encounters with whoever it was that was terrorizing the cherry orchard. Although Finn was the suspected culprit, I harbored some doubts; the creature I’d seen in the woods still haunted me. This, wisely, I kept to myself.
Jack eventually relented, mostly because the rallying point for the midnight mission was in my family kitchen and a little because it was my canoe they were borrowing. I even promised to stay with the canoe once we’d landed, although it was a promise I wasn’t entirely committed to keeping.
It was nearing midnight when Dad sauntered into our command center with his buddies Dr. Engle, Brock Sorensen, and Briz. Jack was just getting ready to slip on his bulletproof vest. He stopped and threw them a questioning look.
“We’ve been thinking,” Dad said. “Wouldn’t hurt to have some backup for your backup. We’ve unmoored the cabin cruiser and will stand off unless you need us.”
“You just want to watch, don’t you?” Jack asked them.
“We’ve all endured a lot at the hands of this man. The boys and I want to see justice done.”
Jack nodded, told them to keep their distance, and disappeared under his bullet-proof vest. Both he and Tate were dressed head-to-toe in black—black cargo pants, black turtlenecks, black knit caps, black makeup under their eyes. I wasn’t sure why just under their eyes, but Tate had insisted. Jack was armed with his police-issue Glock and had on his utility belt. Tate wore an athletic cup and carried his old baseball bat. Not gonna lie, they both looked darn good—hunky-special-ops-dudes-getting-ready-for-a-night-raid good—only Jack was a cop and Tate a recreational sailor. Nonetheless, I found I was actually excited to be alone in a canoe with them. It might be a little awkward, given my past history with Tate and my newfound interest in Jack, but hey, we were all friends. Right?
Then Hannah arrived, wearing her skin-tight yoga clothes and breathing like she’d just run all the way from the retirement center, which she actually might have done.
“Hannah,” I said, giving her a hug. “Have you come to wish us luck?” One look in her eyes and I knew luck wasn’t involved. But Carleton Brisbane was.
“Yeah. Exactly. Hey, Carleton. Fancy meeting you here.”
It wasn’t fancy at all, and no one in the room was fooled. Hannah looked at me, invention blazing behind her eyes, and then exclaimed, “Whit called me. She wanted me to be here for moral support.”
“I’m going in the canoe with Jack and Tate,” I admitted. “But Dad and his friends are going in the cabin cruiser. There’s plenty of room in there.”
“Cool,” she said, staring boldly at Carleton. “That’s a great idea.”
“Actually,” Carleton said, throwing that same bold look at me, “I think you should go in the canoe with Whitney and the boys. They’ve made her promise to stay with the canoe once they reach their destination. It might be a good idea to have another body there to make sure that she does.”
Forty-Three
We’re all fitting in that canoe?” Hannah was a little miffed, especially after watching Carleton climb aboard Dad’s big motorboat with a freshly brewed latte in his hands. Mom had packed the men a stakeout cooler containing roast beef sandwiches, kettle chips, and cherry chocolate-chip cookies. She offered some to us, but Jack declined. We were, after all, on a mission.
“Great,” Hannah continued, “so where do you want me to sit?” She lowered her voice and whispered, “In other words, I’m asking who you have the hots for. Come on, Whit. I’ve seen you staring at them both. Pick one and I’ll sit by the other. It’s going to be a long paddle. Might as well enjoy it.”
I looked at the canoe with Jack in the bow and Tate in the stern. Where to sit? Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely certain myself. Tate … or Jack? There was a real possibility it might be Carleton instead. I wanted to kick myself. Had it really been so long that I couldn’t even decide which man I liked anymore? Cheek-dimpled Tate, tall ginger Jack, or savory suave Carleton? Did I really just think that in my head? Holy cobbler! This wasn’t an ad. This was a seating choice, and I was failing miserably. I looked at Hannah and clearly saw that Carleton was off the menu. For me it was a Tate or Jack dilemma, and in their current special ops state, I couldn’t decide.
“You have three more seconds,” Jack offered softly. “Then we’re shoving off, with or without you two.”
“Coming,” Hannah said. She got in the canoe, making the choice for me. She chose the spot at Tate’s feet, leaving me to sit directly behind Jack. I took up my seat and a moment later found MacDuff in my lap as well.
It was a beautiful night, clear, cool, star-strewn. The moon, a perfect crescent, was just bright enough to help Tate guide the canoe along the meandering shoreline to the spot he’d visited weeks ago. Paddling under the stars always had a touch of romance about it, but that mood was thoroughly broken by the thought of Finn Connelly and the fact that there were four people crammed into the canoe. Also, MacDuff was the only one getting his belly rubbed, the needy pooch.
“Is it just me,” Hannah began softly, breaking the silence, “or does anyone else feel like we’re in a Scooby Doo adventure? We even have ou
r own Scooby Doo.” She leaned forward and ruffled the fur on MacDuff’s head.
“I totally get what you mean,” I said, smiling. “Two guys, two girls, and a dog all squished in a little canoe at midnight heading for the spooky woods. It’s a real Scooby Doo adventure, all right.”
“I’m Daphne, of course,” Hannah declared.
“Really?” I hiss-whispered. “You’re Daphne? On what grounds?”
“On obvious grounds. I’m tall, blond, and flexible. Tate’s Fred, and Jack’s Shaggy.”
“So I’m Velma?” This seemed unfair. “Velma’s chunky and wears glasses,” I protested. “How am I Velma?”
“Velma was also smart,” Jack was quick to add. “She had grit. Hey, didn’t Daphne and Fred have a thing?”
“I thought that was Fred and Velma,” Tate added, his white teeth glittering in the dark night.
“No,” Hannah shot back. “It was totally Shaggy and Velma.”
Hearing this, Jack hesitated. He missed a paddle, throwing off his steady cadence.
“What? No. That’s totally ridiculous,” Tate replied, frowning at Jack’s back. “They were just friends.”
“Were they?” Hannah quipped, her simple question dripping with innuendo.
“Hey,” Jack hiss-whispered. “Be quiet. We’re almost there.”
∞
“You two stay here,” Jack said as he and Tate got out of the canoe. We’d run aground on a muddy bank at the end of a reedy little stretch of water. Tate had guided the craft through a narrow inlet that sheltered this particular landing. It was well hidden and would have been nearly impossible to detect by those who didn’t know what to look for. Thankfully, Tate had known what to look for.
MacDuff, the first one out of the canoe, was bounding along the bank with nose to the ground and stub-tail wagging. He caught a scent, bounded to the reeds, and stilled. “Over here,” Jack whispered to Tate. He pulled out a small flashlight and turned it on. MacDuff spun from the reeds and ran to Jack’s side, tail wagging excitedly. “There’s a footpath leading up this way.” Jack turned off his light again. “Wait here, okay?” he whispered through the darkness. “And, Whit, if anyone but us should come this way, don’t be a hero. Cry out and wait for backup. Got it?”
I didn’t reply, feeling it was more of a rhetorical question. Jack wanted to believe that Hannah and I were going to sit quietly in the canoe, and I was going to let him.
The moment Tate, Jack, and MacDuff disappeared up the path, I turned to Hannah. “Okay, ready? I want to find the bastard responsible for terrorizing the cherry orchard and bring him to justice.” I was already out of the canoe, my Skechers sinking slightly in the mud. I pulled a small flashlight from the pocket of my sweatshirt, flicked it on, and swung it in a wide arc.
“What are you doing?” Hannah hissed.
I pointed my flashlight at her face. “I’m trying to find that path.” She had her arm up, blocking her eyes. “Are you coming, or are you really going to stay here and wait?”
“I’m coming,” she said. I dropped the light and continued scanning our surroundings. “So, what’s your plan? You do have a plan, don’t you?”
“I do, and my plan is to not be seen until our help is needed.” My flashlight scanned a row of scrub pines, tall grass, bushes. “Say the guys find Finn,” I continued, “and Finn puts up a fight. We come in, create a diversion, and BOOM! Finn gets distracted and Jack and Tate take him down. We get profuse thanks for our help. You get to tell Carleton all about it, and I get to kick Finn Connelly square in the giblets when no one’s looking.” I pointed my flashlight at the reeds. “Only don’t tell anyone about that last part, okay? I don’t want that blowing up on Twitter or anything. Giblet-kicker’s not a great tagline for a baker. Wait. What the devil is that?” I caught a glint of metal through the reeds.
Hannah stumbled out of the canoe and got her shoe caught in the mud. She panicked, left it, and ran behind me as I continued to investigate. “What is it?” she whispered. I felt her peering over my shoulder as we ventured further into the reedy water.
I stopped walking. “It’s a boat,” I replied, slightly unnerved. I nearly panicked when the reeds started moving, wiggling and swaying as if someone or something was in there. I felt the wind then and took a deep breath. It’s nothing, I told myself. Stay calm. I lowered the light and scanned the boat. Just as the beam of light dipped, my heart caught in my throat. I thought I saw something big move in the darkness. I hit it with the light, but nothing was there, only reeds. My imagination was working overtime. And no wonder, because the boat I was looking at was the exact same one Jack had seen fleeing the shore that morning. According to Tate, it was one of his.
“So, what’s it mean?”
“It means Finn’s probably here, and possibly Erik Larson as well.”
“You got all that from that little boat?”
“Shhh!” I hissed. It was still so fresh in my mind—the feeling of being watched—the memory of that creature. I knew that beyond the reeds, sitting near the entrance to the cove, was Stamper and Jensen in the police boat. Dad was out there too somewhere. Now, however, all was dark and quiet, with the exception of Hannah’s heavy breathing and the quiet rustling of the reeds.
“I should have gone with Carleton,” she moaned.
“About that. Hannah, I think you’re far more into him than he’s into you.”
“What? How can you say that?”
“Because you’re here with me and not sitting beside Carleton on my dad’s boat.” She thought about this and frowned. “Don’t worry. Truth is, you’re too good for him. Just stay close, okay?” I whispered. Then I turned from the boat and headed up the embankment, traveling the path taken by Jack and Tate. I still had my flashlight on. I didn’t think it mattered. It wasn’t very bright; certainly not enough to keep Hannah from stumbling over logs and stubbing her one bare foot on rocks.
“Ouch!”
“Shhh! Do you hear that? MacDuff’s barking. They’re somewhere over there.” A few more yards and I saw the clearing. I could still see the red glow of a hastily banked campfire, the wan light softly illuminating what looked to be a couple of casks of wine sitting beside it. And beyond that were the dark, humplike shapes of a grouping of dome tents.
“Is that pot?” Hannah whispered, giving the air another good sniff. “Damn. Someone’s been having a good time.”
“Where are Jack and Tate?” I pointed my flashlight at the campsite but the beam was too dull to reach that far. Besides, both men were wearing black, and if they were still in the area they’d most likely be hidden from sight. “Did they miss this?” I wondered out loud. “How could they miss this? Oh my God, maybe they were captured and need our help.” Curiosity kicked in and I walked forward, suddenly filling with visions of taking down Finn, rescuing Jack, Tate, and Erik, and solving the mystery of who killed Jeb Carlson all without the aid of a man. I’d be the hero. I’d tell the world that Hannah helped me, even though clearly asking her to help was out of the question. She was still miffed at me for voicing my concerns about Carleton.
“Whit. Where’re ya going?” she hissed. “I thought your brilliant plan was to stay out of sight?”
“I have a new plan. It’s called find Jack and Tate. I don’t see them over there, or MacDuff.” No sooner had I stopped talking than I heard a twig snap directly behind Hannah. I spun around, pointed my flashlight, and froze.
“Hey, Veronica Mars. Get that fudgin’ thing out of my eyes!” Then Hannah stilled. “What? What is it? Stop staring behind me like that. You’re totally freakin’ me out.”
“No. No, don’t look.”
Too late. Hannah spun around and came face to face with the hideous creature, the same looming, faceless Sasquatch that had shadowed me through the woods that morning. It was creepy—Creature From the Black Lagoon creepy—all covered in dead leaves and dripping w
ith spindly moss. It was here, and even without seeing its face, I could tell it was pissed.
“What the … ” She never finished the sentiment. The Squatch jerked quickly, bringing the butt-end of a rifle hard against her head. Hannah collapsed on the ground like a rag doll.
“No!” I breathed, starring directly at the creature. It had a gun. Did Squatches use guns? I might be wrong, but I didn’t think they did.
The barrel of the gun lowered, pointing directly at me. “Whitney Bloom,” the Squatch said with a distinctly Irish lilt. The accent took me off guard. I was staring down the barrel of a gun held by a hideous beast, yet the voice was all man. I was a sucker for a good accent, and damn me if he didn’t have a deep, lilting, seductive voice. The sound of my name rolling off the Irish-speaking tongue captivated me a moment too long, and then fear kicked in. I saw the situation clearly. Every nerve in my body exploded.
“Holy mother of moss,” I croaked. “You’re not a Squatch at all. You’re Finn Connelly in a flippin’ ghillie suit! And you’ve just attacked my friend!” It all made sense—how he could hide in the woods in plain sight—how he could sneak around, undetected. All he had to do was stand still, or lie flat on the ground and no one would see him. I tried to see the face behind the moss but couldn’t.
“I’ve been watching you,” he said. “Because, you see, you and I, we were destined to have our moment. And now, m’dearie, that moment has come.” He jerked the barrel of his gun, indicating that I should walk back to the lake with him.
There were really only two options as I saw it. The first was to do a quick about-face and dash into the woods, screaming for Tate and Jack as I ran. But he could shoot me before I took two steps. The second choice was to go with the deranged Irishman, wait for my moment, seize his gun, and be a hero.
