Sudden Second Chance

by Carol Ericson

  “Chloe, do you have paper and a pen?”

  “Will the back of an envelope work?” She took two steps toward her small kitchen and grabbed an envelope and pen from the counter, which she handed to Jason.

  He squatted down next to the coffee table and sketched out a map. “Scarlett got all the artistic talent in our family, but if you head this way off the main road, you’ll see an access road next to a mailbox that’s all painted. Follow that and you’ll run into Scarlett’s place.”

  Looking at the map, Beth wrinkled her nose. “Do I need four-wheel drive to get there?”

  “Nah, it’s remote but the access road to the cabin is gravel.”

  Beth tucked the makeshift map in her back pocket. “Do you guys want the cookies or maybe I should bring them to Scarlett?”

  “We’ll take ’em.” Jason grabbed the tin and hugged it to his chest. “Scarlett’s a vegan or vegetarian or something and doesn’t touch the stuff.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating to get cookies.” Chloe rolled her eyes at Beth.

  “You can keep them anyway.” Beth hitched the tripod beneath her arm. “Thanks for your time, Chloe.”

  Jason got the door for her. “Can I help you carry anything to your car?”

  “I got it, thanks.”

  Beth loaded up the car and, seated in the driver’s seat, pulled out her phone. She tapped in Scarlett’s number and it went straight to voice mail.

  “Scarlett, my name is Beth St. Regis. I’m the host of Cold Case Chronicles, and I’m in town to do a story about the Timberline Trio. Your cousin Jason Foster told me you might be able to give me some insight into the Quileute view of the crime. Would love to talk to you.”

  Beth left her number and checked her texts. Nothing from Duke. He must still be busy with the sheriff’s department.

  She’d give Scarlett an hour or so to get back to her and then maybe she’d head out to her place in case Scarlett never got her message.

  She decided to try Sutter’s again for lunch and brought her laptop into the restaurant with her.

  The place buzzed with a lunch crowd from Evergreen Software, by the looks of their khakis, pocket protectors and firm grips on their electronic devices.

  Beth flagged down the hostess. “Can I get a table for one?”

  “Your best bet is a seat at the bar. We serve a full lunch menu at the bar.”

  “Perfect.” Beth hoisted her laptop case over her shoulder and wended her way through the tables to the bar. Heck, she fit right in with her laptop.

  She hopped up on a stool and opened her case. As she pulled out her laptop, the bartender placed a menu to the side of it.

  “Are you ordering lunch?”

  “Yes, and I’ll have a cup of hot tea.”

  “Coming right up.” The bartender ducked beneath the counter and clinked a mug on the mahogany bar. “You know Bill Raney wasn’t serious about those threats, right?”

  Beth focused on the woman’s face and realized she’d been tending bar last night when Duke had confronted the loudmouthed Raney.

  “Did I think he really wanted to tar and feather me? No. What’s your name?”

  “Serena Hopewell. And, no, I wasn’t here twenty-five years ago.” She poured a stream of hot water into Beth’s cup.

  “Why are you coming to Bill’s defense, Serena?”

  She shrugged. “He’s been having a tough time lately. He’s been drinking at this bar way too much. The cops questioned him about a few things this morning, and he doesn’t need any more trouble.”

  “I didn’t accuse Bill of anything, but I had a couple of...incidents and his name came up with the deputies.” She dunked her tea bag in the water. “They were probably just following up. I don’t think he’s suspect number one.”

  “It was enough to get him in trouble with his wife, but that doesn’t take much these days.” Serena tapped the menu. “Do you need a few minutes?”

  “Yeah.” As Beth flipped open the menu, someone nudged her shoulder.

  “I thought you were going out to Scarlett’s place.” Chloe’s high-pitched voice carried halfway around the restaurant as several people craned their necks to take in the bar.

  Beth gave her a tight smile. “Thought I’d have some lunch first, and I did leave her a message.”

  “Good luck with that. Scarlett likes to keep to herself when she’s in town.”

  Jason came up behind his girlfriend. “Our table’s ready. Oh, hey, Beth. Any luck with my cuz yet?”

  “Left her a message, will probably pay her a visit this afternoon.”

  “That’s probably the best way to get her attention.” He took Chloe’s hand. “C’mon, babe. We got a table in Austin’s section.”

  When Beth looked up from her menu, she met Serena’s eyes.

  The bartender lifted one eyebrow. “You’ve been busy.”

  “It’s my job. I’m here to work.” She closed the menu and held it out. “I’d like the soup-and-sandwich combo—veggie chili and grilled chicken.”

  “You got it.”

  Beth flipped up her laptop and checked email. She answered an inquiry about a previous story, replied to an anxious message from Scott and opened a document to take some notes about the two interviews today.

  When her lunch arrived, she checked her phone again. Nothing from Scarlett and nothing from Duke.

  She took a bite of her sandwich, her teeth crunching through the grilled sourdough. Ever since Jason had told her about his cousin’s extrasensory abilities, Beth’s mind had been toying with a plan.

  She’d seen a hypnotist a few times to try to uncover buried memories about her past. That was where she’d seen visions of the forest, which had evoked such cold terror. But she’d gotten no further with the hypnotist. Someone like Scarlett Easton might be able to help her uncover even more. She had to try...if Scarlett was willing.

  She finished her lunch, and as she was slipping her laptop back into its case, a man took the bar stool next to hers.

  “Give me that River IPA, Serena.”

  Beth slid a gaze to her left and Jordan Young caught her eye.

  “Hello there, Ms. St. Regis. How’s your story going?”

  “It’s going.”

  Serena put the beer in front of Young. “Little early in the day for alcohol, isn’t it?”

  “Rough morning, sweetheart.” He raised the glass to Serena and took a sip. “I feel like I need to make up for my friend Bill’s boorish behavior, Ms. St. Regis. I’d be happy to talk to you about the Timberline Trio case sometime. I was here—” he patted the top of his head “—with a little more hair.”

  “I’d be interested in what you have to say, and you can call me Beth.”

  “Pretty name. And you can call me Jordan.”

  “Thanks, Jordan.”

  She slipped off the stool just as Serena hunched toward Jordan. “What do you think about the hit and run that killed Gary?”

  Beth didn’t get a chance to hear what Jordan thought about Gary as she headed for the door, anxious to meet with Scarlett now that she’d decided on a plan.

  When she got to her rental car, she checked all the doors and windows—nothing today. She loaded her laptop in the trunk and pulled Jason’s map from her pocket.

  When she sat behind the wheel, she flattened the envelope on her thigh and memorized the first few directions.

  She made the turn from the main road and passed several houses and access roads until she reached the one with the mailbox painted with chickens. Why chickens?

  She turned her rental onto the access road, her tires crunching the gravel and her car rocking back and forth. She drove into a tunnel of trees, feeling the chill as her world darkened.

  Suddenly the road ended, but she did see the
peak of a roof beyond the tree line. She would’ve needed a four-wheel-drive vehicle to get close to Scarlett’s cabin, but the road had ended within walking distance and a path cut through the trees.

  She got out of the car and slammed the door behind her. She glanced at the trunk, where she’d stashed her laptop. Duke had warned her about leaving her stuff in the car, but at least it was out of sight. Who would be out here in the middle of the woods, anyway?

  Tugging on her down vest, she headed toward the cabin, her boots crunching through the underbrush.

  She took one big step over a fallen log. As something whizzed past her ear, she heard a crack in the distance. She yelled, “Hey,” as she fell to the forest floor on her hands and knees.

  That was a gunshot—and she was the target.

  Chapter Nine

  Duke heard the report of a rifle from his open window. Beth could be out there.

  He stepped on the gas pedal of his SUV and the car tore across the road, spewing gravel in its wake.

  He almost plowed into the back of Beth’s car. He lurched to a stop behind the rental and bolted from the car.

  “Beth?”

  “I’m here. Be careful. Some idiot is shooting a rifle.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m on the ground about twenty feet in front of my car.”

  Duke hunched forward in case the hunter—or whoever it was—decided to squeeze off any more shots.

  He spotted Beth, still crouched on the ground, her eyes wide and her face pale.

  “I yelled when I heard the shot and dropped to the ground. I recognized it right away, of course.”

  “Did you see anything? A hunter? I know it’s hunting season right now.”

  “What the hell is going on?” A woman’s voice floated out from the cabin.

  Duke cupped a hand around his mouth. “Someone’s taking shots out here.”

  She called back. “Everyone okay?”

  “Yes.” Beth started to rise. “Do you think it’s safe?”

  “Even those idiot hunters should know by now we’re humans and not some defenseless beast.”

  Duke reached Beth’s side and helped her to her feet.

  She grabbed his arm for support. “What are you doing here?”

  “Stopped by Sutter’s and Jason told me you were planning to see his cousin this afternoon.” With his arm around her, he led her to a small clearing where a woman with long, black hair stood in front of a rustic cabin, her hands wedged on her hips.

  “And who the hell are you two?”

  “Are you Scarlett Easton?” Beth brushed off the knees of her jeans and pushed her hair from her face.

  “Who wants to know?” The woman stood even taller, as if challenging them to take one more step.

  “I’m Beth St. Regis. Your cousin Jason gave me your number. I tried calling, and I left a voice mail but Jason said you don’t always get reception out here.”

  The woman tossed back her head, and her mane of black hair flipped over one shoulder. “I’m Scarlett Easton, and I don’t know why my cousin seems to think I need company, but since some moron almost shot you on my property, come on in.”

  They followed Scarlett to a wide, wooden porch, almost a deck, and Duke stomped his boots on the first step. “I’m Duke Harper. Does that happen a lot with hunters? Potshots in the forest?”

  As Scarlett pushed open her front door, she tilted her head. “Happens a lot around here.”

  Duke exchanged a glance with Beth as they followed Scarlett into her place. Did that mean the shot wasn’t meant for Beth?

  Scarlett Easton didn’t seem like good interview material for Beth, and it didn’t seem as if she wanted anyone on her property. So why had Beth come here?

  Beth pointed to a cell phone on a table that had been carved from a tree stump. “Are you going to call the sheriff’s department?”

  “Reception isn’t good today.” Scarlett dipped to pick up her phone. “If I didn’t get your call, what makes you think I can get a call out to the cops?”

  Duke tried his own phone and received a No Service message. “She’s right.”

  “But if you could tell that idiot Sheriff Musgrove someone was shooting a rifle, too close to the road, I’d appreciate it.”

  Duke dragged a hand across his mouth, wiping away his smile. She had Musgrove pegged already and he hadn’t been on the job even two months.

  “Can I get you something? Water? Soda? Stiff shot of whiskey?” Scarlett jerked her chin toward Beth. “You look as white as a sheet.”

  “Maybe some water.” Beth placed her hands on her cheeks. “That bullet flew right past my ear.”

  “Idiots.” Scarlett shook her head and asked Duke, “Anything for you?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Scarlett cranked on the faucet in the kitchen and filled a glass with water. “The stuff from the tap is actually better than the bottled stuff. Ice?”

  “Just the water.”

  Scarlett handed the glass to Beth. “So what brought you to my doorstep? You friends with Jason?”

  “I just met Jason today.” Beth took a gulp of water, and her gaze darted to Duke’s face. “I host a television show called Cold Case Chronicles.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  Duke scanned the decor of the cabin—a mix of hand-carved furniture, Native American crafts and original artwork—an explosion of colors and textures that overwhelmed the senses. A bookshelf took up one wall and hardback books and paperbacks jockeyed for space on the crammed shelves...but no TV.

  Beth took a deep breath. “It’s a reality TV show where we investigate cold cases.”

  “Let me guess.” Scarlett raised her eyes to the beamed ceiling. “You’re doing a story on the Timberline Trio.”

  Beth licked her lips. “Jason told me the Quileute are suspicious about the case. He told me you would have some insight into that.”

  “Jason thought I’d be willing to sit down with a reality TV show and discuss our Quileute heritage?” She snorted, the nostrils of her delicate nose flaring. “He must be smoking the good stuff these days.”

  Duke watched Beth, uncharacteristically hesitant. She should be halfway to convincing Scarlett an interview would be the best thing that ever happened to her. There had to be something more to this visit to Scarlett.

  “I understand that.” The glass of water Beth brought to her lips trembled. “That’s not really why I’m here.”

  Duke’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s not?”

  “It’s not?” Scarlett echoed him.

  “Can we sit down?” Beth hovered near a curved love seat.

  “All right.” Scarlett grabbed what looked like a hand-painted pillow and dropped into a chair, dragging the pillow into her lap. “Just let me warn you. I’m not doing anything related to some reality TV show, and I’m not exploiting my tribe’s traditions and customs.”

  Normally, Duke would perch on the arm of a chair but didn’t want to destroy anything in this room and end up paying thousands of dollars to replace it. He sat on the edge of the love seat, next to Beth.

  “What I’m going to ask you has nothing to do with the show. It’s about me.”

  “Let’s hear it.” Scarlett tapped the pointed toe of her cowboy boot.

  Beth squared her shoulders. “I have a mysterious past. I was adopted, but my adoptive parents refused to tell me where I came from, and my birth certificate has their names as my biological parents.”

  “Go on.” Scarlett drew her dark brows over her nose.

  “Anyway, I tried hypnosis a few times to try to reveal any memories, but all I got was a cold terror associated with the vision of a forest.”

  Duke folded his arms over a niggling fear in his chest. Beth wanted Scarl
ett Easton to perform some ritual mumbo jumbo on her.

  Scarlett held up one finger. “Hypnosis can really only work with the memories that are already there. I doubt you have any memories of being a baby.”

  “That’s my problem. Even if I could dig up my earliest memories, they’re not going to tell me who I am or where I came from.”

  “Right. So, what are you doing in Timberline? I’m known as an artist, not a Quileute shaman. You didn’t come here for me.”

  Duke held his breath and tried to catch Beth’s eye, but she’d started down a path and there was no turning back.

  “I think I’m Heather Brice.”

  Scarlett whistled. “Are you kidding me?”

  “A variety of sources led me to Timberline—that Pacific Chorus frog, the scenery and my response to it, and the missing children. I just feel it.”

  “Tell me all of it.” Scarlett shoved off the chair. “But I need to get comfortable first. Duke, do you want something to drink? A beer? A shot of whiskey?”

  “Whiskey? Ah, no, but I’ll take a beer. I have a feeling I’m gonna need it.”

  Scarlett went into the kitchen, her long hair waving down her back. She returned with a bottle of beer, which she handed to him, and her arm around a bottle of whiskey with her index finger and thumb pinching two shot glasses together. She put them on the tree table, filled each one about halfway with the amber liquid and then gave one to Beth.

  “Tell me everything.” Scarlett held up her shot glass and Beth touched it with hers.

  They both downed the whiskey in one gulp.

  Beth launched into her story—the same one she’d told him, except she hadn’t mentioned the hypnotherapy.

  Scarlett interrupted her here and there to ask a question or inject a comment. She was seriously considering helping Beth.

  “You don’t still have the original frog, do you?”

  “No. I remember having that frog as a child and it’s in my earliest pictures, but I don’t know what my parents did with it. They probably threw it away.”

  “Do you have anything else from that time period?”

  Beth nodded. “A locket.”