Sudden Second Chance

by Carol Ericson

  “Of course. Come in. Coffee? Water?” She winked. “Something a little stronger?”

  What was it with the Washington women and their whiskey? Must be the cold, damp weather.

  “No, thank you. I just had lunch.”

  “Do you need to set up that camera?”

  “I do.” Beth gestured to the sofa where a magazine had been placed facedown on one of the cushions. “Sit where you’re comfortable.”

  Dorothy sat on the sofa and folded her hands in her lap. “Is this a good place for lighting and all that?”

  Beth extended her tripod on the other side of the coffee table in front of the sofa. “I’m no cameraperson. I have someone who does that for me. I’m just here doing some preliminary interviews. Just casual.”

  “Oh, thank goodness. Then I have nothing to be nervous about.”

  “Of course not.” Beth’s fingers trembled as she touched the video camera’s display for the settings. She was the nervous one. This woman could’ve actually known her as a toddler.

  Beth started the interview in the usual manner. Dorothy stated her name, address and the current date, and Beth questioned her about what she remembered twenty-five years ago.

  It didn’t differ much from the other accounts. The suspicions about Kayla Rush’s father, and then the shock of Stevie Carson’s disappearance, and the sheer terror when the toddler Heather Brice went missing.

  “Three children snatched—” Dorothy snapped her fingers “—just like that. Those of us with young kids were terrified. I didn’t let my boys out of my sight for one second for months after the kidnappings.”

  “And you were close with the Brices at the time?”

  “We were friendly, socialized. Timberline wasn’t as populated in those days. Evergreen Software brought in a lot of new people.”

  “Do you remember Heather?”

  “A sweet little girl.”

  “She had blond hair, didn’t she?” Beth had been twisting her own hair around one finger and dropped it. “I saw some fuzzy newspaper photos of her.”

  “It was blond, just like her mother’s, although Patty had a little help from her hairdresser.”

  “Blond?” A knot formed in Beth’s gut. “Mrs. Brice was a blonde?”

  “She had been. Like I said, she lightened her hair. I think her real color was light brown.”

  Beth fingered the necklace around her neck. Light brown, not strawberry blond? She dropped the locket against her chest. That didn’t mean anything. The woman in Scarlett’s vision could’ve been the kidnapper.

  “Was there some evidence regarding hair?”

  “No, no. I was just thinking about some pictures I saw that were related to the case.”

  Beth asked more questions about the family, as many as she could without arousing Dorothy’s suspicions again.

  She ended the interview with a warm feeling in her belly. By all accounts, the Brices were a close and loving family. They would welcome their long-lost daughter with open arms.

  As Beth shut off the camera, she asked, “Did Mr. Brice already have his money when he lived here?”

  “They were wealthy because Charlie had sold his first patent, but nothing compared to what they are now.” Dorothy dragged the magazine into her lap and smoothed her hands over the glossy cover. “If little Heather had been kidnapped first, everyone would’ve expected a ransom note.”

  “Did you keep in touch with the family when they left town?”

  “Exchanged a few Christmas cards, but I think Patty and Charlie wanted to put this chapter behind them.”

  “With all their money, did they ever do a private search for Heather?”

  “I’m sure they did, but she never told me about it. They moved two years later.” Dorothy pushed out of the sofa. “Would you like something now?”

  “Water would be great.”

  Dorothy called from the kitchen. “I think I have a few pictures of Heather with my boys, if you’re interested, but I’d have to find them.”

  Beth’s heart thumped in her chest. She’d seen only the old newspaper pictures of Heather Brice. She’d felt no sense of recognition, but that didn’t mean anything. Maybe clearer, color photos would reveal more.

  “I’d love to see them if you can find them.”

  Dorothy returned with a glass of water. “I’ll look later and give you a call if I have anything useful.”

  Beth took a few sips of water. “Do you know of any cabins around here that have red doors?”

  “Not now, not anymore.”

  Beth’s hand froze, the glass halfway to her lips. “Not anymore? There was one before?”

  “There were several. It was a trend.”

  “How long ago was this, Dorothy?” Beth wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “Maybe thirty, thirty-five years ago. Designs follow trends, don’t they? Remember the hideous avocado-green appliances? Now everything has to be stainless steel.”

  “How many cabins had these red doors?”

  “Ten or fifteen?” She peered at Beth. “Why? Is this some new evidence, too?”

  “I can’t say right now. Were these cabins in the same area or scattered around?”

  “I can’t remember, Beth. They were here and there. Who knew at the time that any of this stuff would be important?”

  “Are there any left? Any cabins with red doors?”

  “There might be a few. You’d probably want to talk to a Realtor—not that lush Bill Raney, but you could try Rebecca Geist. She’s a sharp gal. Just sold Cass Teagan’s place.”

  “Maybe I will. I’ve seen a few of her open houses around.”

  “When are you going to make a decision about the story and the footage?”

  “I’ll submit everything to my producer and he’ll make the decision. Then the rest of my crew will come out and we’ll put a story together.”

  “You won’t solve it and neither will that handsome young FBI agent who’s out here now.” Dorothy put her finger to her lips and said in a hushed voice, “I’m beginning to believe it really was that Quileute basket lady who steals children away and eats them.”

  * * *

  BETH COLLAPSED IN her car, a range of emotions assaulting her brain. Whose strawberry blond hair was in her locket? Her own? If so, who was the strawberry blonde Scarlett had seen in the vision? Maybe Scarlett had seen her as an adult.

  Her mind shifted, another scattered piece of information in her brain taking shape, like a figure in a kaleidoscope.

  Was there a way to find all those cabins that had red doors? If she tracked down each one, would she discover the cabin from her trance?

  She threw her car into Reverse and backed out of Dorothy’s driveway. She needed to touch base with Scarlett again. Had the shaman remembered more from her dream state?

  She drove across town and hit the main highway. She took the turnoff, watching for the colorful mailbox that marked Scarlett’s private access road.

  Duke hadn’t wanted her to come out here by herself, but he’d been busy all day and this couldn’t wait. She pulled up when she saw the mailbox and tapped Duke’s number on her cell phone.

  “Where are you? I’ve been texting you for the past thirty minutes.” His voice was gruff.

  “I didn’t get your texts. I’m on my way to see Scarlett.”

  “Damn it, Beth. You couldn’t wait for me?”

  “It’s broad daylight.”

  “It was broad daylight last time. Stay put. I’m on my way.”

  “I’m at Scarlett’s mailbox at the beginning of the access road. I’ll just drive up to her place and wait for you. I don’t even know if she’s home.”

  “Stay in your car.”

  “Duke, I think you’re overreacting.�
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  “Let me overreact if it keeps you safe.”

  She ended the call and swung onto the access road leading to Scarlett’s cabin. The rough road bounced and jostled her car, and she drove it as far as the road allowed.

  She grabbed the handle, cracked the door open and stopped. She’d promised Duke she’d wait in the car until he got there—a ridiculous precaution, but one she’d honor.

  Tipping her head back against the headrest, Beth drummed out a rhythm against the steering wheel and then checked the time on her cell phone. Scarlett must not be home if she hadn’t heard Beth’s car drive up the road.

  She swung the car door open the rest of the way and dragged in a deep lungful of the pine-scented air. The mist caressing the copse of trees ringing Scarlett’s cabin gave the area a mythical, mystical quality that suited its inhabitant.

  A loud wail shattered the peace, sending a river of chills down her spine. She jumped out of the car and hung on the car door. “Hello? Scarlett?”

  An animalistic shriek pierced the air and Beth bolted from the car and ran down the small path that wound its way through the trees to Scarlett’s cabin. The front porch came into view and Beth charged ahead.

  A vise grabbed her ankle with a snap and Beth tumbled forward onto her hands and knees as a sharp pain knifed up her leg. She hit the ground with a cry and rolled to her back to take pressure off her ankle.

  Her eyes watering, she glanced at her injured leg and choked. A trap had her in its steely grip.

  Chapter Twelve

  Duke cursed when he saw Beth’s car and the open door. Why didn’t it surprise him that she hadn’t stayed put like he’d asked? When had Beth St. Regis ever played it safe?

  He slammed his car door and stalked to her rental. The open door gave him pause. He poked his head inside the car and swallowed. Why’d she leave her keys in the ignition and phone in the cup holder?

  A low moan floated through the trees and he jerked his head up, the blood pounding in his ears. “Beth?”

  “Duke? Duke, I’m here. Help me.”

  He crashed through the trees, and when he saw Beth on the ground, crumpled in pain, he rushed to her side. He dropped next to her, reaching for the cruel trap that had her boot in its teeth.

  “Oh, my God. Did the spikes reach your flesh?”

  Her chin wobbled. “I can’t tell. It’s almost numb with pain. I’m afraid to move or I would’ve crawled to my car to get my phone.”

  “Where’s Scarlett?” He twisted his head over his shoulder.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen anyone since I arrived.” She ended with a hiss.

  “Stretch out your leg. I’m gonna get this thing off of you.”

  Slowly she extended her leg, the trap clamped onto her ankle.

  Duke placed both hands on either side of the trap’s jaws and pulled them apart. The spring jumped and the trap snapped open.

  The teeth of the trap had mangled Scarlett’s boot, but he didn’t see any blood. “I don’t see any blood, but I’m going to leave it to the medical professionals to remove your boot.”

  “Thank God I was wearing them. My foot and ankle hurt like hell, but it’s just a mass of pain. I can’t tell what’s injured.”

  “Let’s get you to the hospital.” He scooped her up and tromped back the way he’d come, keeping his eyes on the ground for any more surprises.

  “Somebody placed that trap there on purpose, Duke, and lured me out of my car.”

  “How?” His arms tightened around her and he could feel the erratic fluttering of her heart against his chest.

  “I heard wailing and a scream. It sounded like a wounded animal, but it could’ve been human.” She tugged on his jacket. “We need to warn Scarlett. There may be more traps set around her cabin.”

  “I’m calling the sheriff’s department.” He settled her into the passenger seat and placed a kiss on top of her head, where his lips met beads of dew clinging to the strands of her hair.

  “And Scarlett. That trap could’ve just as well been meant for her.”

  “Or you.” When he got behind the wheel, he pulled his phone from his pocket. At Beth’s urging, his first call went to Scarlett.

  “Hello?”

  “Scarlett, it’s Duke Harper. I’m just leaving your place with Beth, who stepped into a trap outside your cabin.”

  Scarlett sucked in a sharp breath. “What kind of trap?”

  “I’m not sure, but it could be a bear trap.”

  “A trap? You mean a real animal trap?”

  “That’s what it looks like to me.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “I’m taking her to the hospital emergency room, but be careful. There might be more traps around your cabin.”

  “The police?”

  “I’m calling the sheriff next. Where are you?”

  “I’m at my granny’s place on the reservation. How the hell did a bear trap get on my property?”

  “I was hoping you could tell us.”

  “Duke, it could’ve been meant for me. It might not have anything to do with Beth.”

  “Yeah, except she’s the one who was trapped.”

  He ended the call with Scarlett and tapped his phone for the sheriff’s department. He told them about the wounded animal sound Beth had heard and gave them the location of the trap he’d removed from her ankle.

  Tossing the phone onto the console, he said, “Scarlett thinks the trap could’ve been meant for her.”

  “It could’ve been meant for either one of us.” Beth winced and rubbed her thigh.

  “You doing okay? Hang in there.” He sped back toward town, taking the bypass road to the new hospital near Evergreen Software.

  He pulled up to the emergency room entrance and carried Beth inside. “She needs a wheelchair. She stepped onto a trap and injured her foot or ankle.”

  An orderly burst through the swinging doors, pushing a wheelchair.

  Duke put her into the chair and followed the orderly back to the examination rooms.

  The orderly lifted Beth onto an exam table and said, “A nurse will be right with you.”

  The paper on the exam table crinkled as Beth hoisted herself up onto her elbows. “Who would do that? You know that trap was deliberately set.”

  “Of course it was, but who was the prey? You or Scarlett?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest like a shield. “It’s Scarlett’s place. No one could know for sure if I’d be back there, but Scarlett would be there, guaranteed.”

  “Just seems odd that both of these attacks at Scarlett’s cabin happened when you were there. Is Scarlett even in an active battle with the hunters right now? I got the impression she hadn’t been around much lately.”

  “Maybe—” Beth peered over his shoulder at the door “—maybe Scarlett was the target, but not for her antihunting stance.”

  “Then what? Her really creepy artwork?”

  “The dream state ceremony last night.”

  Duke’s pulse jumped. That would put Beth right back in the crosshairs since she’d participated, too. He rubbed his knuckles across his jaw. “Whoever placed that trap wants both you and Scarlett to stop looking into the Timberline Trio case. Maybe they didn’t care who they snared.”

  “What I don’t understand is why me? Why is this person just warning me and not you? The FBI is investigating the Timberline Trio case, too.”

  “Because targeting the FBI is a bigger deal than scaring off some reporter and an artist playing at being a shaman.”

  She smacked his arm. “Scarlett’s not playing at being a shaman—she is one.”

  “For all the good it did.”

  “It did help. You know I spoke to Dorothy Unger today.”

  “I
got your text. Did she take you by the shoulders and proclaim that you looked just like Heather Brice?”

  “Shh.” Beth glanced at the open exam room door again. “She didn’t, but she did tell me that quite a number of cabins in Timberline used to have red doors—seems it was a trend a while back.”

  “Those doors may no longer be red.”

  “I figured that, but she also gave me the name of a Realtor who might be able to help me figure out which cabins had the red doors. If I had that information, I could track down each one.”

  “Provided they’re still standing. Not even the Brices’ old home is still in existence.”

  “I know.” She fell back against the table.

  He hated to keep dashing her hopes, but she needed to get out of this town. The threats against her seemed to be getting more violent.

  He smoothed a hand down her leg. Maybe he’d have some news for her shortly that would turn her away from this story and end this quest that seemed to be hazardous to her health.

  The nurse bustled into the room. Touching the toe of Beth’s mangled boot, she said, “Ruined a nice pair of boots, too. Let’s get this off.”

  The nurse took a scalpel and sliced through the leather of the boot on Beth’s calf. She peeled it off and clicked her tongue. “Your ankle is swollen for sure, but I don’t see any blood. It doesn’t look like the teeth of the trap made it to your flesh.”

  “I can’t even imagine what that would’ve felt like.” Beth shivered.

  The nurse peeled off Beth’s heavy sock and Beth grunted. “That looks bad.”

  “Swollen and the start of some massive bruising.”

  Duke leaned over and inspected Beth’s injured ankle. “Is it broken?”

  “The doctor will probably order some X-rays.” The nurse ran some antiseptic towelettes over Beth’s ankle and foot. “How’s the pain on a scale from one to ten, ten being childbirth?”

  A red tide crested in Beth’s cheeks. “I’ve never experienced childbirth, but I’d put this pain at a six now—definitely a nine when it first happened.”

  The nurse held out a small cup with two green gel caps in it. “I’m going to give you a few ibuprofens for the pain and the swelling. The doctor may prescribe some stronger painkillers for you.”