Echoes of Terror

by Maris Soule

  “Well I’m not convinced,” Crystal said, standing and brushing the creases out of her beige slacks. She looked at her husband. “Honey, don’t you need to call your banker and broker?”

  Morgan looked at her and then shrugged. “I suppose I’d better. God, I hate to do this.”

  “Tom, this is your daughter we’re talking about. She already thinks you value your job and money more than you do her. Don’t prove her right.”

  For a moment, Gordon wondered what Morgan would say. The man stared at his wife, started to open his mouth, then simply nodded and made the next call.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Katherine left the station through the side door and almost ran into Vince Nanini and Cora Tremway. “Something is wrong,” the elderly woman said, the blue umbrella she held above her head twitching with each word as she pointed a finger at Nanini’s chest. “You people don’t believe me, but I know I’m right. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “What do you feel?” Katherine asked, pretty sure anything Cora felt in her bones was due to arthritis and the chilly rain.

  The pointing finger switched from Nanini’s chest to Katherine’s. Faded, blue eyes narrowed slightly and another wrinkle joined the ones creasing the woman’s forehead. “That something’s happened to them. Something’s happened to Martha and John. I’ve been calling Martha for five days now, and all I get is the answering machine. Same message. They’re away from the phone and will call back. But they don’t. Call, that is.” Cora’s gaze switched back to Nanini. “Were you in my history class?”

  “No. I’m not from around here.” He glanced at Katherine, his look relaying his confusion . . . and perhaps his desire to escape.

  “You look like one of the Norris boys.” Cora gave him a quick scan, and then said, “She wasn’t at Bunco Monday night.”

  It took Katherine a moment to realize Cora was again talking about Martha Grayson. “Aren’t they out of town?” Katherine remembered Gordon telling her that. “They stopped their mail and paper.”

  Cora shook her head. “Martha didn’t say anything about going anywhere. We always play on Mondays. There I was, Monday night, waiting for her to show up . . . and she never did.” Again she looked at Nanini. “And, if they’re ‘out of town,’ how come just a while ago I saw John’s grey Chevy?”

  “You saw John Grayson’s Chevy Tahoe?” Katherine repeated. “With John driving it?”

  Cora looked away, up the street, her chin slightly raised. “I wasn’t close enough to actually see who was driving. But, I know it was John’s car.”

  Katherine tried not to smile. Considering the woman’s poor eyesight, chances were it wasn’t even a Chevy Tahoe she saw. Just like the white bear Cora said she saw at the Graysons’ place was probably a light-colored cinnamon.

  “My eyesight may not be the best,” Cora said, almost as if reading Katherine’s mind. “But, I know that SUV was his. He has one of those pink ribbons on the back, ’cause Martha had cancer a few years ago. And, don’t you go smiling. I did see a white bear.” She said it firmly, then sighed and lowered her gaze. “But I’m not so sure about the bear driving the truck.”

  Vince Nanini chuckled. “Now that would be something to see.”

  “Sure looked like one.” Cora kept looking at Katherine. “I know you think I’m a crazy old woman, but I’m worried about Martha. Can’t you at least go check on her? She could be sick. Maybe hurt. John’s a good guy, but he’s getting a little addled. I’m not sure what’s wrong, but I feel something is.”

  “I’ll go check,” Katherine said and touched the old woman’s arm. It would at least give her something to do. “Now, did someone bring you into town?” She knew Cora no longer drove.

  Cora nodded and again looked up the street. “My granddaughter, Molly, did. She’s at the library. She’s using one of their printers to get some pictures off a net.” Cora shook her head. “We used to catch fish in a net. My father and I would go out early in the morning. We’d put the boat in on the Taiya Inlet, and I would help him set his nets. We—”

  Nanini smiled and Katherine chuckled. “This is a different kind of net, Cora. Do you want to wait inside, out of the rain, until Molly’s finished getting those pictures printed?” Katherine nodded toward the station’s entrance.

  “No, I probably better walk back.” Cora smiled. “She thinks I’m looking for a book to read. Don’t want her worrying about me.”

  “I can drive you there.” Katherine motioned toward the station’s parking lot.

  “No need. I can still walk. Doctor says it’s good for me. You just get along and check on Martha. Okay?”

  “I will,” Katherine assured her. Not that she thought she’d find anyone at the house, but maybe one of the neighbors would know where the couple went.

  Seeming satisfied, Cora nodded, then scowled at Vince Nanini. “You sure you weren’t in one of my history classes?”

  “Not unless you were teaching in Seattle, Washington.”

  “No; I did visit there in my younger years, but I did all my teaching right here in Skagway.” She kept looking at him. “You should wear a hat. A hat would keep your head warm . . . and dry.”

  “You’re probably right,” he agreed, smiling as he wiped droplets of water away from his face.

  “Of course I’m right.” She glanced at Katherine and winked. “Teacher’s always right.”

  Katherine smiled and watched Cora’s slender figure move away from them, umbrella held protectively above the elderly woman’s wildly-frizzled, white hair.

  “Did you have her as a teacher?” Nanini asked, his voice lowered.

  “No. I didn’t move here until I was a teenager, long after she retired. But a lot of people around here did have her as a teacher. From what I hear, she was pretty sharp in her younger years. Nowadays . . .” Katherine sighed. “She calls us once or twice a month because she thinks she’s heard something or believes someone came in and took something. Which isn’t easy to tell since she’s a hoarder.”

  “She lives alone?”

  Katherine nodded. “In a house that was built after the Gold Rush. From what I’ve heard, she was born in the house. She moved away when she got married. Came back a few years later, a widow with three children. One daughter and a granddaughter, Molly, still live here. They more or less watch over Cora, take her places.” Katherine smiled. “They try to keep her from bothering us, but as long as Cora can remember how to use a telephone or is able to walk a few blocks, I’m sure we’ll keep hearing from her.”

  “So are you going to check on this Martha person, like she asked?”

  “I will.” Katherine glanced back at the entryway to the station. Gordon might not want her looking for Charles, but he hadn’t said anything about a case that might be related to Misty’s kidnapping. “There’s something I need to do first.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Russell Ward gazed out the window above his kitchen sink. He knew he’d come in here for something, but, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what. It bothered him that he was forgetting things. Not just what he’d come into this room for, or where he put his car keys, or what somebody’s name was, but more important things like what the pills were for that Katherine said he had to take. Had he had breakfast that morning? And, what had happened to his wife?

  He knew she was gone, but he wasn’t sure where she’d gone. To the store? If so, would she be returning soon? He hoped so. He missed hearing her voice, seeing her smile.

  Tears filled his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, unsure why he was crying.

  A vehicle turned the corner down the street, coming toward the house and drawing Russell’s thoughts away from his wife. He knew that car. But why? It wasn’t his. He was sure of that, though he couldn’t remember if he still had the 4-wheel drive Ram or a Dodge Durango. All he knew was he liked Dodges, and this wasn’t a Dodge.

  The SUV stopped in front of the house, and Russell leaned forward, over the sink, so he could see better.
Now that the car was parked, he could tell it was one of those Chevy Tahoes. Katherine liked them, but the one Katherine drove said Police on the side.

  At least he thought it did.

  He looked at the clock on the microwave. It wasn’t even noon yet. Was someone coming over to see him? If so, he didn’t remember inviting anyone.

  The sound of a car door closing brought his attention back to the window. A man had gotten out of the vehicle. Someone he knew, or at least had met. Russell was sure of that, but he couldn’t remember when or where . . . or what the man’s name was. Not that that was unusual.

  He watched the man walk to the front door. Russell knew then that the guy wasn’t a local. Locals never used the front door. They’d come around to the side door and knock, or just walk in with a holler that announced their arrival.

  Lean and lanky, the guy kept looking up and down the street, as if expecting someone to come out of a door. Russell watched until he could no longer follow the man’s progress, then he stepped back from the sink and waited for what he knew would come next.

  The door chimes echoed through the house, and Russell shuffled out of the kitchen and into the living room and entryway. Before he turned the door knob, he glanced down at his clothing, not sure if he’d gotten dressed that morning or was still in his pajamas. To his relief, he saw he had on his favorite brown-and-blue plaid flannel shirt, tan slacks, and brown loafers. A quick check with his tongue assured him he had his teeth in. A hand to his face told him he hadn’t shaved that morning. Well, whomever this was would just have to take him the way he was.

  “Mornin’, Russ,” the man said when the door was opened. “How you doing today?”

  “Doin’ all right,” Russell answered, stepping back when the man opened the screen and started into the house. “I, ah . . .” He groped for a name, but nothing came to him. “I’m afraid I don’t remember—”

  “Chuck,” the man answered and held out his hand. “That fisherman buddy of yours introduced us one day. Remember? I was over at his house when you stopped by. You were sort of lost, and we drove you home.”

  Russell didn’t remember, but he shook the man’s hand. He did know who Chuck meant by “fisherman buddy.” That had to be Phil. Phil Carpenter was crazy about fishing. “How is Phil?” he asked, vaguely remembering Katherine asking him something about her coworker.

  “He’s been under the weather for the last two days,” Chuck said with a grin. “Fact is, he asked me to pick you up and bring you to him.”

  “Phil wants me to go to his house?” Russell asked. He looked behind him, into the living room. He couldn’t remember if his wife was in the other room. If so, he would have to tell her he was going out.

  “Do you need to leave a note for Kit Kat?”

  “Kit Kat?” That wasn’t his wife’s name.

  “Your granddaughter. Kit Kat. Or whatever you call her nowadays.”

  “You mean Katherine? No, she . . .” he started to say, then stopped. “Maybe I should.”

  “If you want, I’ll write it for you.”

  “Yes.” Russell nodded, a fog of confusion dulling his reaction. “A note would be good. Katherine’s at work, I think. I’m not sure where my wife is. I think she went shopping.” He followed Chuck into the kitchen. “She worries if I go out without telling her.”

  “Well, we’ll leave her a note.” Chuck rummaged through a couple of drawers, came up with a notepad and pencil and wrote a quick message. “I’m sure Kit Kat will be glad to get this.”

  Chuck left the note by the telephone, then turned to Russell. “You mind if we take your Durango? That Chevy is almost out of gas.”

  So it was a Durango he had. Russell Ward smiled and nodded. He wasn’t totally losing his mind.

  “Good. You might need this,” Chuck said, grabbing a lightweight jacket from a hook in the mudroom area. “The rain has stopped, but it’s a little cool out.”

  Something about the way the guy was taking over and making assumptions bothered Russell. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go anywhere with the man. “We can’t take my car,” he said. “My granddaughter took the keys.”

  “Now that wasn’t nice, was it?” Chuck looked around. “Where do you think she put them?”

  “I don’t know,” Russell said, more truth to that than he liked to admit.

  Chuck checked a few drawers in the kitchen, then stepped into the living room and looked down the hallway toward the bedrooms. “Which one is hers?”

  “I think you need to leave now,” Russell Ward said, wishing Katherine would come home.

  “Oh, but we need to go see Phil.” Chuck gave a smile, then started down the hallway. “I’m sure I can tell which bedroom is hers.”

  Russell watched the man go into Katherine’s bedroom. “I don’t think you should be in there,” he said, and shuffled over to the doorway. The man was opening drawers in Katherine’s dresser and pawing through her things. “Stop it!” Russell demanded. “That’s her room. Her things. I don’t go in there, and she knows it.”

  “Which makes this a good place to hide things.” Chuck ignored him and walked over to the closet and slid open the door. “Things like extra ammo.” He tossed a box on her bed. “Extra cans of pepper spray.” Those also went on the bed. “My gosh, doesn’t she wear anything even remotely feminine?” Uniform after uniform was pushed aside, along with hangers of sweatshirts, jeans, bulky sweaters, and jackets. Finally, Chuck reached up on the shelf above the hangers, way back in a corner, and pulled down a box. Turning toward Russell, he flipped the lid open and smiled.

  “These your keys, Russ?” he asked, holding up a ring of keys that did look familiar.

  “You shouldn’t have those,” Russell said. “She took them for a reason.” Though, he couldn’t remember what the reason was. “Put them back. Put everything back.”

  “Now, now,” Chuck cajoled and walked toward Russell, the key ring dangling from one finger. “Don’t go and get yourself all upset. We still need to take a little ride.”

  Russell couldn’t remember why they were supposed to take a ride, but he knew he didn’t want to go with this man. Not now, not ever. “I’m not going,” he said. “I have things to do.”

  “Oh, and I was so looking forward to your company,” Chuck said softly.

  He’d gotten closer than Russell realized, and moved faster than Russell expected. With one swift motion, Chuck spun him around and pinned his arms behind him. The pain that radiated from his wrists to his shoulders made Russell bend forward, and he knew there was no way he could break away from the man’s iron grip.

  “You,” Chuck snarled near his ear, “are coming with me, whether you like it or not. You are my revenge for what your sweet little granddaughter did to me; for the years I spent in that ridiculous hospital, being shocked and poked and forced to sit through therapy session after therapy session.”

  “You’re hurting me,” Russell moaned, his knees starting to buckle beneath him.

  “Tell someone who cares,” Chuck said, then whispered, “Remember The Beekeeper, Grandpa? Well he’s back, and you’ve just been stung.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Katherine started for the parking area and Vince followed. He knew she didn’t want him tagging along, but he also knew she was his best bet of finding Misty. “If you’re not checking on the Graysons, where are we headed?” he asked when she reached her Tahoe.

  “We aren’t headed anywhere,” she said and made a “go away” gesture with her hand. “Don’t you need to take care of your plane? Get new tires or something?”

  He smiled and walked around to the passenger-side door. “Already taken care of. I called the mechanic at the airport, and he’s ordered new tires that are being flown in this afternoon.”

  “Must be nice to have enough money to simply call and get what you need.”

  He heard the derision in her voice. “Hey, I work hard for my money. I’m paying to have those tires rushed so if we need that plane—for any reason—i
t will be available. Now, I believe you said you had somewhere you wanted to go. Do you have an idea where Bell has Misty?”

  She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head.

  “You’re sure? No idea?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she nearly shouted. “Why would I know? You people act like I’ve been in touch with him. Well, I haven’t been, not since the trial when I testified against him.”

  She took in a deep breath, and Vince watched her struggle to gain control. He waited, and saw when she was back in her police officer mode.

  “We—” she went on. “—all of our officers, have been calling people, trying to find out where Charles might be staying, where he might be keeping two girls. We—” She stopped talking, her gaze focused up the street. “Oh, shit,” she swore. “Get in the car.”

  Vince looked that direction and saw a van with a TV station logo on the side coming toward them. Quickly he opened the cruiser’s door and slid in. Katherine had the engine started and the vehicle moving before he had his door completely shut. With a squeal of tires and lights flashing, she headed off in the opposite direction, as if in pursuit of a criminal or on her way to a crime scene. Vince finished shutting the door and clicked his seatbelt into place, then looked back. The TV van pulled into the parking lot they’d just left.

  “Someone must have told them,” Katherine said, giving him an accusing look as she turned onto the next street.

  “Hey, watch it!” he yelled as a woman stepped out in front of the cruiser.

  Katherine slammed on the brakes, propelling both of them forward. Vince’s seatbelt tightened across his chest as the Tahoe stopped only inches from the pedestrian. The woman glared at them and yelled something. Katherine started to undo her seatbelt, swearing when it didn’t immediately release.

  Vince placed a hand on her arm. “Calm down.”

  She shook off his arm. “I will not calm down. She shouldn’t have been in the street. Why don’t they listen? What do they think we have these sirens for?”