by Linda Welch
Jack’s head jutted between the front seats. “Where is Mel?”
“Clever move back there, by the way. Tossing out the notebook.”
“All I could think of.”
“Where is Mel?” Jack screeched.
He didn’t see me smile. “I ditched her.”
“You di. . . . How?” His voice rose in outrage. “Why did you leave her there?”
“She was in another part of the house when I caught a ride with Susan. We don’t need Mel. You’ve always thought she’s dead weight, Jack.”
“I . . . no I never. . . ,” he spluttered. “You go back right now and get her!”
“Why, Jack, I didn’t know you cared.”
“Silly boy, she’s teasing you,” Maggie said with a grin.
“Boy!” Oh, my. Jack erupted. “I’m three times your age, young lady.”
“Only because you’re dead.”
Maggie was getting into the swing of things with Jack. What a shame she didn’t see my broad grin.
I took pity on him. “Jack, Mel is keeping an eye on Anne Magnusen.” And I told him and Maggie what we discovered in the Magnusen house. “Perhaps she’ll call Avery.”
“But don’t you think the cops have bugged her phones?” Maggie asked.
“Maybe, maybe not. Getting a warrant issued takes time.”
“Oh.” Maggie gnawed on her lip. “Anyway, where to now?”
I laid it on thick. “If it’s okay with you, Jack, I’d like your ears and eyes on the PD.”
Jack’s body went limp and he grimaced. “After spending one of the longest nights of my life there?”
“I could have asked Mel but I pictured all those hunky detectives. She’s so easily distracted.”
Jack sucked his lower lip as his eyebrows rose.
“Not to mention the equally hunky men in blue.” I added ingeniously. “I need someone I can rely on. Jack, you’ll be invaluable.”
“Invaluable?” Jack preened, running his hands over his chest. “If you’re sure you need me there, how can I say no? What will you be doing while Mel’s at the Avery house and I’m at Clarion PD?”
“Maggie, have you been to Nordic Meadow?”
“Yeah, years ago. Not lately. Why?” Maggie’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You don’t want to go there?”
“The Magnusens have a cabin there. I want to look around it.”
She coughed. “No. Way. Those roads are steep, the Mini will lose traction. Sliding off the mountainside may not bother you but I’m not risking it.”
“The roads aren’t bad. Kids have to drive them to attend Clarion High. The county does a better job with them than with Clarion’s streets.”
“Yeah, and too many go over the side every winter. It’s a wonder there aren’t fatalities.”
“They drive like maniacs. The roads are fine.”
“We’re nearly there,” said Jack.
We approached the courthouse. Maggie crawled to a snail’s pace and edged to the sidewalk opposite the wide steps. “Quickly. Before anyone in Beanz spots me.” She let her arm flop out the open window.
Jack slid out of the car but lingered, still clinging to Maggie’s aura. “You will come for me?”
“You bet, Jack.”
“You better. And, Maggie, please take her to Nordic Meadow. The sooner we get her in her body, the better.”
“I’ll think about it.” Maggie folded her hand back inside, forcing Jack to release her or be dragged when she drove off.
We drove away, leaving Jack on the sidewalk. With all the people going in and out of the courthouse he would soon hitch a ride inside.
“Maggie, you have to take me to Nordic Meadow.”
She shot me a sideways glance. “I don’t have to do anything. And what good will it do, anyway? The cops will have been through the cabin.”
“They may have missed something.”
She took a right on Orchard. “If the roads are bad, I’m going home.”
I wanted to hug her. “You’ll take me? Thank you. Thank you, Maggie. Your help means so much to me,” I gushed.
“Yeah, invaluable,” she said sarcastically.
I felt quite merry as we left the city limits and crossed the valley heading west. Something intangible told me the cabin was important. I’d find its secret if I had to stick my ethereal face into every crack and crevice.
But we had to find the place first.
Chapter Ten
The road followed the Snake River where ice crept in from both riverbanks, leaving a narrow jagged channel zigzagging a trail of rushing water. The pure white snow on fields and trees glistened. Already frozen and with snow settled on it, the lake resembled a gigantic field. Abundantly dotted with ice fishermen’s shelters, the older, rigid brown styles looked like molehills bursting through the snow.
We drove past Nordic Market and the post office, which serve Nordic Meadow and the adjacent towns of Hunter and Freedom. The next left, a steep road, led to Nordic Meadow.
Founded in 1860, Nordic Meadow began as a small farming community. The slopes were popular with local families for tobogganing, sledding and tubing before the resort opened in the late 1960s with a ski hill, two chairlifts and several ski runs. Over the years, the ski area expanded with additional terrain prepped and cleared, and more ski runs were available by the 1970s. It’s a small resort with an elevation of 7,400 feet, popular with beginners and families.
With a population of 650, Nordic Meadow is still a small, unincorporated community. There are no street lights, little traffic and no pollution. The roads are narrow and winding and not always signposted. Every home is set away from the road at the end of a long driveway and many don’t post their addresses outside, illegal as it makes finding a place difficult for emergency services. The residents of Nordic Meadow don’t care. I have heard they value their privacy and someone told me they are friendly without being intrusive, but if a neighbor needs help they are there for them.
A fresh fall had left two inches of snow on the road. Maggie guided the car to follow tracks left by another vehicle. “This isn’t too bad.”
The car crept around a ninety-degree bend at the top, and less than two minutes later we were in another world.
“Shit!” from Maggie.
We drove on compacted snow and walls of the stuff rose either side of the road, making it little more than a single lane width.
People get lost in Nordic Meadow. I don’t mean lost as in call out Search and Rescue, you can see the valley below and find your way out if you keep heading north. I mean lost when they are trying to find an address for the first time. We got lost quickly and passed the same house twice before we got to a main road. Turned out, it was wider and clearer of snow because it led to the ski resort and the management kept it open to give skiers easier access.
I knew, from the photo of Avery’s cabin, we needed to be higher and south of the resort. I drew Maggie’s attention to the first road past the resort. “Surrey. We need to go up there.”
Maggie pulled up and let the Mini idle. “You are kidding me.”
A mighty steep road faced the Mini. They tend to be steep when they climb a mountain. “I’m sure you can make it.”
“No you’re not.”
“So I’m not. But you can try.”
Shaking her head in annoyance as she puffed out a breath, Maggie got the Mini going and turned right.
Near the top of the hill, the wheels spun. We must have hit ice under the snow. Maggie put the car into reverse and backed, swinging nearer the road’s edge. For a horrible second, I didn’t think the Mini would stop and we’d go sailing downhill but the plucky little car gripped the surface. We started off again and realized ice covered the width of the road. The Mini ended with its bumper in a snow-bank.
“Not doing that again,” Maggie declared firmly.
“I think there’s an easier way farther on.”
“We have to turn first.”
Maggie performe
d a reverse three-point-turn and the car edged down the incline. I would have held my breath if I had any.
We continued north, passing another equally steep hill on our right, a field on our left and climbed a gentle hill, more a bump in the road, and drove on the level again. Minutes later I spotted the other end of Surrey Lane on our right. “This one.”
We climbed gradually and navigated two small hills until level with the slopes.
“It has to be someplace on this road. Slow down.”
“You’re trying to be funny again, aren’t you,” Maggie said. If the Mini slowed much more, I could walk faster.
We chugged along checking out the homes visible from the road until we reached the top of the hill which had defeated the Mini and saw a mess of tire tracks where the little car swerved all over the place.
“It has to be one of the homes set way back.”
“You mean I have to turn around?” Maggie squeaked.
“Unless you want to drive on down the hill and around again.”
She shuddered as she eyed the hill. “No, thank you.”
After turning, we passed several driveways disappearing in the trees, but I vetoed them. “Nothing’s driven on the snow for days and I bet the police have been to Avery’s cabin. Watch for tracks.”
We arrived at a driveway where the snow was tamped and rutted. A lot of autos had driven on it. I asked Maggie to pull over past the entrance.
“This one?”
“May be.” I tried to see a house, thought I saw the edge of the roof but the trees obscured the rest. “Most of these places are vacation homes. Could be someone who lives here year ‘round, or vacationers come for the ski season. But it’s in the right place. We’ll walk from here.”
“Great.” She looked at her suede shoes. “These’ll be ruined and my feet will probably freeze.”
Grumbling under her breath, she got out of the car, locked it and started along the driveway with me clinging to her. Our eyes searched the snow-cloaked scenery for vehicles or people. Chickadees hopped on the branches and a magpie cried overhead but nothing else moved.
“Damn, it’s cold,” Maggie complained.
“I’m sure it is.”
“You don’t feel the cold?”
“I don’t feel anything externally.”
“Oh.”
That shut her up until we reached the cabin.
“This is it. See the wreath next to the door? I saw it in the photo.” Exhilarated and gesturing wildly with one hand, I almost let go of her. “And those curtains, they’re the same.”
“Was the door nailed shut in the photo?”
Four-by-fours top, bottom, middle and diagonal nailed the door to the frame. I pointed to the wood around the lock. “Look. The door’s been busted open.”
“Cops did it? They may come back at any time.”
“I doubt it. I’m guessing, but I expect they have the local sheriff keep an eye on the property. They don’t have the manpower to assign someone to watch twenty-four-seven.”
“But Avery’s a fugitive, the FBI are on it too. They may be out there hunkered down in winter camouflage.”
“Maggie, you’re letting your imagination run riot.”
“I’m letting self-preservation run riot. How am I going to explain getting caught?”
“You won’t get caught.”
“Says you.”
As frustrated as she made me, I was also on edge for I knew she might be right. I doubted agents in winter white hid in the trees but someone with a good pair of binoculars and a two-way radio on the ski slope may have eyes on the cabin.
I’d put Maggie in a bad position and part of me wanted to tell her we should leave, now. But I couldn’t. I needed her more than I ever needed anyone.
“Can you see inside?”
She moved along the porch to the big glass window. Cupping her hands against the glass to block reflective glare, she peered in. “Not much. A living room, and a kitchen in the rear, I think.”
“Is there a back door?”
“Can’t see from here.”
“Take us around back.”
She looked at her shoes, moisture making them a darker shade. “Why the hell not. They’re already ruined.” And she stepped off the end of the porch into deeper snow.
Talking her into breaking the glass in the back door and going in the cabin took me awhile.
A typical A-Frame vacation home, the back door opened to a kitchenette and breakfast room with a three-quarter bathroom off to the side. The front room, where stairs ascended to a loft, ran the width of the cabin. Two sleeper sofas, a coffee table and unit with a television covered most of the hardwood floor. Although small, the big windows made it a light and airy little place of pine floors and matching cabinets, and the wood-burning stove must make it toasty when lit.
I took a tentative step away from Maggie, another, and found I could move without her. “Okay, let’s poke through this place.”
She stood in the kitchen looking at the glass on the floor, guilt written on her face. “I should clear this up.” Her gaze went to the smashed pane in the door. “And what about this? Critters can get in and wreck the place.”
Raccoons would have a ball inside, but I didn’t feel friendly toward Avery Magnusen and although wild things destroying his possessions was petty revenge, I’d take it. “Don’t worry about it. We don’t have time.”
With a gusty sigh, Maggie stepped away from the glass. “What are we looking for exactly?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing.” I eyed the walls. There are spaces between and behind cabinets. “Look where you can and I’ll check places you can’t see into.”
“Maybe nothing?” she grumbled. But she swung open a cabinet door and looked inside.
I held my breath and closed my eyes. Being a shade came with a few perks and I meant to use them, including deliberately sticking my head through a wall. I disliked doing it, but maybe Avery hid something in crevices the cops didn’t know existed.
I searched the kitchen and found nothing hidden, no clues. One thing struck me as odd: although cabinets held cooking equipment, utensils and cleaning supplies, no packaged dried food or cans, no silverware or dishes, not even paper plates.
After we went through the kitchen, I checked out the master bedroom in the loft while Maggie explored the living space.
I came downstairs to find her looking in a closet next to the staircase. Wide but not deep, shelves on each side held board games and a long-handled fishing net hung on the back wall.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into coming,” she grouched. “What a waste of time.”
“Yeah. I don’t see any supplies stashed. If Avery is a survivalist, he has a place somewhere else and he’s hiding there.”
“Why are you obsessed with the survivalist gig? Maybe he likes those kinds of magazines. Maybe he thought of getting into it but didn’t.”
“It’s the only lead I have. Anne didn’t want anyone to see those magazines, including the police.”
“But surely it’ll surface during their investigation?”
“Eventually, but they haven’t dug deep yet.”
Maggie stepped nearer, halfway inside the closet and rapped the back wall with her knuckles. “You haven’t looked in here yet, but it seems solid enough.”
I stuck my head through the wall, expecting to look into the bathroom on the other side.
Face to face with Avery Magnusen, I squeaked.
Jerking my head free, I yelled, “Out! Maggie, get out! Avery is here!”
“Avery? Behind the—” she began, when the wall came down and hit her head. She yelped, stumbled and sat on her bottom with a thud. Eyes closed, she swayed and put one hand on the floor to support herself. All the color left her face. She was going to pass out.
The wall was an inch thick, backed by a thick sheet of insulation and a piece of plywood, so knocking didn’t produce the dull sound you get when there is a space behind a wall. Poor Maggi
e.
Avery Magnusen burst through the opening and stood over Maggie, his rifle’s stock pressed to his shoulder, sighting along the barrel at her.
“Maggie, stay with me!” I yelled.
She opened her eyes and surely wished she hadn’t when she saw Avery looming at her.
“Who are you? This is private property,” he growled. He glanced around.
“I . . . I’m sorry,” she said groggily.
“You’re going to be,” he threatened. “Who were you talking to? Give me your phone.”
And right then a large body crashed through the big front window, rolled, dove at Avery and smashed him to the floor. His rifle rolled over the boards. I automatically ducked as glass splinters and a shard as big as my hand flew through my body. Miraculously, the spraying glass didn’t catch Maggie and Avery.
It was one of those don’t try this at home, kids, moments. A regular man diving through a triple pane window is going to be badly cut, but Royal didn’t have a single nick on his big body.
He flipped Avery over, and Avery lay on his stomach pinned by an angry demon.
“Royal!” I yelled.
Royal came prepared. He wrenched Avery’s hands behind his back and held them there with one hand as he unclipped cuffs from his belt with the other. Out cold, Avery didn’t struggle.
Royal cast a glance at Maggie as he secured Avery’s wrists. “You, on your knees, hands behind your neck. Now!”
Maggie scrambled to her knees and managed to get one hand behind her neck but the other went to her head. “Ouch.”
“Get that hand up,” Royal snarled. “Who are you?”
“Maggie Benson,” Maggie stuttered. “Sir.”
“What is this man to you?”
“Nothing. I thought the cabin was unoccupied. I broke in.”
Where was she going with this?
“Why?”
“My friends and I like to party. I decided to check out the place.”
“Get out.” Royal got upright, drew his Glock from the angle draw holster under his jacket and held it on Avery. “Run, as far and as fast as you can.”
She used her hands on the floor to push up and backed away from Royal.
