Deep Into The Night (Hartz Island Series)

by Loy, Tracie Ingersoll

  “You’re going to have to move this thing. Put it in neutral, we will give you a push. Let it roll over to the side over there. You’ll be out of the way. We’ll deal with this after the ferry departs.”

  Obviously, she wasn’t getting on this ferry. Her heart sank. Like Alexa had said, the truck was old. Maybe the trip had been too much.

  “Come on, Blue, don’t let me down now.”

  She put the truck in neutral. Between the gentle slope and the men pushing, Cassie steered it to the area the man had pointed. Completely out of everyone’s way, she heaved a sigh of relief and then collapsed against the steering wheel, staring out the window. Exhausted and emotionally spent, she just wanted to cry. Instead, she blinked away the tears.

  Tired from sitting, Cassie got out of the pick-up. She leaned against the door, watching the vehicles stream onto the ferry. A couple of the cars slowed, with the drivers staring. Some had sympathetic looks. A dark SUV with tinted windows almost stopped, but then the car behind it tapped its horn. Her nerves tensed. What the hell was that all about, she wondered?

  The gray misty day set the tone for how she felt. The water was dark and murky. Had she made an error coming back? The weather alone might drive her insane. She reminded herself it wasn’t forever, just for now.

  With the last car on, the ferry pulled away. Just like the man had said, he’d deal with it after the ferry departed. He walked briskly toward her.

  “Okay, let’s see if we can get you started. Were you having any problems when you pulled in?”

  “No, not that I can think of.”

  “Unlatch the hood, and let me take a look. You wouldn’t have something simple like a dead battery would you?” He frowned when Cassie turned on the headlights.

  She joined him and peered under the hood. He wiggled a few wires, pushed a few hoses, and then pulled out the oil stick. He snorted, his mouth turned down.

  “Do you have something I can wipe this thing off with? I need to check it.”

  She went in search of something and came back with an old oil stained rag she’d found stuffed behind the seat. José had mentioned something about oil. What had it been? The man wiped off the oil stick and inserted it back in. He did this twice. His face went grim.

  “Here’s your problem. Your engine froze up. You’re out of oil.”

  “I have some in the back of the truck. Let me get it.”

  Now she remembered. José had told her to check the oil. She smiled and sighed, relieved the solution was so easy.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “No. I have a box.” Cassie pointed to the back of the truck.

  “Lady, it’s too late for oil. You should have put oil in miles ago. It’s dead. You’re going to need a new engine, or a rebuilt one. Where do you want this thing towed?”

  “What do you mean?” Cassie asked. “Towed where?”

  “Wherever you want. Your truck can’t stay here.”

  He meant it. A queasy, cramped feeling settled in her stomach. Cassie blinked fast to stop the tearing, but it didn’t help. They rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

  “You’re not from around here, are you? Do you have anyone you can call?”

  “No.” Her shoulders slumped.

  “Okay, let me see what I can do.” He adjusted the microphone on his headset, turned away and spoke into it. After a few minutes, he turned back around to her. “Bill’s Mechanics and Towing is good. They can come and get the truck. Is that okay?”

  “Do you know anyone who goes there?”

  “They work on my mother’s car.”

  “Thanks. That would be nice.”

  “Then wait here. It’ll take about thirty minutes for them to get here.” The man started walking away and stopped. He turned around and looked at her. “You do realize they can’t fix this in an hour? Right? You’re going to have to leave the truck with them. It might take a couple of weeks.”

  Well, maybe she had thought it was like a Jiffy Lube, in and out in an hour. Auto mechanics had never been one of her strong points.

  “Why don’t you get everything out of the pick-up you’ll need and be a walk-on. After the tow truck leaves, you can wait in the terminal until it’s time to catch your ferry.”

  A heaviness centered in her chest watching Old Blue being towed away. It had been her fault. José had warned her to check the oil, and she hadn’t. The tow truck driver, which turned out to be the owner’s son, said to call in a couple of days. They had work scheduled ahead of her. If she wanted to keep the truck, he recommended a rebuilt engine, otherwise she should junk it. Alexa’s attachment to the old truck had gotten to her too. Blue deserved better than this. After all, he’d gotten her this far. Junk it? She thought not.

  The ferry approached the Hartz Island terminal. Walk-ons were off first, then vehicles, so she joined the small crowd waiting to exit. Nothing looked familiar. Not even the terrain. Everything was surrounded by woods of tall evergreens and firs. What happened to the big wide beach next to the ferry dock? In eight years, things couldn’t have changed this much.

  She turned to the bland looking blond man and asked, “This is Hartz Island, isn’t it?”

  The man stared at her, and then nodded.

  “It looks different.”

  “Don’t know what to tell you.” He turned his back on her.

  Taken aback by his brusqueness, she stepped away. Another man stood near the rude guy, but he also turned his back on her. So much for local hospitality. She turned to ask someone else, but the only other two people seemed busy with their own agenda. The ferry man motioned for them to exit, so Cassie hoisted her duffel and followed Mr. Rude and what appeared to be his shadow off the ferry. She headed toward the kiosk in the small holding area in hopes of finding help. A woman locked the door and started walking away.

  “Excuse me,” Cassie called.

  The woman turned around. “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so. I just got off the ferry, and frankly, I don’t recognize anything. I don’t have a clue where I am.”

  “You’re on Hartz Island.”

  “I know that.”

  “Have you been here before?”

  “Yes, but it’s been a while.” The woman nodded, waiting for her to continue. “Eight years.”

  “That explains it. They moved the landing. It used to be at the other end of the island.”

  “You mean we’re at the opposite end?” Screams of frustration were about to explode from her. She’d planned on walking to the beach house. “Is there someone I can call for a ride? A taxi service?”

  “Yeah, there’s the Van Man if he’s working. There’s a phone over on the next block at the laundromat. I think his card is up on the bulletin board next to the phone, along with a bunch of others.”

  “That’s just great,” she muttered, but then added, “thanks.”

  The woman headed to her car, obviously not interested in offering a ride. By now, all the cars had departed, the ferry reloaded, and pulled away. The empty lot looked desolate. Once again, Cassie grabbed her stuff and headed in the direction the woman had pointed.

  From the end of the street, Cassie saw fluorescent lights inside the laundromat. No other lights shined. Everything else was closed for the evening. The laundromat door stood propped open with a brick, and a couple dryers clanged with their loads. Someone had to be about; it couldn’t be totally dead.

  Like the woman said, the bulletin board next to the pay phone had all sorts of notes and business cards tacked onto it; there was even a map of the island. Finally, she spotted the Van Man’s card. Fishing through her purse, Cassie found a quarter, fed the phone, and then listened to a message stating the Van Man could be anywhere on the island in fifteen minutes. After the beep, she
left a SOS message and her location.

  With nothing to do but wait, she stood in the doorway, looking up and down the street, hoping for some sign of activity, or better yet, the so-called Van Man. Where was everyone? Her memories didn’t jive with what she saw now, but then she’d never been on the island in the fall. She shivered from the chill and stepped back inside. October. That meant the sun would be down shortly. Tired of waiting, Cassie gave up on the Van Man. She calculated she had about an hour left of light, and since she’d left her flashlight in truck, she’d better start walking.

  Chapter Seven

  Driving along in her old beat-up but reliable Saab, Montana Worthington sang along with the Oldies But Goodies station. It was one of the few channels she could get a clear signal at this end of the island. Bee-bopping, swinging her thick black pony-tail to the beat, Montana cranked up the music and sang to her heart’s content. This had been a great day. She felt an inner peace and satisfaction that only came when cycles, lives, and emotions came into complete synchronization, but, more importantly, with the onset of the new moon. People called her odd, some said psychic, and others claimed Voodoo Witch. Whatever, Montana didn’t care. She was completely happy with who she was, which was a spiritual healer of souls and occasionally an amateur spy.

  She was headed home after a great afternoon at her friend Jeannie’s café, and then some shopping, to get ready for tonight’s events. Her body twitched and involuntarily jerked. The road curved around and her car’s headlights highlighted the lonely figure of a woman, with a bag over one shoulder and purse on the other, walking along. Even though it was twilight, the dark aura around her couldn’t be missed, but more importantly, the feeling of peace totally evaporated from Montana.

  Montana rolled down the passenger window. “Can I give you a ride?”

  Tear stains streaked down the woman’s cheeks, and she nodded woodenly.

  “Quick, get in. You look frozen. Let me crank up the heat so you can warm up. Toss the stuff in the back seat.”

  Per Montana’s instructions, the woman threw her stuff in the back.

  With her dark aura came a mixed energy. At first, it felt like a lost sad soul, but then the feeling of fear and survival oozed among the sadness, prickling Montana’s skin.

  “Oh, thank you so much. I’d left a message for a van guy. I kept hoping he’d be along. But I don’t know.” The woman closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat. “The warmth feels good.”

  Montana quickly studied the woman. Her jeans and hoodie were more suited to warmer weather, not damp Washington. “Did you come off the ferry?” Other than her dark aura, she seemed physically fine, but had dark circles around her eyes and was rather skinny. Her dark, long hair lay limp.

  “I did. My truck conked out in Anacortes, and I had to leave it there. I called the Van Man for a ride, but he never showed up.”

  “I know for a fact he is busy tonight. He’s my friend’s daughter’s boyfriend. They’re all headed to my house in an hour or so for a new moon celebration. We do this every month. You’re more than welcome to come.” Montana smiled, seeing the woman’s reaction. “I’m Montana Worthington. Where can I take you?”

  “I’m going to our beach house on Blue Heron Lane. Do you know where that is?”

  Wow, do I ever. Montana kept her features noncommittal. “I’m still a little new to the island; can you give me some directions?”

  “It’s sort of between here and the old ferry dock.”

  “Perfect. We’re going in the same direction. I bought the botanical farm, which is between here and there.” Montana put the car in gear, and off they went. “Where are you from?”

  “Seattle.”

  Half lie. Montana nodded and smiled. Why was she lying? “Did you come up for the weekend?”

  “Just a week or two. Maybe a little longer. You know, to get away.”

  A bigger half lie. “Let me know where I need to turn. There’s a couple of forks in the road coming up. I just need to know what side you’re on.”

  “Side?”

  “What side of the island?” Montana knew, but did she? Maybe not by the way she clenched her hands.

  “Oh, of course. We’re on the west side.” The woman turned and stared out the window and leaned forward. “I left my glasses in my truck. Normally, I wear contacts, but they were bugging me, so I wore my glasses.”

  One and a half lies. Montana felt the woman’s anxiety; it oozed from her. Whatever the reason for all the fabrications, it had to be important. There had been a time in her own life she had felt the need to hide. That was what this woman was doing.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Cassie. Cassie Ryan.”

  Montana jerked the wheel, nearly driving off the road. Cassie Ryan of Ryan’s Roost where she and Jeannie had nearly been caught spying in the spring. “I’m pretty certain Blue Heron Lane is just up here. Does any of this look familiar?” Montana made a right down one of the side roads. She kept the car at a slow crawl, looking for a grouping of multiple old and dented mail boxes that indicated the lane.

  “I’m just trying to get my bearings. Everything looks different when it’s dark.” Her slender hands twisted together.

  And Montana wanted to add, “Since you haven’t been here in years.”

  “It’s just up there,” Cassie pointed.

  The high beams caught the long line of mailboxes on the right. Blue Heron Lane went left and right, parallel to the road.

  “Which way?”

  “Right. We’re at the very end, number one.”

  Like so many places on the island, they bumped along dirt lanes shrouded with cedars and evergreens to the driveway, which headed down to the water. A dilapidated fence post with old fencing marked the end of the lane, but the entrance to the property was a big colorful sign that read Ryan’s Roost. At least she hadn’t been lying about her last name, thought Montana.

  Her friend Jeannie’s new squeeze, Kip, who just had arrived back on the island after being injured in Indonesia tracking down terrorist training camps, had been emphasizing safety. Without realizing it, Montana looked for signs of vehicles driving on to the Ryan property. No tire marks indicated any traffic coming or going.

  They drove in silence. The dirt track hugged the cliff, then over a little creek, veering off to the left into wide open space. The headlights beamed across the expanse, highlighting a Cape Cod house that had multiple add-ons that all blended together, creating a charming beach getaway home. A large shed with a covered carport stood off to the right of the house. Montana parked between the two.

  Cassie Ryan let out a deep breath. “It’s just as I remember it. My dad built it.”

  Montana had a ton of snoopy questions she wanted to ask, but kept still. With time, she’d learn the answers. Instead, she said, “Why don’t I wait until you get in and check everything out. Make sure you’re safe and what not.”

  “I’m fine. I just need to get the key from the shed. Um, do you have a flashlight?”

  “No, but you can use my cellphone.” Montana handed her the phone and thought she’d say something like, “Oh, I’ll just use mine,” But she didn’t. No cellphone either. Interesting.

  “Thanks.” Cassie dashed toward the shed. Seconds later, she emerged and walked back to the car, returned Montana’s phone, and retrieved her things. “Thanks so much for helping me. I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll just wait for you to get inside.” Montana handed her a piece of paper. “Here’s my number if you need anything. Please call.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  Montana repositioned her car so the headlights highlighted the door. Once Cassie stepped into the main house and waved, Montana left. She wondered how long it had really been since Cassie been here a
nd what brought her back now.

  Chapter Eight

  Cassie waved and watched Montana leave. She wasn’t fine. In truth, she was about ready to crumble. But she had made it.

  Thank God her brother still followed her mother’s rules. “Always leave the flashlight attached to the hook by the kitchen door. You never know when you’ll need it.” Well, she needed it. Cassie hadn’t expected the lights to come on when she flipped the kitchen switch, but she’d hoped. She pulled out the drawer next to the sink and hoped the candles were still there. She smiled. Candles and butane lighters. She reached up in the cabinet for a plate, lit the candle and let it drip, affixing it to the plate. Immediately, the kitchen took on a warm welcoming glow. Mike had modernized the refrigerator, stove, and added new Formica counter tops, but everything else appeared the same.

  Even though the light was low, Cassie went into the main living area. Lighting one more candle, she placed it on the oval maple table where everyone sat around to eat, play cards, or work a jigsaw puzzle. Light now flickered around the open room where the wood stove sat in the corner, a nice pile of wood next to it. The furniture faced the large windows in a horseshoe setting looking out to the water, just how her mother had liked it.

  Now with enough light to function, Cassie did what she had done her entire childhood: she returned the flashlight to its designated hook and then double checked to make sure the outer door was locked, along with the kitchen entrance door. Grabbing her duffel and purse, she tossed them on the floor next to the old high back sofa where she collapsed. The old Pendleton woolen blanket lay folded on the back, waiting for someone to wrap up in it, so she did, breathing in the scent of her mother’s perfume that had settled in the fibers. The acute sense of loss she felt cocooned her just like the blanket. Rocking back and forth, she wept until every tear had flowed. Drained and exhausted, she sat in silence. What next? Other than being safe, she had no other plans formulated.