by Gracie Guy
Grabbing her terry cloth robe from the hook inside the bedroom closet and simultaneously shoving her feet into the fleece-slippers lying on the floor, she snuggled into her housecoat. Kara glanced at her image in the full-length mirror on the door. The faint bruise of circles under her eyes was prominent against her porcelain skin. I look terrible. She ambled down the hallway to make some coffee.
Everything about her kitchen starkly contrasted the rest of her home. Most of the house resembled the standard-log design with huge fawn-colored pine beams, but here it was bright and airy with a cheerful optimism. When they built the place, Kara was very much in a have babies and do a lot of baking mode. Well, work has certainly taken its toll on those two dreams, but the kitchen is still a cheerful place.
She looked out the side window over the sink and watched the horses for a few moments. Despite last night’s rain, the weather had been warm enough that Dan had left the main door open. Through it, she could see they were busy scratching each other’s backs over the half wall of their stalls. Man they’re spoiled. Maybe it is just as well I haven’t given birth to any kids; if I could make such brats out of horses, what sort of insufferable child would I have produced? Maybe by the time she and Dan got around to babies, they would both be old and wise enough not to spoil them too much.
Kara went about the mindless procedure of making coffee. While she waited for the first swallow of the robust blend, she made a mental agenda for her day. The animals were first on her list, and then she’d concentrate her efforts on yard cleanup. She planned to put away all her gardening utensils and straighten out the greenhouse. If there was time, she’d mulch the perennials and maybe even tackle the pile of firewood Dan split over the past few weeks. Nah, come to think of it, maybe I’ll leave the wood until he gets home. After all, a full cord of wood was a lot of stacking when you didn’t have company. The signal from the coffee pot brought Kara back to the present. She poured herself a tankard size cup, adding cream and sugar, savoring the delicious depth of chicory she found only in the coffee from Café du Monde. Even as she basked in the warmth filling her throat and belly, Kara chuckled over the conundrum she’d created by developing an addiction-like yen for a brand of coffee she couldn’t buy within a thousand miles of her home. Thank God for the Internet and next day delivery.
She figured Dan would be back from Lake George by five. If she was going to be done with the chores and freshly showered by then, she needed to get her ass in gear. Maybe they’d run into the village and grab a burger and a few beers at Maggie’s Pub in the Lake Placid Lodge. They’d be back home before nine, and Kara intended to satisfy the rest of her appetite. Just thinking about Dan and his hairy chest made her smile. Daniel Elliott was a physically gorgeous and stimulating man, and Kara was forever thankful he loved her. For all the traveling she’d done in the past few years, he’d never once strayed from their bed. And God knows there were some local women who offered.
Kara rinsed out her cup and left it in the sink before she scooted back to the bedroom. She yanked on her favorite Levis, turtleneck, sweatshirt and then crisscrossed the living room to the closet and bench by the back door. She took the woolen socks out of her work boots and put them on. She stepped out onto the back deck into a magnificent fall day in the mountains. As she breathed in the crystal clarity of the recent rain and the ever-present pine, Kara couldn’t fathom living anywhere else. She felt sorry for people who didn’t have such a glorious place to start their day, every day. Of course, her private little nirvana wouldn’t be so pristine if half of New York City, or even Albany, lived in her backyard.
She crossed the deck, down the few steps and the back lawn toward the barn. When Kara came into their view, two very impatient—but friendly—whinnies called her to the barn. She brushed each mare, and then released them to the paddock to dine on a fresh round bale. Ah, Dan, thanks for putting in a bale yesterday! Then she mucked the stalls, attempting to save as much of the clean straw as possible. She prepped their hay and grain for evening and swept the aisle for any loose chaff.
She returned the over-sized barn broom to its hanging spot on the wall and looked out the front door, smiling again at the beautiful day. Next, the plants! With the wheelbarrow, rake, and pitchfork, she crossed the yard in the late morning sun and set to work.
###
Standing to stretch, Kara felt a bead of sweat run down her spine to the elastic of her underwear. The stiffness in her back and legs made it seem like she’d been working on this particular herb bed for hours. Since she’d paused her work, it was an opportune time to get a drink.
Kara looked around at the fading sunlight in her yard and reflexively glanced at her watch. Wow. I have been here for hours. The day was still surprisingly warm, even though it was nearly four o’clock. Considering the time, she decided to get a quick drink from the hose and then empty the wheelbarrow full of weeds before going into the house.
Fifteen minutes later, Kara was sitting on the bench inside the back door unlacing her boots. As she kicked them off her feet, she did a quick analysis of the cleanliness, or lack thereof, of this corner in her house. Between her and Dan, there were usually three or four pairs of slip-ons or sneakers and their moccasins lying there. Not to mention the array of coats and flannel shirts they both used.
She shook her head and kind of chuckled to herself. Her mother would consider her a failure in the ol’ housecleaning department. Fortunately her mother rarely ventured north of Saratoga, so Kara didn’t have to worry about surprise visits from her. Kara was always amazed that at thirty-two years of age, she still worried about her mom’s reaction to something she did.
Fresh from her shower, Kara pulled on a skort and camp blouse and slipped into a pair of Sperry’s. She grabbed the hamper of dirty clothes from the bathroom and headed to the laundry room. Just as she reached the kitchen, the phone rang. For a quick moment she considered letting it go unanswered, but by the third ring she changed her mind. Juggling the plastic container in her left hand, Kara grabbed the phone with her right and reflexively placed it to her left ear.
“Hello,” Kara’s happy voice nearly sang. There was a pause on the other end of the phone line and Kara was about to dismiss it as a sales call when a deep voice queried, “Is this Kara Elliott?”
“Yes it is. Who’s calling please?” Kara countered.
“This is Sergeant John Harley of the New York State Police,” the caller formally introduced himself.
Kara instantly thought of all the warnings about telephone solicitations made by people alleging to be police officers, “I’m not interested in contributing sir, please take my phone number off your list.”
“Mrs. Elliott, I’m not trying to sell you anything. But, I must confirm you are indeed Kara Elliott, wife of Daniel Elliott of Lake Placid,” continued the baritone voice of the trooper.
Kara felt her face chill in an incredible rush of fear. Her frozen mind kept her from forming words to answer the deep timbre of the stranger asking her questions. Who is this man? Why is he asking me these questions?
“Mrs. Elliott, are you there?”
Kara willed her tongue and brain to synchronize themselves.
“Mrs. Elliott?”
“Yes, I’m here,” Kara stammered. “I’m sorry, my brain just sort of halted for a second there. What is it I can do for you Sergeant?”
“Please confirm you are the wife of Daniel Elliott.”
“Yes Sergeant, I am. You’re scaring me sir, please tell me what this is about.”
“I’m afraid I have bad news for you Mrs. Elliott. It’s regarding your husband.”
Kara forced herself to breathe. What is happening here? The stranger was still talking and Kara felt as if she was in the spin cycle of her washing machine when the load was unbalanced.
“Mrs. Elliott we received a tip late yesterday about two people trying to buy some ecstasy and cocaine at a bar in Lake George Village. Some patrons identified the one as a local woman, but the man seemed
a stranger.”
Kara found herself becoming very angry with the stranger on the other end of her phone. What does this have to do with me and Danny? She was sure he’d be pulling in the driveway any minute now, but the voice kept droning on and on and on and….
“Mrs. Elliott, I’m sorry, but we need for you to come to Ticonderoga as soon as you can to identify your husband’s body,” the Sergeant finished.
Kara didn’t know if she should scream, or crumble, or smash the phone back into its cradle. What is happening? How can there possibly be something wrong with Danny? The policeman said identify the body—does it mean that Danny is dead?
She hoped this man hated his job. In the State Trooper Academy did they teach him how to shatter another person’s life? Kara dropped the hamper she’d been balancing, creating a loud thud. “Mrs. Elliott, I am so sorry for your loss. Is there someone who can accompany you here?”
Kara assured him she would find someone to drive her. She told him she’d be there within two hours. Once she’d broken the connection from the trooper, Kara tried to dial the phone with trembling fingers. She wanted desperately to hear Dan’s truck pull in the driveway and make this whole thing go away.
She couldn’t remember her friend Robin’s phone number. On the third try she finally heard it ring her friend’s house. Please God, no answering machine. Please, just this once, let Robin be acting like the perfect June Cleaver so she’ll be in the house getting dinner on the table. Kara got her wish on the second ring when she heard Robin’s familiar hello.
The warmth of her friend’s voice triggered uncontrollable emotion and Kara began to sob. After a few moments of jagged sentences, Kara stopped crying long enough to breathe. She gave Robin all the information John Harley had provided and hung up the phone. Kara stumbled to the kitchen table and sat to wait for her friend to arrive.
Chapter Four
The trip across the Adirondacks was a complete blur. Thank God Robin was able to drive because Kara was sure she’d never have found the camp she and Dan built. When they arrived at the bottom of the cabin’s steep property, they were unable to proceed any farther. To Kara’s fragile senses, it seemed like every state police vehicle in New York was blocking her access. She could barely contain the fear and rage warring within her exhausted body.
Kara jumped from the car. Charging a trooper, she was vaguely aware of people shouting at her and drawing pistols. As the pandemonium she’d created began to seep into her consciousness, Kara was humiliated. What is happening? How did I lose control? She looked up at the cabin. How am I going to do this?
Then, Kara felt the safety of Robin’s arms surround her. Again, she found herself silently blessing her friend.
As Robin leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “It’s okay Kar, come with me—” Kara knew her friend would protect her and give her the strength to get through this nightmare.
Walking up the long and winding staircase to the house, Kara’s mind wandered to the night Robin received a similar phone call. At the time, Kara had no way of knowing how her friend felt. How is it possible for your heart to ache so much while your mind argues against the news?
When they reached the landing at the top, a very somber man in a gray suit met Kara and Robin. His closely-cropped, fair hair showed the very first signs of graying at his temples—more than likely an occupational hazard. Kara looked at his thick brows and his patrician nose and thought she would always remember this face. This handsome face that brings me such bad news.
“Mrs. Elliott?” The handsome stranger extended his massive right hand to her. “I’m Sergeant John Harley.” Kara’s hand was lost in his firm grip. “I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.”
Kara looked directly into his eyes. She felt her lower lip starting to tremble. “Why have you asked me to come here?”
John Harley stared at her for a moment before removing his hat. He took a deep breath. “Do you and your husband own this property?” His large hand made a sweeping arc toward the tidy cabin.
“Yes.”
“And your husband’s full name is Daniel Michael Elliott?”
“Yes.”
“Is he approximately six feet, two inches with dark brown hair and no visible tattoos?”
“Yes.” Kara’s pulse quickened. He said ‘is’. Maybe there’s a mistake. Maybe Danny is alive.
“Mrs. Elliott, please follow me to the cabin.”
“Sergeant? Can you tell me what happened?”
“I’m sorry ma’am, but I need confirmation on your husband’s identity before I can release details.”
Kara felt Robin’s arm tighten around her shoulder as the shudder of disbelief passed through her. “So, he’s really dead?” Her eyes were riveted on the sergeant’s face.
***
“Yes ma’am. I’m sorry.” He nodded down at Kara’s unwavering gaze. “He is.”
The trooper watched as her lips pursed in restrained anguish. Turning, she buried her face in the other woman’s shoulder, keening with the pain of heartbreak. Sergeant Harley nodded to the men down the steps, all of whom gracefully bowed their heads to give the women some privacy.
After a few minutes, Kara turned to the sergeant. Her right hand reflexively wadded up the now-saturated tissue Robin had given her. “I’m ready, sir.”
John Harley looked at the cabin. When he arrived earlier, the uniformed troopers informed him they couldn’t enter the building because two maniacal German shepherds guarded the place. Proving their point, a pair of large, snarling black and tan faces thrust against the glass, leaving a trail of drool in their wake as they moved to another window.
Once Animal Control did their job, he stepped over the sedated, eighty-pound animals, and entered the cabin to find the victim hanging in a leather harness from the damnedest portable trapeze he’d ever seen. The man’s arms and legs were pulled back from his body, wrists and ankles cuffed and attached to the frame with chains. Leather covered most of his face, hiding everything but his eyes. His crotch, back and derriere were exposed; one-inch straps of black leather encircled his upper thighs, ran up his ribcage, and then wrapped his shoulders. Whip marks with trails of dried blood covered most of his ass and torso. Much to John’s relief, there was none on his groin. The very idea of the pain it would cause to have his penis and balls handled like that made him flinch. He knew enough about the bondage crowd that a true follower would never have broken the skin; this was the work of an amateur, or a very angry partner. Shaking his head, he mumbled softly, “These bastards are nuts.”
In the time since then, the officers from BCI gathered evidence before breaking down the crime scene, bagging up the contents of each trash receptacle and a few stray cigarette butts they’d found outside. All of it would be sent to the lab to be tested for DNA. An hour ago, Harley gave the order to make sure none of the sex tools were around when Kara arrived. He wanted her to only see her husband laying on a gurney, covered with the requisite sheet. After she confirmed his identity, the coroner’s crew could wheel him out the door, leaving them in the quintessential cabin living room—braided rug and all—for him to question her.
Giving a very slight nod to the uniformed trooper standing at the door, he waited for a return acknowledgment before leading the women forward. When they reached the door, John Harley turned to Kara’s companion. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you can’t enter the house right now.”
***
Kara gently removed Robin’s arm from her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.” Then she stepped past the trooper and into the cabin she helped build. She stood for a moment, her eyes scanning the room. Expecting to find her belongings strewn about, broken and damaged. Instead, the warmth of the blonde pine cabinets and white curtains greeted her. Four chairs surrounded the ancient oak table they’d bought at a Saratoga antiques store. The lazy susan in the center of it dutifully held the salt and pepper shakers and a pile of napkins.
When she turned to the left, Kara wil
led herself to look at the rocker and couch, both adorned with afghans from her mother. She saw books, end tables, lamps, and even the fireplace, before she allowed her gaze to fall on the gurney filling the tiny living room. After a minute of swirling memories, she turned to the sergeant.
“Okay.”
John walked to the head of her husband’s body, grasping the edge of the sheet in his left hand. Kara felt him watching her closely, very slowly pulling the sheet down to expose Danny’s face and neck. Reflexively, her hands flew to her face, a stifled squeak of horror escaping her lips as she cringed from the deep bruises covering his neck and head. Even with his lingering summer tan, there was a stark contrast between the marks and the rest of his skin.
Kara stood for a moment, staring at the face of her beloved husband, not sure what to do. Tentatively she reached out to touch his abundant brunette hair, her shaking fingers at first hesitant to make contact. Lightly petting the top of his head, Kara bent down to breathe in the scent of his shampoo and cologne. And that was her undoing.
She collapsed on top of her husband’s sheeted body, the fingers of her left hand plunging deeply into his hair. Her right arm hugged his torso, her face buried in his throat.
***
John Harley, and the other troopers, stood uncomfortably as she sobbed uncontrollably. The deep and guttural sound pierced his own heart as he watched her grasp the dead man’s left arm, trying to make him hug her.
After a minute, he stepped forward, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Elliott.” But she didn’t respond, instead she continued to sob. “Please, Mrs. Elliott. Is this your husband?”
Kara looked up at him, nodding her head as more tears spilled down her face. John was struck by the raw beauty and apparent strength of this young woman. Man is she going to need that courage.
