Devil's Creek

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  Anderson carried his dishes to the sink. Turning, he leaned back against the countertop. “Agreed. She deserves a nice ceremony. With all her favorite music, flowers, and her old friends.”

  Sunny almost seemed to brighten. “I’ll start planning it today. You spread the word. What do you say? Next Sunday?”

  “Of course.” He hugged her and turned to go.

  “Anderson?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful. If Hank tried once to get Grace, he’ll try again. You need to stop him once and for all.”

  With a grave expression, he slowly nodded. “I know.”

  “I mean stop him for good,” she said. “Forever.” She came up to him and squeezed his upper arms, as if to shake him. “You were a Marine. You know what to do.”

  He didn’t tell her he’d been fantasizing about taking Hank down for the past day. He had plenty of methods, and now he wished he’d used them back in the woods the other day. Next time, he wasn’t sure if he’d turn the bastard over to the cops or take action with his own hands, especially since Hank had escaped when Anderson took the high road. “No matter how it’s done, I’ll find him and make sure he can’t hurt anyone else. Ever again.”

  Chapter 57

  Portia stood in front of the mirror, turning sideways to see how big she had become overnight. She was sure the baby had gained another few ounces since she last looked, and she wondered about his position now. Had he dropped already? She was scared and excited all at once. She ran her fingers over her belly and she murmured loving words to him. “Soon, sweetie. I’ll hold you soon.”

  Inside, she pushed away the worry about Hank, that crazy man who had tried to take her sister. Why had he done that? Did he really hate Anderson so much after all these years? And would he be a threat to her family? To her baby? She shuddered, and said a quick prayer for his capture.

  Boone approached from behind and slid his arms around her. “You look beautiful this morning.”

  She grimaced, but it eased into a smile. “I look awful. But thank you for that, honey.”

  He kissed the side of her neck, pushing back her copper-colored hair. “I can’t wait.”

  She turned to kiss him, although it wasn’t easy with the baby between them. “Me, too. How’s your arm?”

  He shrugged. “It hurts a little this morning, but it’ll heal.”

  The sound of an approaching vehicle came through the opened window. Portia heard her mother greeting someone at the door, and she called up to them seconds later.

  “Portia? Boone? Can you come down here please?”

  They headed downstairs, surprised to see Sheriff Dunne standing in the kitchen.

  “Portia. Boone.” He nodded and shook their hands. “Just stopping by with an update.”

  “Did you find Hank?” Portia blurted. “Oh, God. Please tell me you caught him.”

  Dunne glanced down. “Um. No. I’m sorry. The FBI is still combing the state for him. No luck so far. But my department is collaborating with them, and we’ve been doing some digging in the background. We stumbled upon something important, that I thought you should know.” He looked around, as if searching for someone. “Are Anderson and Grace here?

  Portia leaned on Boone to steady herself. “Anderson went to see Sunny to tell her about Caroline. And my father took Grace to her doctor for a follow up to her ER visit.”

  Dunne’s expression turned from officially polite to deeply solemn. “Terrible business.”

  “No kidding.” Boone comforted Portia with a stroke down her arm. “And to think that sicko might have done the same thing to Grace that he did to Caroline.” He shook his head. “It’s unthinkable.”

  Daisy said, “Anderson called last night. He stayed over to keep Sunny company. Poor woman is all broken up. He’ll be back around lunchtime today.”

  “Can we talk now?” Dunne nodded to Boone and Portia. “I can fill in Anderson and Grace later, but I wanted to include you folks, too. It’s about Murphy.”

  Portia stiffened. Hearing the name of the man who’d abducted her and held her captive for two years, and who’d tried to do the same thing to her sister, sent a shiver of fear through her, especially now that she had a baby to worry about. Had the madman escaped? Was he coming back for her? “Murphy?”

  Daisy shot a worried glance at Portia before ushering the lawman into the living room. “Of course, Sheriff. Come on in. Would you like some coffee?”

  “No thanks, ma’am.”

  They settled in the living room, and Portia chose the tall winged-back armchair, her favorite since getting up had become so difficult recently. Boone stood behind her, hands on her shoulders. Daisy settled beside Dunne on the couch.

  They stared at the Sheriff, who didn’t hesitate.

  “Murphy’s dead,” he said.

  A ripple of emotion stirred through Portia. Shock. Disbelief. Relief. “Really?” she whispered in a rush of words. “He’s dead? You’re sure?”

  “Positive.” Dunne nodded. “Hung himself in his cell last night.”

  Daisy wailed. “Oh my goodness. Thank the good Lord we don’t have to deal with that fear anymore.”

  Boone’s forehead wrinkled. “But there’s more. Isn’t there, Sheriff?”

  Portia glanced up at him. “Why do you think—”

  Dunne interrupted. “Boone’s right. I’m here to warn you.”

  Daisy’s face turned white. “Oh no. What is it, Sheriff?”

  Dunne slid a notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. “There’s a history of contact between Murphy and Hank Turner.”

  Boone moved around the chair and sat on the other side of Dunne on the couch, leaning toward him. “What kind of contact? Is that why he told Anderson that Murphy ‘said hello?’ I thought he was just psyching him out.”

  Dunne grimaced. “Apparently there’s much more than that going on here. It was close contact; weekly visits. Since Murphy was imprisoned, Hank’s been the man’s biggest fan.”

  “Why?” Daisy blurted.

  Dunne glanced at Portia and Boone. “Hank has a vendetta against Anderson, right?”

  They nodded, and Portia felt her heart dropping to her feet. How could this be happening? Murphy and Hank Turner? Friends?

  “Since Grace was targeted by Murphy after Portia escaped from his cabin, Hank considered Murphy sort of a hero, I guess.” He glanced apologetically at Daisy. “Anything that had to do with Anderson seemed to consume him.”

  Portia felt movement in her belly, and instinctively put a hand over it to protect her baby. “But he killed Caroline. Wasn’t that enough for him?”

  “Apparently not.” He cleared his throat. “It seems he was collaborating with Murphy on a book.”

  Portia drew in a harsh breath. “A book? About what he did to Grace and me?”

  Dunne nodded. “I’m afraid so. That, and more. We found chapters for the manuscript in Murphy’s cell, documenting his prior kidnappings and killings, as well. The rest is on a computer in Hank’s apartment. We think he told Murphy he was a journalist. That’s probably the only way he could have gotten into Murphy’s life.”

  “You found Hank’s place?” Boone said. “Where is it?”

  “It’s a small apartment not far from the O’Rourke’s estate. One wall was plastered with old photos of Caroline.”

  “Seriously? That’s just too creepy.”

  “I know. The current theory is that Hank’s been romancing the O’Rourke couple for years. Helping them out. Pleading loneliness. Always there to lend a hand.” He sighed. “And of course, it was close to where he kept Caroline. So he always had access to the mountain. He also borrowed their car from time to time. A black Lincoln sedan.”

  Boone frowned. “I think that’s the car Hank picked up Grace with, according to Anderson. And Hank watched the O’Rouke’s place when they were on vacation, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. We’re not sure, but we think he’s been planning this ‘tryst,’ with Grace, for a while. He may ha
ve even planned it with Murphy’s help.”

  Portia exchanged a worried glance with Boone. “But why?”

  “Both men had serious grudges. Murphy hated Grace for getting the best of him and ultimately putting him in prison, and Hank was still enraged with Anderson for taking his girlfriend, all those years ago.”

  “But that’s crazy,” Daisy said. “Hank killed Caroline, and that nearly destroyed Anderson. And as far as Murphy goes, he killed women for years before he even took Portia and Grace. He deserved to be in jail.”

  Dunne shot her a grim smile. “Most serial killers don’t think that way, Daisy. They like to think of themselves as supremely clever, and above the law.”

  Portia sat back and sighed. “So the two of them conspired to get Grace. Is that why Hank called that creek ‘Devil’s Creek’? Boone says that wasn’t even its real name.”

  “Right. We think it was all part of the psychology of his abduction. He wanted to scare her, make her remember Murphy, and we think ultimately, when he’d subdued her and probably dragged her up to the cabin, he would have told her that Murphy was involved in the planning. For revenge, so to speak.”

  Boone scowled. “They’re both freaks. No wonder they got along so well.”

  “Right now it’s mostly conjecture, of course. We’re still piecing it together.”

  “Sheriff?” Portia began. “Do you think Hank will come after us here?”

  He locked eyes with her. “I’m afraid I do, Portia. Hank’s not the kind of guy to give up. I mean, look how long he held the grudge against Anderson. And now that your husband and Anderson found him and foiled his plans, he’ll probably be even angrier.”

  Daisy stood up and paced. “I’m so sick and tired of being afraid of these evil men, Sheriff.” She stood by the window, gazing at the Green Mountains. “Can’t you guys just catch him and put him away for good?”

  “We’re trying, ma’am.”

  “Well, try harder!” She circled back to the group. “If any of us see him, we’re going to shoot him. I’m just warning you, Sheriff. If he shows up here, he’s dead. Nobody’s going to threaten my daughters, grandchild, and the rest of my family any more.”

  Portia said, “I’m with my mother. We’re armed and dangerous, Sheriff. You’d best pass the word around.”

  Dunne jumped up, both hands palm out. “Now, wait one minute, ladies. I’m going to post several men around the property until this thing blows over. Please, don’t go off half-cocked. You’re law-abiding citizens. Let us handle this.”

  Boone stood, his face determined. “Sheriff, I’m with the girls. If we catch one whiff of this bastard, he’s going down.”

  The Sheriff let out a deep sigh. “Listen, folks. I understand your anger. I do. But you’ve gotta act sensibly here.”

  Portia stood—not without difficulty—and faced Dunne. “Sensible doesn’t work when you’re being stalked by a madman, Sheriff. You should know that.”

  “I know, Portia. But the important thing is to try to stay calm.” He glanced at each one. “Accidents happen when people take the law into their own hands. I don’t want anything like that going on here.”

  Daisy walked between Portia and Boone and linked arms with them. “We’ll do our best, Sheriff.”

  Dunne stood as if ready to go. “That’s all I can ask, ma’am.”

  They followed him to the door. Dunne turned and said, “Have Anderson call me, okay? I need to talk to him and Grace, too.”

  “Of course, Sheriff.” Boone locked the door behind him, and turned to the ladies with a grim expression. “We’ve got to protect ourselves. Now, more than ever.” He glanced down at Portia’s belly. “Let’s get the weapons by the doors, make sure the windows are all locked, and close the barn up tight tonight. I’ll call my brother, Ned, and see if he can take turns watching the place with me. Starting now.”

  Chapter 58

  A week later, there still had been no sign of Hank. He’d eluded the authorities and seemed to vanish from the planet. The FBI kept watch at the O’Rourke’s mansion and the shack in the woods, Anderson’s apartment, Bittersweet Hollow, and even had started looking into some of Murphy’s old hideouts in case that’s where Hank had fled.

  When the police finally released Caroline’s remains, the funeral service was scheduled for the following Sunday.

  On that morning, Anderson stood before the mirror fumbling with his necktie. The service for Caroline would start in an hour, and he couldn’t seem to get the darned thing right.

  “Honey. Let me help.” Grace took over and created a tight, neat knot in less than a minute. “There you go.” She kissed him lightly on the lips.

  “Thanks.” He kissed her back, but his heart wasn’t in it. It had been difficult for him to forgive her this time. She knew it, and she seemed to be trying harder than ever to make it up to him.

  He figured he just needed time.

  After the memorial service, when he’d experienced this thing folks called ‘closure,’ then maybe he could settle down and deal with what had happened in their marriage. Perhaps they’d have to go to counseling together, although he didn’t have high hopes for that. It had never helped Grace deal with her problem. How could it help him forgive her?

  He shot her a dim smile and sat on the bed to put on his shoes.

  “Are you okay, honey?” She ruffled his hair and smiled down at him. “You don’t seem so good.”

  “Just upset about this whole thing. I keep thinking about Caroline being alone up in that cabin; dying in that chair.”

  “It was a horrible way to die. I’m so sorry.” She sat beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder. “And, as jealous as I am of your first love, I understand. You loved her.”

  He sighed. “I adored her.”

  “And you need closure. You never had closure.”

  There was that word again. Closure. But how could knowing make it any better? How could picturing his beloved Caroline tied to a chair in a remote cabin, dying in that chair, ever offer him closure? Nothing would make that better. Nothing. As far as he was concerned, he preferred it the old way. At least he could still imagine her alive.

  “Right, Anderson?” she prodded.

  “I guess,” he said noncommittally.

  “You’re sure you’re okay to sing today?” She tried to snuggle closer, but he didn’t respond.

  Woodenly, he nodded. “I’m doing it for Sunny. She wants me to sing one of Caroline’s favorite songs.”

  “You haven’t sung in years, have you?”

  “Not in public. But I do sing for my students when we’re starting a new show. All the time, actually.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that.” She tilted her head to the side. “I should ask you more about your day, shouldn’t I?”

  It never bothered him before. Not much, anyway. Normally, when he came home from work, he’d always ask her about her day, and they’d go over the details religiously. Sometimes ad nauseam. But he was a great listener, so everyone said, and he attended tirelessly to her stories. Occasionally, he’d try to bring up something about his own day at school, but it rarely elicited the response he’d wanted.

  In hindsight, he realized he’d been a bit of a patsy. Always forgiving. Always trying to understand even the most horrible behavior. Never asking for much in return.

  He’d always welcomed her home with love and forgiveness.

  But now he felt different.

  How would he cope? Could he pretend any longer?

  Anderson finished tying his shoes and stood to put on his dark gray sports coat. “Ready?”

  Grace spritzed her favorite perfume in the air and walked through it. “Ready.”

  They drove to the cemetery in silence.

  ∞∞∞

  At the gravesite, Sunny and Grace both flanked Anderson. Sunny did not wear black, but a colorful long dress with a swirling skirt, full of purple, orange, and yellow flowers. She told the pastor and anyone who would listen that she did it for
Caroline, for the love of her colorful and beautiful niece. Grace stood quietly in a short black dress, occasionally reaching up to smooth back escaping wisps of her honey-colored hair she wore in a French braid.

  Beside Grace, Portia and Boone stood solemnly. On the other side of the pit were Daisy and Dirk, holding hands next to Sheriff Dunne and the O’Rourkes, who’d come out of respect and sorrow for the life lost in the mountains near their home. Several of Caroline’s childhood friends had shown up, and one distant cousin had flown in from Nevada. But that was it.

  Anderson counted twelve in all, including the pastor. Not nearly enough people to show how his Caroline had touched the hearts of everyone she met.

  When the opening prayer was finished, the pastor closed his Bible. “And now, we’ll hear from Anderson Rockwell, who will sing ‘Amazing Grace’ in memory of Caroline.”

  Anderson straightened, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth to emit a croak. After clearing his throat, the notes finally flowed and he sang on key, a cappella. When it was over, he stepped back and Sunny took his arm, squeezing it gently.

  “Beautiful,” she said through her tears. “Caroline would have loved it. Thank you.”

  Memories of Caroline washed over him. Mostly he pictured her singing on stage with him, or frolicking in the park every night before rehearsals started for The Phantom of the Opera. She’d had the best smile he’d ever seen. And a great appetite for life. He remembered their tender love-making, yearning for the days when all was fresh and new and such a mysterious delight.

  I loved you so, my Caroline.

  The pastor began to speak again, recounting stories of Caroline as a little girl when she attended Sunday School at his church.

  Overhead, thunderclouds loomed, suddenly racing across the sky. Anderson felt the hairs on his arms stand up straight in the electric field, and a stiff wind blew the ladies’ dresses, flapping fabric around their legs. The sky darkened, and a clap of thunder boomed in the distant hills.

  Nobody had thought to bring an umbrella on that bright sunny morning, and everyone looked nervous.