Mountain Secrets

by Elizabeth Goddard

  She pointed toward the end of the couch. “There’s a blanket over there.”

  He pulled back the curtain on the only window. Though the artist studio was only partially hidden by a grove of trees, he saw no sign that their pursuer had figured out where they’d gone.

  He gathered the blanket around his shoulders. Silence descended and coiled around the room. With the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, he rose from the couch and paced.

  “I take it your phone still doesn’t work?”

  He shook his head. “The storm must be wreaking havoc with the signal.” His eyes rested on a bowl full of wrapped mini candy bars. He picked it up and walked toward Isabel, who took several out of the bowl and whispered a thank-you. She gazed at him with big round doe eyes. Though most of the time she was so guarded, she had a softness to her that he felt drawn to.

  “Mrs. Wilson must eat these while she’s waiting to be inspired, huh?” He grabbed a few pieces for himself before setting the bowl back down.

  The remark brought only a faint smile to Isabel’s face. “I don’t know that much about her personal habits.” She rose to her feet. “She’s got a sink over here to rinse her brushes out. Do you want some water?”

  “Sure.”

  The faucet sputtered and spit while Isabel filled two paper cups, but at least it wasn’t frozen. She handed him one of the cups and then sat back down.

  The cool liquid soothed his dry throat.

  Jason let the blanket fall to the floor while he paced. She really did act like she worked for a property management company just as she’d said when she’d first opened the door to him. It was clear to him now that she was an innocent in all this mess.

  “That man who chased us. He wants something. He thinks I have it.” She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on here?”

  A debate raged in his head. How much should he tell her? So the thief was trying to find the bookmark. That meant it must have been moved. Only one person could have moved it.

  They were trapped here until the storm broke. Taking the bookmark would reinforce the ruse that they wanted to be part of the smuggling ring. “Part of your job must be to tidy up before owners of the house come to stay.”

  “A little bit. Sometimes workers have left a mess in the owner’s absence or things just look out of place.” She shrugged. “That sort of thing.”

  Her eyes held a certain serenity, a total lack of guile. He wondered how much of his hand he should show. “Do you think you might have moved the thing the thief was looking for?”

  She thought about it. “Nothing of value.” She shook her head. “Besides, if he wants to steal things there is plenty of expensive stuff to take in that house.”

  “It sounds like he’s looking for one thing in particular.”

  “It sounds like you know more than you’re telling me, Mel.” Her voice held a bit of an edge. “Like exactly what he’s looking for.”

  His initial impression of her had been that she was soft and refined. But something in those eyes told him she had a spine of steel underneath. He admired that about her.

  He let out a breath. “My name isn’t Mel. It’s Jason. I got that shirt at a thrift store. It’s useful in my line of work.”

  “So, you lied about your name.” She continued to study him, waiting for a deeper explanation. “What is your line of work?”

  How much did he dare tell her? Chances were the bookmark was in some container that looked like junk but that the pickup man would recognize as his package. “So this thing that man is looking for. Do you think you may have been tidying up and moved it?”

  “Why are you after the same thing they are, Jason?” Suspicion colored her words.

  “He’s not leaving until he gets what he came here for. Maybe we can find it.” In order to keep the investigation under wraps, he needed to continue the fiction that he and Isabel were thieves who wanted in on the smuggling ring. Getting that bookmark might open the door to going undercover and infiltrating the smuggling ring, as long as he could get Isabel out of danger.

  “And do what—give it to him? He disabled both our cars. I don’t think he wants us to leave here alive. He thinks you and I are after the same thing he is.” She looked right at him. “I don’t like being accused of being a thief.”

  Her words filled with intensity. He didn’t want her involved in this. Once they were out of here—if they got out of here—maybe he could get her some protection. “I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t.”

  “I don’t even know what that man—or men, if there is another guy—came here for. But you do, don’t you?”

  He studied her for a long moment. Her stare made him feel like she could see beneath his skin. She was shrewd.

  A hundred contradictory impulses charged through his head at once. The thieves thought he and Isabel were trying to horn in on their territory. Getting that bookmark would help the Bureau with their investigation and give him that much more cred with them, but he also had to find a way to get Isabel safely disentangled from this mess.

  Private detective work could be feast or famine. The FBI throwing him a job from time to time would help keep the wolves from the door.

  One thing was clear. Isabel was smart enough to play tit for tat. She wasn’t going to give him any information until he gave her some. “I’m a private detective. Yesterday, a man dropped off a gold bookmark at this house. It’s worth a great deal of money. The two men in the house were supposed to pick it up. You weren’t supposed to be here. No one was.” The less she knew, the better. Best not tell her about the FBI or the scope of the smuggling ring.

  Her posture softened a little. Maybe she was warming up to him. “The people who own the house had a change of plans. They’re coming earlier than expected. I’m the only one who knew that.”

  She rose to her feet and faced him, letting the blanket fall to the ground. “So what are we going to do? We could wait the night out here. They probably don’t know about this studio.”

  “They might start searching the property once they can’t find us in the house,” he said. “I’m thinking it’s not just one guy either. He has a partner.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Yes, I think you’re right about that.” She started to pace. “I believe the one with the knife won’t hesitate to use it.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “We really need the police.”

  “It would be better if we didn’t get the police involved. I can’t say why. Besides, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to get up that road until the storm stops and it’s plowed.” Making an arrest at this point in the investigation might tip the head of the smuggling ring off.

  She flopped down on the couch and stared at a blank canvas across the room. Then she studied him again. Her cheeks were flushed with color and he liked the way her blond curls framed her face. He didn’t like the suspicion he saw in her eyes, though.

  Finally, she bent her head. She put her feet one on top of the other, then switched the bottom one to the top. “I’ve made a mess of everything. I’ll probably lose my job. Trouble just seems to find me no matter how hard I try to do the right thing.”

  Picking up on the deep pain in her voice, he sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “None of this is your fault.”

  She laced her fingers together and then drew them apart over and over. “The Wilsons are expecting to come home to a cozy warm house.”

  It would be better for the operation if the homeowners didn’t find the house in disarray. But they would probably just assume it was a run-of-the-mill break-in. He wasn’t sure why she was fixated on doing her job considering a man with a knife was stalking them. “Look, the thieves are searching for that bookmark.”

  She lifted her head and stared at him as fear filled her voice. “Don’t you think staying safe should be our priority?”<
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  “We’re not safe as long as they are here. Finding it could give us some leverage.”

  She wasn’t totally buying his story. He had to hand it to her—she was pretty savvy at reading him.

  “Chances are, it was in some kind of container. Did you throw things away? Did you move them around?”

  “Of course I did. I hurried through the house and straightened up a bunch of stuff and then you knocked on the door. I don’t remember every little item. I did throw some things away in the kitchen. I suppose we could check the garbage.”

  “That would be a start,” he said. They still had to find a way out of here. “I didn’t notice any cars other than yours or mine. Is there anything parked in that garage?”

  She stood up and walked toward him shaking her head. “The Wilsons bring their own car.”

  Jason’s thoughts raced as he tried to come up with a plan. “The thief must have parked his car a ways from the property.” That meant even if the thieves wanted to leave, they probably couldn’t until the storm let up. They wouldn’t risk freezing in the blizzard. Jason and Isabel were trapped here and so were the two thieves.

  What would be the best thing to do? To wait it out and hope they wouldn’t be found here...or to go back to the house? One thing was certain: they needed to stay together.

  He stood up and looked out the window.

  Night would be falling soon. They’d have the cover of darkness. It wasn’t that long a walk from the studio to the house, but in blizzard conditions, it would be easy enough to get disoriented.

  As a boy, he remembered his father, a sheriff in another county, telling stories of men who froze to death walking from a barn to the house in whiteout conditions.

  Isabel shifted a little closer to him. “We don’t know anything about the other guy. What if he has a gun?”

  Jason had thought of that too. “When are the Wilsons supposed to get here?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon. I have other houses to deal with tomorrow, so I had to fit this one in today.”

  The door rattled and shook. Jason took a step back. It could have been the wind.

  “It’s really blowing out there.” Isabel’s voice held only a trace of fear. “I say we stay here.”

  He nodded and then looked around the studio space for anything that might be of use.

  His search was interrupted by the glass in the window shattering.

  FOUR

  A scream caught in Isabel’s throat. Glass flew everywhere as a gun was fired through the window. Both of them ducked to the floor. She lifted her head. Though she could only discern his silhouette, this was a different man than Mr. Knife, shorter and more muscular.

  Jason grabbed her and led her toward the door, where he pushed away the heavy metal sculpture.

  Mr. Gun must know they’d try the door.

  Her gaze darted around the room. There was no other way to escape.

  Jason yanked open the door and drew his own gun. They rushed out into the dark of night. The cold permeated her skin almost immediately. Wind pushed on her body. Swordlike snowflakes sliced across her face and neck.

  Jason’s hand slipped into hers. She bent her head to shield it from the assault of the storm.

  Gunfire reverberated through the woods. Any doubt that Mr. Knife had an accomplice was removed. Mr. Gun was after them.

  Jason’s fingers gripped hers like iron. He pulled her sideways until they entered a grove of trees that provided only a small amount of shelter.

  Through the haze of snow, she saw a light bob past them. Jason aimed his gun toward the light but didn’t pull the trigger. Once it was clear their pursuer hadn’t seen them, he put the gun back in his waistband.

  Mr. Gun was probably better dressed and equipped to deal with the snow, and he had a flashlight.

  Isabel shivered. If she was cold, Jason must be close to hypothermia with thin layers of fabric to protect him.

  He leaned close to her and whispered in her ear. “He’s gone past us.”

  He took her hand again, which warmed hers despite the conditions. He wove through the trees.

  “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “I’m hoping to see light from the house,” he said.

  The sheets of snow and darkness made it hard to see the landscape clearly. “There was no light on in the house earlier. I think the storm might have knocked out the electricity.”

  As they stumbled through the trees, she felt hope fading. One small light that pierced the reduced visibility of the storm was all they needed.

  “He went ahead of us. Watch for his flashlight,” Jason said. He had to lean close to her and shout to be heard above the shrill cry of the storm.

  She could barely see three feet in front of her. They would have to be right on top of the thief before they saw him. It was a dangerous game they were playing.

  Jason claimed he was not on the wrong side of the law. His story made sense...sort of. Why he needed the bookmark was a little perplexing. Even if he was a detective, maybe he saw the possibility of financial gain in finding it. It wouldn’t be the first time a law-enforcement guy was on the take.

  She leaned closer to him and trudged forward. Not because she totally trusted him, but because getting too far away from him increased her chances of ending up a Popsicle.

  Up ahead, a light winked in and out of view. They veered toward where they’d last seen it.

  Wind pressed on her from three sides like being inside a vacuum cleaner. Its howling and the creaking of trees surrounded her. She lifted her head slightly, hoping to see the light again.

  Isabel squinted against the onslaught of icy snow and intense wind. The pinpricks of the flakes on her skin were like a thousand tiny needles.

  Jason wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in a new direction. He must have seen something she’d missed. If they got too close to the thief, he would shoot them.

  She lifted her head again, thinking the house should’ve come into view by now. Jason let go of her. She reached out for his hand as her heart squeezed tight with fear. He was her lifeline. She did not want to get lost in this storm.

  He caught her hand again.

  The house appeared suddenly in her field of vision. They were only feet away from it. Jason pulled her toward him. She reached out for the security of the outside wall.

  When they got the door open, they both fell inside onto a tiled floor.

  Before she even had time to take a deep breath—now that she wasn’t fighting wind, snow and cold—she heard footsteps pounding, growing louder. The room was almost completely dark.

  Jason tugged on her sleeve. He opened a small door, and they both crawled inside. The space was so small they sat facing each other, knees touching. They seemed to be in some sort of laundry chute.

  Footsteps seemed to be pounding all around them. Had Mr. Knife figured out they were in the house or was his frantic search for something else? The footsteps grew closer. Maybe Mr. Gun was in the house by now.

  Isabel could hear the sound of her own breathing in the tiny space.

  The footsteps stopped.

  Jason whispered only one word. “Down.”

  She angled her body and slid down the aluminum slide, landing on a pile of linens.

  Jason’s silhouette blotted out some of the bright light that shone from the top of the chute from the thieves’ flashlight. Jason slid down beside her on the pile of dirty laundry.

  She was grateful the cleaning crew hadn’t tossed the sheets in the washing machine like they were supposed to.

  Jason squeezed her elbow. “Come on. He’s going to find this room soon enough.”

  She glanced back up the chute, which had gone dark. Apparently, Mr. Knife, or maybe it was Mr. Gun, had opted not to follow them down it, which meant he was using the stairs.

  Sh
e leaped to her feet, falling in behind him and squinting to see in the dark room.

  “There has to be a good place to hide,” said Jason.

  Though she had been through the ten-thousand-square-foot home many times, she hadn’t been thinking about hiding places. Even as Jason started moving toward the door, she racked her brain.

  They hurried down a hallway.

  She tugged on his arm. “He’ll be coming down the stairs. We can’t go that way.”

  “I know, but he’ll be looking for us on this floor.”

  She turned and ran in the other direction. There had to be another way up to the main floor. They ran past the laundry room. Footsteps sounded above them. She sprinted toward a door and swung it open, finding a narrow back stairway similar to servants’ stairs in older houses. These stairs led into the kitchen. Probably so cooks had quick, discreet access to any food and wine stored in the basement.

  The stairs were not carpeted, which made the potential for noise that much greater. Stepping as softly as possible, they hurried up and into the kitchen. There was no place to hide in the kitchen that wouldn’t be obvious. Isabel grabbed keys off a hook where they were hanging. She filed through them, holding them close to her face to see better.

  She’d never been in the greenhouse but had noticed the labeled key for it. Maybe they could lock it from the inside. Jason leaned close to her, trying to see what she was doing. She could feel his warm breath on her neck.

  A pang of guilt shot through her. She wasn’t supposed to go into the greenhouse. That wasn’t part of her job. She vowed that if she got a chance, she’d explain and apologize to the Wilsons. If she got the chance...

  Isabel felt along the wall for the door that led to the greenhouse where it connected with the kitchen. She leaned close to the keyhole in an effort to insert the key. Humid air floated around her when she opened the door.

  They slipped inside. The room was filled with plants though she could not discern what kind in the dim light. The Wilsons must hire a gardener to care for the plants in their absence.

  The door did not lock from the inside.