“Mark.”
He just about jumped out of his skin when the agent spoke. “That’s just the cellar with the furnace and water tank. I was going to show it to you guys tomorrow. You’ll want to know where the electrical panel is in case you blow a breaker.”
When Mark turned to look up at him, puzzlement showed in Jake’s eyes. Mark stammered for a moment trying to shake the creepy feeling that had skittered up his spine. Why had the door opened on its own like that? He swallowed hard. “A cellar?” He’d been right about the name.
Jake nodded and then his eyes cleared. “Yeah. Of course. You probably didn’t have them in Florida, right? They’re common up here to store stuff and it’s where the utilities usually are kept. It’s not the nicest spot in the house, that’s for sure.” He signaled for Mark to step out and then he flipped the switch before shutting the door. “C’mon, and get yourself a soda or something.”
Mark didn’t have to be asked twice. He’d check it out tomorrow when it was daytime. A cellar, huh? He could probably creep Angela out with that.
Mom and Angela’s footsteps sounded on the stairwell as he followed Jake into the kitchen. He grabbed a pop from the fridge and sat at the table.
Jake took the pizza from the oven and nodded to Mom and Angela. “That was good timing. Have a seat.”
***
Twenty minutes later, Lydia poured her second glass of wine and pushed the empty plate to the side. Dinner had been a quiet affair, with Jake the only one talking, giving them more information about the town. He’d probably have to repeat himself the next day as the three of them were lost in their own heads, coming to terms with all of this. Sitting at a strange table, in a strange house with a strange man cooking dinner, was mind-bending enough. Take into account the circumstances that brought them all together and it was pretty much surreal.
Jake cleared the table of dishes and then turned to face them, “I’m going to get my sleeping bag and retire to the living room. I’ve got some calls to make and then I’ll catch up on some reading. I’ll lock up and see you guys in the morning.”
“Thanks Jake.” What more could she say? Whatever resources she could muster had better be spent helping her kids through this. When the agent disappeared through the doorway, she placed her hand over Mark’s. He was the one who would bury the hurt rather than getting it out there to heal. “How are you doing, buddy?”
“I’m okay, I guess.” He stared down at the table, while his body slumped lower in the chair. He looked up at his mother for a moment. “When do we have to start at this new school?”
“There’s no rush for that; don’t worry about it. You’ll go when you’re ready and not a minute before. Trust me on that.” Lydia forced a reassuring smile and patted his hand. The kid got good grades so if it took a week or two, so what? It was bad enough to be dealing with his father’s death let alone be overwhelmed with new kids at a new school.
Angela picked at the tab on her can of soda. “Did you know that Dad was working for that drug outfit?” Her daughter’s blue eyes were still puffy from all the tears she’d shed.
“No! I’d bet even your father didn’t know when he took the job. Believe me, the worst thing your father ever did was maybe speed a little. He never even cheated on his taxes and he had the smarts to do that.” She took a sip of the wine. Maybe that was the problem. Liam was clever when it came to accounting but he’d never had too many street smarts. If he had more, maybe he wouldn’t have been killed. If he’d been up front with her, she could have helped him.
Angela was quiet for a few moments, fighting the tears before she blurted, “I hope he gave the FBI enough to nail those bastards.” She knotted her fingers together. “Cos if he did, then he wouldn’t have died for nothing.”
Mark glanced at his sister and then mumbled, “Will we really be safe here? What if they find us?”
She leaned forward, squeezing his hand and taking her daughter’s fingers as well. “Your Dad didn’t die for nothing. He gave the FBI enough evidence that they put us here! He trusted them to see that his family was safe and we have to believe that. That drug cartel will have their hands full dodging the authorities to even give us a thought. And that’s thanks to your father.” From the hollow feeling in her gut she wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince them, or herself.
Mark rose to his feet. “I’m tired, Mom. I’m going to bed now.”
She pulled him in and kissed his cheek. “Okay baby. Sleep as long as you want. There’s no rush to get up in the morning. Sleep is the best thing for you right now.” His fingers slipped from hers when he turned and walked slowly away, his head down. He was going to have a hard night.
Angela stood up as well. “I’m going to shower and then go to bed too. I feel like a steam roller went over me and then backed up to hit me again. This sucks.” At her mother’s raised eyebrows she sighed, “I know you hate that word but it’s true.” She leaned over and hugged Lydia before slouching across the room and going through the doorway. She was going to have a hard night too. Hell, they all were.
Lydia finished the rest of her wine and then got up to rinse the glass. Yeah. Angela was right. This totally sucked. She turned off the lights and went up the stairs to her own room and the empty bed which she’d have to get used to.
NINE
Jake
THE NEXT DAY JAKE tossed the sleeping bag aside and sat up, running his fingers through his hair. Sleeping on the sofa wasn’t the most comfortable night he’d ever spent but considering his career choice, he’d been through worse. Long, freeze-the-nuts-off-in-a-jeep kind of nights on stakeouts came to mind. He needed to use the bathroom in the worst way but there was no way he wanted them up any earlier than necessary. They’d been through the wringer in the last seventy-two hours. As a kid he’d done some camping out, and standing behind a tree wasn’t all that bad.
He got to his feet and grabbed his jacket before wandering down the hall to the back door. When he stepped outside, it was cold, but the sun’s rays caught in the frost blanketing the backyard. There was a huge lilac bush at the corner of the house that he could sneak behind to the take care of the ache in his bladder.
An old dirt track where a tractor or wagon used led to a barn about sixty feet away. His head pulled back seeing the wide plank door in the center of the weathered building, swaying open. He could have sworn that it was closed the other day when he brought the groceries out to the house. He zipped up and then walked down the path to check it out. Without even having to think about it, he slipped his hand to his back and drew his gun.
He stepped inside cautiously, his gaze darting from a low workbench at the far end to the stanchions once used for cattle and horses. The smell of hay and manure even years since there’d been livestock still wafted faintly. Dust motes flittered in the rays of light from a few windows high above the loft. A mouse disturbed by his footsteps darted across the floor to its hole in the corner. Other than the mouse there was no sign of life in the still and quiet space.
He turned around and flipped the old latch into slot at the side of the door. Considering the shape it was in, a gust of wind could have easily caused the door to open.
When he was about to leave, he paused for a moment watching a freighter lumber through the sparkling river, on its way through to Lake Ontario and probably Detroit. Whenever he saw them, that old song, Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald always popped into his head. Great. Now it would be an ear worm that he’d have to endure all day.
Worse still were the reminders of Claire that always stirred to the surface when he heard the sad song. The folk singer at the bar had been playing it the night he met the girl who would become his wife a year later. People had given them weird looks when it was the tune of the first dance at their wedding. But that was ancient history. Their marriage had sunk the same way the old Edmund Fitz had sank.
He shook off the memories and walked back to the house. When he entered the kitchen he was surprised to see Mark already up,
sitting at the table eating cereal. He rinsed his hands under the faucet and commented, “Aren’t you the early bird. How are you doing today, buddy?”
“Okay,” he mumbled, chewing the crunchy breakfast. In the plaid pajamas, his tangled head of curls hung over the bowl like a he was a cocker spaniel.
Jake filled the coffeepot with water and then set about scooping the grounds into the machine. “I’ll follow up on the internet and cable today and see if they can maybe speed things up.” When that didn’t get a response he tried another tack. “There’s a rocky beach at the edge of the property. Ever play at skipping stones on the water’s surface, Mark? I could show—”
“My dad and I did that when we rented a cabin at Four Creeks.” The boy sank lower over the table.
Well that hadn’t gone well. Jake slipped his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I was out to check the barn earlier. It’s kind of neat.” He poured a mug of coffee not waiting for it to finish dripping through. “Would you like some juice or a glass of milk?”
“No thanks, I’m good.” Mark sat back and stared at him. “Think you could teach me to shoot?”
Jake’s head jerked back. Where had that come from? “Uh...I don’t think that’s a good idea. First of all your mother would hate it and I’d have to agree with her. Guns aren’t something to play around with.”
“When did you first shoot one?” Now the boy was all ears, leaning forward.
“Not until I was twenty-one. Why the interest in guns? Your dad wasn’t, was he?” But he already had a pretty good idea about Liam from what he’d read. The guy was an accountant in the big city. Not someone you’d connect with a gun lover.
The cloud once more descended over the kid’s attention. He shrugged and then got up to rinse his bowl. “I don’t know. I just thought being out here in the country, I should know how to shoot a gun.” He looked over at Jake, “Dad wasn’t into guns. But maybe he should have. Maybe he’d be alive if he’d been carrying a gun.”
So that was what this was about. Jake sat back, setting the mug on the table. “Did you know more people are killed in gun accidents at home than ever in any shoot-out with bad guys? I know where you’re going with this, but Mark, you’re safe here. It’s a quiet town and the drug guys won’t find you.”
He sat forward again and locked eyes with the kid. “Think about it, Mark. In all of this big country, finding you and your family is like finding a needle in a haystack. There’s no trace of Mark Robbins anymore. And do you have any idea how many Robertsons there are in this massive continent?”
Mark nodded his head and then set the bowl in the dishwasher. “Got it. Maybe I’ll get dressed and check out that barn and the yard.”
But Jake wasn’t entirely certain that the boy was really giving up that easy. The boy probably considered himself the man of the family now; doing what he thought would protect his mother and sister. He was too young for that kind of responsibility. Being a kid these days was tough enough without jumping into a man’s shoes. This thing with guns and growing up too fast was something to watch, that was for sure.
TEN
Mark
THE AGENT WAS ON HIS CELL PHONE WHEN MARK WALKED BY THE KITCHEN. After a quick shower and donning the new clothes, Mark was already sick of the house. Getting outside, breathing fresh air would be an improvement. He closed his eyes and shook his head before going out the back door. As much as he hated this place, it was home now. But when he was old enough he’d go back to Florida.
At first he’d thought Jake was kind of cool but now he knew the truth. He was just like all the other adults, treating him like a baby. Just because he was small for his age and skinny, didn’t mean he couldn’t be tough—or smart. He could probably beat that FBI guy in an IQ test if he had to. He was smart like his father had been. He was going to be tough and not let anyone play him for a fool. Not like those drug guys had done to Dad.
He kicked a stone on the path to the barn sending it flying twenty feet to prove his point. Ignoring the sharp pain in his toe, he looked around at the expanse of the backyard. On one side the boundary was marked by a split-rail fence and on the other the dark blue of the river. A cold breeze nipped at his face and he pulled the collar of his jacket higher.
He flipped the latch and tugged the barn door open. The only light in the dim building flowed from a few high windows and the door where he now stood. But it was enough to show a ladder perched against a half-story, open platform, above. They called that a loft, he thought to himself. There was a thick gray rope dangling from a pulley of some sort. He gripped the line in his hands and yanked on it, lifting his feet from the floor and swinging back and forth.
Skidding his feet on the floor he scuffed up a cloud of dust. When his nose began to itch, he stopped swinging and rubbed it. The ladder was next. He wandered over to it and began the twenty-foot climb to the old hayloft. He’d seen pictures of barns of course but this was the first time he was ever in one.
BANG!
He almost fell off the ladder when the door slammed shut. His heart leapt to his throat and he darted back down. Racing over to the door, he pushed on it, saying a silent prayer that the latch hadn’t caught. What had caused the door to shut? He was trapped and no one would ever hear him yelling. At first it wouldn’t move. He lurched and tugged at it with all his might, yanking at the stuck door. Without warning it flew open, and he stumbled forward almost falling flat on his face.
He straightened and then looked at the door feeling a chill race through his body. It wasn’t that windy outside that it would have slammed the door, was it? He looked up above the door and only then noticed the horseshoe hanging above it. Unlike what he’d always seen in books, this one was upside down. Or maybe that was the way they did things up north.
The back of his neck prickled. All of a sudden the barn held little appeal.
He brushed his hands together and then looked out to the water. The frozen grass crunched under his feet as he walked across the yard, heading for the shoreline. Squinting at the sun sparkling on the water, he peered across to what looked to be an island, dark evergreens topping a rocky shoreline. To the left was another island, and he squinted harder seeing the peaks of a structure that looked like a castle. Yeah, it was definitely a stone castle on that island. The north’s attempt at Disney World’s Cinderella Castle? He’s have to ask Jake about that.
The beach was carpeted with smooth stones making it hard to walk. He had to look down picking his way across until he was only a few feet from the water, gurgling in small waves against the rocks. He spotted a flat rock about as big around as a golf ball. Picking it up, his fingers curled around it and he let fly, smiling when it skimmed the surface, kissing the water four times before disappearing. He tried another and another, before spotting the perfect stone.
He stepped a few feet to grab it and then stopped short seeing an old man walking halfway up the long stretch of beach. Where had he come from? He hadn’t noticed him before. And there was no sound of him walking along the rocks.
A flat, gray hat slung low over the guy’s forehead, and his shoulders were hunched in a bulky, dark coat, his hands in his pockets. He just stood there staring across the water. Mark gazed past the old man trying to see if there was a house or car to indicate where he’d come from. But all he could see was the low-lying shoreline, bordered by fields with the odd tree. His house was the only one around.
He hurled the stone across the water. Should he go back to the house to get Jake? Even though the guy was old, and just watching the river, he had no business on their property. What was he up to? He made like he was getting another stone but his gaze slid up the shore to take better stock of him to give Jake a better description.
He dropped the stone and then jerked upright. The guy was gone! Mark peered down the beach and then across to the fields, but there was no sign of him at all. What the hell? He was too old to get away that fast.
Mark walked quickly across the beach and then broke
into a run when his feet hit the grass. He had no idea where that guy had gone and he wasn’t taking chances. Not with the reasons they were here in the first place...no way, José. He had to get Jake. Now.
He raced up the steps at the back entry and yanked the door open. When he stepped inside he was panting, trying to catch his breath. Mom was just coming down the hallway, still in her robe and pajamas.
She took one look at him and her mouth fell open. “Mark! What’s wrong?” She held him by the shoulders, while her eyes inspected his face. “What’s the matter?” Her eyes sparked with fear and she looked out the door behind him.
He deliberated all of two seconds whether to tell and upset her before blurting, “There was some old guy just up the beach from me. One minute he was there and then the next second he was gone.”
Jake stepped out of the kitchen and stood next to his mother. “Where?” He grabbed his coat from the hook and then slipped it on. “Never mind. I’ll check it out. You guys stay here.” He pushed past them, one hand reaching for the door, the other sliding to the small of his back. There was a gun in his hand when he stepped outside.
Haunted Hideout Page 4