Baker's Luck

by D D Loomis

  Almost round as he was tall, Sammy looked the part of a kitchen chef. “Perfect timing, my man! We’uns had just run outta the Water of Life.” Four other folks appeared and we all became busy moving everything into the kitchen area.

  After relocating my SUV closer to the lobby building, I strode inside. “Hi, Jill-I mean Mom. All the goodies are on site. Hope you don’t mind all the fuss this is probably going to be for you, but…”

  “Nonsense, Francis.” She gave me a quick hug, then a searching look. “My, you look chipper. What’d you do, get away with robbing a bank or something?”

  I gave a broad smile. “Right the first time. No, I just thought we should have a pre-celebration for the fourth of July. It’s only a few days till then, isn’t it?”

  She patted my shoulder. “Sounds good to me. Have to get some dance music.” She gave a little two-step. “Maybe even get a few people to dance.”

  “In which case I request you consider saving the first dance for me, Milady.”

  She gave a tinkling laugh. “Only if you behave yourself, Sirrah!”

  * * *

  There was a canteen in the basement of one building, where we could gather to gossip and chew the fat around tables and even buy candy, soft drinks or souvenirs. Most all of us here for the Retreat had congregated there before dinner. The noise level was rising when a man and woman hurried in, out of breath. “There’s a body on the trail!” shouted the woman.

  The crowd erupted from the canteen, hurrying after the two hikers, me in the middle of the rush. Moments later we arrived at the site, only 300 yards from Wildacres. Ten feet from the trail was a small drop-off. Most people crowded close to its edge, while several had already made their way down to what looked like a man lying face-down in a dry creek bed 20 feet below.

  I glanced over the rim of the drop, and quickly raised my voice. “Hey, everyone. We’d better stay back from the site, till the police get here.” I had another thought. “Anyone check to make sure he’s dead?”

  “He’s dead,” said an older woman, edging away from the body. “No pulse, and neck looks broken.”

  “Ambulance and cops been called,” echoed a voice from the roadway above.

  I worked my way down to where the body was. “I’ll keep an eye on things here. Might be a wise idea for everyone to head back to the lodge.”

  Gradually the herd thinned, until I was the only one left. The immediate area around the body looked like a herd of buffalo had tromped through. I squatted, trying to fix all the details of the body and its surroundings in my mind. Face battered by the fall onto rocks, shirt cut to ribbons…Looked like something had clawed his back pretty good. Both arms looked to have multiple breaks, the way they were twisted. After a couple of minutes, I stood and stretched. Didn’t feel right. Too much damage for just falling over a twenty foot cliff. Looked like a knife or something sharp had whittled on him.

  I cast a thirty foot circle around the body, closely inspecting the ground. There–tracks headed in a northerly direction. I bent down for a closer look. Bear tracks. Would a bear have caused the extra damage I’d seen on the body? Possibly. I shook my head, and followed the tracks. Another fifty feet, and they faded out. Tracks normally didn’t disappear in the middle of a field. I headed back to the body, glancing at the sun that was lowering in the sky. No party tonight.

  * * *

  Supper was a hurried affair, with only a handful of us taking part. Most folks were still in the canteen or the patio outside of it, discussing what had happened. I was just leaving the dining hall when I had an idea, and headed towards Sammy. “How about taking some of that finger food I brought in this afternoon up to the canteen? Might not go to waste that way.”

  “Good idea, my man. C’mon, give us a hand. We can take some drinks up for ‘em, too.”

  A group of willing hands made short work of the chore. I lowered my butt into a rocking chair on the patio, casting an appreciative eye at the moon floating over the hills.

  “Mind if I join you?” Sammy asked, grunting while lowering himself into another rocker nearby. “Hear you were the one that spotted the bear tracks by Connie’s body.”

  “Connie?”

  “Conrad. We called him Connie, though. Been workin’ up here the past two seasons in the kitchen.”

  I rocked my chair, looking at the moon threatening to be blocked by several clouds. “Was he from around here?”

  “Yep. His family came from west of Spruce Pine a few miles up the Parkway from here. Connie got in some trouble, and disappeared for around fifteen years. ‘Bout the time he came back four years ago, his folks died. Guess he decided to stick around after that.”

  “You know anyone who might’ve had some trouble with him?”

  Sammy stopped his rocking and turned towards me. “Now why would you ask that? The police said it was an accident. Or d’you know something they don’t?”

  “Um, no, it just seems-well…”

  “Yeh, it’d be a good way to cover up killin’ him, wouldn’t it?”

  Now it was my turn to face Sammy. “You know anything about his past?”

  “He was in jail for a few years after he first left. Then when he came back, he was a changed man. Instead of a blustery guy who tended to bully folks occasionally, he was real quiet and withdrawn. I got the feelin’ he was hiding from the world.”

  A couple minutes later Sammy excused himself. I got my rocker going, vainly looking for a glimpse of the moon. No joy there. It’d disappeared behind a bank of clouds that were slowly covering the sky, blotting out the stars while they moved. Have to remember to call my office tonight. I’d only given them a sketchy report earlier, and Alice was probably pitching a fit by now. A cool breeze started, convincing me it was time to head for my room. I stood, giving one last glance around before heading off.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next day after lunch, I was back where the body had been found. Something still bothered me about it. From the edge where he’d gone over, there wasn’t anything I could see that would have tripped him up. This was my second trip to the site since the body had been found, and everything was the same as before. Including the man standing off the trail in the heavy undergrowth thirty feet behind me.

  I turned around, staring at the wall of brush between us. “Come on out, I won’t bite.”

  A thin sandy-haired man warily stepped onto the trail. His stance looked familiar, like someone who’d spent years in martial arts training. I felt myself tensing up. Why was he so wary? And why was he slinking around like a thief in the night? A glimmer of light dawned in my usually fogged up brain.

  “You like to explain why you killed him?”

  For several seconds the man stood immobile, then relaxed. I felt myself ease up from the readiness stance I’d been in.

  “He was one of the men who killed my family.”

  The calm, unhurried manner he’d made the statement jarred me as much as what he’d said. What the hell was I getting into? “When did this happen?” I asked.

  He shuddered, and stepped towards me. “You mind if we sit down?”

  I led the way to a bench several feet further down the trail, where we sat. I absently noted the spectacular view of a forested valley. “I’m Francis Baker.”

  “Dave Cutlip,” he said with a nod. “It’s been five years since Crystal and Marie died.”

  For the next ten minutes he told a horrific tale how his wife and child were victims of a break-in. He’d been a captain newly arrived at Fort Benning, Georgia. He and his family had settled into off-post housing just a mile from the post. Early one Sunday morning while everyone still slept, three men forced their way into his home.

  Two of the men had baseball bats and did their best to kill him, fracturing his skull in the process. He was still semi-conscious when they left him for dead and began on Crystal. She managed to get
a hard kick into the crotch of the leader, who was trying to rape her. One of the others, the leader’s brother, became enraged and began strangling her.

  Mercifully Dave passed out at that point, and woke up days later in the hospital to find out not only Crystal, but his three year old had been killed. He’d received medical retirement from the military, due to head injuries from the incident. With that and a trust fund his wife’s parents had originally set up for the family, he wouldn’t have to work again if he didn’t want to.

  “I used my time to search for those three,” he said. His eyes hadn’t wavered from the thousand-mile stare he’d kept during the entire story to this point. “I had a name, and the images of them burnt in my mind.” Now his gaze shifted to the ground. “Three years it took. Three long years before I got a nibble on the first one. Tortured him for the other names. He gave them up pretty quick. I kept torturing him until he finally died. Made it look like he’d been run over by a truck. No one guessed different.”

  He glanced at me, eyes empty. “It wasn’t until four months ago I located Billie, Conrad’s younger brother. He’d left the U.S., and was working at a resort in Mexico. Was haunted by what they’d done that night. He said they’d been high on cocaine and booze, looking not only for money but to do something none of them had done before.”

  I finally got the nerve to ask a question. “So that led you here?”

  “Yep.” He looked at me again, then at the view, eyes unseeing. “I think this last one was running from what he’d done, even when he got back here where he grew up. I’d barely started on him when he started begging me to forgive his brother and him for what they’d done. Shook me up some when he started calling me God. So I ended it pretty quick.”

  After he finished his story, we quietly sat there a few minutes before he stirred. “Thanks for listening, Mister Baker. I needed to get that shit off my chest.”

  I cleared my throat, wiping my eyes at the same time. “So now what? You going to turn yourself in?”

  He hesitated, eyes finally noting the striking scenery around us. “Hadn’t really thought about it. Felt justified when I was doing it. Still feels like an eye for an eye kind of thing, but not sure if I’m the one to decide that. Not now, at least. Not after hearing Conrad beg like he did.”

  I turned towards him, catching his eye. “I’m far from being the person to give you advice,” I said, a half smile playing on my lips. “I’ve been a strong believer in gaining my own revenge when I thought it was called for. But never felt good about it afterwards. Maybe a little bit relieved, but…” I cleared my throat and turned back to the front. “I, for one, would never find fault in what you achieved. Might cringe at how you did it, but never at the fact that you got it.”

  He shrugged. “I got my revenge, and feel like there’s a big hole in the middle of me. I’d really appreciate some advice, Francis.”

  Dammit, just what I didn’t…The glimmer of an idea raised its head. “You’re up here at Wildacres. You some kind of writer?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been writing history articles. Usually jazz ‘em up by using dialogue, as if the characters were talking to the reader to help pass on what happened in the past.”

  I stood, waving him to his feet. “C’mon, let’s get back to the lodge.” My mind churned over the idea that was clawing its way to the surface. “You ever try writing any fiction?”

  He gave me a doubtful glance. “Not really. Why?”

  We began a slow stroll up the trail. “Because I’ve got an idea on how to get rid of the ghosts you got perched on your shoulders.” Man, it sounded like I was a character in a bad fairy tale the way I was starting this.

  His eyes got large as he stared at me. “How’d you know…Um, of course. Anything.”

  Now I was in for it. Hope this worked. “I want you to write a novel based on the story you told me. Don’t leave anything out. In fact, add a little. Change all the names to protect the guilty. Not only yours, but the sons of bitches who killed your family. The cops might get suspicious, but long’s you put enough additional stuff in the story, it’s just a work of fiction far as anyone’s concerned.”

  “What’ll writing something like that do?”

  “I think it’ll help if you see the reaction readers have to the story. Even though it was against the law what you did, let the public be your judge and jury.”

  Dave stopped and held out his hand. “Agreed. But only if you edit the story, and help me get it published.”

  “And so it begins,” I said, taking his hand. Whoa, where’d that weird statement come from? We started on, with Dave looking thoughtful. What the hell had I got myself into now?

  * * *

  The day before the rest of the crowd arrived for the second week’s classes drifted past in a haze. Most folks were concentrating on new material, new music, new creations I couldn’t even fathom. God, this was a perfect place to freshen up your creative juices.

  Dave trotted towards me while I was perched on a chair sucking down another cup of coffee. “Here’s chapter one,” he announced, plunking a manila file in front of me. “Y’ready for our jaunt?”

  Crap. Once Dave found out how I’d let my running schedule slip over the past year, he’d reveled in shaming me into a daily jog to regain my wind. I picked up the folder, hefting it. “At least ten pages. What are you, some kind of super writer?”

  “No, just enjoy it. Seems to come easy to me. Now quit stalling.”

  I groaned to my feet, looking around the canteen for sympathy, seeing only smiles and laughter at my plight. “You’re all gonna go to hell for enjoying my suffering so much,” I growled, trotting up the stairs to my room. For all the moaning and whimpering, I was beginning to look forward to our “trail loping,” as Dave called it.

  An hour later I was cooling off with a shower when I heard a knock on the bathroom door. “Be out in a minute,” I called.

  The door opened, and a nude red-head strolled in. “I thought I’d let myself in. Maybe we can finish yesterday’s discussion?”

  I frantically searched my head for her name. It was–“Of course, Stacy. Sounds like a winner.” Luella had introduced us, and all I remember was some small talk. Damn, must’ve made more of an impression than I thought. I made room in the shower and she stepped in, eyes traveling up and down my body.

  “Mm. Luella was right. You definitely need your back scrubbed. Front too, for that matter.”

  I succumbed to the ocean of delicious sensations, my last coherent thought a mental note to sign up for next year’s workshop now.

  Sometime later I was eased awake by a nibbling on my ear.

  “Almost dinner time, and I’ve worked up an appetite.” I heard the rustle of clothes as she slipped on a robe. “It’s been fun.” Seconds later she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

  I rolled over, blinking myself awake. Wow. What a woman! She’d given me a complete massage after our shower, filling me in on her husband, who was a millionare in Boston. She hoped I hadn’t formed any attachment to her, because I didn’t look to be able to afford her.

  I began dressing, feeling more relaxed than I had in days. Glad nobody around here knew what my net worth was. Hell, I wasn’t even sure. I’d gotten a little fuzzy after the fifth million. And that had been before my last adventure in Belize. Of course, most of it wasn’t what I could claim for taxes. I smiled at the experience of having a woman seduce me, and then make sure I knew it was only a one-night stand. Reversal of roles.

  * * *

  Before going to supper, I read through Dave’s first chapter so we could discuss it as we ate. What a great writing style. This guy was a natural storyteller. I headed out the door, mind busy with plans.

  “…So I think you definitely have a good beginning here. What I’d suggest next is to get me an outline of the entire story.” I paused long enough to take a co
uple bites of the baked chicken. So far, the chow had been surprisingly good.

  For the first time since I’d met him, a faint smile formed when I heaped on the praise. “Thanks, Francis. Appreciate the feedback. I’ll have your outline in a couple days.”

  “I think it’ll be easy to get this published, if the rest of your writing is like this. You should think about doing a few more novels. You’re a natural.”

  “Only if you were my agent. Or even better, my publisher.” He bent to his own plate while I thought over what he’d just said. Hm. Sounded interesting. Hadn’t thought about peddling his work as an agent. Or publishing, which sounded even more fascinating. Have to do some research on that.

  The evening’s get-together was more raucous than usual, since fifty additional attendees had shown up for the second half of the writing conference–the portion that was conducted by instructors. It also helped that the rest of the wine and beer I’d furnished for the party that didn’t happen last night was finally being consumed. I was relaxing in a rocker on one of the balcony porches, enjoying the scene of almost one hundred adults having a good time below me.

  Dave had been snagged by Mom for the latest dance. When the mature set, the ladies in their late fifties and over, had found out he was an excellent ballroom dancer, his dance card had suddenly filled. Luella’s raucous laugh echoed from inside the canteen, sending a mild shudder through my body. Not sure how her hubby survived, since he was usually next to her when she let loose one of those brays.

  I moved off the porch and strolled into the parking lot, now filled with vehicles. Time to give Charlie the call I’d promised him.

  As usual he answered on the first ring. “That you, Francis?”

  “Yep. Any word yet on the Belize thing?”

  “You bet. It went down just like we thought it would, six hours ago.”

  I alerted on the lack of enthusiasm in his voice. “So what’s the problem?”