Deadly Getaway

by Laura Bradford

  Brad’s laugh echoed against the bare white cinder-block walls. “Merlin? Slow? That geezer might be a lot of things but slow ain’t one of ’em.”

  “He’s recovering from the flu. He’s had it so bad that he didn’t have an inkling about what’s been going on around here the past few days.”

  “I was wonderin’ where he’s been. That man doesn’t miss anything.” Brad set the front legs of his chair back down on the ground and stood.

  Elise followed Brad across the room with her eyes, watched him push the rear window up a few inches.

  “It’s a wonder we’re all not sick with your bizarre need for fresh air.” Mitch shook his head with mock irritation then leaned on the wall beside Elise.

  “It’s part of my charm, remember?” Brad quipped.

  “The chicks dig it.” Elise laughed as the words left her mouth, her impression of Brad almost flawless.

  Mitch laughed out loud, a joyous sound that Elise realized she’d missed more than anything else these past few days. She desperately wanted the relaxed Mitch who had sat beside her on the sleigh ride to the hotel. The Mitch who deserved a break.

  “That was perfect, Elise.”

  She curtseyed to the floor, savored the momentary pause in their cruel reality. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “Okay, okay, smart alecks.” Brad slid the window down a quarter of an inch and headed back toward his desk chair. “So I guess we’ll need to check in with Merlin tomorrow to see if he’s found anything?”

  “No, you guys have enough on your plate without having to look through endless paper piles. This is something I can do.”

  “What are you thinking you’re gonna find?” Brad reached into his top desk drawer and pulled out a box of green Tic Tacs. “Want one?”

  Elise put her hand up quickly, shook her head. “What I’m hoping to find is a story—or series of stories—about the crimes this guy has committed. If we do, that could really fill in some much-needed pieces for us.”

  “Man, that would be awesome.” Brad popped a mint into his mouth and leaned forward on his desk, swung his gaze from Elise to Mitch and back again. “But how do you even know where to start?”

  “Agent Walker said they were tracking the killer across several states. That this guy assumes the vocation of his victims, right? That’s the kind of story that papers pick up. It might be a small story out of Bu-Fu, Iowa, but something like that will get picked up by the wires eventually.” Elise leaned against Mitch, savored the feel of his arm across her shoulders, his breath against her head. “But I’ll be honest, I’m hoping for even more than that.”

  “What’s that?”

  She turned her head and looked at Mitch, saw the curiosity in his eyes as he waited for her to answer.

  “A picture.”

  8:45 p.m.

  She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. As much as she wanted to cuddle in Mitch’s arms all night, she simply needed some time alone. To think, plan.

  And Mitch needed the sleep. His eyes looked sunken, his cheeks flushed. The last thing they needed was for him to get sick, and he knew that as well as she did.

  Elise turned her ear to the door and listened, heard the muffled sound of footsteps followed by silence. Mitch was in bed, where he belonged.

  She looked slowly around her room, shined the small flashlight at the flowered walls, the thick drapes, the old-fashioned dressing mirror, the elegant comforter, and her purse.

  She pushed off the door and sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled the small leather bag off the antique nightstand and reached inside. The photograph was worn in the middle, the colors muted with time. But the smile on her uncle’s face was as bright and full of life as it was in her memories, a cruel contrast to the man he had become.

  Closing her eyes, she thought back to the day everything changed. The day her aunt had been found dead and everyone turned against her uncle.

  Even now, thirteen years later, she still didn’t believe Uncle Ken had been negligent. It wasn’t in his nature to be careless. And he had absolutely adored Faye.

  Elise swiped at the tear that ran down her cheek.

  The pieces of that day had never fit together for Elise like they had for the rest of the family. It just seemed impossible to her that Uncle Ken would have forgotten to go back into the garage to shut off his hot rod before he left for work. But even if he had forgotten, it was a tragic accident. An accident he had to live with for the rest of his life, one that cost him his wife. And little Ray.

  She looked at the picture in her hand again, at Uncle Ken’s face-splitting smile, Aunt Faye’s gentle beauty, little Ray’s sparkling ocean-blue eyes. Faye had always referred to the day she met Uncle Ken as a miracle. The kind of day that made you believe in dreams.

  “Elise, I never thought I’d find happiness after Raymond died, never thought little Ray could have another dad who loved him like Raymond did. But your uncle proved me wrong.”

  Their wedding had been like something out of a storybook. Elise had been the flower girl, little Ray the ring bearer. And the love the three of them had for one another was as tangible as the flowers Elise had carried.

  Fortunately for her, Faye had accepted Elise’s frequent visits with open arms. She’d seemed to understand that Elise saw their happy home as a breath of fresh air. They’d included her in picnics and outings, camping trips and holidays, and even occasional vacations like their trip to Mackinac.

  The island vacation had been perfect, the sun shining down on them the entire week. There had been bike rides and hikes, picnics and walks. And they’d all giggled at the image of a gray-haired Uncle Ken and toothless Aunt Faye sitting on the porch of the log home they’d fallen in love with during one of their walks.

  A log home that Uncle Ken had fled to in grief. Alone.

  Elise stood, walked to the window that overlooked Lake Huron. The brief respite between storms was over, and blowing snow was falling on the remote island once again.

  She glanced down at the picture in her hand, at the image that was barely visible in the darkened room. Uncle Ken was alone in that cabin. Shut away from a world that had turned against him at a time when he desperately needed love and understanding.

  And now he was a sitting duck, a perfect target for a madman looking to hide in a place where no one ever went.

  Turning, Elise picked up the flashlight and shone it on the roll-top desk in the corner of her room. She walked to the chair and sat, reached for the hotel’s pen and paper and began to write.

  Uncle Ken might not answer a knock at the door, but she was hopeful he’d answer if he knew true understanding was on the other side.

  Sunday, January 30

  Chapter Nineteen

  7:00 a.m.

  Elise pulled the soft green turtleneck over her head and stared at her image in the mirror. The constant tossing and turning throughout the night showed in the dull eyes that stared back, lifeless, guilty.

  How on earth was she going to get to the cabin and back without Mitch knowing? Could she slip away when he thought she was with Merlin?

  Just the notion of being dishonest with Mitch made her cheeks redden, her shoulders slump. But she didn’t know what else to do.

  Elise stuck her tongue out at herself and turned around, her gaze suddenly riveted on a small square of paper sliding toward her feet.

  She squatted down, stared at the familiar writing.

  Elise,

  I’m heading over to the station early to toss some things around with Brad. No need to rush over. I’m hoping you’ll sleep in and take some time for you.

  I Love You!

  Mitch

  She stared at the note, her heart racing. If she hurried, she could get out to the cabin and back before Mitch even knew she was awake!

  Elise heard the click of Mitch’s outer door followed by the sound of his footsteps as he headed toward the stairs at the end of the hall.

  She stood and walked to the window that overlooke
d the front entrance, peered down. Moments later, Mitch emerged from the building, his legs sinking into the deep snow as he headed in the direction of the station.

  It’s now or never, Elise.

  She grabbed her coat from the rack in the corner, stepped into her tall black boots. Even after nearly twelve hours, they still felt cold and wet. If she never saw another snowflake it would be too soon.

  But at least she had her skis. It was the one thing that would make the trek across the island even close to doable.

  8:10 a.m.

  Elise could hear the pounding of her heart beneath her earmuffs, feel her hands moisten inside her gloves as she rounded the last cropping of trees that separated her from the cabin.

  The light-colored logs that had caught Aunt Faye’s attention nearly fourteen years ago had darkened—a casualty of age and years of harsh winter weather. The windows that had once seemed so full of character and light were now covered with dark fabric to keep the world out. The front porch was void of the Adirondack chairs Uncle Ken had dreamed of and the hanging flowers Faye had described in great detail.

  In fact, if it wasn’t for the plumes of smoke that rose from the chimney, there would be no indication of life inside.

  Elise stopped, her breath coming in short tired gasps. Now that she was here, she was scared. Scared that he wouldn’t open the door. Scared that he’d turn her away.

  But she had to try.

  Squaring her shoulders, Elise dug her poles into the ground and pushed off, the fear in her heart giving way to tempered anticipation.

  With several quick strides she reached the base of the front porch, bent down and released her boots from the skis. Her legs felt like rubber as she stepped onto the weathered porch and walked toward the door, her hands sweating inside her gloves.

  “Knock, Elise.”

  The whispered words escaped her dry mouth, disappeared in the cold winter air.

  Trembling, she raised her hand and knocked, softly at first, then with more urgency as her efforts went unanswered.

  Finally she stopped, pulled off her gloves, and reached into the pocket of her coat. The slip of paper was there, waiting.

  Elise unfolded the white square and stared at the tear-stained words she’d written by flashlight. Words she prayed would make the difference.

  She bent down and gently maneuvered the paper through the miniscule crack beneath the door, then knocked one last time.

  Seconds turned to minutes as she waited, her ears straining to make out any sign of life on the other side of the door.

  But there was nothing.

  “Please, Uncle Ken, please open the door.”

  Her voice rose as she knocked harder.

  “I have to talk to you. I need to talk to you.”

  Cold, salty tears ran into her mouth as she knocked again and again, her head pleading with her heart to stop. He wasn’t going to answer. He had shut her out too.

  Crying, she turned from the door and headed back to her skis, her legs stiff and heavy. It was no use. He wanted nothing to do with anyone. Including her.

  A soft click made her turn. The door slowly opened, revealing the tall bearded man she hadn’t seen in years.

  Strong arms reached for her as she crumbled to the ground, sobbing.

  “It’s okay, Elise. I’m here.”

  8:10 a.m.

  Mitch looked at the sheet of paper in front of him, moved his finger slowly down the list he’d just completed.

  “All we’ve got is Mark and that’s too easy.”

  “Huh?”

  Mitch looked up from his list and stared at Brad. “C’mon, Brad, you need to wake up.”

  “I’m trying, man. That damn kerosene heater is making me tired.” Brad pushed his chair back and stood, walked toward the window. “If you want me to be alert you’re gonna have to put up with the window being up.”

  “Whatever works. I just need you following me.” Mitch gulped the black coffee Sophie had given him as he passed by her restaurant that morning. “It’s gonna be a while ’til the feds get out here with this much snow and more waves coming all the time. We’ve gotta get more proactive.”

  Brad unlatched the window and pushed it upward. “We’re doing what we can. And since Annie, there’s been nothing else.”

  “That we know of. Hell, there could be dead bodies sitting in some of those outlying homes you’ve got on your map and we wouldn’t have a clue.”

  “There’s a nice thought.” Brad puffed up his cheeks. “What were you saying before about Mark not fitting?”

  Mitch looked back down at the list he’d written. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past year, it’s that the obvious is rarely your answer. Agent Walker said this guy would be under our nose but he didn’t say he was stupid. And Mark was very forthcoming with Elise when she interviewed him.”

  “Okay, so now what?”

  As much as Mitch enjoyed his friendship with Brad, it was hard not to get frustrated with the guy. He simply didn’t like anything that was hard. Which was probably why he’d secured a job in a place where nothing ever happened.

  Until now.

  “So now we start talking to all the residents, get details about every new face they’ve seen since Thursday.”

  “Yeah, but most everyone is holed up in their homes or hotel rooms. How much help is that gonna be?”

  Mitch’s gaze moved across the desk, lingered on the coffee cup. “Their vocations.”

  “Huh?”

  “Vocations.” Mitch straightened in his chair. “Agent Walker said this guy takes on the vocation of his victims. What did Pete do for a living?”

  “I think one of those guys said he was a computer guy of some sort. But I don’t think anyone’s parading around pretending to be a computer geek, do you?”

  Brad was right. It didn’t make sense.

  “Wait, Mitch, here comes Jonathan.”

  Mitch looked toward the front windows, saw Jonathan shaking snow from his trousers and coat on the front porch.

  He pushed his chair back and stood, walked quickly toward the front door just as the tall gray-haired man entered the station.

  “Good morning, boys.”

  Mitch reached for Jonathan’s leather-clad hand. “Hey, Jonathan. We’re glad you’re here. How’d it go last night?”

  Jonathan pulled his gloves off and stuck them in his pocket, unbuttoned his coat slowly. “I made a point of sitting down in the lobby by the fireplace hoping I could strike up a conversation with anyone else who happened to be down there.”

  Mitch hung Jonathan’s coat on the rack beside his own.

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Maybe. Mark came downstairs at one point and seemed kinda edgy. Asked if I thought you were at the station.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. At first I was a little nervous that he’d put it together and figured out I was a cop too, but I don’t think he did.”

  “Did he say why he was asking about me?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “Nope. Just said he had something he needed to run by you. I didn’t want to prod too much for fear that’d raise his suspicion.”

  Mitch nodded, his thoughts reeling. “Do you have any idea what it might have been about?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “No. He wasn’t interested in telling me anything.”

  “Maybe we should head up there now and find out what his deal is.” Brad reached for his coat and pulled it from the rack.

  Jonathan raised his hand. “Hold on there a minute, Brad. You can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  Mitch spoke, his voice quiet yet firm as he enunciated each word in an attempt to help Brad understand. “Because then Mark will know that Jonathan is reporting back to us.”

  “Oh. You’re right.”

  Mitch rubbed his eyes, willed himself not to say something he was going to regret. But it was obvious by Jonathan’s rigid stance that Mitch was not the only one who was growing ir
ritated with Brad’s cluelessness.

  “I say we just hang here for a little while and see if he shows up.”

  “I think that’s a good idea. I’m gonna head over to Sophie’s for some coffee and then check back later.” Jonathan reached for his coat then stopped, looked around. “Where’s Elise?”

  Mitch looked down at his wrist as he spoke. “At the hotel. Hopefully getting some much-needed sleep. But she should be here soon.”

  8:50 a.m.

  Elise pulled the afghan closer, watched as a log broke in two, sending sparks up the chimney.

  “Are you warm enough?”

  She pulled her gaze from the glowing embers in the hearth, focused on Uncle Ken’s concerned face.

  “I’m fine. I’m just so glad to see you—I’ve missed you so much.”

  Uncle Ken cleared his throat, brushed a hand across his mouth. “I’ve missed you too, ’Lise.”

  Now that she was here, with him, the years that had come and gone since she last saw him disappeared like the tiny sparks that shot out from the fire and vanished into thin air. Sure, the beard was new and his eyes no longer held their enchanting sparkle. But he was here. Safe.

  She wrapped the afghan tighter around her knees and peered around the cabin. There wasn’t much furniture, just the essentials. But what there was provided a cozy feel.

  “Where did you get all of this stuff?” she asked softly.

  “I bought it with the cabin. There’s only a few things that are mine.”

  She followed his gaze to a row of pictures that adorned the half wall separating the kitchen and sitting room. Aunt Faye smiled from one of the frames, little Ray from another.

  Uncle Ken cleared his throat, reached for her hand. “What brings you here? To Mackinac?”

  “I told myself that I came just to get away from work and enjoy some time with my boyfriend, Mitch.” She looked down at Uncle Ken’s hand on hers. “But I guess I really wanted to come here to connect with a place that held a lot of happiness for me.”