The jet built up speed on the runway at Sawyer International Airport and smoothly lifted off and headed toward Lansing for the 90-minute flight.
“Shit!” Gabe exclaimed nearly an hour later.
“You find something?”
“Maybe; about six months before he died, Gramps was getting a regular visitor. Some guy was coming by once a week on Thursdays to help out.”
“That’s bad?” Al questioned. “What did he do?”
“Well, first thing, the help was unrequested. One time, the guy painted the barn doors, but in the color he preferred, not what gramps wanted. Gramps got mad but backed down when the guy was on the edge of getting violent. The next entry, the same guy showed up to help split wood and acted as though nothing happened,” Gabe explained. “Then Gramps added he scares me. I never knew Gramps to be scared of anyone!”
“Are there any more entries?” Al pushed.
“Just one: “He brought the chainsaw back after sharpening the chain and giving it a tune-up. He’s been asking about what I’m going to do with the camp when I die,” Gabe read aloud.
“That’s a strange thing to ask about.”
Gabe was silent for a few minutes, while he re-read all the entries concerning the unnamed “he” and then scanned through a second hard copy of Parker’s file.
“Al! I think I know who it is!” Gabe announced. “Miss,” he called out to the flight attendant, “can I make a call or send an email?”
“I’m afraid not. The flight instruments are too sensitive to those frequencies and while we’re in this turbulence, it would be too risky,” she answered, grabbing the back of the nearest seat as another gust of high winds buffered the small jet. The overhead lights flickered as the ‘fasten seatbelts’ sign flashed on. She headed to the cockpit.
Closing the door behind her, Anna said, “Jim, what’s going on?”
The pilot glanced quickly over his shoulder to make sure she was alone.
“I’m trying to get above or below this front. I can’t find a hole.” Another gust pushed the small jet sideways.
“Flight 632,” the radio crackled with a smooth, calm and nonchalant voice.
“Flight 632 with you.”
“632, Detroit Control. Relay message: Lansing Control denied landing. Divert immediately to Flint. Lansing is now closed to all traffic.”
“Acknowledge. Lansing deny landing. Divert Flint.”
“Affirmative 632.”
“Detroit, negative on last transmission. Unable to comply.” Crap, Jim thought, Flint is too far east and behind them to go back.
“632. Proceed to divert to Detroit.”
“632; Affirmative, Detroit; requesting course deviation, heading one seven four.”
“632 that’s a negative on heading. Possible one eight five?”
“That’s a firm, Detroit, turning east one eight five.” Jim looked over at Anna. “Make sure everyone is strapped in tight; it’s going to get even bumpier.” He flipped the radio back onto the new frequency.
“Detroit Approach, this is Flight 632 handed off from Control, with you at one eight five,” Jim said in a practiced neutral voice.
“Copy 632: one eight five.” Jim set the controls for an instrument landing. Snow and ice continued to pelt the small craft hard.
Fifteen minutes later, Flight 632, still battling heavy winds and weighed down by tons of ice that were altering the surface and contour of the wings preventing lift, crashed into the domed football stadium at the university outside of Detroit. All thirty-three people on board were presumed dead, and over seven hundred spectators at the early afternoon charity college football game also lost their lives when the dome collapsed; more were severely burned when the remaining jet fuel exploded.
Chapter Seventeen
“I think we moved you in here just in time!” Parker said, looking out the west-facing kitchen window. With all the new shelving full and the porch closed in, he was now limited to one window facing south, east, and west; the north side was completely blocked.
The snow came down in increasing intensity, swirling as the wind picked up, and then abating to give them a vision of drifting white as far as they could see.
“Yeah, I still need a few more things though, like my books. Say, do you play chess? I can bring my chess board, too,” David asked, his enthusiasm returning.
Closing the house down was more traumatic for him than either of them expected, even though the two-man team showed up on time and finished quickly. They drained the water heater and then the water pipes were blown clear with an air-compressor after turning off the well pump circuits; septic safe anti-freeze was poured into all the drains and toilets; and the propane was turned off at the tank. The huge generator continued to run the circuits until those pipes, too, were drained of fuel. The very last thing the two-man crew did was to pull the main circuit breaker as a fail-safe.
“No, I don’t know how to play chess, but I can learn. Let’s go get what you want before this gets any worse!”
He had waited and watched until he saw those two leave. Sitting in one of the hidden blinds for hours was not only uncomfortable, it was also very cold. He was tired of the hiding and it was time for him to claim what was rightfully his!
They slogged their way through two feet of fresh snow, pulling an empty sled behind them. On the wide porch of David’s house, Parker knocked the newly accumulated snow out of the sled.
“It’s going to be cold inside the house with the heat shut off,” David reminded him. “Bring the sled inside out of the wind and we’ll load it in the living room.”
Once inside, he started pulling books off the bookcase and dropping them onto the couch, and then stopped when he looked outside again and frowned.
“In the back room, there are a couple of empty plastic totes. Would you get them? I think I should pack these more carefully; it’s snowing really hard now.” He scowled at the growing pile on the couch.
Parker returned with the totes and two pairs of snowshoes.
“I found these hanging on the wall. Is it okay for us to use them?”
David laughed. “Literally everything in here is mine now. Of course we can use them, and I think we’re going to need them. Although I think when we get back, we should get that snow-blower out and clear some paths.”
What books didn’t fit in the totes, Parker wrapped in towels or plastic bags and wedged them between the two plastic bins and then used bungee cords to secure everything down.
“Is there anything else here that Thag would like to have?” Parker asked David as they were getting ready to leave. Even though they had been gone a little over an hour, the daylight was beginning to dim.
David slapped his forehead and took the stairs two at a time, returning with a bulging pillowcase. Parker looked in question.
“A couple of his toys I missed and his favorite blanket.” David tucked the items under one of the bungee cords.
They wrestled the now heavy sled out the front door and David used his keys to lock it behind them.
“Where’s your jeep?” Parker asked looking around. He hadn’t noticed it was gone when they first arrived.
“I already parked it out near the main road. It’s only a mile walk if we really have to get out,” he explained. “That is if the main road has been plowed,” he mumbled into the increasing wind. “That might have been a mistake. My dad always said the best way to drive in a snowstorm is to park in the garage.” After showing Parker how to step into and secure the snowshoes with the quick release clips, they ventured into the maelstrom.
Per an unspoken agreement, Parker dragged the over-loaded sled while David broke the trail, guiding them down the drive and then he turned west toward Parker’s cabin. The snow was blinding and impossible to see through, so David used the towering, dark, and barely visible trees
to guide them. As long as they stayed on the road, they would get there, and as long as trees or underbrush didn’t block or trip them, they were still on the road.
The going was slow. Every step taken was laborious and needed to be precise. Even though the webbed snowshoes kept them from sinking to the gravel two feet down, the fresh powdery snow still sank eight inches with the weight of each step; the rope tied to the sled dug into Parker’s mid-section as he lurched along, trying to keep up with David.
Twenty minutes later, the trees parted. Twenty minutes that felt like a frozen eternity. A few minutes later, the cabin loomed in front of them and Parker stopped, taking a couple of deep breaths. David turned and relieved him of the sled. The snow was now level with the porch, and David gracefully stepped out of his snowshoes after releasing the clips; he knocked them together to dislodge the packed-on snow and set them against the pile of sheltered kindling. Noticing Parker was still on the other side of the sled struggling with the unfamiliar mechanism, David squatted down and freed him of the shoes. Together, they pulled the cumbersome sled up onto the porch out of the falling snow.
Parker stomped the snow off his boots, shouldered his door open, and pulled the sled inside.
Chapter Eighteen
“Damn, that was hard! Do people really do that for fun?” Parker said, looking back at David who was silently staring past him.
“Well, well,” a gruff voice greeted them. Parker dropped the rope tied to the sled and spun around to face the vaguely familiar voice.
“Chad? What the hell are you doing here?” Parker asked, a touch of disbelief laced his voice.
“Doing here? This is MY cabin!” he boomed.
“No, it isn’t, it’s mine,” Parker said.
“Johnny promised it to ME!” Chad straightened his shoulders, the black and green plaid shirt strained against his flabby chest. He pulled his heavy jacket tighter and coughed.
“That doesn’t make any sense, Chad. Mr. Smith didn’t leave the cabin to anyone,” Parker reasoned. “And I’ll ask again, what you’re doing here?”
“He left it to me, I said, and I’ve come to claim it!”
“I repeat: Mr. Smith didn’t leave a will, so he couldn’t have left it to you. You’re crazy, Chad, and this is my place now.” Parker looked at the older man, sitting in his kitchen, trying to reason with him. “Wait … are you the one that’s been harassing me all this time? It’s been you all along, hasn’t it? Why?”
“You sure couldn’t take a hint, kid. You just wouldn’t leave.”
“So you ripped up my garden and smashed my windshield?”
“Got your attention, didn’t I?” Chad laughed and sneezed.
“Maybe Mr. Smith didn’t want you to have the cabin after all; maybe that’s why he didn’t leave a will,” Parker baited him, wondering how unstable Chad was, and hoping he could get him to make a mistake. What he would do then, he didn’t know.
“That doesn’t matter! He told me it was for all the work I did for him, all that I helped him with. He said he would make sure I got what I deserved when he died.” He spread his arms wide and sneered. “Of course, I had to help him along with that, but he was old anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Parker asked quietly, the blood draining from his face.
Chad snickered, and then sneezed again. His dark gray eyes lost their focus for a moment as he pushed back his sweat-drenched thin hair. “Whadda ya think?”
“You killed that nice old man?” David said, his knees going weak.
“I had to! He wasn’t even sick, and it was the only way for me to get the cabin he promised. And thanks for taking care of it for me, kid. I appreciate all the supplies, too.” Chad took a gulp of the open beer in front of him. “I didn’t appreciate that cat though, it hissed at me.”
“He has a good sense of character,” David tossed back. “Where is he?”
“I tossed it outside. I hate cats.”
“WHAT?” David screamed. “Pythagoras is an indoor cat! He’s never been outside by himself; he could get hurt or lost.” David turned toward the door; the pain in his voice was obvious to Parker.
“SIT DOWN!” Chad bellowed, halting David in his tracks.
“Shut up!” Parker yelled back. “Look, you asshole! You are sitting in my chair, in my house, and drinking my beer. That’s pissing me off. I don’t care what the weather is like, you get out of here right now!”
Chad laughed. “You gonna make me?” he said slowly.
Parker took three long strides forward while reaching under his jacket to the holstered automatic, thumbing the safety off in one smooth move. He jammed the barrel under Chad’s chin, digging into the soft and flabby flesh.
“Yeah, I am,” he said quietly. “Now get up!”
“I guess I underestimated you, Parker.” He glanced over at David with another sneer and sneezed again. “I figured with as much time as you spend with your pretty friend here you were a little light in the loafers. I didn’t think you had the balls. Guess I was wrong.” Chad slowly stood while Parker kept the gun pressed firmly. Halfway standing, he lunged at Parker, knocking him off balance. Parker stumbled back, smashing his hip into the edge of the kitchen counter. The pain momentarily caused him to loosen his grip on the gun, and Chad took advantage and tried to pull the gun from Parker’s hand, squeezing his big fist tightly around Parker’s fingers. With that amount of pressure, Parker’s finger was forcibly contracted around the trigger, and the gun fired.
A bullet ricocheted off the stone-faced chimney, sending a shower of fragments cascading down onto the hot stove where they sizzled and popped. A few shards cut across Chad’s face, leaving a bloody trail.
Parker ducked and spun away from the big man before he could try for the gun again. He darted around the chimney into the living room, bumping into a dazed and frightened David and they both fell.
Chad bellowed with evil laughter and came at Parker again, his eyes flaming with anger. He kicked at Parker and missed when he rolled away. With David closer, Chad swung his booted foot again, and made contact with the youngster’s right thigh. David let out a painful cry. The diversion gave Parker the extra few seconds he needed to regain his footing.
Running on pure adrenalin, Parker turned back to face Chad, his anger and fury mounting; he let it take him and he charged his adversary, led by the barrel of the gun. The big man swung a closed fist and clumsily made contact with Parker’s jaw. His head snapped backward, but he never let go of the gun.
Chad once again tried to take the gun from Parker’s white-knuckled fist with brute force by pulling it toward himself. And the weapon fired one more time.
The bullet swiftly cut upward through the meaty tissue of Chad’s neck and tongue and continued to puncture the thicker upper pallet where it began to lose momentum when the hollow-point casing split apart as it was designed to do. A standard .22 caliber bullet can be damaging, though unless it hits a vital organ, it’s rarely lethal; however, once the bullet enters the thick human skull, it bounces around, tearing the soft brain apart in seconds with deadly results and the hollow point assured that would happen in close range. Chad’s dark eyes went wide with surprise and then he slumped to the floor.
Stunned, Parker stepped back, away from the body, his hands shaking.
“Did you kill him?” David whispered, getting to his feet, limping forward.
“I don’t know. I think he’s dead, yes, but he pulled the trigger, not me.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know. We can’t exactly call 911, can we?” Parker frowned, still shaking as the reality of what just happened grabbed hold of him. “Are you alright?”
David nodded, rubbing his thigh and stared at the body. “There’s so little blood.” Then he remembered. “Thag! I’ve got to find him!” and he dashed out the door. Parker paused only long enough to grab
a flashlight and then he followed, leaving Chad on the cold floor.
The bright beam penetrated only a few inches into the darkening veil of white with the late afternoon sun offering little assistance. The storm had increased two-fold in a very short amount of time.
“Thag! Thag!” David called out.
Nothing.
“Oh, Parker, what are we going to do?” David cried.
“We’re going to keep looking until we find him, and then we’ll get rid of that piece of shit in my kitchen!” Parker stepped off the porch, adrenalin still pumping through his veins, calling out for the cat, with David right beside him.
They searched around the yard for another twenty minutes, always keeping the cabin or one of the other buildings in sight.
“Shh!” David said, grabbing Parker’s arm to stop him. They both listened intently to the faint cry.
“The woodshed!” Parker lifted the protective tarp only enough to duck under, and started a methodical search with the flashlight, which eventually reflected off the cat’s big green eyes.
“Thag!” David called out in relief when he saw his big black and gray cat perched high on the second row of wood.
“Meow,” Pythagoras let out another pitiful cry, inching closer to the edge. David reached up and tugged the big cat into his arms. He unzipped his jacket and pulled Thag into his body heat, while Parker helped to re-zip, being careful not to catch the cat’s ice-cold fur.
They battled the winds and blinding snow back toward the porch, David clutching his cat even when he tripped and fell face first into a snow drift. Parker helped him up and held on as they made their way back to the safety of the closed-in porch.
Once inside the cabin, Parker grabbed a towel from the bathroom to wrap Pythagoras in while the snow packed on his fur melted.
David buried his face in the cat’s fur and smiled at the vibrating purr. “How could he do such a thing?”
“That Chad would hurt a harmless cat isn’t surprising, considering his confession over killing Johnny Smith!” Parker reminded him.
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