by Diane Hester
Chase slowly set down his pen and blinked at the object that had appeared on his desk.
The miniature carving was so lifelike he half-expected it to get up and move. Perfectly symmetrical palmate antlers rose from the creature’s elongated head. Together with the distinctive muzzle and stout equine build the animal was instantly recognisable.
With a sense of wonder he picked it up and turned it in his hands. The moose was no more than six inches high. Hundreds of needle-fine gouges effectively rendered the fur on its body and the dewlap that hung from beneath its throat was thinner than a toothpick. How did anyone carve something so fine?
Shyler cleared her throat. ‘Your receptionist told you about my bartering arrangement with Doctor Muir.’
‘Your arrangement?’ Her meaning registered and he looked at her stunned. ‘You made this?’
Despite herself she arched a brow. ‘That surprises you?’
‘Please, that wasn’t a sexist remark. I’m in awe of anyone who works with wood. I’m not renowned for my carpentry skills.’ He studied the figure again. ‘Not that what you do is even remotely in the same league. This is exquisite.’
Of all the things she’d expected she might feel in confronting this stranger, shy embarrassment wasn’t one of them. She’d never received any praise for her work. Though her pieces sold well enough from Bill Ramsey’s store she never lingered to hear buyer feedback. ‘Then . . .’
‘Will I accept this as payment for the consultation?’ Chase straightened and held out his hand. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
Shyler stepped out into the reception area and paused to take a few deep breaths. She’d held it together. Despite the man’s questions, the stressful procedure, she’d behaved almost like a normal human being. A few seconds more and she’d be out of here, the whole affair safely behind her. Just one remaining danger to side-step.
She opened her eyes. Elaine the receptionist wasn’t at her desk. Glancing back to make sure the doctor wasn’t watching, she hurried through the office, turned to head for the door – and froze.
A miniature fire truck glided towards her out of the waiting room across the hall. It rolled to a stop in front of her feet, followed closely by a freckled, chubby-cheeked little boy.
The boy bent down and picked up the truck. Had she simply smiled and walked away he’d no doubt have run straight off again. But her rigid pose and frozen expression caught his eye. He stood, head cocked, staring up at her.
Steel jaws clamped around her chest. Only one last danger and here it was. She hadn’t been fast enough. She hadn’t gotten out in time.
The boy kept staring, a bit uncertain now. She tried to smile but her lips wouldn’t move. He took a step back. Oh no, please, don’t be afraid.
A woman came towards them out of the waiting room. She murmured an apology and drew the boy away, casting a wary look over her shoulder.
Shyler turned and raced up the hall.
She tasted blood as she neared the back door and raised her bandaged hand to her mouth. When she drew it away she saw a bright red stain on the gauze. Somehow, at some point, she’d bitten her lip.
Chapter 8
Twenty minutes after leaving the ‘safe house’ Nolan turned the van into a one-pump gas station on a lonely country road. He steered around an idling transport truck and parked in the shade at the edge of the lot.
‘Take those two.’ Tragg jerked his head at Reece and Corey, then shifted his gaze to Zack. ‘I’ll stay with him.’
‘But I need to –’
Tragg silenced the man with a look. Zack half-smiled. Even grown-ups were afraid of Hatchet-face.
The two men got out. Nolan slid the back door open and waved impatiently at the younger boys. ‘Well, come on. We don’t have all day.’
As the three walked away, Tragg stood watching Zack through the door. ‘Having fun, kid?’ He popped a Junior Mint into his mouth.
Zack stared sullenly out the window. He hated the sound of the man’s laugh. It threatened to shatter the façade he’d worked so hard to maintain since leaving the house.
Projecting an air of cowed acceptance, he’d kept his gaze on the road the whole time, watching for a place to enact his plan. What that plan was exactly hadn’t come to him until the moment they’d pulled in here. Now, as the details took shape in his mind, he fought to contain his growing excitement.
The spot seemed perfect. Not a single car had gone by since they stopped. The stretch up ahead was fairly straight and had a field on either side. Huge oak trees lined the shoulders but were far enough apart that, with luck, they wouldn’t run into one. At any rate it was worth the risk.
Zack reached into his sweatshirt pocket and closed his fingers around the mint box, praying its occupant was still alive.
‘You gotta go?’
Tragg’s voice jolted him so much he jumped. He shook his head, then held his breath as the man’s suspicious gaze crawled over him. A moment later Reece and Corey climbed back in the van, each with an apple cider donut.
Tragg turned to Nolan. ‘Don’t leave them alone.’
‘But I haven’t –’
Nolan swore as Tragg walked away. He set his coffee in the dashboard holder and handed the last donut to Zack. ‘You guys stay put. I’m just going to duck behind the van for a second.’
The instant he was out of earshot, Zack leaned towards Reece and Corey. ‘We gotta get out of here.’
They stared at him blankly. ‘What? Why?’
‘These guys aren’t who they say they are. And they’re not taking us to any shelter.’
‘But Vanessa promised we’d get a new home.’ Reece wiped cinnamon sugar from his lips.
‘She was just saying that so we wouldn’t play up.’
Corey looked stricken. ‘But Vanessa said –’
‘She lied, all right?’ Zack lowered his voice. ‘There isn’t time to explain it all, you just gotta trust me.’
He shot a quick glance around at Nolan whose head was just visible through the van’s rear window. ‘Don’t let on I told you anything. Pretend to go along with whatever they say and just be ready when I give you the signal.’
‘Ready for what?’
‘To do what I tell you!’
Zack saw that Nolan had finished peeing and was heading back for the driver’s door. He straightened in his seat and turned to the others. ‘Buckle your seatbelts.’
‘That’s right, boys,’ Tragg said, climbing into the front. ‘Do what your big brother tells you.’
Zack’s heart stopped. He’d been so busy watching Nolan he’d failed to check the other way. Had Tragg heard what he’d said to the others? From the steady glare the man now had fixed on him it was clear he was wondering.
‘Zack’s not our real brother,’ Reece spoke up. ‘He’s our foster brother.’
His innocent tone drew Tragg’s attention and seemed to dispel any suspicions he might have had. When Nolan got in, Tragg turned his menacing glare on him. ‘I told you not to leave them alone.’
The man’s whispered words were more frightening than a shout.
‘I didn’t. I was right here the whole the time, I swear.’ Nolan fumbled the key in the ignition. He started the van, stalled it, and finally managed to get it going. They pulled from the station and started up the road.
With a deep breath, Zack slipped his hand in his sweatshirt. He would have only one chance. And it had to be in the next few moments, before the van got going too fast.
He kept his eye on the speedometer as he eased the mint box from his pocket. Twenty-five miles an hour now. Just a bit faster.
The two men hadn’t yet buckled their seatbelts. Bonus! Please, just a little longer. Approaching thirty. He moved his fingers to the lid of the box.
Then he saw it. Something he couldn’t have seen from the gas station. A ditch along their side of the road. What would it do? Improve the odds or work against them? He’d have to chance it. He leaned forward slightly, opened the box and shook its contents
onto Nolan’s shoulder.
Tragg caught the movement from the corner of his eye and spun around. Like a striking snake his hand shot out and snatched Zack’s wrist in a crushing grip. ‘You wouldn’t be dumb enough to try something, would you?’
Zack bit down to keep from crying out.
The van lurched sharply.
‘Shit! Oh, shit!’ Nolan jerked the wheel as he slapped at his face.
Tragg let go. ‘For Christ’s sake watch –’ was all he got out before being slammed against his door.
The van lurched again. Flashing images, squealing tyres.
Through the last blurred seconds Zack saw the oak tree rushing towards them.
Chapter 9
Zack sat gasping. By some miracle they’d missed the tree but their final impact had been a lot harder than he’d anticipated. The van’s nosedive into the ditch had thrown him against his shoulder belt with enough force to wind him. Otherwise he felt okay.
Beside him, Reece and Corey sat speechless, eyes filled with shock. No blood, no mangled body parts. At least they hadn’t been injured either.
The men in the front had not fared as well. Tragg lay crumpled against the dashboard, Nolan slumped over the steering wheel.
A groan from Nolan spurred Zack into action. ‘Come on, let’s go.’ He threw off his belt.
The others sat frozen, their incredulous expressions making it clear he hadn’t convinced them they were in danger.
‘I said, come on!’ He undid their belts, turned for the door and let out a gasp.
Face streaked in blood, Tragg glared back at him from between the front seats. With a quavering hand he pulled something small and dark from his pocket. And aimed it at Zack.
Though the sight threatened to loosen his bladder he could not look away. The hole seemed enormous, opening wider as Tragg moved the pistol towards his face.
When the man’s arm jerked Zack thought it was over – he hadn’t heard the shot because he was dead.
But as the arm lowered further he saw Tragg’s face and realised what had happened. The vicious sneer of moments ago had changed to a dull, questioning stare. The pistol slipped from the gunman’s hand as he slumped unconscious against the seat.
Zack sat gaping for precious seconds. Again it was the sound of Nolan moaning that snapped him out of it. ‘Let’s go. Move!’
This time the others needed no convincing. As he slid the door open and scrambled out they were right behind him.
‘Hey, get back here!’ Panic at the sound of Nolan’s voice helped them clamber out of the ditch.
Up on the road there were no cars in sight.
Reece grabbed his hand. ‘What do we do?’
Zack looked around. No houses, no people. Only the gas station a hundred yards back. With the transport truck still idling out front!
‘This way!’ They ran.
Halfway there he slowed to look back. Nolan was staggering out of the ditch. He walked in circles on the shoulder of the road, then spotted the three boys running. ‘Damn it, get back here!’ He started after them.
Zack quickly made up the ground he’d lost. He reached Corey first, who was lagging behind, grabbed his hand and dragged him along. The three of them reached the station together.
‘Over here!’ Zack hurried them to the back of the truck. Then stood staring up at the towering beast.
With the rumbling engine, noxious fumes and massive wheels, it felt like some kind of sleeping dragon. Corey could just about walk beneath it without bending down. It was almost as ugly and scary as Tragg.
Zack stepped closer. The two back doors had lever handles but there was no way he could reach them from the ground. He would have to climb up. And that would take time they might not have.
He checked Nolan. The man was still weaving but getting closer. If a car came along, or he recovered enough to start running . . .
Zack turned back. A round bit of steel, like the end of a trumpet, stuck out from the bottom of the truck. He climbed up onto it and grabbed a handle, heaved with all his weight and pulled.
The door creaked open, nearly pushing him off his perch. He let it swing past him, then reached his hand down to the others.
‘Corey first. Reece, push him up to me.’
As he heaved Corey up, Zack threw an anxious glance at the shop. The truck stood just to the left of the entrance, clearly visible to anyone inside. If they happened to be looking that way. He prayed the truck was far enough to the side that no one would notice them.
With Corey safely inside the truck, Zack climbed in after him. But even as he reached down to give Reece a hand, the shop doors opened and a man came out.
Zack held his breath. The man’s interest in his wallet was all that was keeping him from spotting the boys as he strode towards the truck. The instant he disappeared around the front of it, Zack yanked Reece up into the hold.
His relief was short-lived. Nolan had spotted the driver as well and had broken into a shambling jog. ‘Hey! Wait! Don’t go! Hey!’
For a moment, Zack felt a crushing defeat. Then the engine roared and he realised the sound of its idling had been enough to drown out Nolan’s shouts. But would the driver see him when he checked in his mirror?
Again Zack braced. The truck started forward. The back door swung towards him and he quickly grabbed it.
Nolan was still shambling along the shoulder, waving his arms, shouting after them. But those massive oak trees that had posed such a threat now cloaked the man in heavy shade. He was no more than a ripple in a sea of shadow.
The truck commenced its slow acceleration. Closing the door, Zack smiled and flipped Nolan the bird.
Chapter 10
Whistling a verse of ‘Downeaster Alexa’, Dr Chase Hadley set his last patient’s file on the desk and picked up his jacket from the chair beside it.
‘Someone’s in a good mood,’ Elaine commented, her fingers flying over her keyboard.
‘Had a good day. What about you?’
She shot him a look over the top of her glasses.
‘Sorry, you’re still converting those files. I guess that’s no picnic.’
‘It’s not your fault. If Doctor Muir hadn’t been such a fossil we’d have kept our records on computer to begin with.’
‘Well, don’t stick with it too long, will you? You’re bankrupting me with all this overtime.’ He shoved his arm through the sleeve of his jacket and spied the carving he’d set on the cabinet.
Smiling, he picked it up. ‘Elaine, did Shyler . . . Did Ms O’Neil give you her contact details?’
‘No. Why?’
He turned to blink at her. ‘She said she was going to.’
‘Sorry, haven’t seen them. I was getting a coffee when she came out of your room, but she didn’t leave them on my desk.’
He frowned at the carving then pushed back a sense of disquiet. ‘Guess she forgot again.’
‘She ran past me as I came out of the kitchen. Flew out the back door like the devil was chasing her.’
‘Must have been in a hurry. I’m sure she’ll give them to you next time she comes.’ He turned, about to wish her goodnight, but something in her silence made him step back. ‘You don’t think she will.’
‘Give us her details? Doesn’t seem likely. If she wouldn’t give them to Doctor Muir –’
‘Wouldn’t? She told me she’d been moving back then and didn’t know which address to give.’
Elaine arched a brow. ‘Her last two visits were four months apart. A bit long to have no address, don’t you think?’
Ten minutes later, as he pushed through the door of old Bill Ramsey’s general store, Chase was still pondering Elaine’s remarks. Her words had rekindled his earlier concerns – ones he’d dismissed as products of his own over-sensitive radar – and now the questions were surfacing again.
Shyler had been tense and withdrawn at her visit, a fact he could conceivably attribute to the stress of the procedure. But what if, as he had briefly sensed, it wa
s due to something more than that? She’d had no money to pay for her visit, presumably because she didn’t work. Was that because she couldn’t find a job or didn’t want the exposure of one?
If Shyler had lied about why she hadn’t given her details, it cast these facts in a totally different light. Each on its own was hardly suspicious, but taken all together –
‘Just about ready to close up, Doc, if you’re wantin’ something.’
‘Thanks, Bill,’ he said to the Grizzly Adams clone behind the counter. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’
The store was a relic from a different era. Bare wood floor, glass-topped counters and a cash register that belonged in a museum. Barrels and crates displayed many items. Iron rakes stood beside fishing rods and brooms, kerosene lamps hung with coils of garden hose. If the store had been in Quincy Market it would have been labelled environmentally trendy. Here it was simply that things had never changed.
Chase walked the aisles collecting the items on his father’s list. He was just heading back to the counter when a familiar object caught his eye.
He picked it up. A white-tailed deer, carved with distinctive needle-fine gouges to depict its fur. Around him he saw others now, their style too similar to be anyone else’s.
‘Bill, do you know the woman who does these carvings?’
The man looked up from sweeping the floor. ‘Shyler? Sure do. Comes in regular every other month. Makes all them feeders and mailboxes, too.’
Chase turned to where he had nodded. Displayed on a table in front of the window was an assortment of handmade wooden items. Picture frames of rough-cut pine. Mailboxes that looked like colonial mansions. Platform feeders with the silhouettes of birds carved into the rims.