Despite the cold, Carrie Daniels was standing outside in the loading and unloading zone of Glacier Park International Airport when Kyle pulled up in Marasco’s Expedition. He had called her that morning to inform her that her grandparents’ property, including the Hummer, had been released to her. To Kyle’s surprise, she had asked him if he could help her with the return of her rental car and by giving her a ride to the cabin to pick up the H2. Kyle had said he would be glad to help.
“I appreciate you doing this for me,” she said, looking out the windshield as they pulled away. “I … I didn’t know who else to call.”
“No problem,” Kyle said. “That’s what I’m here for.” He knew she was going through an incredibly difficult time. One of the most common feelings shared by victims after the sudden loss of a loved one was a sense of intense isolation and loneliness, even when they were still surrounded by other family. But in Carrie’s case, there was no one else. The grieving process was likely to be a long and arduous one for her, and it was his job to help her through it as much as possible.
“I … I also want to apologize for my behavior at the funeral the other day,” she said. “I was upset, but that’s no excuse. I was rude, and I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” said Kyle.
“Yes, there is. It was kind of you to come.”
They pulled out of the airport, and Kyle turned left onto Highway 2, which headed north toward Hungry Horse.
“Oh, before I forget again,” he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver Mont Blanc.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped. “Where did you find that?”
“It fell out of your purse when you were at the station the first time. I meant to give it to you at the funeral the other day, but—”
“I had no idea it was missing,” she said, grabbing it and clutching it against her chest. “You have no idea what this pen means to me.” She looked over at him for the first time. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Kyle nodded. “By the way, as far as we can tell, your ex-boyfriend didn’t have anything to do with your grandparents. He was in Denver the whole time, and we haven’t found any evidence that he hired someone else to do it.”
“Oh, okay,” Carrie said and looked out the passenger window. Just the mention of her ex seemed to make her uncomfortable.
“And just so you know, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about him bothering you anymore. The two special agents that showed up at his door made it quite clear that there would be serious consequences if he continues to harass you.”
Carrie nodded, quietly thanking him without looking away from the window as if embarrassed by the situation.
They continued on in silence then, and Kyle left her alone with her thoughts. After a while, he turned on the radio and set it at a low volume so the silence wouldn’t seem quite so oppressive.
A short time later, Carrie sniffed and wiped at her eye with the sleeve of her sweater. “Sorry I’m not very talkative.”
“No, its fine,” Kyle said. “I understand.”
“You must get pretty tired of dealing with people like me,” she said, idly running her finger through the fog that had formed in the bottom corner of the window.
“Not really,” said Kyle. “At least not like you might think. I do get tired of it, but only from the standpoint that I wish there was some way to prevent bad things from happening to good people—like your grandparents—but I can’t. No one can. I mean, we can try to prevent it, but no one can stop all the evil in the world, so … well, I try to do what I can to try to help those left behind.” Kyle had wanted to explain it in a way that she would understand, but instead, he wound up feeling like a babbling idiot. “I don’t guess that made any sense, did it?”
Whether it did or not, she was kind enough to nod and say, “Yeah, it did … actually.”
A few miles farther down the road, Carrie asked, “So how did you get into doing this?”
Kyle looked over at her. “You don’t have to try to make conversation if you don’t feel like it. I understand if you just want to be left alone.”
“No, I don’t,” she said. “We’ve still got a ways to go, and it helps me keep my mind off … you know.”
“All right,” said Kyle, “But if I’m boring you, just let me know, and I’ll shut up.”
She smiled then and said, “I promise.”
“When I was young, my father was away on business all the time, and my mother spent most of her time at the country club, so I was basically raised by my nanny, Valeria Sanchez. When I was little, I couldn’t pronounce her name. It came out sounding something like ‘Miss Vera,’” he said with a childlike lisp. “And I guess it just stuck. I’ve called her Miss Vera for as long as I can remember. Still do in fact,” he admitted with a slightly embarrassed smile. “She’s a sweet lady. She still takes care of my mother’s house.
“Anyway, when I was nine years old, Miss Vera’s son, Roberto—who was only fifteen—was killed in a convenience store robbery. He worked there after school, helping to stock the shelves, sweeping up, that sort of thing. He was working there one evening when two men came in and robbed the place. No one ever knew exactly what happened—the place only had one camera looking at the register—but the man behind the counter and Roberto were both killed, all for $137 and a couple of cartons of cigarettes. I was at home with Miss Vera when the police came to tell her about her son. It was awful. I can still remember how she wailed and collapsed in the foyer.”
Kyle paused and glanced over in Carrie’s direction. He hoped the story wasn’t upsetting her more than she already was, but he thought it was important for her to hear it. She was sitting quietly and staring out the window at the mountains now looming before them.
“Afterward, Miss Vera changed,” he continued. “Roberto was the only family she had. Roberto’s father had never been around. He left them when Roberto was just a baby. I think he was a drunk. Anyway, for the longest time afterward, Miss Vera seemed to be like a zombie, just going through the motions day after day. It was as if the will to live had simply gone out of her. Sometimes, when she looked at me, she would start to cry. At the time, I didn’t know why. I thought maybe it was something I had done. I wanted nothing more in the world than for her to feel better, but no matter what I tried, I just couldn’t seem to make her happy again.
“It wasn’t until my father died when I was thirteen that I realized what she had been going through.” Carrie looked over at him then, perhaps in sympathy or commiseration, but she didn’t say anything. “I guess my mother had always been an alcoholic and was probably into drugs too, but it got worse after Dad died. She was always gone, or else she was up all night and asleep during the day. It was like she wasn’t even there. I started to get into trouble at school then, hanging out with the wrong crowd. We would skip class and go get stoned in the alley across the street. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was desperate for attention. Fortunately, one of the teachers caught us. They threatened to expel me, and in order to avoid it, I was forced to start going to a counselor after school three days a week. My mother, Janet, wouldn’t ever take me. Miss Vera always had to do it. The counselor’s name was Mrs. Campbell, and she helped me a lot. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know what would have happened to me. Anyway, each day after my sessions during the drive home, Miss Vera and I would talk about what Mrs. Campbell had told me and how it was helping me to deal with the loss of my father. Maybe it was just because enough time had passed or because she finally had someone to talk to about it, but I think it helped Miss Vera with the loss of her son too.
“Janet had always wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer when I grew up, but after that, I realized that I wanted to be able to help people like Mrs. Campbell had helped Miss Vera and me.”
It wasn’t until Kyle finished that he realized how long he had been talking. They had already passed through the tiny burg of Hungry Horse and were on the road nearing the dam. He hadn’t meant to go on for
so long, but once he had started, it had just come out. He told himself it was because he wanted Carrie to know that he had been through similar difficulties and therefore might be better able to understand her situation and help her through it, but he realized it was more than that. It had been so long since he had had someone close to talk with that he had unconsciously taken advantage of the situation for his own benefit.
“Sorry if I got a little carried away there.”
“No, don’t be,” Carrie said quietly. “I’m glad you did.”
They crossed over the dam in silence. To their left, the glimmering water stretched away into the distance, its placid surface belying the incredible pressure that continued to build as the water rose with the spring thaw.
CHAPTER 32
Carrie watched as Agent Andrews pulled away and disappeared into the lengthening shadows the trees cast across the roadway. He had offered to stay with her, but she had told him she preferred to do this alone. “All right,” he had finally conceded. “But the power’s still off, so make sure you’re gone well before dark.”
“I will,” she had promised. Part of her was intrigued by him. He seemed genuinely kind and caring, unlike most of the men she was used to dealing with. But then they all seemed that way at first.
Turning, she stood in front of the cabin and stared at the sheets of plywood where the big picture window had been. Her heart pounded in her chest in spite of the Xanax she had taken to help calm her nerves.
She walked up the steps to the front door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. Even though she knew better, a part of her still expected to smell the familiar scent of baking bread and to hear Audrey Gran humming merrily as she worked in the kitchen.
Instead, she found silence and darkness. The magnificent view of the lake was gone. Faint beams of light filtered into the room, which smelled of bleach and Pine Sol.
She closed the door behind her. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing here, though she knew she had to come. She hadn’t decided if she was going to sell the place or not; however, even if she didn’t, she knew she would have to go through her grandparents’ belongings sooner or later, and she figured it would be better to do it now and get it over with as opposed to prolonging the inevitable.
The coat closet’s door was missing, and as she looked about the room, Carrie noticed the large hole where the sheetrock had been cut from the wall next to the stairs. She started toward the kitchen, trying hard not to let her imagination run away with suppositions of what might have happened in this room. She intended to sit down and make a list of things that needed to be done, such as calling a glass company to replace the front window and a carpenter to repair the wall and door, but as she passed the stairs and saw the broken baluster and the bleached-out spot on the floor where the blood had been cleaned up, it all became too much.
She rushed into the kitchen and leaned over the sink as her body was suddenly racked with sobs.
After she cried herself out, she turned on the faucet and splashed her face with cool water.
Then, with trembling hands, she took down a glass from the cabinet above the sink and went to the pantry, where her grandfather had kept the liquor on the top shelf. She grabbed a bottle of Bacardi and poured a large shot which she slammed down without the benefit of ice or a mixer.
She coughed and spluttered as the rum burned its way down her throat, but it wasn’t enough. She knew she would never be able to get through this in her current state. She moved to the table and sat down. Grandpa Bill’s fly-tying equipment was still scattered across its surface. I can’t do this, she thought, nearly losing it again. She opened her purse and dug around in it. A growing sense of panic started to bloom in her chest before she finally found the bottle of Xanax. She jerked the top off the bottle and sent pills scattering across the table and onto the floor. Then she poured herself another shot, which she quickly tossed down along with one of the bitter pills.
She picked up one of the flies from the table and admired the details of her grandfather’s handiwork. Then she noticed the black powder dusting it all like a layer of fine ash, and the fly disappeared in a blur of tears. She poured herself yet another drink and downed it as quickly as the last, desperately seeking to escape from the nightmare that had become her reality.
CHAPTER 33
Carrie woke with a start. Her blurry vision slowly cleared, revealing a large black bat, its wings spread wide against a blood-red background. The room around her was almost dark. She could just make out the Bacardi logo on the nearly empty bottle in front of her.
She lifted her head from the table and wiped away the thin streamer of drool from her cheek. Her head pounded, and her face was stiff with dried tears. She was momentarily disoriented, and then it all came back to her. She was at her grandparents’ cabin on the lake. She had come to start the arduous process of going through their belongings but had fallen apart and passed out at the table. Now it was dark, and something had caused her to wake suddenly.
She sat still, listening. Outside, the wind had picked up, rustling the trees and moaning through the eaves. There was a tick at the window above the sink.
She jumped at the sound. She pushed away from the table, and stared at the window as she backed against the cabinets on the far side of the room. She was so dizzy she wavered, just managing to catch herself by grabbing the edge of the counter. Even so, she felt as if she might fall and spiral downward into a bottomless well.
There came another tick, and even though she tried to tell herself it was nothing more than moths or pine needles tapping the glass, it was a struggle to keep her imagination from running away with itself.
Outside, the wind picked up, suddenly howling and wailing. Inside, the cabin creaked and groaned.
Carrie stood there, frozen with fear. She was certain someone or something was outside. She could sense its presence. She could practically feel it clawing at the cracks between the logs, struggling to get inside.
Thunk!
Her heart lurched, and she barely stifled a scream. The sound had come from above, as if someone had just leapt from one of the trees and onto the roof.
She crept to the end of the kitchen and peered into the living room. It was even darker in there, but the boards over the window were still intact. She reached for the telephone that hung on the wall just above the counter and found the base unit, but the cordless handset was not in its cradle and the base had no speakerphone capabilities or keypad for dialing. She thought about her cell phone, but then remembered there was no cellular service at the cabin.
As she fought against the rising panic in her chest, she reached around into the living room, blindly feeling for the light switch on the wall. There was a faint click as she flipped it, but nothing happened. Then she remembered Agent Andrew’s final warning as he drove off that morning. The power’s still off, so be sure you’re gone well before dark.
Without waiting for anything else, Carrie bolted around the corner and raced toward the stairs and the bedrooms on the second floor. The back bedroom had been used as an office for their business. It had a telephone, and perhaps even more importantly, it had her grandfather’s gun locker in the back of the closet.
In the dark, she tripped over one of the steps and fell on the landing halfway up, cracking her shin in the process. The floorboards creaked loudly beneath her as she limped down the hallway and into the converted bedroom.
Just enough wan light filtered into the room for Carrie to see the computer desk with the printer/fax machine beside it. She rushed over, grabbed the handset, and punched in 911 before she realized the line was dead. At first, she thought someone must have cut the line like a scene in a bad horror movie, but then she realized the machine didn’t work with the power off. Therefore, the telephone wouldn’t work either.
“Damn it!” she cursed as she threw down the handset. Turning, she started toward the closet, her shin throbbing dully with each step.
Halfway across the room, she froz
e. She thought she had heard something downstairs. Motionless, she listened for any sounds that might give away the presence of an intruder: the squeak of a door, the creak of the stairs, or the sound of heavy breathing in the hall.
And then she heard it—a scratching, scraping sound on the roof, as if someone was dragging something across it. It went on for a few seconds, stopped, and then began again. There was no rhythm to the sound, just a random procession of thumping and scraping that pushed Carrie to the edge of hysteria.
Without taking her eyes off the window, she hurried to the closet and Grandpa Bill’s gun cabinet. The cabinet was a heavy, sixteen-gauge-steel locker with a single door. And it was locked. There was a combination lock like a safe on the front and a keyhole in the latch handle, but Carrie didn’t know the combination and had no idea where Grandpa Bill kept the key.
She hurried back across the room to the desk. Frantically, she searched all the drawers, pens and pencils and tiny boxes of paperclips spilling to the floor as she tossed them aside, all while continually glancing up at the window before her. Time was running out, and she knew it. At any moment, she expected to see a dark form come hurtling down from the roof and crashing through the window.
In desperation, she snatched up a gold-plated letter opener and raced back to the closet. She pulled on the cabinet’s handle as hard as she could while she worked the opener into the crack between the door and the side in hopes of prying it open, but the opener bent and then snapped in two without even scratching the door.
“Damn it,” she whimpered, hammering futilely at the cabinet before finally slumping to the floor.
Sitting there, she began contemplating her situation. Would it really be so bad to just give up and surrender to the inevitable? She had done all she could, and it hadn’t been enough. She was so tired of being alone and afraid, and now that her grandparents were gone, she was truly alone—more alone than she had ever been before. What reason did she really have for going on anyway?
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