He opened the door and got out to stand on the SUV’s running board, where he had an unobstructed view of the place. It was still early, but the sun had risen into a cloud-free sky. The bright morning light reflecting off the pale gravel made his eyes water. He was just bending down for his sunglasses when he heard the unmistakable sound of glass breaking.
“Oh, crap,” he muttered.
He hopped to the ground and kicked aside the “Sorry” cone to allow the vehicle in the lot before climbing behind the wheel again.
The smart thing to do was to call the cops. But he had an L.A.-dweller’s aversion to police involvement. And he didn’t even know if Sentinel Pass had a police force. By the time the state patrol or highway cops got here, the place could be robbed blind.
Instead of roaring across the open lot, he circumnavigated the perimeter, which put him close to the place where he’d seen the movement. He stayed in the car, scoping out the area. The main entrance, which was secured by a thick chain and padlock, was about a hundred feet ahead. The fence made a perpendicular turn and disappeared into the trees and out of sight, encircling the whole compound, he assumed.
He got out of the car, taking his phone with him. Maybe there’s a back entrance, he thought, pocketing his keys. There’s probably an employee parking lot that I can’t see and I’m going to look stupid when—
“Shit.”
About ten feet ahead—where the fence started to curve making it not easily spotted from the parking lot—two boards had been pried off and cast aside. Big rusty nails pointed upward. That definitely wasn’t the work of an employee. The opening wasn’t huge, but he could squeeze through if he wanted to try.
Don’t even think about it, he silently cautioned over the loud thudding in his ears.
But a creaking sound from inside the compound made him slip between the rough planks and flatten his back against the fence. He looked around. Only the back side of one rustic log cabin was visible. No windows had been cut into the dark brown-stained wood. The building was taller than a normal house thanks to the three-foot-tall rock and mortar foundation.
Overgrown grass and weeds, still glistening with dew, showed the path someone had taken recently. The trail went around the far side of the building.
Feeling both silly and nervous, he sidestepped along the fence until he could see around the corner of the cabin. Nothing. Nobody. Just a more complete view of the layout. A center courtyard that featured an obelisk of some kind under a gazebo with a pyramid-shaped roof. He’d seen the top of that from outside and wondered about it.
Sidewalks radiated outward from that hub like spokes on a wheel, but the paths were wiggly, like the signs he’d seen.
He took a deep breath and slowly walked toward the main hub, sticking close to the building. His mouth was dry and he wished he’d turned around when he’d had the chance, but now his curiosity was aroused.
Unfortunately, curiosity had been his biggest downfall where his brother was concerned. Adam had sucked Shane into one brutal joke after another. Like the time they played Lone Ranger, and Adam tied Shane to the clothesline post in their St. Paul backyard—and left him there.
“Why are you so gullible, Shane?” their father had asked several hours later when he and Mom returned home from some function.
His mom had rushed to Shane’s aid. “Not gullible. Trusting. Like me. There’s a difference.”
His father had chuckled. “Maybe this time he’ll learn.”
“Not if he winds up with pneumonia. Adam needs to be punished for this cruelty. And that blond bimbo babysitter fired.”
Without warning, his father roughly yanked Shane out of his mother’s grasp and made him stand up and face him. Shane remembered shivering uncontrollably because he’d had to pee so badly he’d finally relieved himself and the wet fabric had frozen to his leg. “Learn from this, son, or you’ll be the one punished,” his father had said sternly. “Do you understand me?”
Shane had. He’d learned never to trust his brother. But fortunately, neither of his parents had been able to squelch his curiosity.
He took another step forward. At least this time, he told himself, his brother wasn’t around to make him regret the impulse.
“WHAT THE HECK?”
Jenna braked her bicycle beside the one remaining upright orange cone she’d erected between the curbs. She’d felt horrible about turning away people who had driven all this distance.
Her rear tire skidded slightly and she had to put her foot down to keep her balance. The other cone was lying on its side a few feet away. All she could see of her handmade sign was the sad face, which she’d drawn in black permanent marker.
Her gaze followed the tire tracks that had left a clear trail in the fine dirt that encircled her parking lot, finally settling on a large white SUV parked near the corner of the fence—a strange place to park considering the lot was empty and he could have pulled right up to the main gate.
She didn’t recognize the vehicle, but she had a sneaking suspicion she knew its owner. One or both of the Californians who had arrived in town yesterday just in time to participate in the town meeting the night before.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Cooper,” she muttered. “If you wanted to see the place, all you had to do was ask.” The nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach evened out—until she realized Coop’s friend might be with him, too.
She held on tight to the rubber handgrips as she pedaled across the lot. The gravel beneath her front wheel tested her endurance and balance. She’d hoped to pave the lot this year. At the rate they were going, however, that was a pipe dream.
No pun intended. Their busted pipe that supplied water to the entire property was probably going to wind up costing them a fortune. Two prime weeks of vacation travelers, at the very least. The future revenue from word-of-mouth referrals and repeat business couldn’t be counted.
It wasn’t easy keeping a small, seasonal business going. If you weren’t sweating property taxes and the price of gas, you had to deal with new regulations. Last year they’d been required to add a handicap-approved bathroom, and she was still waiting to find out if her father’s artsy, but unevenly paved, paths between buildings had to be changed. Her father would have hated that.
She slowed as she neared the car.
A Cadillac with South Dakota plates, but something about it cried rental. She couldn’t say why but she was sure it belonged to Coop and his handsome, mysteriously somber pal. Who, despite what her mother said, was no dog.
Grinning, she hopped off her bike and walked it to the fence. Had Cooper and his friend decided they couldn’t wait for a tour and circumnavigated the outside on foot? That was a waste of time. The eight-foot-tall fence only had one entrance—her father’s ploy to build on the mystery theme by supposedly protecting the spot’s cosmic secrets from prying eyes. Although, if someone broke in, other than the maze, there wasn’t anything to see without going into the buildings.
She was about to return to the SUV to look inside when she noticed two boards on the ground. She walked a little closer and saw they’d been pulled from the fence. Her heart rate sped up. Vandals?
Maybe the car didn’t belong to Cooper.
She grabbed her bike and quickly wheeled it to the front gate where she soundlessly unlocked the thick chain. The gate was designed to slide sideways along a six-foot-length of track. She only opened it wide enough to slip in, but she didn’t bother closing it.
Looking around, she hesitated. Everything looked just as she’d left it. Maybe Walt’s back from Denver. She discarded the thought. Walt’s truck would have been parked out front if he were there to work.
Whoever was in here wasn’t a friend. But why would anybody break in? There was nothing of value to steal. A few cheap Mystery Spot trinkets and mementos in the gift shop, maybe. She hadn’t even bothered to restock the sodas in the vending machine. Why waste the electricity until she knew for sure they’d be reopening?
She tried to lis
ten for something out of the ordinary, but a squabble amongst crows in the trees made it impossible for her to hear any voices. A shiver passed down her back as it hit her that she was alone at a remote site and her mother wouldn’t miss her until much later in the day.
She fingered the skeleton key in her pocket and hurried to the office—a small lean-to that had been a shed in a former life. Her father had spent money where needed on keeping up the exhibits, but his wife and daughter, who handled the paperwork, had been expected to make do.
The door creaked when she opened it. She hurried inside and locked it behind her. Heart pounding, she grabbed the portable phone—the modern, two-receiver unit she’d purchased after her father died—to call the Pennington County Sheriff’s Department. The dispatcher promised to send a car within the next half hour.
Feeling a bit braver knowing that backup was on the way, she clipped the phone to the waistband of her khaki capris—she’d worn her standard summer uniform that included a bright purple T-shirt over tan bottoms—and walked to the room’s lone window. She nudged aside the plastic miniblinds. From this angle, she couldn’t see all of the buildings, but she had a clear view of Dizzy.
Her father originally had named the exhibit “The Paradox,” which he’d explained was an apparent contradiction relating to physical evidence. “I think you should call it Dizzy,” she’d cried, staggering drunkenly as she crossed what appeared to be an even floor. “’Cause that’s how it makes me feel.”
She tensed, squinting to see into the shadows. Was that a person edging suspiciously toward the side window of the building?
Yes. And the man’s height, weight and body type were an almost certain match for the person who had walked into Char’s shop the day before with Cooper Lindstrom. Shane somebody. Her mother’s Bernese mountain dog.
Still dressed in black, he moved with athletic grace. She didn’t know if Coop was around, too, or why they were there, but she didn’t think either of them was dangerous. She had a keen intuition about bad men—the only good thing to come out of the attack that changed her life during her sophomore year of college.
“Never go looking for trouble,” her personal-defense instructor had stressed, “but if trouble taps you on the shoulder, take it down.”
SHANE HEARD a scratching sound from inside the building. Looking up, he spotted an open double-hung window. On the ground below, he could see a few shards of glass.
Okay, he thought. Breaking and entering. Definitely time to call the cops.
He pulled out his phone and called 9-1-1.
Nothing happened.
He looked at the signal indicator. No service. He swore to himself. Coop had complained about the spotty reception in the Hills, but Shane had assumed his pal was exaggerating to explain dodging Shane’s calls.
He returned the phone to his pocket and debated what to do. If he drove back to town, the guy inside would be long gone by the time the authorities showed up. But confronting a burglar without backup was insane. The guy could be on crack or something.
“Damn,” he muttered.
There was a third option, of course. Wait until the guy came out and take down his description. He frowned. Maybe he’d been working in Hollywood too long, but the idea sounded both lame and cowardly. Besides, with the racket the guy was making inside, he might destroy the place while Shane waited.
Taking a deep breath, he put one foot on the water meter or whatever the gray contraption was beneath the window and stepped up. He tried to balance without touching the ledge since silvery shards sparkled in the black metal frame. The perp was smart enough to know to wear gloves, he thought.
“Okay. Stop right now and I won’t press charges,” a voice said from behind him.
Shane turned his head just as a flash of movement from inside the building caught his eye. He looked back and forth so quickly, he lost his balance. He grabbed for the sill and felt several sharp pricks that made him yelp. Reacting instinctively, he let go about the same time the soles of his shoes slipped on the dewy surface of the pipe he’d been standing on. He backpedaled gracelessly, his hip grazing the metal object as he fell. He hit the ground hard.
His curse was long, low and heartfelt.
“If you’d read the protocol sign before you broke in, you’d know that swearing isn’t allowed in the Mystery Spot,” an unsympathetic voice said.
He looked up. Jenna.
“I didn’t break in,” he said, making small movements to see if anything was broken. “The guy inside did. I just followed to see what he was up to.”
One reddish eyebrow arched in obvious skepticism.
“Why would I break in to this place?”
“I was trying to figure that out myself…when I called the police. They’re on the way.”
He rolled to his side and sat up. A good sign, he figured. Spreading his fingers wide, he looked at his palm where at least five red specks were screaming in pain. “Glass,” he muttered, holding his hand up for her to see.
“You should have worn gloves.”
“I didn’t—”
His protest was cut short by the sound of a loud bang.
Gunshot.
He reacted without thinking. He dove forward, catching her at the knees, which knocked her backward. Doing a quick combat crawl, he flattened her beneath him.
She stayed still for less than half a second then exploded in a whirling dervish of legs, arms, claws and thrusts. Her knee made contact with his groin and he rolled off, curling in a ball, groaning—the pain in his hand forgotten.
“What the hell did you do that for?” she asked, scrambling backward, crablike.
Through his tears, he saw her. Face as white as flour. Eyes wild with panic, and she was breathing as if she’d just run a marathon.
He’d interviewed rape survivors while making his first documentary. He knew the signs of post-traumatic stress. And he wished like hell he’d never met Cooper Lindstrom.
The sound of tires crunching gravel brought her to her feet. She raced away, red hair streaming behind. Inching sideways, he picked up a turquoise clip that had fallen out of her hair. In trying to save her from a bullet, he’d landed on his right palm and he could tell without looking the hunk of glass was now deeply imbedded in his flesh.
In hindsight, he figured the sound had been a door slamming. The person who broke the window and took down the boards in the fence had been smart enough to open the door from the inside and run away once he heard voices.
Shane felt ridiculous. Things like this didn’t happen to him. He took risks when it came to work, but not when it came to his personal life. And the last time he’d even talked to a cop was back in college. When his brother raped Jenna Murphy.
And then he’d unwittingly lied to provide his twin with an alibi.
CHAPTER THREE
THE DEPUTY SHERIFF SEEMED curious, professional and only a wee bit impressed when Shane mentioned his reason for being in Sentinel Pass. His main concern was the property damage and trespassing.
Jenna quickly assured him that she had no complaint against Shane, but the man walked the entire perimeter of the Mystery Spot once Shane showed him the photo he’d taken of a shadowy figure doing something to the fence. Other than the boards still lying where Shane had found them and the broken window, there didn’t appear to be any trace of the intruder.
“You back up to Forest Service land?” the cop asked, poking his head out the opening to look left and right.
“Yes. Dad wanted something that wouldn’t be developed. He felt it gave more veracity to our setting. You know, a true fluke of nature, breaking all the rules of QED. Quantum Electrodynamics,” she added for both men’s benefit.
The officer helped Shane lean the boards back in place. “I’ve got a hammer in the office,” Jenna said. “I’ll take care of this before I leave.”
They started back in that general direction. The officer smiled. “My wife and I brought our kids here a few years ago. They had a blast in the m
aze. I was afraid they’d never come out. You’re sure nothing is missing or vandalized?”
“Everything appears to be fine. Except for the window. Oh, and the broken lock on the storage cabinet inside Dizzy. Guess that supply of window cleaner and toilet paper wasn’t worth stealing.”
“Got someone you can call to take care of the glass?”
“I’ll make sure it gets fixed,” Shane said, not exactly certain what he was promising. True, his uncle had been a self-employed handyman, and Shane and Adam had had the option of working with the kind, older man every summer. Adam had hated it and mostly goofed off whenever Uncle John wasn’t watching, but Shane had enjoyed working with his hands and had learned quite a few tricks of the trade that had kept him fed until he sold his first screenplay.
Jenna gaped at him as if he’d just declared he would strip naked and swing from the trees. “My uncle was a self-proclaimed jack-of-all-trades, master of none. He taught me a thing or two,” he explained. “But if you don’t trust me to do it, I’m sure I can hire it done.”
The deputy left a few minutes later. He said he’d file a report and to call if the culprit returned. Both he and Jenna seemed to think the perpetrator was a bored kid, probably acting on a dare. Shane disagreed. The image in the photo he’d snapped showed a person close to Shane’s size, not a preteen with too much time on his hands. But even the most desperate junkie would know the pickings in a place like this would be pretty slim, so what was the guy looking for? Shane didn’t have an answer.
Once the sound of the patrol car’s tires crossing the gravel had faded, Jenna motioned for Shane to follow her to the largest of the buildings. Like the one they’d been standing beside, it was painted chocolate-brown with shiny green shutters that apparently could be latched during the off-season.
“We used to have kids break in during the winter when we were closed,” Jenna said, leading the way. “That’s why Dad had the shutters made.”
“But the shutters are open.”
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