No Good Deed

by Susanne Matthews

  The fear in her eyes got to him, and he nodded. “As long as you do the same, we’re good. I won’t be long. Lock the door.”

  He stepped out onto the veranda and exhaled. If he couldn’t do this, they were both dead.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Fifteen two, fifteen four, a pair is six, and two runs are twelve.” Alexa laid her cards down and smiled. “I’m out. That, I believe they say, is a skunk.”

  “No! Not again.” Mike laughed, pretending to bang his forehead on the table. “And you’ve never played cribbage before? What are you, some kind of card shark? You’re killing me here.”

  Alexa shook her head and giggled. “Yeah, right. I told you. The only card game I’ve ever played is ‘go fish.’ Believe me, I never win at anything. It must be beginner’s luck.”

  “Well, you’re damn lucky, lady. I’m glad we aren’t playing for big bucks.”

  “Speak for yourself. This is more money than I’ve had in months.”

  He shook his head and glanced at the grandfather clock. “It’s almost eight. You should turn in. If the storm lets up, I want to leave by midnight. It’ll be rough going, but I don’t want to be here when it’s over.”

  She nodded. “Will you try to get some sleep, too?”

  “No. I’ll sleep when we get to Sainte Adèle and we’re safe. There’s a small sled attached to the snowmobile. If your stuff can fit into that backpack with mine, we’ll be good.”

  “What can I take with me?”

  “Your crutches, clothes, and whatever personal things you can’t survive without, and maybe the deck of cards and the cribbage game so I can redeem my honor. We’ll shop as we need to. By the way, is there anything here with your name on it?”

  She shook her head. “There are a few drawings I’ve named and dated, but I want to take those with me. Even my prescription bottles are blank.”

  “Good. Take all of your sketches, especially the one you just finished of Callaghan. I’m going to have my friend compare it to the body found in the river. I don’t believe anything I’ve been told.”

  “What about my wheelchair?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t fold, sorry. You’ll have to manage with those cuffed crutches. You’re pretty good on them, and I can always carry you. When we leave here, I’m going to burn the place down. Whoever’s behind the C-4 may think it detonated prematurely. I hate to do it, but if they think you died in an unfortunate fire, it might buy us an extra day or two.”

  “That seems a little drastic. This is someone’s home—”

  “That was rigged to blow. I’ve cut the wires, but . . . Lex, I have to do it. It’s the only way. Believe it or not, I’m actually following orders.” Not that he thought this was what Doucet had in mind when he said to destroy anything that could point to her. “There’s no other way to obliterate every trace that you were here.”

  She nodded and turned the wheelchair toward the kitchen.

  “Wait,” he said, reaching over and touching her shoulder. Heat flooded him, and he pulled his hand away quickly.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Maybe he did need sleep. He was imagining things. “Nothing. I found some long johns and socks in one of the trunks. I was hoping for mitts like mine, but since you finished knitting yours, we’ll have to hope your hands will be warm enough. Like the snowsuit and boots I found last night, everything will be miles too big on you, but if anyone sees us, they’ll just think we’re two drunks out for a late night joyride. Why don’t you get packed, and I’ll help you with supper after I check outside?”

  She pivoted the chair. “That won’t take long. I’ve got three outfits and a week’s worth of underwear. The laundry’s dry. I’ll fold it while you’re outside. Make sure you’re dressed warmly. The wind’s howling more loudly than ever. I’ll lock the door behind you.”

  “Yes, Mother.” He winked, hoping to lighten the solemn mood.

  “Hey! You owe me twenty-seven dollars, and I intend to be paid. I always get what’s coming to me.”

  The color seeped from her face; he pretended not to notice, and chuckled. It would take years to erase the damage this Richard had inflicted on her psyche.

  “Don’t worry.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m good for it.” Stepping to the door, he put on his ski jacket and grabbed his tuque, a scarf, and his gloves. “I won’t be long.”

  She rolled up next to him. “Be careful. If one of those branches falls on you, I can’t exactly go out there and help.”

  He nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

  Mike heard the lock slide home and stepped away from the door. The snow was still falling, but once more the consistency had changed. The freezing rain had ended earlier in the day, followed by a period of mixed precipitation, as if Mother Nature couldn’t make up her mind. Right now, the flakes were small, but without the grittiness of ice. The real problem was the wind. It whipped up the soft powder, essentially making visibility nil, but it cut both ways. They wouldn’t be able to see much, but no one would see them either.

  In the clearing around the chalet, the birches were bent so low, he doubted they’d ever stand straight again, and more than one cedar had lost its pillar shape, collapsing to the ground like a woman curtsying to her queen. Some might recover, others wouldn’t. It was that way each winter—nature’s own survival of the fittest. Broken branches from maples and other hardwoods littered the area and might be a problem, but that was something he would deal with when he had to.

  At least three feet of snow had fallen, not counting the heavy layer of ice a foot beneath his feet. He chuckled. Henri was always on his back about using the metric system. Feet, meters, miles, kilometers. What difference did it really make? Distance was distance. He glanced at the Celsius thermometer beside the window. It had gone from just below zero a few hours ago to minus twenty. That was cold in any language. He’d have to make sure Alexa was as warm as she could possibly be.

  Pulling his Glock out of the pocket of his jacket, he went down the salted stairs, noting the snow had obliterated his previous tracks. Unfortunately, it also eliminated any other tracks, including those of the wolves.

  Slapping on the snowshoes he’d found in the shed, he made a circuit of the property, looking for spots that could indicate scat. The animal waste would stay warm long enough to melt the falling snow, leaving a depression.

  Without the webbed footwear, he’d be up to his knees in snow—and that was only because the layer of ice acted like a barrier, preventing him from being waist deep in the stuff. He’d take the snowshoes with him. There was a real possibility the snowmobile could go through the ice and get bogged down. If that happened, they would have to walk, and God help them if they did—especially if the wolves were in this area. He hadn’t heard them yet, but it was early. How long could he manage with a pack on his back and Alexa in his arms? His ribs ached and made deep breathing hell, which wouldn’t help his stamina. Hopefully, the temperature would rise and the wind would die down soon. While that might give away the sound of the snowmobile’s engine, it would make for an easier, safer ride.

  He looked around the clearing. Damn it! Why hadn’t he thought of this before? There was more than enough clear space for a helicopter to land, and once the wind and the snow stopped, if whoever was behind this decided it was time to act, they could be here from Montreal in minutes. They wouldn’t have to wait for road crews to clear the way. Time wasn’t on their side.

  He hadn’t planned on showing up at Andy’s in the middle of the night, but it might be for the best. They would be traveling through the bush, skirting the farms and chalets. The distance from here to Sainte Adèle was no more than ten miles, an easy twenty-minute ride in an SUV. He would stick to the woods, double back on his trail now and then, keeping the snowmobile’s speed around ten mph both for safety and to make the ride more bearable for Alexa. As it was, this might well be the longest hour and a half of her life, but he’d get her there safely.


  Turning back, he headed to the garage to finish the last minute modifications to their way out of here. This had to work. They were out of options. In the distance, the wolves howled.

  • • •

  The sound of the door opening woke Alexa.

  “Lex, it’s time to get up. It’s still snowing, but the wind has died down some. This is our best shot to get away from here safely.”

  “Okay,” she answered, strangely calm. Maybe opening up to Mike had helped. Of course, she could be in shock. For months, she’d been living in a chalet that was literally a time bomb. What if the power had failed sooner? Callaghan had filled the generator in November.

  “I’d hoped to get away three hours ago, but Mother Nature wouldn’t play ball. You can have tea and toast when you’re ready. We need to eat before we go out there, and we need to leave soon. Here.”

  “What’s that?” She turned over, sat up, and reached for the bundle in his arms.

  “The long johns I mentioned. They probably belong to a woman.”

  She giggled at the thought of some burly man in the snowsuit also dressed in pink underwear.

  “What? You don’t think pink is a manly color?” she asked.

  “It’s not that.” He chuckled. “No, you know . . . a man’s got to go . . . ”

  “Right. What are these for?” She held up the two pairs of socks he’d handed her.

  “Your feet,” he teased.

  Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “I know that, genius. What exactly do you want me to do with them?”

  “The small ones should fit you, and since they’re made of wool, they should keep your feet warm. Once you put on your slippers, add the larger pair over the top of them. Those boots are at least four sizes bigger than you probably wear. The socks should help the things stay on your feet. I’ll use duct tape to fasten the top of your boots to your pant legs as well. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

  “I won’t be long. Where’s my bag?”

  “By the door. When you finish with your toiletries, I’ll add them. With all the cameras, cables, and the laptop, the backpack is jammed, but I can fit that in.”

  As soon as Mike left the room, Alexa reached for the crutches he’d placed at her feet. Not having the wheelchair would be difficult, but as long as she kept her walking to a minimum, she would be fine. She’d been sore enough when she’d gone to bed that she’d taken a painkiller, grateful when she’d slept soundly without one of her nightmares.

  After washing her face, she brushed her teeth and braided her hair into a long plait. At supper, Mike had mentioned the need to disguise themselves in some way. She’d always considered her hair her best feature, but it was long past time to get it cut, and if she colored it some mousey shade, maybe that would help. She glanced at the robe on the back of the door, the one garment she and Mike had argued over. It was true that it was too big for her and heavy, but Sister Gabriella had given it to her and that made it special. Just the feel of the flannel beneath her fingers had helped ease her worries, but like this place, it had to go.

  Returning to the room, she donned her underwear and her brace and covered them with the pink thermal one-piece garment at least two sizes too big, the small wool socks he’d given her, jeans, a T-shirt, her blue sweater, and her hoodie. She added her slippers and pulled the grey socks over them as Mike had told her to. She stood and glanced at the mirror.

  “I’m going to look like the marshmallow man from the Ghostbusters movie we watched.”

  She hadn’t laughed that hard in years. It was a shame she and Mike hadn’t met under better circumstances. Of course, once this was over, they would go their separate ways. And that would be for the best. When she was safe, the only thing she wanted in her life was peace and quiet, something she would never have if she let her friendship with Mike grow into something more. Besides, he still had secrets . . .

  She dropped onto the bed. What if she was wrong? What if leaving was exactly what her captor wanted her to do? She only had Mike’s word that it wasn’t safe to stay here. Sure, he’d found the cameras, but what if he’d been the one to plant them there in the first place? Maybe he’d placed them in the garage a few days ago . . . She hadn’t seen the wires he’d cut. The C-4 he claimed surrounded her shower could be nothing more than waterproof putty. Once he got her into the woods, he could leave her there to die, leave her to feed the wolves, and no one would ever know what had happened to her.

  “Stop it,” she hissed aloud. “I can’t keep second-guessing everything because of Richard. Mike is the good guy here.” He’d been as stunned to find those cameras and C-4 as she’d been.

  She might question some of what he’d told her, but she had to believe he was on her side. Otherwise, she would drive herself crazy—well, crazier than she already was. If he’d wanted to kill her, he’d had ample opportunity to do so. After one final farewell look around the room, seeing it for the first time as a prison and not a sanctuary, she grabbed her cosmetic bag and her crutches.

  “Think I’ll be warm enough?” she asked jokingly when she reached the kitchen.

  Mike’s brows grew together, but instead of laughing as she’d expected, he pursed his lips.

  “God, I hope so. It’s still minus twenty, and we’ll be out there at least an hour, maybe more depending on what we meet along the way.”

  Panic filled her. “Meet? Meet who? The wolves? The people after me?”

  “Relax. I meant downed trees and power lines. I’m going to stick to the woods, but that may not always be possible. Come on. Have your tea while I finish up in here.” He reached for the toiletry bag in her hand. “I’ll put this away.”

  Half an hour later, feeling like a cross between an Ewok and Jabba the Hutt, as frightened as she’d ever been, the thought she might be playing right into Zabat’s hands if he were the one behind this, she put her arm around Mike’s neck as he carried her down the steps and set her down on the back of the snowmobile idling a few feet away. The cold air stole her breath and she gasped.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” Her voice shook and not from the sudden cold.

  “I have to start a fire, remember?”

  She frowned. “How are you going to do it?”

  “I’m going to open the woodstove, leave the screen unlatched, and knock a few logs out of it onto the floor, making sure that quilt you were using is close enough to catch fire. The furniture is primarily wood, so it should burn easily enough. They didn’t have too many fire retardant materials in the sixties and seventies. I don’t dare add an accelerant. I want them to think it was their bomb that did this. I’ll turn on the ring under the kettle and extinguish the pilot light on the stove. Once the fire reaches the kitchen, the chalet should blow. The garage is close enough to the house to catch as well. That way, whoever’s looking into this won’t realize I destroyed his little peep show, too.”

  She nodded. “The place really is a deathtrap, isn’t it? How long do you think it’ll take?”

  “I don’t know. This is my first attempt at arson.”

  He hurried up the stairs and disappeared inside. For someone not well versed in arson, he sounded as if he knew his stuff. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered once more. Within minutes, he was back again and handed her a helmet similar to his.

  “Keep the face shield down. It’ll prevent the snow from stinging you and make it easier to breathe. Since it’s tinted, you won’t see much, but it’ll keep you warmer. How do you feel?”

  “I’m fine, a little nervous, but I’m warm. Let’s just get going before the place blows up.”

  “I’m sure we have at least a half hour,” he said and grinned. “I just hope this works.”

  Without another word, he got onto the machine, sitting in front of her, and slowly pulled away from the cabin. Alexa gripped him around the middle and hung on for dear life. She’d been a passenger on a motorcycle as well as a Jet Ski, but there was something about
gliding over the snow so close to the ground, dodging downed branches and trees, that made this ride scarier than the others.

  “Still okay?”

  Mike’s voice, loud in her ears, startled her.

  “I forgot to mention the helmets are equipped with radio. If you need anything, say so, got it?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “I’m good. I—”

  An explosion, louder than anything she could’ve imagined, followed by a second one even louder, stole the words out of her mouth, and shook the ground under them causing more snow to fall from the branches overhead.

  Mike stopped the snowmobile and looked back at the chalet engulfed in flames.

  “That worked better than I expected it to,” he said.

  “So much for your half hour. For someone who claims not to know much about setting fires, I would say you did a damn fine job.” There was no going back now. “If you ever get tired of being a policeman, you can consider becoming a demolitions expert.”

  “Or an arsonist.” There was something in his voice that didn’t sound right, as if he himself were surprised by how well the plan had worked.

  They sat there, watching the flames reaching up into the sky. Wolves howled in the distance, and she shivered. How close were they? Could they see the unnatural light blazing where the chalet had been? Mike had said the Ski-Doo could outrun them, but wolves were pretty fast, and so far the snowmobile didn’t seem to be moving at great speed.

  “I think we should get going,” she said.

  Mike put the snowmobile in gear and headed deeper into the trees. She wrapped her arms around his middle once more.

  Alexa scanned the forest as they drove along. She’d seen the destructive power of an ice storm in Toronto, but this was ten times worse. Large pine trees were uprooted, while others had their heads snapped off. Birches and cedars, bent not broken, seemed to be bowing to them as they passed. It was beautiful and yet terrifying. Mike had to detour around several large branches that had fallen from the maple and oak trees. Twice, he’d had to circle back to find another path when the larger branches had blocked their way. He was using a compass to guide him, but it would be so easy to get lost. She shuddered. Had this really been the right thing to do?