She dressed quickly and packed her bag. The sun was just beginning to peep over the top of the distant mountains, and for a brief moment she forgot everything that had happened in the past few days. Downstairs in the dining room, she had the waitress refill her Thermos. As she climbed into the Jeep, she looked at her watch. Five thirty. Sit tight, Nat. She grabbed cheese and crackers from the picnic basket to eat while on the way, then slipped the Jeep into gear.
The sun, drying up the wet road and causing swirls of mist to rise off the trees and bushes, was already bringing out the mosquitos. At first, Maggie tried to drive with the windows up, but as it got warmer, she had to stop to get out and strip off her jacket. The mosquitos took full advantage, and within seconds had invaded the inside of the vehicle. She found herself steering with one hand and batting with the other. “Get out!” she yelled, slapping wildly at the insects that buzzed around her head, neck and arms. Belatedly, she remembered the repellent she had packed, and pulling off to the side of the road, she delved into the basket again, found the evil-smelling liquid and dabbed it on.
If Maggie had thought the road to Horsefly was rough, it was a picnic compared to the one that followed the river to Shadow Lake. Her neck and shoulder muscles became tense with the continual strain of steering around and between potholes. The road was not only lonely, it also ran precariously close to the water, and the closer she got to the lake, the more she realized that she had no idea how to find Nat. You didn’t think this out, Maggie. You have only Jerry Harkness’ word for it that Nordstrom’s plane went to Shadow Lake. And Jerry could be part of the conspiracy! But she knew that she had to take the chance that Nat was there.
At the head of the lake, she discovered the road branched to either side of it. She could see that the one along the west side veered sharply away from the water, but reasoning that Nordstrom’s place would have to be near the lake in order to fly the plane in, she chose the one along the east side. Although this track rose high above the lake, between the trees she could still see an occasional white sail or the wake from a powerboat.
She came to a stop when she saw a wooden notice board by the side of the road. BILL’S FISHING RESORT AND MARINA STRAIGHT ahead: 2 miles. So that’s where the boats are coming from. Quickly, she scanned the map, but the marina wasn’t marked on it. It says two miles. She put the Jeep into gear again and continued along the rutted road. They’ll know where Nordstrom’s cottage is.
“Al Nordstrom’s place?” replied the man on the dock. “That’s another six or seven miles along. Just keep going. He’s right at the end of the road. You can’t miss it. There’s a road that branches off to the north, but that just leads to an old mine. Just stay on this one.”
Shadow Lake Mine! Should she drive up to the mine and have a look around, or try to find the cottage first? In the end, she decided on the cottage. Nat’s more likely to be there.
She passed the road leading up to the mine, hoping she would see a driveway that would lead down to a cottage or perhaps catch a glimpse of the float plane on the lake. But the road rose higher, and her view of the lake was obscured behind banks of tall trees. She had just crossed over another small bridge when the clatter of a truck coming at full speed toward her caused Maggie to wrench the wheel of the Jeep and try to pull over. And that’s when the Jeep’s engine stalled. The driver of the red flatbed jammed on his brakes and came to a screeching halt. “What the hell are you doing driving in the middle of the road?” he yelled at her. “This road’s a dead-end anyway.” He waited, fuming while she got the engine going again and pulled to the side. Then he slammed the truck into gear and roared off.
I’ve seen that man before. Where? She pulled into the middle of the road again. Nordstrom’s cottage has to be here someplace. A short time later, the tracks led into a clearing next to an old garage. Pulling up sharply, she jumped out of the Jeep and ran down a path leading to a cottage on the edge of the lake. Pausing for a moment at the top of a flight of wooden steps leading from the house down to the beach, she saw a float plane tied to the pier. It was Nordstrom’s all right. She was in the right place. The cottage seemed deserted, but she took a deep breath before quietly turning the handle and walking in. It was then that she heard sobbing. “Kate,” she called. The sobbing stopped. “Kate,” she called again. “It’s me, Maggie.”
“Maggie!” Kate came running out of a back room and flung her arms around her. “How . . . how did you get here . . . oh, Maggie, I’m so glad to see you . . . I don’t know what to do!” Maggie disentangled Kate’s arms.
“What’s happened, Kate? Where’s Nat?”
“It’s all my fault.” Kate started to cry again. “I’m so sorry, Maggie.”
“Where is he?” she repeated.
“Nat’s at the mine, but . . . ”
Maggie started for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To get Nat.”
“But what about Douglas?”
“I’m sorry, Kate, but Nat’s safety comes first.”
“But you don’t understand! Douglas is up there too. I think he’s going to . . . going to . . . kill Nat!”
Maggie stopped in the doorway. “Your husband is here?”
Kate nodded miserably. “He’s not missing at all. Oh, Maggie . . . ”
The man in the truck! Kate’s wedding photographs! “For God’s sake, Kate, tell me what’s happened.” But precious minutes were lost before Maggie could make sense of what Kate was saying.
“Then Douglas came back a little while ago to get a flashlight,” Kate finished, “and he said they had him cornered.”
“What did he mean?”
“I don’t know. I followed him up to the garage, but by the time I got there, he was loading a box in the back of the truck and he told me to come back to the house and wait.”
Without another word, Maggie turned, left the house and started back up the path to the road.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The man took her completely by surprise as he suddenly loomed over her. “It’s Margaret Spencer, isn’t it? I thought it was you up there on the road. You should have kept out of my business, lady.” He grabbed her arm, spun her around and frog-marched her back to the cottage.
Kate let out a wail as they re-entered.
“Isn’t this touching?” he said, brushing past his wife. “Your little friend has come to join her boss.” He pushed Maggie down onto a chair and held her firmly there, with both hands on her shoulders. “I don’t know if my Kate would do the same for me.”
“Where’s Nat?”
“Safe and sound,” he answered. “Kate, you’ll find some rope in the shed outside. Get it.”
Kate hesitated by the door. “Douglas, I . . . ”
“Get the rope!”
Still, Kate hovered.
“You want me to knock your friend on the head instead?”
Kate scuttled outside and was back within minutes with the rope. But the moment Guthrie took his hands off Maggie’s shoulders, she was on her feet and running for the door. She wasn’t fast enough. As she fumbled with the doorknob, he delivered a blow that sent her crashing to the floor. Kate screamed.
“Should have done that in the first place,” he muttered as he tied Maggie’s hands behind her back and then dragged her toward the back door.
“Where’s Nat, you bastard?” Maggie demanded as he pulled her to her feet.
“Down the mine shaft. But don’t worry. I’m going back up there to deal with that little problem. Open the door, Kate.”
“But, Douglas, she’s . . . ” Kate began fearfully.
“I said open the door!”
Kate scuttled to comply.
“Now open the shed door,” he said, forcing Maggie in front of him. “When I get back, she’s going to have a little boating accident.” He waited impatiently while Kate swung the shed door open before giving Maggie a push that sent her sprawling onto the dirt floor. The door banged shut and Maggie heard it being fas
tened.
“Now, what the hell am I going to do with you?” Maggie heard him say to his wife.
“I’ll wait here for you, Douglas. I promise I won’t let her out.”
“You must think I’m as stupid as you are. You’re coming with me.”
• • •
TAKING A DEEP BREATH, Nat put his good foot into the hole that he’d dug in the wall and reached for the top. As his hands touched the crumbling edge, he felt them slipping through the loose gravel, and his body sliding back down the wall. To stop himself from tumbling down into the main shaft, he twisted sideways as he fell and landed on the ledge in a crumpled heap. His outstretched hands touched nothing but air. He had been perilously close to following the stones clattering down the shaft. He lay still for a few moments, his body sweaty with fear.
On his feet again, he replaced his foot in the hole and reached again for the top. This time, gritting his teeth, knowing there would be excruciating pain, he launched his body upward and over the edge, desperately groping for a handhold. Digging his fingers into the piled rubble, he gradually pulled himself completely out.
“How you doing down there?” Nordstrom’s mocking voice was distorted by the echo in the tunnel. Nat estimated that he could be no more than fifty feet away, but the sharp bend had cut off all light, so there was no way he could see him.
“Hope you haven’t gone to sleep,” the voice taunted him again. “Pity to be asleep and miss the big bang.” Keep talking, Nordstrom. You don’t know it, but you’re helping me out. He crawled over the heaps of rubble as silently as possible until he reached the beginning of the bend, then, inching his way cautiously on hands and knees, peered around the corner. Nordstrom had given up taunting him and was sitting on a slab of granite just outside of the mine entrance. His rifle was slung across his knees. Nat watched him raise one hand to shield his eyes against the sunlight as he looked down the hill. Waiting for his pal. And I have to get to him before that bastard gets back!
A large stone ready in his hand, Nat stood up and began moving step by step, closer and closer. Don’t turn around. Please don’t turn around. Suddenly, Nordstrom shifted his position on the slab, and Nat froze. On the path below the mine, an adventurous rabbit had run across the road and was nibbling at the grass. Idly, Nordstrom raised his rifle and trained it on the animal. By this time, Nat had reached the entrance, but Nordstrom was so intent on the rabbit that he didn’t sense the danger behind him. With a sudden intake of breath, Nat raised the stone above his head. It was at that moment that the rabbit bolted into the brush, and Nordstrom, returning his attention to his prisoner, turned his head. Seeing a movement behind him, he instinctively brought up his rifle at the exact moment that Nat threw himself at the man. As the stone crashed down hard on Nordstrom’s head, the gun went off. Nordstrom fell with a thud, but Nat was left looking down at the blood oozing from his own thigh, where the bullet had entered. Fighting nausea as waves of pain swept over him, he dragged Nordstrom’s unconscious body back as far as he could over the piles of rubble and into the darkness of the mine.
Staggering out into the sunshine again, he realized he had to find a hiding place quickly, before the other man returned. Slipping and skidding over the shards of stone, he stumbled partway down the hill and pushed his way through a clump of broom at the side of the track. Once through, he managed to keep going another few feet into a small clearing and flung himself behind a large boulder, where he finally collapsed.
• • •
SAWASKY COULD SEE by the heavy equipment that the waitress had been right: the road was in the process of being paved, but luckily for him, the crews had only just started the work of spreading and rolling the crushed stone. Covered in grey dust, his battered 1948 Ford rattled through Lac la Hache less than an hour after leaving 100 Mile House. The lake, shrouded in mist, beckoned invitingly, but promising himself a return visit one day, he drove non-stop for another hour and a half, until he came to the turnoff to Horsefly. Unfortunately, there was also a sign pointing straight on to Williams Lake, and Sawasky was reminded that protocol demanded he report first to the local constabulary. Reluctantly, he continued north. In his rear-view mirror, he saw the Chrysler that had been following at a safe distance behind him turn toward Horsefly.
Brossard was not pleased to see Sawasky. “I don’t understand why you’re here,” he said scathingly. “I called into the ranch yesterday and spoke to Guthrie’s son. An old friend of the family had brought him up.”
“But I told you over the phone that Margaret Spencer got a message to me.” Sawasky found himself raising his voice.
“Jamie Guthrie told me his father had been in contact and he was sorry that he’d caused so much trouble, but he’d just wanted to get away on his own for a bit.”
“Did he say why?”
“I gather there had been some domestic problems.”
“And the deaths of Sarazine and Chandler?”
“Sarazine was killed, but Chandler’s death could’ve been suicide.”
Sawasky didn’t know how to keep his temper. “Don’t you understand that Guthrie and his friends were most probably mixed up in the Smith abduction?”
“We’ve no proof . . . ”
“Maggie Spencer came to you with proof and for help. If anything happens to either of them . . . ” Disgusted, he turned and stormed to the door. “I’m going to Shadow Lake, and I hope to God that I’m not too late.” He slammed the door and ran to his car.
“Wait,” he heard Brossard call. “I’ll come with you.”
Sawasky stopped dead in his tracks. “You will? Come on, then.”
Except for giving directions, Brossard said nothing until they were on Horsefly Road. “You think a lot of those two, don’t you?”
“Nat’s not only a friend, but he’s a damn good detective,” Sawasky answered. “And he’s trained Maggie into one helluva good assistant. And if she says they’re in trouble—then they are.” He drove on, trying to miss the potholes. “Why do you think I’ve come all this way?”
The road to Horsefly was murder on Sawasky’s beloved Ford, and he had to hold grimly onto the steering wheel as they bounced and swerved on the loose gravel. The whole area had an abandoned feeling to it, but this was partly due to the many crumbling, empty shacks and barns along the way. It was close to mid-morning when they stopped at the gas station in Horsefly.
“Hi Sam,” Brossard greeted the mechanic. “Did a woman driving a Jeep come through this way lately?”
“Oh, it’s you, Corporal,” he replied. “This ain’t your vehicle.” He bent down to fit the nozzle into the tank. “Came through yesterday. Her Jeep broke down. Fixed it and she drove on. What’s she done?”
“Nothing. Did she say where she was heading?”
“Heard tell it was Shadow Lake. Old Perce down at Annie’s told her it’d be rough going, but she sure was determined to go.”
“I can see what old Perce meant,” Sawasky said, as they bumped and slid on the washboard road surface. “I don’t know how Maggie made it this far.”
“Well,” Brossard said, dryly, “any old Jeep would hold the road better than this crate.” With a jolt, Sawasky realized that Brossard was hiding a sense of humour beneath his official shell.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Maggie was struggling to her feet when she heard the faint sound of the truck starting up. Got to get out of here! There was little time to lose, and here she was locked in a shed with her hands tied behind her back. There was only one dusty hinged window about five feet off the floor, with a stack of small logs piled underneath it. Standing on tiptoe, she could see that the window, had been nailed shut in each bottom corner. Against intruders, she supposed. But her first priority was to get her hands free. There were plenty of hammers and screwdrivers hanging in wall racks above a makeshift workbench, but none seemed of any use to cut the cord binding her wrists. Then, stilling her panic, she looked more closely and spotted an axe hanging just out of reach. A yard broom
leaned nearby, and turning her back, she twisted her fingers until she could grasp its handle and lift it. Then, with her back to the wall, she looked over her shoulder until she located the axe with the broom handle. With each determined push, it began to swing. “Come on! Fall, damn you!” Then, “Got you!” she shouted in triumph, jumping out of the way as it came crashing down.
Using her feet, she pushed the axe close to the generator and then concentrated on tipping the blade upward. Next, she sat with her back to the axe, forced the blade between her wrists, and began sawing at the rope. It seemed that hours had passed instead of minutes before the strands began to give way. Although her shoulders were aching with the strain, and her fingers sticky with blood, she continued to saw until she felt the last strand part.
Now how the hell do I get out of here? She tried the door first, but it was unyielding to her frantic launches against it. It has to be that window! I’ll need a pry bar. And unhooking one from the wall, she climbed up the log pile and forced the bar into the small gap between the sill and the window frame, close to one of the nails. Leaning heavily on the tool, she began levering, but nothing happened. “Well, there’s more than one way to skin a cat!” And she swung the pry bar at the glass. A moment later, she was bashing away at the glass fragments still imbedded in the lower sash. When enough had been cleared away that she figured she could climb out without cutting herself to ribbons, she returned to the floor, pulled the dinghy over to lean it against the pile, climbed back onto the pile, and—even though she felt the top logs shifting beneath her weight—perched on the squareended bow of the dinghy. Then, grasping the sill, she lifted one leg through the opening, then the other, and a moment later, she was lowering herself to fall into the weeds below. Not waiting to see what damage the glass fragments had done to her hands and legs, she ran up the path. The Jeep was where she had left it, and she pulled the ignition key from her pocket and jumped in. Guthrie and Kate were now a good half-hour ahead of her. Just let me get there in time!
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