Frank Bennett Adirondack Mountain Mystery Box Set

by S. W. Hubbard

  The young man stared at Frank for a long moment. “Dr. Payne will want to speak with you about this.” He picked up a phone in the office and dialed four numbers. “This is Steve. Chief Bennett has returned the camping gear and backpacks, but Mr. Reiger’s equipment isn’t with the rest. He says the state police are examining it.” Frank could hear Payne’s voice booming through the line. It didn’t sound encouraging.

  “Follow me,” the young man said after he hung up. Frank walked in silence with his escort toward Payne’s office. The young man had announced himself as Steve when he made the call—he might be Steve Vreeland, the Pathfinder on the hike.

  “So, Steve, were you the one who hiked out for help this morning after the attack?”

  “That is correct.” Steve kept his eyes focused straight ahead as he answered.

  “Brave of you to come down that trail by yourself in the dark, knowing the bear was still out there.”

  “As the Pathfinder, I was second in command. It was my responsibility,” Steve said. For a man who’d seen his colleague virtually eaten alive, he seemed remarkably free of emotion.

  “Very unusual for a bear to attack like that. Any idea what could’ve set him off? Did Jake Reiger mention there was anything wrong with his sleeping bag?"

  Steve clenched his teeth until the tendons in his neck stood out. “I already answered the questions of the state police and the DEC officer. We followed all appropriate guidelines for preparing and storing our food. The bear invaded his tent in the middle of the night without provocation.”

  They had arrived at Payne’s office. Steve rapped on the solid oak door and after receiving a muffled “Enter" from within, he opened the door, turned on his heel, and left without a word.

  MacArthur Payne marched across the room with his right hand extended. “It’s well past the time you said you'd have the equipment back,” he said, crushing Frank’s hand in his grip. “I was just about to call. And while you’re here, I have another police matter to discuss.”

  Frank freed himself from the painful handshake and took a step backwards. What kind of macho alpha dog behavior was this? If Payne expected an apology for the response time of the Trout Run police, he could pull up a chair to wait. No, no—wrong attitude. This was supposed to be a courtesy call. He let the remark pass and smiled at the headmaster. “Oh? What’s that?”

  Motioning Frank to sit down, Payne went behind his huge mahogany desk but remained standing. “Trespassers,” he spat out with the distaste usually reserved for terms like “pedophiles,” or “crackheads.”

  Frank said nothing, just watched the fellow.

  "People from your town have been sneaking onto the grounds of the North Country Academy,” Payne said. “Can’t have it. Upsets the order of things. Order is paramount to what we do here.”

  Upset the order of things . . . what was that supposed to mean? “I’m sorry, Dr. Payne. Let me clarify this—are you concerned that hunters are poaching on school property?” The academy property spread for more than a hundred acres, much of it wooded, but it was all posted no hunting.

  Payne’s straight, black brows drew down. “No, this is what concerns me.” With a snap, Payne spread a section of the New York Times across his vast, uncluttered desk. He leaned over, picked up a brown paper bag, and shook out the contents: a Snickers wrapper, a Doritos bag, and a crushed soda cup imprinted with the Stop’N’Buy market logo.

  “Litter?” Frank asked. The guy wanted police intervention because he found some litter on the school grounds? “And what makes you think that’s from people in town? Maybe your own students dropped it.”

  “Contraband,” Payne spit out. “Academy students are not permitted to eat any food not served in the school dining hall.”

  Frank smiled. “Kids aren’t easily separated from their junk food. It’d be easy enough to smuggle it in.”

  “I think not, Chief Bennett. The repercussions for such behavior are well known among the students.”

  “Really? What are the repercussions for eating chips on campus?”

  Payne dismissed the question with a flip of his hand. “Not germane to our discussion. Let’s walk out to the perimeter of the property and I’ll show you what concerns me.” He put on his overcoat and pulled a black beret over his nearly hairless head. A man with less self-confidence might have looked silly, but Payne carried it off.

  “The North Country Academy is no longer an ordinary boarding school,” Payne said as they set off across the broad lawn. “It’s an institution dedicated to saving lives. We admit troubled teens here, kids who have failed in every school environment that they have been placed in, and we turn them into successes.”

  Payne was leading him toward the high wrought-iron fence separating the school grounds from the road. The campus was far too large to be entirely enclosed by fencing, but as Frank walked, he realized how difficult it would be for a student to run away. The school buildings, all with large spotlights on every corner, stood in the center of the campus, surrounded by several acres of open meadows and playing fields with no place to hide. On three sides, the fields ran up to state-owned forest preserve, a protected wilderness area with very few marked trails. Going over the fence to the road would be too risky, with those signs warning drivers not to pick up hitchhikers. And of course, Trout Run had no bus or train service.

  Payne must have been watching Frank scan the scene. “It’s a beautiful setting, but quite inaccessible. That’s what made this property so attractive to me. We have two guards on duty twenty-four hours a day. One up there.” He pointed to the turret on the Gothic main building. “And one at the gatehouse.”

  “But a kid could slip across those fields at night and make a break for the woods,” Frank said.

  “A skilled hiker could make his way down to Keene Valley if he knew the lay of the land and had a compass and some supplies,” Payne agreed. “That’s why we keep the hiking and camping gear under lock and key. After every outing, all the equipment—even the water bottles—is counted and logged in by two employees. And we don’t allow any food to leave the dining room, so they’d be running on an empty stomach. There’s really only one weak link in the setup, and that’s what I want to show you.”

  Frank’s ears perked up—these details about the camping gear he wanted to hear more of, but Payne seemed hell-bent on showing him something else.

  They arrived at the far front corner of the campus, where a deep, fast-moving stream ran between the end of the fence and the beginning of the forest. Frank knew the road wasn’t far away, but he couldn’t see it through the trees.

  Payne pointed across the stream to a large flat rock. “I find the remains of small fires on that rock, beer cans, snack food wrappers. Someone is parking and hiking in from the road. I’ve posted a sign that this is private property, but it hasn’t done any good.”

  It was a pretty spot that might appeal to local kids looking for a place to hang out. Frank couldn’t see why this was a big deal.

  His lack of alarm was apparent to Payne. “These are kids with a history of running away, Bennett. They run away from home, run away from school, but really what they’re trying to do is run away from themselves. At the North Country Academy, we make them understand that there’s no place left to run. They have to stop and face their problems and overcome them.” Payne held up one gloved finger. “We do that by first making them accept the literal impossibility of running away. Then we move on to the metaphorical level. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

  As much as Frank had his doubts about Payne, he had to admit that he did. He’d seen men who came face-to-face with themselves for the first time in prison and realized they had to change. But he also knew it didn’t work for most of them; they kept on doing more of what had brought them there in the first place. Of course, there wasn’t much encouragement in prison. Presumably the academy did more to help the kids change.

  “They receive some counseling, I guess, to help them solve their problems?”r />
  “I’ll be honest with you, Bennett, I’m not a big believer in therapy. Most of these kids have already been to every shrink in the book, and it hasn’t done them one lick of good. What's the point of sitting around in big sob sessions, blaming all your problems on your parents and your teachers and your so-called learning disabilities? Change the behavior, that’s what I endorse. Change the bad behavior, and the bad attitude will change right along with it.”

  Frank could see how parents at the end of their ropes would eat this up. Here was a man who didn't blame them for the way their kids had turned out and who promised to break their children’s bad habits the way you'd train a dog to stay off the furniture.

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “Not easy, Bennett. It’s hard work, but not complex, if you catch my drift.” He gestured to the horizon. “Climbing these mountains takes strength, stamina, perseverance—you can’t think your way to the summit, you get there by putting one foot in front of the other. These kids have spent way too much time thinking about their problems. It’s time for them to climb their way out.”

  Frank found himself smiling. You couldn’t deny the man’s power of persuasion. And maybe he was right. Maybe the kids got more value from six hours of hard winter hiking than they got from fifty minutes on the shrink’s couch.

  "So can you see why I feel it’s important that these trespassers be kept away, Bennett? This location allows us to minimize inappropriate distractions. But if the students believe that their old lives lie within reach, just on the other side of that stream, they won’t buy into the necessity of working their way to freedom.”

  Frank nodded. “I see your point. I tell you what— I’ll park the patrol car out here a few nights. It’s probably local kids, and a warning will send them on their way.”

  “An excellent plan. Thank you.”

  They turned and began to stroll back. The forced friendliness between them had gradually turned more genuine. Frank commented on the view, naming some of the High Peaks visible on the horizon.

  “Thank you for returning our camping equipment,” Payne said. "I understand there was some, er, delay with Jake’s gear?”

  “What’s left of it—and there’s not much—is at the state police lab.”

  Payne jingled the change in his pocket. “And why is that? I thought that Rusty Magill fellow believed the bear to be rabid. They have to test the bear’s brain for that. The sleeping bag won’t tell you a thing.”

  “That’s true. But the DEC officer detected what smelled and felt like bacon grease on Jake Reiger’s sleeping bag. Bacon grease is a very strong lure for bears. We know your group didn’t cook or eat bacon on this trip.”

  A furrow of concentration creased Payne's high forehead. “We use freeze-dried meals on every camping trip.”

  “But you do serve bacon here at the dining hall?” They had reached the door to Payne’s office and the headmaster held it open for Frank to enter. “Only occasionally. I prefer to offer the students a high-fiber, low-fat diet. A healthy diet helps restore healthy thinking.” Payne glanced sideways at Frank. “What are you getting at?”

  “Just trying to determine when and how that particular sleeping bag could have come in contact with a substantial amount of bacon grease.”

  Payne strode across the office to a dry-erase board in the corner. “Let’s be logical about this.” He picked up a red marker and pointed it at Frank as he spoke. “After every camping trip the gear is checked, counted, and returned to the locked storage room.”

  “By whom?” Frank asked.

  “Jake Reiger himself. He was the director of our Wilderness Experience program. And Jake was the only person, apart from myself, who had a key to that room.” Payne printed “Equipment secure” in bold red letters on the whiteboard.

  “Now, as I mentioned earlier, the kitchen is off limits to the students, but not, of course, to the staff. They may request special meals, within reason. Let’s call in Mrs. Pershing, the head cook.” Payne picked up the phone and barked into it. While they waited, Payne beckoned to Frank to join him in front of a wall filled with framed photos.

  "This is what makes my life worthwhile. These are my triumphs.” He pointed at a photo. "That’s Senator Bruce Carmore. I saved his son’s life.”

  Frank squinted at the picture. Sure enough—it was that Republican from out west, the one always clamoring for an anti-flag-burning amendment.

  “The boy came to me drunk, drug-addicted, and suicidal. Today, he’s a sophomore at Penn State. Accounting major.”

  Frank scanned the wall. Every frame held a happy group photo—a clean-cut teenager surrounded by, often embraced by, his or her beaming parents. Payne was in most of the photos, as well. This selection of kids certainly didn’t look homicidal.

  “Any of your kids have criminal records?” Frank asked.

  “Drug offenses, drunk and disorderly, vandalism— that sort of thing.”

  “No violent crimes?”

  “I won’t take them if they have a history of sex assaults or any violence with a weapon. Too risky.”

  Frank continued to study the pictures. “Was Jake Reiger popular with the students?”

  Payne snorted. “None of our teachers is popular, Bennett. Popularity isn’t what we're aiming for; respect is.”

  “Well, did they respect him?”

  “He was earning their respect. He’d only been with this group for a few weeks. Jake always worked with the new arrivals.”

  “Always? You’d worked with him before?”

  “Hmm?” Payne adjusted a crooked picture. “Yes, we were acquainted professionally for a few years. The therapeutic school community is a small one—we all know each other.”

  "You recruited him from another school?”

  “He was ready for a change of scene.” Payne inclined his head with a knowing look on his face. “Trouble with a woman.”

  “Some change! Will there be a memorial service?”

  “His sister in Utah is taking care of that.”

  The door opened after a timid tap, and a middle-aged woman in a white uniform stepped into the room, looking like Dorothy in the presence of the great Oz.

  “You wanted me, Dr. Payne?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Pershing.” Payne didn’t bother to offer her a seat, but left her standing there, trembling. “I wanted to ask you about your procedures for disposing of bacon grease.”

  A blotchy red flush appeared on her neck and face. “I never throw it down the drain! Honest, I never do—I scrape it into the garbage so my sinks don’t get clogged up.”

  “Excellent." Payne smiled at her, but the poor woman wasn’t reassured. “And the trash is thrown in the Dumpster, which is enclosed by a fence with a locked gate.”

  “Who has the key to that?” Frank asked.

  Mrs. Pershing pulled on a lanyard that hung around her neck with three keys on a ring. “These are the keys to the kitchen, the pantry, and the garbage enclosure. I wear them around my neck the whole time I’m on duty, and on my days off, Francine wears them. After the kitchen is locked for the night, I give the keys to Dr. Payne before I go home.”

  “And when is the last time you prepared bacon, Mrs. Pershing?” Payne asked.

  She bit her lip and looked up and the ceiling. “Let’s see—it must be about a week ago. Randy and Bill asked if I could make bacon for Sunday breakfast, so I did."

  Frank wanted to ask her more about the keys, the menu, and access to the kitchen, but it was obvious that if Mrs. Pershing had ever deviated slightly from the established procedure, she’d never admit it in front of Payne. She looked vaguely familiar to him, but he didn’t think she lived in Trout Run.

  “You live here on campus, Mrs. Pershing?” he asked.

  “No, I live over in Verona. I used to be a cook at the Sunnyside Cafe, but when that closed, I was out of work until I got the job here." She smiled at Payne. “This here is a real good job. I like it a lot.”

  Frank nodded. The Su
nnyside Cafe had closed over a year ago, a long time to be unemployed. No wonder Mrs. Pershing was so jumpy.

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Pershing,” Payne said. “You may go.”

  She took a few steps backwards, as if leaving the presence of royalty, and then turned and slipped out the door. Meanwhile, Payne was writing another phrase on the board: Garbage Secure.

  He tapped the board with the capped pen. “That only leaves one possibility. The grease got on the bag during the trip, but not from our campers. There aren’t many areas on that mountain that offer a good place to camp. That spot’s level, not too rocky, and protected from the wind. Jake’s group wasn’t the first to camp there and they won’t be the last. A previous camping group must have disposed of bacon grease in that area. It soaked into the ground or was covered by leaves, but the bear could still smell it, even if Jake overlooked it.”

  Frank considered Payne’s theory. It was a little improbable, but hell, no more so than Rusty’s insistence on sabotage. But how did Payne know so much about the spot where the group had camped?

  “You never went up the trail to the camp spot, Dr. Payne. How are you able to describe it so accurately?”

  “I didn’t go up this morning, but I had hiked there this summer with Jake. I’ve done all the wilderness outings in the program, so I can honestly tell the students that I don’t expect them to do anything I haven’t done myself.”

  Payne turned his back on Frank and gazed out the window. “I’ve always loved the mountains. I grew up in Montana—hiking, fishing, skiing. What better way is there to spend your time, in touch with the natural world, testing your mind and body against the challenges of the wilderness? Jake shared my passion. He understood the restorative effect that wilderness training can have for these troubled kids. A terrible loss ...” Payne stopped talking for a minute, then coughed and turned to face Frank. “I want to thank you for coming here today.” He grabbed Frank’s hand and pumped it vigorously, his sallow face flushed with emotion. “It was splendid of you to work with me to discover the cause of this tragic accident, and to look into our trespassing problem.”