Frank Bennett Adirondack Mountain Mystery Box Set

by S. W. Hubbard

  “Where do Peg and Len come into it?” Frank asked. “Didn’t Lorrie get custody of the kids?

  Earl squirmed in his seat. "This is the bad part. Can you keep a secret?”

  Frank didn’t deign to answer.

  “Lorrie hurt her back real bad in the car crash. The doctor gave her these pain pills, and, well—”

  “She got addicted.”

  Earl nodded. “One day Peg came to Lorrie’s place and found her all spaced out, the kids running around half naked, and gas pouring out of the oven. She’d turned it on and never noticed it didn’t light. Chuck got full custody by agreeing to live with his parents so they can watch the kids after school, and Lorrie only has visitation. It’s really not fair. Lorrie’s okay now, but she can’t get the kids back because she hasn’t had a good enough job to support them.”

  “Now she does—this job at the academy pays well, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s just it,” Earl explained. "Lorrie’s been so excited about the job, she’s been telling everyone she’s going to get her kids back. Peg’s not happy about it, so she’s being real mean about the exact time when Lorrie can pick the kids up and drop them off. When Peg called about this so-called fight, I knew she was trying to make more trouble for Lorrie. That’s why I went out there to calm things down.”

  “I see. But listen, Earl—Peg called the police, and she expected a response from the police. She didn’t ask for Lorrie’s cousin to come act as referee. If you’re going to work for me, you have to learn to keep your job separate from your family loyalties, understand?”

  Earl looked down and bobbed his head.

  Frank considered continuing the lecture, but Earl seemed contrite. “Len said you did a good job. He doesn’t seem to have any hard feelings against Lorrie.”

  “Nah, Len’s okay. I think he wants out of the middle of this. That’s why I told Lorrie to humor Peg for little while longer. Once Lorrie works her job for a few months and saves up some money, she can go back to the judge and ask for joint custody. Then all her problems will be over."

  ON SATURDAYS FRANK took an extended dinner break, then came back on duty to keep an eye on the town on the biggest social night of the week. At ten it was still too early for trouble at the Mountainside Tavern, so he figured he might as well cruise by the spot where the trespassers had entered the North Country Academy property and check for any new activity.

  When he’d left the school grounds yesterday, Frank had easily spotted their path. Whoever it was made no effort at concealment: tire tracks on the shoulder of the road marked where their vehicle pulled off, and a fairly well beaten path led through the trees to the big flat rock beside the creek. Payne had posted a large no trespassing sign at the spot, obviously to no avail. The road curved right past this spot so Frank parked there, out of sight, to see if anyone would show tonight.

  It was a nice night to build a little fire and hang out with your friends—crisp, and the sky ablaze with stars. He’d never known the night sky contained so many stars until he’d moved to Trout Run. He got out of the car and craned his head back, seeing how many of the constellations he remembered from his Boy Scout days. He never got tired of looking at them, although he supposed if he were seventeen, he might want a more exciting way to spend the evening. Eventually the cold urged him back into the car. An hour passed and only one car had gone by.

  He checked his watch. Eleven-fifteen now, and no one had shown. He’d give it another half hour—kids wouldn’t be out much later than that. The allotted time crawled by in absolute stillness, then he drove off to the last task in a long day.

  Ten past midnight: the witching hour at the Mountainside Tavern.

  The first lesson Frank had learned as police chief of Trout Run was how to read the mood in the town’s only serious watering hole. Sure, the Trail’s End served booze, too, but no one ever got ugly-drunk on amber ale and Celtic ballads. The Mountainside didn’t encourage patronage from tree huggers and tourists. Working men went there to unwind, but on some Saturday nights, the winding turned back in the other direction. The tipping point came just after midnight, and Frank could usually tell as soon as he opened the door whether the crowd was building toward a fight or dissolving into booze-induced slumber.

  Tonight, the difference between the sharp, clear night air and the smoky haze of the barroom smacked Frank in the face. A quiet, low-grade tension simmered, punctuated by harsh barks of victory from the pool table and dartboard, and occasional jeers at the wrestling match on TV. George, the bartender, greeted Frank with an uneasy smile.

  George and Frank had a long-running disagreement over precisely how drunk a patron should be before he was cut off. Frank’s arrival meant several customers' tabs would have to be tallied prematurely. On the other hand, George, too, could sense a fight brewing, and he preferred Frank to be on hand before glass started breaking.

  The customers propped around the U-shaped bar all seemed mellow enough, so Frank forged his way through deeper clouds of smoke to the game area. There, Ray Stulke held court, talking loudly to a crowd of men as he lobbed darts at the board. He wore a black T-shirt with the sleeves hacked off, revealing biceps the size of Easter hams.

  Frank leaned against an out-of-order pinball machine in a shadowy corner to keep watch.

  “I just got back from Long Island this afternoon,” Ray said as he landed a perfect bull’s-eye. “You shoulda seen this spread. Freakin’ garage was twice as big as my house. We backed the van right in there, and the kid’s old lady let us in."

  Frank listened with half an ear. Couldn’t be talking about burglary if the homeowner had let him in. Ray’s barroom tales were three-quarters fantasy, anyway.

  Another dart flew from Ray’s huge paw and hit the cork board. “We crossed over this shiny floor made outta the same stuff as gravestones, and went up a big curvin’ staircase like in the movies. Go into the kid’s room, haul his ass outta bed, and hog-tied him. His mom watched us carry him out of there like he was a sofa she didn't want no more.”

  A skinny guy with greasy hair took his turn at the dart board, but Ray continued talking. Frank was listening closely now. Who had he tied up? Did this have something to do with the traveling Ray claimed to do on his new job at the academy?

  “Man, that was some trip home, though.” Ray swigged from his beer and let out a colossal belch. “Traffic was so screwed up, took us nearly eight hours. And for the first three, the fuckin’ kid never shut up. Drove me nuts.”

  "So whatd’ya do—put a gag on him?” someone on the sidelines asked.

  “Nah, we’re not allowed to do that. Once a guy stuffed a sock in some screaming kid’s mouth, and he ended up chokin’ on his own puke. We don’t get paid if we deliver ’em dead.” Ray brayed at his own wit.

  Was this how kids arrived at the North Country Academy—bound and gagged? The tipping scale on which Frank measured MacArthur Payne crashed down again.

  “Here’s what I did.” Ray lumbered over to the skinny darts player and put one massive hand around his neck, then lifted him a foot off the ground. The guy’s face turned red and his legs kicked ineffectually as Ray held him off to one side. “I squeezed his neck like this ’til he turned a little blue, then I let him go.” Ray dropped his darts opponent like a discarded toy. "That shut him up.” The skinny man staggered backward, gasping, as two of his friends made ready to take on a grinning Ray.

  “I think we’ve had enough fun for one night.” Frank stepped forward and laid a restraining hand on one of the men. “Ray, I think you owe this gentleman an apology.”

  “The hell I do."

  “Maybe you’d rather apologize to MacArthur Payne for demonstrating the abduction techniques you use in public,” Frank said.

  Ray glanced around nervously, as if realizing for the first time that he was playing to a full house. “I, I didn’t mean nothin' by it. Just havin' some fun, tellin’ some crazy stories, that’s all.”

  “Apologize to the man, Ray.”


  “I, uh, I’m sorry.” Ray spoke like a tourist reading from a foreign-language phrase book.

  “You can leave, now, Ray,” Frank said. “It’s past your bedtime.”

  As he stood in the parking lot of the Mountainside, watching until the troublemaker’s taillights disappeared over the horizon, Frank had to wonder about the reliability of any man who would hire Ray Stulke to work with children.

  Chapter 8

  Bear mania gripped Trout Run.

  The bear on Corkscrew had apparently had his fill of bacon grease, because the trap the DEC set for him came up empty. With the rogue still on the loose, everyone who had ever hunted bear, chased bears out of their garbage, or just seen a bear minding its own business had developed a theory about what had prompted the attack. More worrisome, everyone seemed to have a defense plan involving heavy-duty firepower should the bear show its face on their property.

  The fear surprised Frank. After all, these were Adirondackers, not suburbanites freaked out by a raccoon rummaging in their trash. But the general population didn’t know about the bacon grease yet, so to them, the bear had violated all the normal rules of human-ursine engagement. Releasing the information about the bacon grease might calm people’s fear of the bear, but it would start a second round of speculation about how the grease had gotten there. Until they were ready to say definitively either that the death was accidental or sabotage, Frank and Rusty had agreed to keep quiet about the grease.

  Frank had slept in on Sunday and arrived at Malone’s for breakfast as church was letting out. Caught in the confluence of the early breakfasters leaving and the late breakfasters arriving, he answered more questions about the bear than he would have if he’d been at work. His eggs grew cold as he counseled Vivian Mays not to buy a hunting rifle if she didn’t know how to shoot, and Dee-Dee Peele not to organize a team of armed parents to sit outside the grade school, even though bears had occasionally been sighted in the woods near there.

  During a lull, he propped a book up in front of him to ward off further bear theorists. So far Jane Eyre had driven off Augie Enright, Jack Harvey, and Bernice Mays, and Malone’s had settled into silence. As he turned the page to read about the young Jane’s arrival at Lowood School, a blast of cold air on his back and the sound of girlish squealing made him look up. A pack of teenagers had tumbled through the door and were now getting themselves seated in the largest booth.

  “I’m not sitting next to Bra-ad, not after what he did to me on Friday.”

  “Lay off, Alison—you deserved it.”

  They piped down once the waitress went to take their order, and Frank returned to reading. But before long, the giggling and teasing escalated again. Frank glanced up and observed them in the mirror above the counter. Brad Fister, Rollie’s grandson, sat in the middle of the crowd, with Alison Munro, despite her protests, right beside him. Rachel Portman, Matthew’s older sister, sat on the other side, hemmed in by two boys whom Frank recognized but couldn’t name. Across the table were Jessica Powers, and Kelly Davis, another cousin of Earl’s. They were nice-looking, happy kids—not a tattoo or pierced eyebrow in sight. They must be sixteen or seventeen—the same age as many of the kids at the North Country Academy—but they seemed younger than the students Frank had met on that hike. Probably it was their innocence. The academy kids had all been around the block a few times, and it showed.

  Gales of laughter rang out when Jessica dropped a French fry into Brad's Coke. It didn’t take much to keep this group amused. Frank went back to reading and didn’t look up again until Marge brought him his check. As he reached for his wallet, he heard Alison say, “No way, I’m not going back there again. Not with this bear on the loose.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” one of the boys answered. “The bear was on Corkscrew—that’s nowhere near our spot.”

  “I don’t care. I won’t be able to relax. It won’t be fun, like last week. Jessica doesn’t want to go either, do you, Jess?”

  Jessica gave an uncertain shrug. Frank smiled. He had a feeling that his opportunity to be ambassador for the North Country Academy had just presented itself. He left a five on the counter and paused by the kids’ table on his way toward the door.

  “Hi, guys.”

  They all greeted him politely, then silence descended on the table.

  “I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. I think Alison is right. Better stay indoors at night while this rogue bear is on the loose.” He smiled at them benevolently. “Where does everyone like to hang out these days?”

  Everyone looked at Brad as if he were the only one qualified to answer. He rolled his shoulders in an elaborate shrug. “I dunno.”

  “You don’t know?” Frank chuckled. “That must make it kind of hard to meet up.”

  “Sometimes down by the old covered bridge,” one of the other boys volunteered.

  “Oh, I haven’t seen you kids down there since the middle of the summer. You must have a new haunt.” Brad and the other boy exchanged glances.

  “You ever go out to High Meadow Lane, near the North Country Academy?”

  “No, huh-uh,” Rachel and Alison said, too quickly.

  “Listen, guys—do me a favor.” Frank zipped his coat. “Stay away from the woods near the academy. The headmaster, Dr. Payne, doesn’t appreciate your presence there.”

  “Why?” Rachel Portman sat forward. “We’re not bothering anyone. After that first time, we’ve been real careful to pick up our trash.”

  “It’s private property, Rachel. Dr. Payne doesn't want you there—you have to respect that.”

  Rachel took a breath, as if to argue, but Brad shot her a silencing look. Frank knew this argument didn’t hold much water with them. Like most locals, they felt that you ought to be able to walk across anyone’s property as long as you did no harm.

  “He feels your being there is a distraction to his students,” Frank explained. “They might want to come over and join you. And believe me, I don’t think you’d like that any better than Payne would.”

  FRANK HEADED TO THE comfort of his home, only to find the phone ringing and the answering machine full of bear reports. He changed the message on his machine to direct everyone to call the DEC with their bear problems, then drove over to the Iron Eagle Inn, where he could count on finding some rational conversation with its owners, his friends Edwin and Lucy Bates. And where he might also run into Penny Stevenson, who, according to Doris, was staying there.

  He walked into the inn's wide entrance hall, which was empty except for the threadbare stuffed moose head that presided over the reception desk. A second later he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and looked up to see a thin little girl with brown hair, dressed in a woman’s heels, scarf, and sequined sweater and carrying a small wooden box.

  “Hi, Olivia,” Frank said. “Whatcha got there—a jewel box?”

  “It’s not a jewel box,” Olivia said with the exaggerated patience children use when the adults in their lives say something incredibly stupid. “It’s a reliquary.”

  “A what?”

  “Open it up.”

  Inside, Frank saw a slightly charred splinter of wood that looked like it must’ve been pulled from the ashes in the fireplace.

  "You know what that is?”

  Fairly certain “a chunk of burnt wood” was not the right answer, Frank said, “No, what?”

  “A piece of the one true cross. Today I’m a medieval queen. One of my knights brought this back for me from the Crusades.” Olivia clomped off to the kitchen, the scarf floating behind her.

  Frank followed and got there in time to see Edwin, his torso wrapped in aluminum foil, on his knees promising eternal loyalty, while Olivia dubbed him with an uncommonly long wooden spoon.

  “You may rise, Sir Edwin!”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. Hey Frank, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Probably the clanking of your armor drowned out my footsteps."

  “Olivia and I have been playing Middle Ag
es all morning. Liv, why don’t you go tell Lady Lucille that the roast mutton and mead is ready in the banquet hall.”

  “That's the page’s job, not the queen’s,” Olivia complained, but she went.

  Edwin smiled as he watched her disappear up the back stairs. “She doesn’t miss a trick.”

  “So, she’s doing well?” The lilt in Frank’s voice gave away how badly he wanted to be reassured. He had put Olivia’s mother, uncle, and grandfather in jail, and convinced Edwin and Lucy to take the little girl in as a foster child.

  Edwin rocked his hand back and forth. “She has her moments. As long as we keep her distracted with games and reading and shopping, she’s fine. But last weekend Lucy and I were busy with guests all evening, and when we went to check on her at bedtime we found her crying in her room. She asks about her mom a lot.”

  Frank knew his worry about the little girl must be written all over his face, because Edwin abruptly switched gears. “We have a full house tonight, very unusual for this time of year. Three sets of parents visiting the North Country Academy because they’re thinking of sending their kids there. That place is going to be great for business.”

  “That's good.” Frank accepted the distraction Edwin offered; worrying about Olivia wasn’t going to change her situation.

  Watching Edwin bustle around preparing for lunch had an oddly relaxing effect on Frank. Despite the five cups of coffee he’d drunk over breakfast, he almost felt he could drift off here in the inn’s warm kitchen.

  “Here—taste this,” Edwin commanded, popping some unidentified morsel into Frank’s mouth when his eyes had drooped shut for an instant.

  “Aack! What is it?” Frank sat up, choking.

  “Stuffed mushroom caps. Jen made them—what, are they awful?”