by Karen Harper
Jace Miller had retrieved Todd’s harness from the hospital and checked it over. He’d said a thorough examination didn’t reveal if the snags, two large tears and several cuts had occurred before or during his fall. To complicate things, the emergency-room team didn’t recall how many of those they had made when they’d cut it off Todd. According to Brad, Todd had seen some problem and had tried to shift himself onto another rope, but something just gave way. That something had been Todd’s harness, not the rope, as Jace had first suspected. Though Todd had regained consciousness in the hospital after his surgery, he couldn’t recall any details about the climb or his fall. His last memory was walking up to the tree with everyone.
Considering how skilled Todd was at climbing, Grant was afraid someone could have tampered with his harness. Jace had interrogated Brad, but Brad had no access to Todd’s gear and basically didn’t know what he was doing. Despite having a motive to get rid of Todd, Jace had ruled the accident just that, and Grant agreed. However much Brad wanted the foreman job at the mill, he would not have hurt their old friend to get it, nor would he have chanced leaving himself dangling high in a tree.
Since Jace was busy with an investigation into Paul’s death and Todd’s accident, Grant hadn’t even mentioned that he was going to follow a possible lead about draft horses in a field up on this mountain.
“You might know,” Kate said, “this place is called Shadow Mountain, like someone’s hiding in the shadows who could have taken your tree. Even though the rain’s letting up, this place reminds me of something from the Brothers Grimm, where there’s a witch in the forest and an ogre under the bridge.”
Grant shook his head. “That sure cheers me up, Kate. Gabe said arresting the local timber thieves would be his top priority when he’s back. But it won’t be now since so much has happened. I can’t believe it’s been nine days since my maple was butchered, so the trail may have gone cold. Still, the idea of a team of draft horses up here, where the ground can’t be tilled, is worth a look.”
“Have you been driving around anywhere else, looking for traces or clues of other tree thefts, or leaving it up to Gabe?”
“All of the above, but we’ve found nothing. So far, that is, but I’m not giving up, especially now with what I see as a direct challenge to me—revenge, even. I don’t know. But there are so many old barns, wild woodlots and deserted places in these foothills and the Appalachians beyond that it’s needle-in-a-haystack time.”
As Grant drove them upward in his truck, the wet, twisting road became a single lane with sporadic pulloffs so vehicles could pass. He could tell Kate tried not to look over the steep sides when the view was straight down. “Plateau coming up here,” he told her. “I’d give you a hug, but need both hands on the wheel.”
“I’m fine.”
“That you are.”
The lay of the land slanted less steeply with a log-fenced, grassy field near the area Amber had mentioned. As they drove past a small farm with chickens and goats in ramshackle pens, Grant recalled who lived around the next bend in the road.
Lacey’s parents had a summer home—actually, a fairly crude log cabin—up here. Could that mean anything? But Lacey was into protecting trees.
“It didn’t hit me at first,” he said. “A little farther on, Lacey’s folks have a small retreat—not much of one, probably, by your standards. Kind of a hunting cabin. It’s just through that stretch of trees.”
She sat up straighter, turned toward him. “Can there be some link to them and the horses? I saw her folks in church. They’re not that old-looking, like they could handle large horses and chain saws. Do they hold a grudge against you for divorcing her?”
“She divorced me, and that was for the best for me, too. Her mother kept her mouth shut, but I heard she took my side and said Lacey was flighty and the two of them quarreled. Her father—she was a Daddy’s girl—reacted just the opposite, so he blamed me. I used to think he might come down and take potshots at my picture window.”
“What occupation was her dad in? Not a competitor to the mill?”
“Worked in a sporting-goods store halfway to Chillicothe. He was known for getting the biggest bucks during hunting season—always proud of having his picture in the Chillicothe Gazette. Look, it’s obvious this field is empty, and that tiny shed won’t hold more than those goats and chickens, but I want to stop and check the field anyway.”
“You’re looking for, let’s say, relics or artifacts that big horses would have left behind even if they’ve been moved on?”
“You got it.”
He pulled over and got out at the edge of the log-fenced field where it was shaded by a woodlot. In the light swirl of mist, Kate got out and followed him to the fence. Shorter than he was, she climbed on the lower rail and looked over.
“I smell it,” he said. “Horses—and a rat.”
“Me, too. And look, I see the horses’ calling cards in the grass. Someone might have moved the horses, but they could hardly clean this big field.”
“The hill folk call those ‘horse apples.’ So the draft horses were here and they’ve been moved—maybe for their next job hauling off a big tree. Let’s look around behind the outbuildings. My tree would be too big to hide intact, but maybe the thieves are cutting the trunk and limbs up here then moving them. Watch where you step.”
“No kidding.”
They ducked through the fence logs and stuck close to it where the grass seemed to be just grass. “Where’s the farmhouse?” she asked, keeping her voice down, though she wasn’t sure why. “It’s just a few run-down outbuildings?”
“I think it burned years ago, so the goats and chickens we saw may be a cover.”
The minute they walked behind the cluster of ramshackle buildings, they saw Grant was right. The ground was littered with so many wood chips, trails of sawdust and abandoned sawhorses that Grant swore and Kate gasped.
He bent to pick up some of the bigger chips. “Bird’s-eye maple,” he said, giving her one of the pieces with the distinctive pattern. “My bird’s-eye maple, damn them.”
“But who is them? At least next time someone reports trees taken, you, Gabe and Jace will know where to look for them to be cut up.”
“But I want the bastards now.”
“Believe me, I understand. It’s hard to have patience when you want something so close—want it now and—”
Something pinged past them into the shed. Wood splinters peppered them. A loud crack seemed to echo from afar. Kate squealed as Grant yanked her down and threw himself on the ground beside her. The air slammed out of him; he tasted sawdust. Though it happened so fast, everything seemed to go into slow motion.
“Bullets!” he said, throwing an arm over her and shoving her head down when she lifted it. “Maybe from the woodlot. And it’s not somebody after deer!”
* * *
Kate was as angry as she was scared. Two more bullets whizzed past them, and then one struck so close, wood chips hit them and she got sawdust in her eyes.
“Mist or not, he’s getting the range,” Grant muttered. “We’re going to roll into that shed. Keep your head down. Go!”
She did as she was told with him so close behind that his elbow hit hard into her ribs. The boards were worn with spaces between them, and she feared this ramshackle shed would be no protection.
Grant half shoved, half dragged her behind what must have been an old feed trough. She blinked back tears to get rid of the sawdust burning her eyes.
He hunched down beside her. “I thought there might be a door out the back so we can get into the woodlot and run for the truck. Stay down. This wood’s so old I’m going to make us a way out.”
“The shots have stopped. Maybe he’s gone away.”
“Or is changing positions to get at us better.” He sat on the floor and kicked at some lo
w boards that looked half rotted. He made a hole, then kicked at it to make it larger. “We can’t stay trapped in here. I’ll go out first in case he’s moved around this side, but I think the shots were distant. Hope he doesn’t have a scope. If it’s clear, you come right behind me. Belly-crawl.”
“But if he’s in the woodlot...”
“Trees may be his friends, but they’re ours, too. We can’t run clear to the truck in the open.”
With a grunt, he crawled out on his elbows and stomach. She could see only his feet as he stood, obviously making himself a target. First Paul, she thought, then Todd and now...
She held her breath, every muscle tensed, fearing another shot. Nothing.
“Now!” His voice came to her, and she crawled out, somehow snagging the back of her belt on one of the broken boards. Grant reached down and hauled her out, then to her feet. “Go!” he told her. “I’m right behind you. Run zigzag.”
They ducked through the old log fence and sprinted into the woodlot. Grant pressed her against the trunk of a big tree away from the direction of the shots. Her cheek and breasts pressed against the rough bark with his big body as strong as the tree tight against her back and butt.
The woods seemed quiet now but for the breeze rustling the branches, bird calls and their hard, rhythmic breathing. Damp foliage sputtered drops on them, but it wasn’t misting in here. Strange, but held so close by Grant like this, she almost forgot to be afraid.
“What’s your best guess?” she whispered.
“For the shooter or his position?”
“Both.”
“I think he was far enough to the north that he can’t have worked his way behind us yet. Remember those old cowboy movies where they darted from tree to tree?”
“Cowboy movies? I was hooked on Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.”
“I don’t want to hear the word doom. I’m going first. You follow—if you don’t hear another shot. If so, get flat on the ground again.”
Still in a zigzag pattern, he went tree to tree with her right behind him. No noise but crows cawing. They worked their way toward the road and made a dash for his truck. He gunned the engine to pull away up the hill.
“Can we turn around somewhere and go back down?” she asked. They hadn’t even taken time to fasten their seat belts, and the warning buzzer kept sounding.
“Hate to say it, but I’m going to stop at Lacey’s folks’ place so we can call Jace. Pretty soon he’ll stop taking our calls at all.”
“I think we should turn around at their place, go back down, get out of here then call Jace.”
“You’re not in charge right now, sweetheart!”
“You mean our cell phones won’t work up here? But we’re so high.”
“Lacey’s folks have one of the few landlines up here, which will surprise you when you see their small place.”
“But if they’re not there, you aren’t going to break in, are you?”
“Nope. Then we’ll go to plan B. As you know, I don’t approve of people breaking in—and that’s not a reference to Paul’s place.”
She knew he meant the mound, and it upset her even more that he thought a careful archaeological excavation was like breaking in.
Still wiping sawdust from the corners of her eyes, she saw where they were going, maybe a half mile ahead. The light rain had almost stopped, but the pavement was still wet. A small log cabin stood on a rise with trees behind but not in front. It must have a stunning view of the valley far below, maybe clear to Cold Creek from the steep drop-off across the narrow road. As they got closer, she saw an old pickup parked there and, next to it, the car Lacey had driven earlier today. So both Lacey’s father and Brad had been within shooting range. At least, she thought, if Lacey’s parents were here, too, they weren’t going to barge in on Brad and Lacey in bed together.
Grant muttered something she couldn’t decipher, so maybe he was thinking the same thing. She was going to suggest he turn back again, but the back window shattered. Kate screamed. A second shot evidently struck a tire, because as Grant hit the brakes, the truck started to spin wildly toward where the road met nothing but gray sky.
18
The last person on earth Kate wanted to see when she opened her eyes was bent over her, dabbing at her forehead with a damp cloth. Lacey Fencer. A cloud of clove scent hit her. Oh, the woman was chewing reddish gum.
Suddenly, she remembered. Grant’s truck had spun out on the road. Had they gone over the cliff? No, she was obviously in the Fencer cabin and wasn’t in pain except for her head. But as she gazed above Lacey, a horrible animal face with horns glared down at her. Was she hallucinating again, like when she’d seen—or thought she’d seen—the Beastmaster?
No, it was a stag head mounted on the wall over the narrow couch where she lay, one like in Todd’s living room. Did everyone decorate this way around here?
“Where’s Grant?” she managed to ask.
“He’s here,” Lacey said. “Both of your air bags deployed. He’s washing up in the bathroom. You lost consciousness, but he didn’t.”
“But is he okay?”
“He is. The truck isn’t. He chose to put it against a tree instead of taking flight. He says you weren’t tailing Brad and me.”
Kate put a hand to her head. Yeah, it hurt. She was a little dizzy. “We were looking for his stolen maple tree and found where it was cut up. Got shot at,” she said.
“So’s we hear,” came a male voice as a grizzled face appeared behind and above Lacey’s to block out the stag head. Lacey’s father, Kate thought. She might not think much of the woman, but at least she must have a good relationship with her father. Kate recalled he had blamed Grant for his daughter’s divorce and, Grant said, was likely to shoot out his picture window. At least her head was clear, even if every muscle in her body ached, and the skin on her face felt sunburned, evidently from the air bag.
Kate heard Brad’s voice. “Grant, I can’t believe you found where the tree-house maple was cut up or that it was up here. Clemmet, you have an idea on who could have done that over there?”
“Or who could have fired at us?” Grant asked. “Someone who’s either not that good a shot or just wanted to scare us off—except for that bullet in the tire.”
“Don’t you go lookin’ at me, boy,” Clemmet Fencer said. “If’n I was the one shooting, I’d of hit you. Folks here ’bouts can tell you I been on these grounds, not a runnin’ through some woodlot. And know nothing about someone takin’ or cuttin’ up some tree neither—though some skunk cut our phone wires.”
“Yeah, the phone’s dead, all right,” Brad said. “At least Grant and Kate aren’t, but you two have got to quit getting into trouble.”
“Yeah, and you should talk,” she heard Grant mutter.
For a man of few words, as Grant had described Lacey’s father, he’d given quite a speech, Kate thought. She leaned on her elbows and sat up. A wave of dizziness hit her as the cabin seemed to tilt, then righted itself.
This small living room had no ceiling; she could see clear to the rafters. There appeared to be a sleeping area partitioned off as well as a small bathroom and, across the way, a small galley kitchen by the back door. It was bright—lots of windows to take advantage of the view.
Grant came over and leaned down close to her. Lacey almost jumped off the edge of the couch and moved over by Brad at the small table where her parents now sat. Kate saw Grant’s clothes were dirty and torn; hers must be, too. No wonder Lacey was washing her face. She was probably a mess.
“Like they said, someone cut their phone line here, so we can’t call Jace yet,” Grant told her. “I’ll drive you to the doctor’s in Cold Creek for a checkup. I don’t like it that it’s the second time you’ve hit your head. I’ll have to call the doc to come into his office since it’s late.”
<
br /> “I’m all right,” she insisted. “But is your truck okay?”
“Except for a shot-out tire, a blasted window and a scraped, dented driver’s side. We’ll call Jace when we get down the mountain. Brad’s going to help me change the flat tire so I can drive. You just rest here, and I’ll be back soon.”
“I told you Lacey and I can drive you down, Grant,” Brad said.
Grant ignored that. He squeezed her shoulder and stroked the backs of his fingers gently against her cheek before standing. She felt he was leaving her in the lion’s den. She’d rather help change the tire, but maybe she could get something out of the Fencers about who might have shot at them—and taken Grant’s tree.
* * *
“Just sit down and rest if you’re woozy,” Brad told Grant as he dug the jack and other tools out of the box from the bed of Grant’s truck. “I can handle this.”
“I’m just shook up. I’ll help.”
“My sentiments exactly—I’ll help. Here and at the mill. Look, Grant, I swear I’ll just try to support you and hold Todd’s position for him until—if—he gets better.”
They squatted by the back driver’s-side tire, jacked up the truck, and then Brad pried the dented hubcap off. “Don’t talk about if,” Grant insisted. “Can you imagine Todd in a wheelchair or partially paralyzed? Operations and rehab have to bring him back, even if he never climbs again. But yeah, I can use your help at the mill. Here, I’ll help you unscrew the lug nuts. And Keith can help you oversee the mill floor when I’m not available.”
“You going somewhere?”
“Hope not. But doesn’t the fact that Paul, then Todd had tragedies, then I almost did, make you nervous?”
“You mean like we’re targets? Like there’s some curse on us for taking stuff from the tomb?”
“So you thought of that, too? Nadine told me you asked her if you could help her go through Paul’s stuff. You’re wondering where his eagle pendant’s hidden, aren’t you?”