Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  His cell rang and he held up a finger to stop my words, as if he was expecting a call from someone much more important than me.

  “Oh. Hi, honey.” He turned his back to me. “Uh huh. Just wrapping up an investigation. What? A hundred and three point what?” He listened for a second. “You think it’s strep again? Damn.” There were another few seconds of circling, of looking at me, and of apparent conflict within his law-abiding soul. “Okay.” He cringed. “I said okay! I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  With a sigh, he hung up and let the clipboard fall against his thigh. His shoulders lowered a fraction of an inch, and he took off his glasses to clean them. “Listen. I have to go. Sick kid. You know the drill.”

  I shrugged and smiled. Of course I didn’t. I was cursed in that department. No little ones in my future.

  He looked me directly in the eyes, this time with purpose. “Promise to get her to renew her license. Or at least take away her keys. I don’t wanna be called on this again. Next time, I won’t be able to let her off the hook.”

  I jumped up and put both hands on his arm. “Oh, yes. I could. I will. I mean, I’ll see that she doesn’t do it again. I promise. Honest. It’s only because she got this news today, and she—”

  He held up a hand. “I get it. And maybe you should encourage her to make up with this…Willow. Her—”

  “Sister,” I said. “And there’s no chance in hell. They’ll never make up.”

  He looked as if he wanted more details, but there was no way I was divulging that kind of information. Not to some guy I sat next to in high school. Not to anyone.

  He put his glasses back on. “Pity.”

  I followed him up the side yard and out to his green SUV with the official-looking seal on the door. “Thanks, Trent. And I hope your son gets better soon. Which one is sick?”

  He nodded, flashed a half-smile, and fished out his keys. “Thanks. It’s my middle boy, Nate.” He started the engine and closed the door, continuing the conversation through the open window. “Keep your friend out of trouble.” He adjusted his rear view mirror. “Promise?”

  I gave him a fake smile and put up my hand as if swearing on a stack of Bibles. “I will,” I lied.

  Nobody could keep Callie out of trouble. Not even me.

  Chapter 3

  I watched Trent’s official green vehicle drive slowly down our one lane road, clutching the memory stick I’d thrust in the deep pocket of my terry wraparound. I couldn’t wait to get inside and open it up. Since it was so huge, it must have scads of information on it. Photos, maps? High quality images were memory hogs. Some of the newer cameras took pictures that were over fifteen megabytes. Maybe higher, now. I took it out and turned it in my palm, as if I could will the information out of it.

  Finding out anything about Sky and his life since he disappeared off the face of the earth tantalized me. What happened to him in the Gulf War? Why had he left his post and never returned? He’d served for eight years honorably. Then he’d gone missing. They called it an MIA. But we’d known better. He’d called Callie once—just once. It had been a short call, and he didn’t tell her where he was. Just that he was alive, but had to go underground for a while.

  “A while” had turned into eighteen long years. Eighteen years of worrying, sure he was dead. Just as sure he was alive. It had been hell for Callie and everyone who loved Sky.

  Including me.

  I pushed down the sticky guilt that threatened to rise. I’d think about that later.

  Just as I turned to go back inside, I spotted our new conversion van pulled over to the side to let Trent pass. Quinn stuck his hand out the window and waved. I let go of the memory stick as if it burned my fingers. Anything to do with Sky was a touchy subject in our house. I waved back with my free hand.

  When the van pulled into the driveway, I had composed myself enough to act fairly normal. Quinn looked hot—his shaggy, glossy black hair dampened his brow and was dusted with sandy-colored grit that could only have been from sanding those chairs he was refinishing. Even though the new van’s AC worked perfectly, he didn’t turn it on for the short trip down the hill. He thought it was a waste of gas and subsequently, a waste of our hard-earned money.

  He jumped out and hugged me, and the musky smell of sweaty male enveloped me. “Hey, babe.”

  I didn’t exactly hate that scent—there was something almost erotic about it. Probably because it reminded me of our memorable times between the sheets. Which were frequent. I kissed his lips, lingering a little extra long, and looped my arm through his. “You’re home early.”

  He looked sheepish. “Only for a minute.”

  “What’s up? Did you miss me?”

  His deep turquoise eyes flashed. “Sure I did. But I also forgot my lunch.”

  “I told you not to forget it, silly.”

  He hung his head and grinned. “I know. I got distracted by that pink bathing suit.”

  I snuggled into his side and laughed. We’d almost reached the side door when I stopped him. “Honey. Wait.”

  He raised one straight black eyebrow. “What? Is your Monday lover stashed in there?”

  “No. Tuesday’s. Carlos came a day early.” I didn’t let go of his arm.

  He snorted a laugh and tried to turn to the door.

  I pulled him back. “Wait a sec. Callie’s inside. I wanted to warn you. She’s kind of upset.”

  Before I could explain, the sound of Callie’s big Mercury outboard engine roared to life. My heart thudded to my feet. I’d just made the promise about her license five minutes ago, and she’d already broken it for me.

  I hurried toward the dock. “Oh, no.”

  Quinn followed me. “What’s wrong, babe?”

  I ran to the edge of the shale beach and shaded my eyes, watching her drive the big boat in the general direction of her cottage. “She shouldn’t be alone, Quinn. She shouldn’t be alone.”

  ***

  I followed Quinn into the house with a heavy heart. He reached inside the fridge for the bag lunch he’d packed earlier, then closed the door slowly. I watched as he checked and double-checked the contents, laying them out on the counter in precise order. He repacked the bag and neatly folded the top down. Three times, with a carefully creased fold.

  “Got everything you need, honey?” I held back making fun of his disorder. My dear husband had a thing for order, clean, and cleaner. He liked everything evenly spaced and in its place. I slid over to the door and evened up my sandals that I’d tossed into the corner so it wouldn’t drive me crazy when it drove him crazy. Good thing he was such a hunk or his behavior might have driven me out of his arms long ago.

  No, I didn’t mean that. Even I’m not that callous.

  Quinn grabbed his lunch and kissed me on the forehead. “So, what’s upsetting her this time? It must have been big to get her out of her house.”

  I hesitated telling him. “Uh. She got a package in the mail this morning.”

  “From who?”

  “And she got a phone call last night.” The expression on my face gave me away.

  He laid the bag back on the counter and pulled me over to the couch. “Spill it, Marcella.”

  I flopped back and sighed. “Okay. The box was from Sky. Somebody called her who said he wanted her to have it.”

  Quinn paled and his mouth tensed. “Is he dead?”

  “We don’t know.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Damn. I thought we’d heard the last of that idiot.”

  My temper sputtered and threatened to flare. I knew it wasn’t wise, knew it would lead to a fight. But I couldn’t help it. “He’s NOT an idiot!”

  Quinn controlled himself better than I did. Maybe it was all that Seneca ceremonial stuff his mother had taught him. He’d learned to relax and focus in ways I couldn’t imagine. He’d even constructed a sweat hut up in the woods behind our antique store. My sage and thyme had gone missing from the kitchen garden about the same time. There was something about visions and
chanting and the herbs that was supposed to make him have greater insight into life. I was a little jealous of this hut, and hoped he’d invite me someday.

  He relaxed, his features smooth and strong. “Okay. But he sure put his sister through hell. Anyone who would just up and disappear without a trace and send her a box twelve years later—”

  “Eighteen,” I corrected.

  “Eighteen years later. Right. And Callie’s such a wreck, anyway. Even though I think you coddle her too much. She ought to be made to face her fears. Take a walk in the woods. Go to Watkins Glenn and see the falls. You know, confront the demons that keep her so isolated.”

  I let him take us on one of his favorite tangents, as long as it got us past the topic of Sky.

  “What was in the box?” he asked.

  I pointed to the oils and the reference book. “Those, among other things.”

  He pulled the bag of oils toward him and started to smell them. “These are essential oils, Marcella. They’re worth a lot of money. I’ve seen these before. My aunt is crazy into this stuff. Claims Young Living has changed her life.”

  “Really.” I said it without judgment, but I still felt miffed over the “idiot” comment. “Well, I guess Sky used them a lot. That book looks well-worn.”

  Quinn started to look through it, then stopped and stared at me. “What is it?”

  I wasn’t sure how he read my mind this time. But he took my hand and squeezed. “Listen. I’m sorry. You know I hate anything to do with your first boyfriend. And geez, you almost married him. If you hadn’t wanted to go to New York to give your singing career a go, you would have. Isn’t that true?” Jealousy lurked behind his eyes.

  I could tell he was trying really hard to control his irritation, to sound reasonable.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just feel bad. Still.”

  “After all these years?”

  I didn’t tell him that a part of me still loved Sky. That sometimes, in the deep, dark of night, I pictured us on the beach. In the back of his van. In his parents’ bedroom. He’d been the first man to drive me to multiple orgasms, and I’d loved him and how he made me feel about myself.

  But I hadn’t loved him enough. At least not more than I loved singing. I’d been a star pupil at the Eastman School of Music. I’d gotten the lead in their best operas. And I almost had a recording contract, except the company went bust just before we signed the contract.

  When Sky proposed, I’d turned him down. I had to give New York a try, and if he loved me, he’d wait.

  He’d been so hurt it had driven him to sign up for military service. He was shipped to the Gulf War after boot camp, and rarely wrote home. Quinn had migrated down to the city from the Buffalo area, where his mother still lived on the reservation. He’d studied Native American art, and had been making a nice living at the Metropolitan Museum of Art when I arrived in the city. After seven years of waiting tables at a Mediterranean restaurant, I started to feel defeated. At that point, Sky had already decided on a permanent career in the military, and Quinn had swept me off my feet with his wide smile, strong jaw line, and gentle brown hands. We’d returned to my hometown to marry, live on the lake, and try to make a go of it with our antique shop.

  I’d always felt responsible for Sky’s decision, and ultimately for his disappearance. If I’d accepted his proposal, he would have stayed in Honeoye and married me. He’d still be around to comfort Callie in her tough times. He was her hero, her savior. She adored her big brother.

  If I hadn’t broken Sky’s heart, Willow wouldn’t have hated me as much as she hated Callie. It was a miracle that Callie hadn’t turned against me, too. But she was the most forgiving soul I’d ever encountered. She understood. She knew I had to go. And she forgave me for crushing her brother when he proposed to me.

  “Marcella. Do you really feel responsible for this guy? After all these years?”

  I pulled myself together. “I know it’s stupid, Quinn. I can’t help myself.”

  “You weren’t to blame for his decisions. He asked you to marry him, and it wasn’t the right time for you. End of story. What he did after that was his responsibility. And you sure couldn’t be responsible for him going AWOL.”

  “MIA. He’s officially MIA.”

  His voice was carefully neutral. “Yeah, I know. But he’s really a deserter.”

  I hated that term. “He had to have a good reason. A very good reason.”

  “I guess.” Quinn stood up and rolled his eyes, ever so slightly. He stretched his long arms toward the ceiling, revealing his toned stomach. “Listen, I’m headed back up to the barn. When are you coming?”

  I stalled. “Just wanna call Callie and see if she made it okay. Then I have a load in the dryer to finish up. I’m going to pop something into the crock-pot for dinner, then I’ll be up.” I rose on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I won’t be long, honey.”

  His eyes still held that faint look of hurt. I knew he hated that I’d had another serious love in my life before him, and that some unfinished feelings still swirled within me. He knew. And I knew he knew. It really stunk.

  I followed him outside with my cell phone, waved when he drove away, and dialed Callie’s number.

  Chapter 4

  The phone rang a dozen times before I hung up and tried again. When Callie didn’t pick up, I grabbed my binoculars and ran out to the dock. With my eyes pressed hard against the eyepieces, I scanned the eastern shore. Left, then right. There! Her little yellow house stood out among the white painted cottages. And there was her pontoon boat, floating serenely beside the dock.

  Why didn’t she answer?

  Maybe she’s afraid I’ll be mad that she left in such a hurry.

  But I wouldn’t be mad. I knew her. I knew her phobias. She knows that.

  Maybe she’s in the bathroom.

  I figured I’d call back in a few minutes if I didn’t hear from her. With determination, I wandered back into the house. I had to see what was on that memory stick.

  After changing into khaki shorts and a lavender top, I grabbed my MacBook Pro and set it up on the dining room table. Still sleek and sexy, it made me happy every time I ran my fingers over its smooth silver case. It had been one of the rewards I’d allowed myself after inheriting some money the summer before. Although the source had been somewhat dubious, it was legally mine, and I’d bought the laptop, a flat screen TV for the bedroom, and our new conversion van. The rest had gone in the bank, for when we had a slow month at our antique shop, for emergencies, and for our retirement.

  I fumbled with the memory stick, flipping it around a few times before it finally slid into the USB port. It showed up in my Finder window as “NO NAME.” I clicked on it and held my breath.

  PASSWORD REQUIRED.

  The blank field taunted me. I’d never seen a memory stick with a password before. All of mine had just opened like normal drives.

  I pushed my hair out of my eyes and thought hard. Something to do with his baby sister? He’d loved Callie fiercely when we were teens, always protecting her. I typed in “C-a-l-l-i-e.”

  INCORRECT PASSWORD. TRY AGAIN?

  “Damn.”

  Ruby woke up and chirped. “Damn, damn, damn! Gimme cookies!”

  I glanced at her and smiled. “Later, honey. Go back to sleep.”

  She flew off her perch and up to the cage wall, rattling it with her beak. “Gimme cookies! You da man!”

  I didn’t want to tell her she was confusing me with Quinn again, or that overeating from depression wasn’t a good idea for anybody, so I hurried to her cage and fed her a treat. Happy now, she retreated into her own world and quieted down.

  I sat down and tried again. How about Callie’s full name? I tried California.

  INCORRECT PASSWORD. TRY AGAIN?

  In school, we’d called ourselves the “lakeside trio,” since we were always in the water, on the water, or doing something related to Honeoye Lake. I tried “lakeside trio,” “lakeside,” and “tri
o.” No dice.

  With determination now, I took out a pad of paper and listed Sky and Callie’s birthdates, our high school graduation date, their parents’ names and birthdays, their phone number, their street address, their pets’ names—anything I could think of to do with the family.

  After an hour and a half of trying with no luck, I removed the stick and stuck it in my pocket. I grabbed my iPhone and tapped Callie’s name again. Okay, so I bought an iPhone, too. You can sue me later.

  The phone rang and rang, and she didn’t pick up.

  What the hell?

  Determined now, I called Quinn to tell him I wouldn’t be up right away, stuck my phone in my pocket, and scooped the boat keys off the hook on the wall.

  Callie. What in God’s name are you doing over there?

  In seconds I churned across the flat surface of the lake toward Callie’s yellow house, the spray from the water misting my hair and face. I cut the engine and glided toward the dock, securing my boat on the opposite side from Callie’s pontoon boat.

  Hurrying up the cement path, I climbed the stairs to the front door that led to her kitchen and knocked on the glass. “Callie! Are you in there?”

  An answering whine came from Beau, who jumped up and scratched at the glass from the inside.

  I knocked again, tried the door, and found it locked.

  Running around the back side of the house near the road, I hammered on the door. “Callie!” In the distance, I heard some shouting down the road, but my tunnel vision didn’t allow it to penetrate. Anyway, I figured it was neighbors arguing with each other over something stupid like a property line. I bent down to get her door key out of the ceramic turtle that lived under her shrubs, and opened the door. “Callie? You in here?”

  Beau nearly knocked me over. He snuffled at my hands, then stood up with his giant paws on my chest, trying to lick my face. I pushed him down gently.

  “Honey? Where’s your mommy?”

  Beau whined again, and it was at that moment I noticed the sliding screen door leading to the sun porch, with a massive hole ripped in its middle. It looked as if he’d been shut in there and forced his way out.