Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  I clutched my bag and backed out the door. “Er. Thanks.”

  Quinn leaned over and opened my door.

  I slid in, dumped the bag on the floor, and frowned. “Something’s going on here. Something big.”

  “What happened?”

  “I asked inside about the Outsourcers. The lady at the register clammed up, and her boss came over and politely walked me out of the store.”

  “Whoa. Sounds like you hit a nerve.”

  “Damn right, I did. We’ve got to find someone else to ask.”

  “How about him?” Quinn pointed to an old man inspecting the Adirondack chairs on the side of the store.

  “You try this time.”

  He got out, received the same frozen stare and headshake that I’d earned from the clerk inside, and returned. “No dice. He’s not talking, either. He told me they used to have a facility around here, but that it hasn’t been operating for years.”

  “What?” I slumped in my seat. “Do you think they moved?”

  “No. I think we need to ask more people. Maybe some kids.”

  I fastened my seatbelt. “Let’s drive around and take a look.”

  Quinn backed out of the parking spot and headed down Route 30. “Hey. What about her?”

  I’d never seen a homeless person in this part of the Adirondacks, but when the woman pushing a shopping cart away from the liquor store stopped to take a swig from a bottle, I realized I’d seen my first.

  Quinn swung the van over to the side of the liquor store, not quite blocking the woman, but providing a shield from prying eyes at the store we’d just left. He opened his door and motioned the old lady toward the van.

  Wild gray hair framed her wrinkled face. She spat in our direction, brandishing her bottle in the air. “What the hell’r you idiots doin’? How’m I s’posed to get through here?”

  I tried to sound innocent and sweet. “Excuse me, can you help us?”

  Quinn took a ten out of his wallet.

  The woman’s eyes bulged, and she sidled up to him. “You two don’t belong here. You lost?”

  I leaned over and smiled again. “Yeah, kind of. We’re looking for my friend who works at the Outsourcers. Do you know where that is?”

  She snatched at the money, but Quinn gripped it tight. The bill stretched between their hands. She grumbled. “You won’t find your friend there. She’s most likely in the cemetery.”

  Stunned, I leaned closer. “What?”

  “You know, dead. Six feet under.”

  Quinn held tightly to the bill. “Why?”

  A malicious chuckle erupted from her wrinkled lips. “Cause that place is cursed. Bunch a people died over there. They all ran scared.”

  “Scared?” I whispered. “Scared of what?”

  “The helicopters.” She snatched the ten from Quinn’s hand and turned away. With one great swig from her bottle, she turned her cart toward the sidewalk, whistling the tune to Three Blind Mice.

  Chapter 17

  In silence, Quinn turned the van around and headed north on Route 30, then east at the Charlie Johns intersection on Elm Lake Road. After a few minutes, I spotted a group of young boys playing ball in a dusty field behind the Lake Pleasant Central School.

  “Pull over there,” I said.

  “Maybe you’d better try a different tactic this time.”

  I unbuckled my seatbelt when he stopped. “Good point. I think I’ll be a reporter.”

  Beau woke up and stretched. Quinn glanced at him. “I’ll walk Beau while you talk to the kids.”

  “Good idea. And Beau needs fresh water. I’ll think I’ll fill his dish at that pump over there.” I handed him Beau’s leash, grabbed the plastic container, and headed toward the field.

  The boys continued their game, occasionally looking in our direction. I walked with Beau’s water dish to the well pump by the children’s playground, not far from the game. I pretended to try to work it, and then scratched my head. One of the kids struck out and wandered over to me.

  “How the heck do you work this thing, anyhow?” I asked, all feminine and helpless.

  The kid had to be twelve. Maybe thirteen. His white-blond hair was cropped short, and his crooked teeth told me his parents didn’t have extra money for braces. Maybe not even healthcare. His shorts looked like hand-me-downs, cinched tight around his waist with a rope. The tee shirt had once been white, but now was the color of grunge. He wore no shoes.

  He grabbed the pump handle and worked it up and down a few times. “See, lady? This is how ya do it.”

  Water trickled out of the spout, and I stuck the dish under it. “Thanks, son.”

  Beau dragged Quinn toward us. The boy and then two of his friends instantly crowded around the dog, patting his massive head. Quinn made small talk for a few minutes, and then I went in for the kill.

  “Um, boys?”

  Two heads bobbed up, one stayed down.

  “You guys know where the Outsourcers’ building is? I’m doing a piece on it.”

  My water-pumping pal looked up at me. “You a reporter?”

  I flashed a wry smile. “Kind of. Doing some freelance up here. Trying to make a name for myself.”

  He squinted up at me. “That’s cool. Lots of folks wrote about it when it happened, though. You won’t be the first.”

  The other boys ignored him, stroking Beau’s fur. The dog’s eyes closed in pure joy.

  Quinn glanced our way. “When what happened?”

  Something in Quinn’s tone scared him, and he started to back away. “Uh. Yeah. What’s left is up on Black Snake Run.” He pointed. “Go that way ‘bout a mile.” He corralled his pals and raced back to the ball field.

  I locked arms with Quinn and walked back to the van, gesturing up the road in the direction the boy had indicated. “‘What’s left of it’?” I said. “What the hell happened?”

  He slid open the side door and Beau jumped inside. “Damned if I know. But let’s go find out.”

  We headed farther east on Elm Lake Road, watching each turnoff. After a few miles, Quinn spotted the sign for Black Snake Run.

  “There it is. Hang on, looks like a sharp turn.” He swerved a little too fast onto the dirt road that headed up a mountainside.

  The single lane road was well packed, but if two cars came at once, one would have to pull over. I held tight to the armrest and leaned into the turns. We barreled up the side of the mountain until our dirt track met up with a tarred two-lane road. This road was recently paved and striped, and headed farther up the side of the mountain.

  “Should I follow it?”

  “Of course.” I sat back in my seat and watched the area grow streetlights and sidewalks. An entire compound came into view. Benches. Parking areas. An old white bus. Modern signs—gold lettering on black paint—were inconspicuously mounted on brick pillars. Everything was understated, tasteful.

  When we rounded the final curve and arrived at the area that should have housed what I guessed were the medical facilities, Quinn let the car roll to a stop. I stared at the foundation that had once held research buildings. Scorched and blackened, the entire complex had been burned to the ground.

  “Quinn?” I took his hand in mine and looked around nervously. “Maybe we shouldn’t be here.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Somebody’s playing hardball.”

  I shivered, suddenly feeling cold. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  Quinn jammed the gearshift into reverse, backed around, then peeled out of the driveway. Thirty seconds later, we heard the chop of a copter. We both looked toward the sky, and without a word, Quinn pulled over under a dense copse of trees. It passed overhead, and after waiting for five long minutes, we resumed the winding road down the hill.

  “It’s almost five, honey. Let’s stop by Roberta’s and order some dinner.”

  “What about Beau?”

  “We can eat outside on the porch. Dogs are allowed there. And we can borrow her computer to see what the heck hap
pened to the Outsourcers.”

  “Sounds good. I like her cheeseburger soup. It’s great.” Quinn’s words faltered—just a bit and his smile was only half-hearted. Faint smudges encircled his eyes.

  I leaned over to run the back of my hand against his cheek. “You okay, buddy?”

  He tossed a faltering smile. “Just tired, babe.”

  “My fault?” I smiled and stroked his thigh.

  He grinned. “Yeah. But watch out now, I don’t wanna go off the road.”

  I pointed to his bag of oils on the floor between us. “Got anything in there for tired?”

  He perked up. “Actually, I do! Give me a hit of peppermint, will you? It’s supposed to make you alert and focused. And maybe some of that cedarwood.”

  I chuckled, unzipped the bag, and found the oils. After unscrewing the caps, I poured a few drops into his open hand. The air filled with the sharp scent of mint and Cedarwood.

  “Thanks, babe. You oughta try some, too.”

  “I’m good, honey. Besides, I can enjoy the scent on you. The whole car’s full of it.”

  He rubbed his hand over the nape of his neck, then dotted a bit on his temples. “There we go. I’m good to go, now.”

  I watched him brighten and sit up. Somehow the action called to mind a brave young warrior sitting astride his pinto horse, looking toward distant horizons with determination in his eyes. I could so see a colorful feather dangling from his hair and beaded necklaces draping his firm chest.

  A wave of love washed over me, uncontrollable and all encompassing. I reached for his arm, stroked it, and teared up. “God, I love you.”

  He turned onto Route 30 and headed in the direction of Tall Pines. “You’d better. You’re stuck with me.”

  Chapter 18

  By the time we pulled into The Mountain Memories Gift Shop parking area, there were two other cars in the lot. Roberta’s beat-up 1957 green Chevy truck sat beside the old Buick I figured belonged to the girl who worked for her. She’d told me about the new girl last week when we’d chatted on the phone for an hour.

  Roberta was just about to flip the “closed” sign over when I ran up the stairs and tapped on the door.

  Her deep amber eyes crinkled in a nest of sun-ripened creases. A broad smile painted her face with a warm welcome. She wore her dark gray hair in a long braid down her back. “Oh my Lord. Marcella.” She pulled me into her arms and held me tight, whispering in my ear. “Where did you come from? And Quinn. Come over here.” With Beau jumping on my back, Roberta held both of us in her arms. “How did you know I was just thinking of you two?”

  Beau jumped down and pushed between us to lick Roberta’s hands. She knelt and looked in his eyes. “Who’s this big guy? Isn’t he a beauty?”

  I crouched beside her and encircled the dog’s neck with my arm. “Beau belongs to a friend of mine who’s in trouble.”

  Quinn leaned over us. “We think she’s been kidnapped, Roberta. And we’re hoping you can help us figure some stuff out.”

  Before Roberta could answer, her lavender Weimaraner barged under her arm, tail wagging furiously as she touched noses with Beau, then kissed my face. Beau’s rapidly wagging tail nearly knocked us over.

  “Mimi, this is Beau. Beau, meet Mimi,” I said.

  Mimi backed into the shop, where she retrieved her foot-long rawhide bone. With a great show of generosity, she dropped it at Beau’s feet.

  Roberta ushered us inside. “Looks like Mimi’s in love.” She flipped the closed sign over, locked the door, and waved goodnight to her newly hired girl who’d just walked out the back way to head home. “Come on in, you two. Let me make you something to eat.”

  Quinn followed her to the kitchen area behind the counter and pointed to the coffeepot. “Mind if I help myself?”

  “Of course not, honey. Now what are you hungry for?”

  While Roberta made us grilled chicken on sourdough with some of her fresh tomato soup, we filled her in on Callie, Sky, and the files we found on the memory stick. She carried our food to the high-ceilinged café area, with Beau and Mimi pattering close behind.

  “Is it okay for him to be in here?” I reached down to stroke Beau’s ears. “He’s such a big lug. He might knock over your beautiful things.” I worried about the display of hand-painted dried gourds that sat atop and around an old Glenwood Woodstove. Suspended on thin strings, they looked fragile. Deer, squirrels, and birds decorated each ornament, bell, and vase with finely scratched-in colored ink.

  Roberta set the tray down and smiled. “Don’t worry. Long as no paying customers are here and the Board of Health isn’t among them, we’re fine. I keep Mimi in the back when the shop’s open. Now, let’s eat, and tell me more about your poor friend.”

  When Quinn got to the part about the Outsourcers, Roberta froze. With a sharp intake of breath, her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, God. You’re not mixed up with that, are you?”

  Quinn had cut his sandwich into neat squares. He stabbed one with his fork and took a bite. “Mixed up with what, Roberta? That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  She pulled up a chair between us. “Somebody torched that place. And the rumors that have been flying around about it are insane.”

  I sipped the tomato soup, savoring the flavor of fennel and dill that Roberta had used to dress it up. “What kind of rumors?”

  She tossed her hands in the air. “Oh, honey. You name it, I’ve heard it. Heard they were doctors doing experiments on mentally ill people. Heard they were Nazis come back to life to take over the town. Even heard they were testing cures for cancer up there. That they discovered a miracle.” She leaned forward on her elbows. “Crazy stuff. Who knows if any of it’s even close to the truth?”

  I leaned forward. “Who torched the buildings? And when did it happen?”

  She pushed back a stray lock of iron gray hair and frowned. “Nobody knows who did it, but it happened a week ago. Wednesday. I’ll look it up for you if you need details, but it was all over the local news.”

  I tried to think back to the middle of last week, but couldn’t remember seeing anything on our news about arson in the Adirondacks. It had been five days before Callie came over with Sky’s box. My heart pounded faster, and I grabbed Quinn’s hand to get his attention. “That could’ve been about the time Sky mailed the box to Callie.”

  “Whoa.” We sat in silence for a minute.

  Quinn finished the last of his soup and laid the spoon on the plate beneath his bowl. “Would you consider looking at some maps with us? Marcella’s laptop is in the car.”

  Roberta put her brown hands on ours. “Sure, kids. Anything to help.” She cleared Quinn’s dishes to make room for the computer.

  Still working on my sandwich, I hurried through the last few bites and drained a tall glass of milk. “We’re going to stake out that guy whose son called Callie later tonight. Over on Pumpkin Hollow Road.”

  Roberta raised one eyebrow. “By yourselves? You don’t have a gun, do you?”

  Quinn came back in and set up the laptop on the table. “No, we don’t.”

  “We’ll be fine. We’re just going to watch for the son to come home, or maybe follow the old man to the store. Wherever he goes. That kind of thing.”

  Roberta gestured toward her back room. “I’ve got my rifle back there. Wanna borrow it?”

  “Thanks, but we’ll be fine.” Quinn turned the screen toward her.

  I moved behind her to get a better view. “These are the maps we found at the end of his message to Callie. They’re scans of marked up maps like the one I bought at Charlie Johns today. Should I get it?”

  Roberta held up a hand. “Let’s look these over first.” She peered at the screen through reading glasses. “What the hell are all these numbers on the lakes?”

  I shook my head. “I thought maybe you’d know. Is there any kind of grid they use around here to denote locations? Something like latitude and longitude?”

  Roberta shook her head. “These aren�
��t latitudes or longitudes.” She started to scribble down numbers on a yellow, lined pad.

  My mind wandered while she worked, taking in the eclectic display of handmade gifts in the shop. We sat in the café, where she’d hung framed photographs and oil paintings of local scenes. Loons, bear, owls, lakes, and mountains adorned the walls. Crystals hung from the windows, not unlike the amber Callie received from her brother. I made a mental note to ask her about them when she was done. Toward the front door, an old pie cabinet stood stocked with jams and jellies, pickled beets, corn relish, and homemade nut butters. Beside it, a case full of sterling silver jewelry sparkled. The aroma of dozens of scented candles on the far side of the room vied with Quinn’s lingering aroma of oils.

  Roberta studied the file for another ten minutes, scribbling every so often. Finally, she looked up with a triumphant expression. “I’ve got it! They all end in 10. And they’re in the proper format for dates. See? They go from 1 to 31 in this field, and from 1 to 12 in this one. The S followed by four different digits must be some kind of a code.”

  Quinn sat up. “Wait a minute. Do you think somebody’s doing a contamination study? Checking out the lake quality?”

  I reached for the computer. “Maybe. But hold on a sec. Let me see something.” I opened up a few of the medical case files. “Look. Each of these case files references samples. The sample numbers are…” I stared at the screen. “They’re all four digits.”

  Quinn leaned forward. “So, S4200 means ‘sample 4200,’ and maybe they found it on a certain date in the marked spots on the map.”

  “Makes sense.” Roberta pointed to several locations on the nearest lake. “The only problem is, most of the sample locations are well inside the lakes. Some are on the shore, but look—these are all at least one hundred yards into the lake.” She turned to each of us with a puzzled frown. “If those are sample numbers, what the hell are they testing way out in the middle of our lakes?”

  I flipped through the files again. “You know, we hardly read any of these files, Quinn. Look at them all.”