Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  He leaned over. “What are those spreadsheets? See the ones ending in .xls?”

  I pulled a pout. “I know what a spreadsheet is. Geez.” I opened the first one. A complex mass of numbers assaulted me. At the bottom of the list of hundreds of numbers were colorful charts. “But how about if you figure it out, Mr. Brainiac.”

  He took the laptop without a word, but his lips twitched with an unshed smile. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here.” He paged down carefully, studying the data. “Most of it’s in acronyms and a lot of scientific jargon. Population data is calculated here.” He pointed to a chunk of data with pale yellow highlights. “And these are trend and contour plots.”

  “Of what?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. It’s all abbreviated. But one thing’s for sure. Lots of measurements were made from those samples. See? The S numbers are on the first column here.”

  Roberta leaned over. “Right. And there are the dates.” She held her yellow sheet of paper closer to the screen. “And look. They match the ten-digit numbers.”

  I sat back in my chair. “Something huge was going on. Something to do with these poor patients.”

  Quinn sat up. “Wait a minute. What happened to all the personnel in that fire, Roberta? Was anyone killed?”

  She collected my dishes and whisked them to the sink behind the counter. “No, thank God. Somebody must have tipped them off, because the night before the fire started, everyone was evacuated.”

  I straightened. “What?”

  She nodded and wiped the wooden table with a damp rag. “Yeah. There’s another mystery to add to your collection. Some people think it was insurance fraud.”

  Quinn stood and paced. “We’ve got to find these people. We’ve got their names on the medical records. And maybe we can find the doctors or nurses who worked there.”

  Roberta straightened a picture frame over my head. “Nobody local worked there. They brought everyone in from outside. ‘Bout five years ago.”

  “Really?” I traced a triangle on the damp tabletop with my forefinger. “Not even the cleaning crew? The groundskeepers?”

  She shook her head. “Far as I know. It was always very hush-hush. Like I said, lots of rumors.”

  Quinn stopped his pacing and stared at the crystal in the window. “But some of them must have come here for lunch, or bought souvenirs from you. Right?”

  “Maybe. It’d be hard to know either way, if they were tourists or if they worked up on Black Snake Run.”

  I joined Quinn at the window and twisted the crystal on its string. “Does anyone else around here sell these?”

  Roberta took it down, studying it in the waning light of the afternoon. “Nope. Just me. I get them imported from Austria.”

  She handed it to me. I stroked it, thinking for some ridiculous reason that I’d become connected with Callie again. “Do you sell many of these?”

  “Not a whole lot.”

  Quinn hung it back up. “There’s more to the story. Sky sent one just like this to Callie last week.”

  I chimed in. “Then Callie broke a piece off and put it in Beau’s collar.”

  She looked at Beau, whose tail thumped on the ground when he heard his name. “Really? Did she perform a bonding ceremony with him?” Her lips curved into a smile. “Some folks believe they can bind their souls that way. She must really love this dog.”

  I dropped to the floor beside Beau to pat him and hug his massive neck. He lapped my face and nuzzled my neck. “She does. She loves him so much.” My voice cracked when I spoke. I thought I was going to lose it, but I told her about my strange experience with the vision of Callie, bound in a cabin near the sound of rushing water.

  Most people would have thought I was insane, but Roberta’s face turned serious. “I’ve got to think this over.” She helped me up and hugged me tight, then pulled Quinn into her strong arms. “You two have to be careful, really careful. Promise?”

  I exchanged a worried glance with Quinn then hugged Roberta again. “We promise.”

  Chapter 19

  After our stop at Roberta’s, we went home to change, then headed back out for our stakeout.

  Beau had already fallen asleep on his quilt when Quinn and I pulled over on Pumpkin Hollow about three hundred yards west of Dr. Lewis Trebangle’s home. Dusk had fallen, and the deep purple blanket of night covered the land.

  We’d cruised by it once to get a look at the property. Situated at the end of the road and just before the state park trail began, it had once been a singlewide trailer. A porch with two white rockers graced the front. A shack grew out of one side of the trailer, attached to one end of the original structure. In the center, a stovepipe emerged from the roof. Flowerboxes adorned the front, festooned with plastic blue and pink posies, and a neatly stacked woodpile filled a lean-to near the woods on the far side of the property. A fake deer was set up for bow practice in the back, banked with six bales of hay. A long clothesline ran from trailer to a tree on the edge of the woods, fluttering with jeans, tee shirts, towels, and socks. Your standard fare.

  We’d driven up the dirt road that extended beyond the house, but had to wait quite a while for a turnaround. Quinn finally spotted one on the right and performed a tight K-turn with our conversion van. Well, as tight a turn as possible. Those things aren’t meant for maneuvering.

  He’d headed back, turned again into another entrance that boasted a cluster of trails with brown and yellow signs tacked at crazy angles to the post, then rolled back toward the trailer. There had been no vehicles in the yard when we passed it, but now a rusty old Corvair sat in the drive. Since there were no other houses for at least a half-mile, I instructed Quinn to park just before a curve and to back into a track protected by tall balsam trees. We could barely make out Trebangle’s house from our position, but with the use of Quinn’s bird-watching binoculars, we could see the front door.

  A light popped on in one room, then another.

  I shuddered. “Geez, Quinn. Good thing we weren’t sitting here when they drove by.”

  “I know. But remember, if they spot us or come over here, we’re gonna be hikers who just came in from a walk. We’re tired, we’re just regrouping.”

  “I’d rather be lovers looking for a quiet spot. It makes more sense at this time of night, don’t you think?”

  He chuckled, reminding me of the sound he usually made just before he approached me in bed. “Okay. But we’d better get in the back seat to make that more believable.”

  We clambered over the console and tiptoed past Beau, whose soft snoring made our stakeout feel almost safe. The view was better from this angle, and we took turns looking through the glasses.

  The front door opened, the porch light snapped on, and a blue tickseed hound emerged, nose to the ground. He looked up once, sniffed the air as if sensing our presence, but instead went around the back to do his business.

  “How many people do you think are in there?” Quinn panned the binoculars across the property.

  I whispered, although I knew they couldn’t possibly hear me. “I don’t know. But keep your eyes on the door so you can see who lets the dog in. Better yet, let me look.”

  He handed the glasses to me. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I cringed. I hated it when people called me ma’am, and he knew it. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so bossy.”

  He rubbed his eyes and peered through the window. “It’s one of your endearing traits, my love.”

  I punched his arm, almost dropping the binoculars. But before he could respond, I got them to my eyes. An elderly gentleman with silver hair and a slightly hunched stance opened the front door and warily stepped outside. He uttered a low whistle. When that didn’t work, he hollered. “Bungalow! Get in here.”

  Quinn chuckled. “Bungalow?”

  I shushed him and watched as the hound tore back into the house. The man I assumed was Dr. Lewis Trebangle took a moment to look up and down the street. He cautiously skittered to the front
of the porch, listened again, and then streaked to the mailbox and back, tucking a handful of mail and flyers under his arm.

  I followed him with the glasses. “Wow, he can really move.”

  Quinn saw him, too, since the front yard was more visible from his position. “He’s really scared, Marcella.”

  “I know. It’s creepy.” A tiny woman I assumed to be his wife appeared at the door, waving him in. I put the glasses down when Dr. Trebangle ducked inside.

  We waited for fifteen minutes, but all was still.

  When I was just starting to get tired of pressing the heavy glasses against my eyes, a car rolled up the hill, creeping toward us at an unusually slow speed. In the dark, it was hard to tell make or model as they approached, but by the time they stopped in front of us and shone a strong light into the van, we were already locked in a lovers’ embrace, deep in a kiss. The light shone a few seconds longer, and I expected a cop to come up and knock on the window like they’d done so many times when I was a kid, making out with Sky in his backseat. The only difference here was we had a big old dog at our feet, the windows weren’t fogged up, and we hadn’t yet wrestled with any clothing.

  Quinn murmured against my ear. “They’re going.”

  I chanced a look. A long, dark SUV crept past us, playing its light over the woods and yard before pulling into Trebangle’s driveway. The lights snapped off in the house. I climbed into the front seat with the binoculars and rolled down my window to see better.

  A figure streaked toward the woods from the back of the trailer. This time, it wasn’t the silver-haired Trebangle. He was younger, taller, and moved like the wind. In the stray light from the SUV, I made out his shaggy, dark blond hair and a small canvas bag swinging by his side.

  “My God. Who is that?” I watched until he disappeared into the woods, giving Quinn a blow-by-blow description of the action. I swung the glasses back to the front porch. Two big men, dressed in black, rapped their knuckles on the door.

  “Think they’re cops?” Quinn climbed up beside me.

  “I don’t know. I’m thinking more like thugs.”

  When the Trebangles didn’t open the door, one of the men darted around the side of the house. He reappeared at the front, shaking his head.

  “Let me see,” Quinn pulled the glasses from me.

  He peered at them for a few seconds. “What the hell are they doing?”

  I tried to see, but could only make out two smudges of black at the front door.

  “Holy crap. They’re breaking in.”

  I tugged on his sleeve. “We have to help them.”

  He’d already started the engine and pulled out before I could grab the glasses and follow the action. One man disappeared inside, followed quickly by the other.

  Quinn punched in 911 with one hand. “Damn. No signal. Again.” He threw the phone to the floor.

  The lights flicked on inside the trailer. First one side lit up, then they progressed to the left, where I imagined Dr. and Mrs. Trebangle were hiding. Quinn rolled into the driveway and honked his horn, long and loud. “Lay down in the back. You’re having a heart attack.”

  I looked at him as if he were nuts, then scrambled to the back seat and lay facing the seatback, clutching my chest. What did a heart attack look like? I’d heard symptoms like neck, jaw, chest, arm pain. Cold sweats? An elephant sitting on your chest? Bungalow howled from the backyard, interspersed with bouts of intense barking. I figured the thugs must have tied him so he wouldn’t interfere with whatever evil they were up to.

  Beau sat up and started to bark. I patted his head quickly to calm him, then reached over and grabbed some water from my open bottle and splashed it on my face and bangs, ruffling up my hair to make it hopefully look like perspiration.

  Quinn sat on the horn again, rolling his window down. “Help! We need a doctor.”

  The front door flew open and a frail lady was pushed outside, squinting in the strong light of our headlights.

  “Call an ambulance, please! My girlfriend’s having a heart attack.”

  She nodded and started to shuffle back inside, but was pushed aside by the two thugs who bolted toward their car. Quinn played the scene well, yelling to them as if they were deaf. Beau jumped on the window, barking ferociously with a sound I’d never heard hurtling from his mouth. The men pulled up their coat collars and hurried toward their SUV. They backed out of the driveway, tires squealing. When they’d disappeared down the hill, I jumped out of the van and ran with Quinn to the front door, where Dr. Lewis Trebangle had appeared with a battered old doctor’s bag in hand.

  “Who’s having chest pains?” he asked, looking from me to Quinn, and then to Beau, who danced at my feet.

  I put my hand on his, pointing toward the road where the SUV had vanished. “I’m sorry. We’re both fine. We just saw those guys break into your house and didn’t know how else to help you.” I took in the bloody gash on his forehead and the lump forming on his lower lip. “My God. Are you okay?”

  Alarm filled his eyes, and in seconds he put a finger to his lips with a nod toward his wife. I realized he must have recognized my voice from the phone and didn’t want me to say anything about Sky or the phone call in front of her.

  Quinn and I exchanged a glance with each other and him, nodding a silent promise. Mrs. Trebangle shuddered and slumped to a seat on the porch, crying. “Those horrible men. What in God’s name did they want, Lewis?”

  “It’s okay, Darla. Let me take you inside.” He helped her up and beckoned for us to come in. Quinn carried the black bag, and we followed them into the living room with Beau close behind.

  Chapter 20

  The inside of the Trebangles’ trailer was tidy except for a knocked-over lamp in the corner near some disheveled Country Living magazines on the floor. Decorated in rock maple furniture with cozy touches like afghans and doilies I assumed were due to Mrs. Trebangle’s crocheting skills, it seemed a very unlikely place to host the ugly scene we nearly witnessed.

  The doctor led his wife into a back room after taking the stethoscope from the bag. After a few minutes, he reappeared. “She’ll be okay. She actually does have a bad ticker.”

  The pain in his voice made me want to run over and give him a hug. I almost did, but instead lowered my voice. “I’m so sorry.”

  His eyes revealed deep sorrow, but he recovered quickly and a mild expression replaced the earlier glimpse. I had a feeling he’d done it a lot. “Would you two like a drink?”

  Quinn answered for us. “No, sir. Please don’t go to any trouble.”

  I tossed him a frustrated glance. I could have used a stiff drink. Okay, so I’ve never had anything stronger than wine, but it sounded appealing at a time like this.

  Quinn pointed to the door behind which the doctor’s wife rested. He kept his voice low. “We didn’t want to cause any trouble, we just thought maybe we could catch you outside or follow you to the grocery store to ask you a few questions.”

  The doctor poured himself something that looked like whiskey. It might have been scotch. As I said, I’m not much of a hard liquor aficionado, so it could have been brandy for all I knew.

  Dr. Trebangle sighed. “Darla’s got a nervous condition that feeds her cardiac issues. But that’s another story. You two certainly could have caused trouble, especially if she’d heard you. Instead, you saved us from a nasty beating. It would have been worse than this,” he pointed to his face, “and it would have gone on for a while. Have a seat. I can’t talk for long.”

  I sat for a minute, then hopped up again. “Wait! Did you cancel the ambulance?”

  The doctor swirled his finger in the crystal glass. “I never called them.”

  Quinn leaned forward. “You didn’t believe that one of us was having a heart attack?”

  “It wasn’t that. I saw your van parked over in those woods when I let the dog out. Speaking of which, I’d better untie the poor old hound.”

  Quinn turned to me with a whisper. “That’s some g
ood eyesight.”

  The doctor apparently had good hearing, too. “Lasik surgery, son.” He opened a back door and let Bungalow inside.

  The hound and Beau circled each other, sniffed various parts as part of the usual greeting ceremony, and then appeared to lose interest and lay down, Beau at my feet, and Bungalow on his dog bed near the far window.

  When the doctor finally settled into his flower-covered easy chair and looked at me, I summoned my courage.

  “Dr. Trebangle. I’m so sorry for all your troubles. And I hope those bastards…er…those thugs don’t come back.” I kept an eye on Quinn out of the corner of my eye. “But could you please tell me how you or your son knew Sky, and if he’s…alive?”

  He tipped his glass and took a long swig. “Sky’s alive all right. And it’s him they want. Him and that bag my son sent you.”

  Quinn tensed. “Damn. I knew it. Where is he?”

  The doc sized us up one more time. “You’re friends with his sister?”

  I nodded. “Best friends. We just need to find her. I know she’s in terrible trouble.”

  The doctor stood and set his glass on the sideboard with sudden force. “Listen. You’ve got to get out of here. Call the feds. Anyone who’s not local. I don’t know who to trust any more.” He herded us toward the door. “Sky’s camping out there,” he gestured toward the backyard. “I don’t know exactly where. I didn’t want to know. I’m giving him supplies. Food. Oil for his lamp, etc. He changes his campsite every night. But we don’t know where his sister is, and if she’s still alive, it’ll be a miracle.”

  My throat tightened. “Please, sir. Help us. How can we get in touch with him? Maybe he can help us find Callie.”

  The doctor frowned. “God knows he needs help himself. But every time we try to get to the authorities, or someone who’s not connected with those MedicuRX bastards, something goes horribly wrong. They’re powerful. They’re loaded. They’re connected. And they want that data.”

  Quinn froze. “You mean the medical records that Sky sent Callie?”