Feeling unsettled, I walked around the cabin, still looking for Quinn. “Honey? You out here?”
It wasn’t until I came back inside that I found the note from my husband under a magnet on the refrigerator.
Babe,
Sorry I left you alone, didn’t want to wake you, you looked so whipped. Had to show McCann and his men a few locations. Back in a while. Hopefully before dawn. - Me
How could I have slept while ten men pushed back chairs, used our bathroom, clanked their coffee cups, and walked across the floor near me?
I felt like an idiot. And hoped I hadn’t drooled.
Dawn had broken at least an hour ago. I checked the clock in the living room— almost six-thirty.
So, where the hell was Quinn? I prayed they weren’t dragging him into some Rambo-type raid on the bad guys.
I jumped when the phone rang, then ran to pick up the receiver with shaking fingers. “Hello?”
“Marcella. It’s Sky.” He sounded slightly out of breath.
My heart leapt to my throat. “Sky? Did you—”
“I’ve got her. But we need help. She’s twisted her ankle. I can’t carry her much farther.”
“Where are you?”
The phone crackled. “At the distillery. I couldn’t get a signal on that hill, but I got a ride out of the woods up to Speculator, then—” The line fizzled again.
“What? I thought you said—”
“Distillery. It’s on the northeast side of the Route 30 and 8 intersection, in Speculator. Well hidden. I can’t trust any of the locals; I don’t know who’s safe and who isn’t. I want to talk directly to your man and his FBI contacts. Okay?”
I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. “Okay.”
“Take the trail behind Charlie Johns and go see the store manager, Mr. Lane. He’ll show you where to go. But don’t forget the password or he’ll never let you through.
I was almost afraid to ask. “What’s the password?”
He hesitated. “Um. Sorry. It’s Marcella.”
Did I really expect anything else?
“Hang tight. I’m on my way.”
***
As stinky as I felt, the only cleaning up I allowed myself before filling a backpack with things I thought we might need and hurrying outside to the van with Beau, was to hurriedly brush my teeth. I shrugged into the same jacket I’d worn the night before, with all of the contents except the gun, and headed north on Route 30.
By the time I passed Roberta’s shop—which still showed a closed sign in the window—I ran into traffic.
Traffic? At seven-thirty in the morning on Route 30?
The line slowly crept forward, but plenty of cars whizzed past me going southbound. By the time I was halfway to Speculator, I realized why. All traffic was being rerouted. The roadblock was impressive, with sheriff’s vehicles blocking the road, nose to tail. By the time I reached the checkpoint, I’d pulled out my license. “Ma’am, you need to turn around. This area’s closed. You need to avoid it for at least the next twenty-four hours.” He motioned toward the southbound lane.
“Officer? I’m with Detective McCann and the FBI. My husband’s showing them where we ran into the…er…terrorists last night. Please call and confirm? I believe they’re expecting me.” I knew the lie could come back to bite me, but if he was able to get McCann on the line, he might tell them I was okay.
“Pull over there.” He motioned to a sandy area for me to park. I waited and stewed for fifteen minutes. Finally, he returned with a disgruntled expression.
“McCann says you’re to proceed to the ball field near Black Snake Road. One of the agents will meet you there.”
I started up the engine and began to turn the wheel to get back on the road. He slammed a hand against my roof to get my attention. “Go straight to the ball field, ma’am. If you don’t, you could get seriously injured.”
Had he read my disobedient thoughts? Hating that he called me ma’am, I cringed. “Yes, sir.” I nosed the van onto the road again.
I’d deal with McCann’s anger later. One of the sheriff’s vehicles backed up to open the barricade, and I sneaked through the narrow opening, hoping I wouldn’t scratch their paint.
Feeling ridiculously privileged, I drove alone on Route 30 with Beau and the curvy Sacandaga River as my only companions. When I approached the outskirts of the village of Speculator, the streets were quiet as well. No cars rolled along the side streets, and no people walked along the edge of the road.
Having heard Sky’s stories about MedicuRX’s infiltration into the system, I worried about all the employees in the sheriff’s department who took part in the raid. Was anyone there a turncoat? Could they be on MedicuRX’s payroll?
If so, I was hesitant to trust anyone. I waved at a few officers who sat with their cars idling on the crossroads, and assumed they’d radioed ahead that I’d be passing through.
When I reached Charlie Johns store, I slowed. There were no cars in the parking lot. The large maroon sign, CHAS JOHNS, drew me to the lot. But a closed sign hung in the window. My heart sank. How would I know where Sky and Callie were, if I couldn’t find the path without help from these guys?
I took a right on Elm Lake Road and cruised past the store slowly, craning my head, looking for any movement in the store windows.
Nothing.
The few houses on the corner had no cars in the driveways. All shades were drawn. The Lake Pleasant Central School yard and parking lot were empty. Of course, it was Saturday.
Was anyone left in town?
The sound of helicopters came from the north.
MedicuRX? Or the FBI?
And how had Sky gotten a ride to Speculator from Wells when the roads were blocked?
Maybe they’d just set up the block after he came off the mountain with Callie.
Thoughts buzzed through my mind like hornets in a knocked-down nest. I rolled along the road and did a K-turn, yanking hard on the van’s steering wheel. This time, without hesitating, I turned into the store parking lot, pulled around back, and parked beside five John Deere Gators, most with mud on their tires and fenders.
There were spots for six of these vehicles, with one missing.
Had Sky and Callie taken it? If so, why couldn’t he transport her with her twisted ankle? And why had he been carrying her?
But the biggest question I had was why the hell did a little country store have Gators in the lot? What was the distillery? Was someone making moonshine up on the mountain?
I gazed at the thick forest that blanketed the hill. Sky and Callie were up there, somewhere.
In a flash, the truth hit me. The distillery had to be the place they made the oil from the lake weeds. I vaguely remembered Sky saying something about Young Living having a time-honored process that wrung the highest quality oils from plants, by using low temperature and pressure, and by carefully monitoring all steps of the process. It started to come back to me. Distilling the oil. That’s what he’d called it.
The plant they were testing was that potato—something or other—Latin sounding name. What was it? Oh, right. Curly-leaf pondweed.
I glanced at the Gators. From the road, they weren’t visible. And if people parked their cars in the lot or even around back, nobody would notice. Very clever. A rectangular wet patch covered the spot where the sixth vehicle must have been parked. The sun hadn’t yet dried the dew.
The keys weren’t in the ignitions. Very inconvenient. I wondered if Sky had hot-wired one of them. That was a skill he’d never taught me.
Beau sniffed around the ground in a frenzy, circling the area where Callie probably had walked. He looked at me and whined, then sniffed some more.
“It’s okay, boy. We’re gonna find her.”
I hunted around the back of the building, looking for hiding spots for keys.
Nothing.
Back on the parking lot again, I paused to think. The workers at the distillery were probably not always going to be coming and going
when the store was open. There had to be a way they’d be able to activate the Gators without going into the store. I lifted up one of the seats to see if they stashed the keys there, but had no luck. I got down on my knees and peered under the fenders, feeling around until my fingers came away blackened with grease and rust, but holding no keys.
“Beau, where would you hide the keys if you were one of these guys?”
He looked at me with big eyes full of excitement, but didn’t answer.
“Okay. I’ll keep looking.”
I played around with everything that could open and close. Finally, I raised the big hood over the engine.
Pay dirt.
A baggie was duct taped to the inside surface with a key inside.
Chapter 38
I checked my watch. Eight-thirty A.M. The sun streamed bright in a cloudless sky. Beau jumped up on my chest, planting his big paws on me. Standing on his two hind feet with his big tail wagging, he breathed doggy breath in my face and tried to kiss me. I avoided being lapped on the lips by pulling back just in time.
“Okay, buddy. We’re going after her. But first, let’s check to see which one has the fullest tank.”
I unscrewed all five caps, and found the reason why Sky’s transport might have failed him. Only one had a full tank. The rest were close to empty. I chose the Gator with the gas and found the key taped under the hood, just like the first one I’d examined. I whistled to Beau, and he leapt up on the passenger seat, then into the back cargo area. Before we left, I grabbed a few quilts out of the van, took a backpack I’d filled with food, water, and extra clothes for Callie, and threw it on the passenger seat.
“Good boy. Now let’s go find that trail.”
I figured out how to manipulate the controls, which weren’t too much different from our John Deere lawn tractor at home, and backed around in a semi-circle, heading for the woods. Overhead, the sound of copters multiplied. Now I imagined them coming from two different directions. Was that possible?
Hurrying, I drove up and down the parking lot at the edge of the woods, looking for a break in the thick pines. To the side, an old cemetery stood under scattered pines. I looked beyond it, to the east. There had to be a clue. Somewhere.
Whatever tracks Sky made on the asphalt that morning with the sixth Gator had evaporated. I passed the twenty-foot wide trash gondola three times before I got off to peek behind it, where I spied a camouflaged trail behind a brush pile. After dragging the branches aside, I drove through, put it all back and hopped on the Gator. The overhead canopy provided good cover, but the sound of the choppers grew louder with each moment.
The trail was well worn. Tree roots poked out of the dirt road from time to time, and occasionally we had to veer around the tip of a boulder that mounded out of the ground. We’d been driving for ten minutes when I saw the sixth Gator, abandoned on the side of the trail.
Sky and Callie must have walked from here. But when did she twist her ankle? He’d have carried her the rest of the way.
We climbed steadily upward, surrounded by wildflowers that grew under the pine trees and blanketed the sunny floor of the forest. After twenty minutes, we reached a fork in the road.
I turned off the Gator and got out. Beau jumped down and sniffed the ground in circles.
Both tracks looked equally worn. Pine branches curved down, sweeping overhead, pine needles softened the ground, and red raspberries grew in profusion on each side of both trails.
After pacing nervously between the two choices, I pushed aside some ferns to find the left trail marked with stones, piled to make a mini-pyramid. The other had no markings of any sort.
Beau bounced on his front feet and barked in the direction of the marked trail.
“Is that where she is, boy?” I knew I sounded like someone in the Lassie T.V. show, but it helped to have someone to talk to. And somehow, I thought Beau really understood. The dog was smart, almost in a spooky kind of way.
We jumped back on the Gator and continued on the trail Beau helped me choose.
I glimpsed a corrugated tin roof through the trees, and the outline of several buildings. Before I could let my excitement rise, a swarm of helicopters darkened the sky, coming in low and fast toward the distillery ahead of us.
Gunfire rat-a-tatted against metal. A succession of loud booms hurt my ears. A burst of fire nearly blinded me, followed by a whistling sound that could only mean one thing.
They’re dropping bombs.
Feeling like I was in one of Quinn’s favorite old war movies, now terrifyingly real, I pulled over and jumped out, whistling to Beau. I cowered against the protected side of the Gator, with Beau cuddled in my arms. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” I couldn’t stop the mantra, knowing in my heart that Callie and Sky were probably hiding out in the buildings that lay ahead.
Before I could swipe at the tears streaming down my cheeks, another platoon of helicopters roared overhead from the opposite direction, firing at the first group that still circled overhead.
The FBI? Were the good guys here, minutes too late?
The warfare in the sky deafened me. Like a child caught in the crossfire, I shrunk into myself, lying against Beau, sobbing, with fear gutting my stomach. Eyes closed, I clenched my fingers in Beau’s fur. He stood—mountain solid—and tucked his head over my shoulder.
One helicopter went down slowly in the distance, then another. The woods erupted in flames, and men screamed in the broad daylight, running in the far distance with bodies on fire. I covered my head with my arm, hugging Beau to myself with the other. The clatter of guns slowed, and some of the helicopters droned away. Were they MedicuRX? Or was the FBI abandoning us? Several remained overhead, their blades whirring rhythmically. Would they drop men to the ground? And whose side were they on?
Beau strained against me, trying to break free.
His insistence pushed me out of the realm of panic and into action. I stood, forced myself to focus, and snapped on his leash. I didn’t want him running into a dangerous situation. I owed Callie that much. “Come on, boy.”
We ran the last hundred yards, turning a corner to find three buildings either collapsed or on fire. I tried to make my way into the first, but the inferno pushed me back. Choking from the smoke and ash, I backed up. Beau pulled me away from the fire, and toward the middle building, which had probably buckled from the blast of the bomb dropped on the first building.
A pair of planes roared overhead, dropping water or fire-dousing chemicals on the two copters that flamed in the distance.
“Callie? Sky!” I screamed in spite of the fact that the MedicuRX men could have been nearby.
Instead, I spotted FBI on the back of a jacket in the distance, then another, and another. Had they dropped men from the choppers to search the ground? Without waiting, I forced my way into the middle building, yanking the banged up, twisted metal door off its hinges. Beau pulled me along, and dragged me to a pile of debris, where he started sniffing and digging like a hound at a rabbit hole. Crossbeams lay heavy over huge chunks of drywall and metal.
Rushing forward, I dropped Beau’s leash and dragged the debris off and away from whatever lay below. A leg appeared. A shoe. The last partition that had fallen was heavy, far too heavy. I yanked and pulled, then screamed in frustration. “Somebody, help me!”
Redoubling my efforts, I tried to stifle my cries and instead use every ounce of my energy to move the partition.
It shifted. And moans came from beneath.
“Beau, help me!” I tied his leash around a two by four attached to the mess. While I yanked on it, I turned to him. “Pull, Beau. Pull!”
To my astonishment, the big dog understood me. He straightened his forelegs, pulled the leash taught, and slowly backed up. With my help, we moved the massive chunk aside. Sky’s back faced us, and somewhere beneath him, I spotted Callie.
“Oh my God.” I untied Beau, who dashed to the bodies that lay dusted and crushed, sniffing and licking them, as if his magic s
aliva would rouse them.
Who knew? Maybe every aspect of this dog was magic.
A moan from Callie galvanized me into action. I gently pulled on Sky’s arm, moving him aside. He didn’t groan or scream, cry or wheeze. Was he even alive? Blood tricked from his nose, and his other arm lay at a weird angle. I watched for his chest to heave with one tiny breath, but it didn’t seem to move.
Her face, a study in terror, broke its frozen mask. She gulped once, breathed in deep, and screamed.
I crouched beside her. “Callie! Honey! It’s me.” I touched her face and murmured to her. She was dusty, shaken, and scared to death, but she seemed intact. Sky’s body had protected her from the worst of the collapse.
“Marcie? Is that really you?” She reached for me, her hand shaking badly. “Oh, Marcie.” The sobs started for real now, from both of us.
I nodded, and helped her slide out from under the rest of the debris. “Can you move your arms and legs, honey?”
She tried and successfully made each respond, except for a twinge when she twisted her bad ankle. With a confused look on her face, she suddenly panicked again. “Where is he? Where’s Sky?”
I pointed to the broad back. He lay face down, unmoving. “I don’t know if he’s—”
Beau couldn’t get close enough to Callie, licking her hands and cheeks, nuzzling her, and flapping that ever-loving tail in my face. Someone entered the building, pointing a gun at us. Beau growled. I tensed, unsure. Who was he? MedicuRX or FBI?
The letters “FBI” emblazoned across his jacket made me relax. “Thank God.” I pointed at Sky. “Please, help him.”
Callie, Beau, and I moved to Sky’s side. The sandy-haired man with the gun put it away and knelt beside him, feeling for Sky’s pulse in his wrist. “Is this Sky Lissoneau?” he asked. “Are you Marcella and Callie?”
Callie answered first. “Yes. Please! Is he okay?”
“Hold on. I’m trying to find his pulse.”
We crowded him, holding our breath while he rolled back Sky’s jacket cuff and tried again.
Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set Page 43