Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set

Home > Mystery > Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set > Page 52
Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set Page 52

by Aaron Paul Lazar


  We lowered it to the soft pine needles covering the driveway.

  Quinn brushed his long, glossy hair back from his face and stepped back. “Okay. Good. I’m not sure how this thing opens up to stand on its wheels, but it’s no biggie if we can’t do it.”

  “Wait.” I peered beneath it and fiddled a little. Several levers looked promising, and I pressed the biggest one. “Okay. Let’s try to lift it.”

  We hoisted it up and the wheels popped down.

  “Presto chango,” I said, trying not to look too self-satisfied. I raised the head of the gurney so I could sit Kitty up, feeling like quite the mechanical genius.

  Quinn chuckled and slid his shoulder under one of Kitty’s arms. “You’re my brainiac, Marcella.” With one swift motion, he slipped his other arm under her knees and lifted her. “She’s light as a feather.”

  She was a tiny thing. Probably no more than five feet, she had to weigh in at ninety pounds or so. I wondered how old she was. She could have been twenty or thirty, it was hard to tell.

  “Careful now.” I guided Quinn up the metal steps to the porch, hurrying to open the door for him.

  He turned sideways to get in the door, maneuvering the girl inside. “Where do you want her?”

  “In the second bedroom. Right next to us.”

  Quinn carried Kitty past the door leading to the tacked-on bathroom, into the entryway where the hot water heater and wood rack stood, through the little kitchen separated from the main living/dining area by a half-wall, and into the second bedroom on the left.

  The cabin boasted an open design, centered by an antique Triumph woodstove and 1950s rock maple furniture. Two rockers, a futon couch, and a loveseat lined the walls. Beside the kitchen half-wall, in an alcove near the woodstove, sat a long table with benches and chairs for plenty of guests. Through the original front windows, the bright, sunny interior of an enclosed porch beckoned. Yet another dining table for the warmer weather stood within, along with an assortment of wicker furniture.

  While I hurried to reach the bedroom ahead of Quinn, I inhaled the familiar balsam and wood smoke aroma, and felt home again.

  “Let me turn down the bed.” Glad we’d made up the beds with fresh linens before we left the last time, I hurried inside the room and fixed it up for her.

  Quinn gently laid her on the bed, and helped me remove her clothes. She didn’t open her eyes or move, but moaned briefly.

  When we got down to her underclothes, I told him to turn around. “Shoo. Let me get her into one of my flannel nightgowns.”

  Quinn drove to Charlie Johns Store in Speculator for food. The country store was a delightful oasis practically in the middle of the wilderness, stocked with groceries, camping goods, books, gifts, and more. Were we in a different situation, I would have gone with him to greet my favorite people, say hello to the proprietor, Mr. Lane, and revel in the fun selection of goods they sold.

  As it was, I sat on the side of Kitty’s bed and applied frankincense, one of my favorite essential oils, known for its all-encompassing, healing properties. I massaged several drops onto the back of her neck and on the bottoms of her feet in the areas where there were no abrasions. The large cells there would quickly distribute the oils to the entire body.

  The fluid evaporated quickly and didn’t leave a greasy spot, like you might expect of something named an “oil.”

  Heady and rich, the fragrance invaded the room, smelling of Christmas and church, exotic places and spices. I always figured frankincense had to be special, since the wise men brought it to the Baby Jesus. I tried to remember some of what I’d read on the Young Living website, and knew the oil was good for depression and the immune system, among many things. I hoped it would help her.

  Kitty seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but I wished I could see inside her head, hear her voice, listen to her story.

  How did she get to Honeoye from the reservation? Did she hitch? Drive? Walk? And where were her shoes? I covered her with a quilt and smoothed it over her. She looked so forlorn.

  On one wrist she wore a beaded bracelet. It looked homemade, and I wondered if she’d woven it herself. Tiny orange and blue beads wrapped her slim wrist, centered with a clear, pink crystal. I wondered if there was supposed to be power or energy in the crystal, or if it held a special meaning for her.

  When I was satisfied she was resting as well as possible, I made some coffee and carried it out through the sun porch to the green Adirondack-style chairs that perched on the bluff about fifteen feet above the river. The sun shone brightly, but it was chilly. I pulled up my sweatshirt hood, set my coffee mug on a flat rock, and invited Dak onto my lap. He looked surprised, but gladly leapt with his big puppy feet onto my jeans. He scrambled a bit, finding a way to fit his huge body onto me and between the chair arms, but he figured it out and rested his head on my chest when done. His eyes—warm and beautiful—looked up at me with pure joy. His body soon warmed me, and I wrapped my arms around him, nuzzling his soft ears.

  “You’re my good boy, aren’t you, Dak?”

  He tried to lick my face. I caught his big shaggy head in my hands and stared at him with love.

  “You’re just one terrific puppy, little man.”

  His eyes danced with joy and his tail wagged, shaking the chair.

  “Do you know how lucky we are to be here?”

  I closed my eyes and let the soothing sound of the river’s murmurs surround me. The soft, sursurrance of the balsam trees overhead was cathartic, cleansing my body and mind of the recent trouble, erasing the vision of a dark black figure with his arm raised over me, ready to strike.

  With my dog on my lap, the sun on my brow, and the gentle rumbling of the river to soothe me, I soon fell into a pleasant sleep.

  I dreamed of Callie and Sky. We were in our teens again, riding the tilt-a-whirl at the state fair. The dizzying thrill of the swirling cab, the nearness of my best friends, and the innocence of youth filled my dream-state. Colors swirled in bright circles, and I felt, rather than saw, the touch of Sky’s hand on mine.

  I woke with Quinn’s kiss on my cheek and looked into his clear turquoise eyes. “You’re back,” I mumbled.

  Dak jumped off my lap to make a fuss over Quinn, his second favorite human in the world, and Quinn dragged a chair beside me and took my hand. My legs were asleep where the dog had lain, and I rubbed at them with my free hand.

  “I put all the groceries away. Got a special deal on fresh swordfish and some nice sweet beets, plus a couple of ripe mangoes. Can’t wait to make a salsa with them to serve over the fish.”

  “Mmm. Sounds delicious, honey.” I lifted his hand and kissed it. “Thank you. And did you get bandages and stuff?”

  He looked at me as if I were a slow child. “Of course, silly.”

  We sat for a while watching the river. To the north lay Blackbird Island, where my mother had nearly died a year ago. I brushed the unpleasant image away, telling myself that the river had washed clean all the bad memories, that no blood remained on the rocks or riverbanks. Nature had reclaimed her ground. All was peaceful again.

  Except, of course, for the men who had chased poor Kitty.

  I turned to Quinn, who had closed his eyes and leaned his head back. A sweet smile played on his lips.

  “You’re glad to be back here, too, aren’t you, honey?”

  He nodded, eyes still closed. “Mm-hmm. It’s the best place on earth.”

  “Kitty will be safe here.”

  “Uh huh.”

  His lower lip started to go slack and I wondered if he’d fall asleep like I had. But I needed to talk to him. I wanted to get just a few more questions answered.

  “I wish she could have told us more when she got to the house. We know so little about who’s chasing her, or why.”

  His words were slurred, filled with sleepiness. “She couldn’t tell you.”

  I sat up. “What? Why?”

  “’Cause she can’t speak. She’s mute.”

  “A
re you serious?” I looked back toward the house. “She can’t speak?”

  “Nope. But she can hear. There’s nothing wrong with her ears.”

  “Was she like this from birth?”

  He shifted and tucked his head closer to one shoulder, eyes still closed. “No. Something happened when she was a kid. She lost the ability, or the will. We never found out. Pulled into herself and they treated her like she was mentally challenged after that.”

  “Didn’t they take her to doctors or clinics to teach her sign language and stuff?”

  His lips moved slower now, as sleep crept up on him. “No. It wasn’t their way.”

  I watched him succumb to his exhaustion and stopped peppering him with questions. I checked my watch—almost one-thirty. He’d only have a half hour to nap before Roberta arrived.

  I tiptoed back inside and grabbed a fleece throw from the sun porch. As if I were putting a child to bed, I tucked it around his chin and body, then kissed his lips. “Sleep tight, baby.”

  Dak followed me inside to wait for my aunt and her infinite wisdom.

  Chapter Seven

  Roberta’s battered green pickup rolled into the driveway a little after two. I ran to hug her, holding her tight to absorb as much of her essence as I could. Twin to my beloved stepfather, she was the closest I could get to him now that he’d passed. Of course I loved her for herself, too, but every single time when I first saw her, I gazed into her amber, almond-shaped eyes and it was all I could do to keep from bursting into tears.

  She held me at arm’s length, studying my face. “You need rest.”

  Embarrassed, I ducked my head and led her inside. “I know. We didn’t sleep last night.” We walked through the mudroom and into the kitchen, passed our bedroom on the left, and shortly arrived at the guest room. “Come. Meet Kitty.”

  Roberta stopped in the doorway. Her breath hitched once, then she moved inside. “She’s so young.” She perched on the side of the bed. “She looks like Quinn. Is she Seneca, too?”

  “Uh huh. She’s Quinn’s cousin.”

  She touched the girl’s hand, then reached up to gently stroke her forehead. “Oh, little one, what happened to you?”

  “She’s running from someone at the reservation, I think. A woman—Quinn’s aunt—which makes her Kitty’s mother, of course, called to warn us, and she talked about a guy who wanted Kitty dead. It sounded like he has a lot of thugs to do his bidding.”

  “His bidding? What are you talking about? And why’s he after this poor young woman?”

  I shook my head. “We don’t know. That’s what I’d like to find out.”

  “Are they after you, too?”

  Shivering, I hugged myself. “I guess they are now. They broke into our house looking for Kitty. Quinn clobbered one guy who came in the back, but he got away. The other one came in the front window and whacked Kitty with a black jack or something.” I pointed to the bandage. “See? That’s where he hit her. We got away and no one seemed to be following us.” I peered out the window. “At least I hope they didn’t. I got the feeling from this lady who called us that there may be more of them.”

  “We need to change the dressings.” Roberta stroked Kitty’s arm. “Has she been like this from the beginning?”

  “No. She was conscious when I found her outside my door. Freezing, no shoes, and scared to death. But it wasn’t until the bastard who broke in hit her that she went out like this.”

  Roberta pressed two fingers over Kitty’s wrist. “Pulse is steady.” She laid one hand gently over the part of her forehead that didn’t have a bruise. “No fever. That’s good.”

  “She can’t talk. Quinn said she’s been mute since she was a child.”

  “Does she sign?”

  “No. I guess they kind of set her aside and gave up on her. No schooling. No doctors.”

  My aunt’s face pulled down in a frown. “Poor chiquita.” She lifted the girl’s wrist and examined the bracelet. “Oh. Very nice.” She turned it and focused on the pink crystal. “What’s this? Ah.” She held it between both fingers and closed her eyes. “I feel the energy.”

  In the past, I might have laughed it off or raised an eyebrow. But after last summer’s bizarre experience with a large amber crystal, I just watched and waited.

  Roberta gently placed Kitty’s hand back on the bed. “We’ll take a closer look later.”

  I leaned forward. “Do you think we could connect with her somehow through the crystal?”

  She gently motioned for me to move out of the room and swung the door around. “Maybe. But right now, this child needs to sleep. I’ve got to think about how we can best help her.”

  “I put frankincense on her.”

  “Good. That’s a great start. And maybe later we can do some cedarwood. That’s good for the brain.”

  Quinn appeared in the doorway with the throw around his shoulders. Dak trotted beside him. “What’s good for the brain? I could use something like that right about now.”

  “Cedarwood oil.” Roberta hugged him and kissed his cheek. “You’re more and more handsome every day. Look at those blue eyes. They practically glow in this light.”

  I followed her gaze and agreed. My husband’s dark skin, thick black hair, and clear eyes made me weak in the knees. I had the sudden urge to tumble with him into our bedroom and never come out.

  Ahem. Except that every sound we’d make would be heard in the living room.

  I chuckled to myself, slid an arm around Quinn’s waist, and kissed his lips. I was so lucky to have him.

  “Want some coffee, Roberta?” I asked.

  “How about tea? Have you got my favorite?”

  I turned to Quinn, since he’d done the shopping and knew our pantry better than I did. “Hon? What’s in the cupboards?”

  He dropped the throw on the couch and went into the kitchen, rummaging in the cabinet. “Tazo’s Refresh, right? Yup. Here it is. ‘Peppermint, spearmint, and tarragon.’ Bought it just for you last time we were here.”

  Instead of heating it up in the microwave like I was apt to do, he filled the big stainless steel kettle and brought it to a boil. We settled down at the dining room table with three chunky mugs and a bottle of raw blue agave to sweeten the brew. We’d gone through all the fads years ago, and had just graduated from the latest Splenda follow-on to blue agave.

  Roberta took a few sips, pushed her chair back, and gazed at Quinn. “What can you tell us about this girl and her past? I need to know her before I can help her.”

  He smiled and began to speak in a voice reminiscent of an Indian elder sitting by a fire, spinning a yarn of great substance.

  “When Catori Little Hawk was born into the bear clan, she was an unexpected joy. My aunt Poloma, or Polly as we call her, was past the usual age of child-bearing.”

  I quickly turned to Roberta and explained the Catori-Cat-Kitty naming history.

  Quinn thanked me and went on. “I was eighteen when Kitty was born, and Birdie and I loved to hang out with her in between our classes at SUNY Buffalo.”

  Roberta looked puzzled. “Birdie?”

  Quinn apologized. “My high school girlfriend. Her given name—Chilam—means snow bird, so we always called her Birdie.”

  “Pretty birdie!” Ruby rocked on her perch and cocked her head at us.

  Quinn smiled and took a sip of his tea. “Anyway, Kitty became our little tagalong and was a happy, normal kid. Not long after her father’s passing—she must’ve been maybe six or seven—she went missing. When she was finally found the next day in the woods, she was covered in brambles and scratches, and wouldn’t speak.”

  I sat up. “That’s horrible. How did her father die? Could that have been what upset her?”

  Quinn looked pensive. “Maybe. He’d been sick for a long while. He passed peacefully.”

  Roberta grimaced. “Poor little thing. It could have been his death that did it. Whatever it was, it traumatized her.”

  “Exactly. But we never knew what
it was. One day she was this chattering, innocent little girl, the next she turned into herself and wouldn’t say another word.”

  Quinn blotted a spilled drop of tea with his napkin. “The tribe decided to give her time to come around, but she never did. She drew into herself more and more each day, and would spend all her time out in the barn, with the animals. Horses, mostly.”

  Roberta looked up. “Interesting.”

  I tried to follow her meaning, but Quinn kept going. “She found a place in the barn and made it hers. Decorated it with her own homemade natural designs. Beads. Feathers. Woven grapevines. She even slept out there in the good weather. She brushed and cared for the horses and soon learned to ride. Without a word, she could calm the wildest animal.”

  “Why didn’t they send her to a doctor? Or a school to learn signing?” Roberta asked.

  Quinn’s mouth turned down. “After her father died, Polly married again. Big Fred was not into that kind of healing. He said if she were meant to speak, she would.”

  Roberta pushed her chair back. “Shameful. They should’ve been reported.”

  I poured more hot water into my mug. “Exactly.”

  Quinn squeezed the last of the peppermint juice into his mug, laying the teabag carefully in the bowl of his spoon. “Things were different on the reservation back then. People were allowed to make their own decisions about their children.”

  “Honey?” I asked. “When did your mother pass? Was it before or after Kitty’s father died?”

  His expression darkened. “Before. I was just finishing up my bachelor’s degree. She died a month after I graduated. Birdie left for graduate school in New York City. And after I took a year off to wander around the western states, I went back to school to get my Masters in American Indian Art.”

  He stood and looked out the window. “I tried to get a job for two long years, was active for a while in the American Indian Movement, then finally landed my gig at the Metropolitan Art Museum when I was twenty-six. I didn’t go back to the reservation much after that. Birdie broke up with me and found a new guy at her school.” He wiped one hand over his lips.

 

‹ Prev