Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  She’d moved up from Atlanta to Rochester when she graduated from the police academy. I knew she missed her family, and tried hard to make her feel like one of our gang whenever I could.

  “Smells delicious.”

  Quinn slipped an arm around my waist. “Is that cumin?”

  Copper nodded. “Yup. And a touch of cloves.”

  My husband leaned forward and inhaled the steam from the pot. “Very nice.”

  Callie had been showing Kitty around the house with both dogs in tow. She came back with Kitty’s arm looped through hers. “And now I’d like to introduce you to my partner, Officer Claire Runyon. Claire, this is Kitty. Kitty, meet Claire. But we all call her Copper.”

  Kitty dropped her eyes and seemed frozen with shyness. I wasn’t sure if she’d met many black women before, never mind this six-foot tall gorgeous Amazon with a big wooden spoon in her hand.

  Copper set down the spoon, wiped her fingers on a dishtowel, and took Kitty’s hand in hers. “Honey, welcome to our home.”

  Kitty looked up and gave a shy smile.

  Copper led her toward the living room. “Come get comfortable. I want to hear all about your troubles. I’m a police officer. Maybe I can help.”

  I wondered how much of the conversation was clear to Kitty. From the troubled, frightened girl of yesterday, she’d seemed to settle into a serene, if shy, persona. As long as Quinn was around, she seemed okay. Was she suppressing memories? Or did she really have some kind of amnesia from the blow on her head?

  Copper settled beside Kitty on the soft brown suede sectional that wrapped around a stone fireplace. There was plenty of room, including spots for Beau and Dak, who both jumped up and squashed themselves between us.

  Callie made sure everyone was comfortable, and suddenly raised her hand to her mouth. “Oh! I forgot to offer coffee!”

  Copper’s wide smile fell on her lover. “She’s still getting used to playing hostess. She didn’t have much company down on Honeoye Lake.”

  Callie flushed. “Well, no. I never had any company, except Marcie. But now I do. So, who wants coffee and who wants tea?”

  Quinn answered for Kitty, ordering peppermint tea for her. Callie memorized everyone’s orders like an experienced short order cook and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Copper asked us to fill her in. Between sips of tea, Quinn and I spoke, taking turns with what we remembered. She took notes on her laptop, asking clarifying questions.

  “So, Quinn. You must have a gut feeling about this. Who from your tribe might do such a thing? Who would put a contract out on a sweet young girl like Kitty?”

  Quinn blanched. “I haven’t been back since I married Marcella. It’s been over eight years. I’ve kind of lost track.”

  “Well, what about the big wigs. Who’s in charge? Who’s on the tribal council?”

  He ducked his head and grimaced. “All the names I remember are from way back when. They might still be there, or they may’ve been taken over by someone younger.”

  She looked at him over her glasses. “You can’t tell me anything?”

  Quinn held up one hand. “I can tell you what I remember.”

  “Good enough for me.”

  “Starting with my family, there’s my aunt, Poloma. She’s Kitty’s mother. There’s her husband, Big Fred.” He drained his teacup and Callie jumped up to refill it. “He’s Kitty’s step-father.”

  “Okay, and what does he do?”

  “He’s the interface between the federal and state governments of New York and the tribe. He helps with the legal stuff. Used to be a lawyer.”

  Copper typed fast. “Do you trust him?”

  Quinn stopped, his eyes defocused. “I don’t like him.”

  “Why?”

  “He was always very full of himself. Thought he was in charge of everyone.”

  “Okay, who else?”

  “There was Birdie and her parents.”

  “Who’s Birdie?”

  I piped up. “Quinn’s old girlfriend.”

  Copper’s right eyebrow lifted.

  Quinn raised both hands. “It was a very long time ago, before I met my wife. I was just a kid.”

  “Do you trust her? Could you call her and get some information for me?”

  He looked pensive for a moment. “I’d call her if I could get her number. She moved away for college, worked downstate for a while, and then moved back when her parents got sick. At least, that’s what I heard.”

  “Are her parents alive?”

  He looked sheepish. “I’m not sure. I kind of lost touch.”

  Copper typed for a minute. “Give me their names and I’ll do a search.”

  Quinn reeled off a few names, and she typed and clicked while we sat in silence.

  She looked up at Quinn. “Sorry. They’re both deceased. Can you give me Birdie’s full name?”

  “Chilam Potter. That is, unless she’s married now.”

  I turned to Kitty. “Kitty? Do you know if Birdie’s married?”

  Her eyes grew large and blank.

  “Kitty?”

  She turned toward the window and sighed. Her shoulders slumped.

  I looked at Quinn. “I guess she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  Copper closed her laptop. “She really doesn’t talk about much, does she?” She rose and walked to Kitty, gently brushing her hair from her eyes. “It’s okay, honey. We won’t push you. Why don’t you come into the kitchen and we’ll get you more tea.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  An hour and a half later, I finished folding Kitty’s clothes in the laundry room. Copper hurried out the door, dressed in her uniform. She waved to me on her way out, leaning into the laundry room door. “Gotta go to work, kiddo.”

  “Have fun,” I said.

  She smiled and saluted. “Always do, darlin’. Always do.” The outside door opened and shut, and she was gone in a flash, off to serve and protect the citizens of Hamilton County.

  I turned the garbage bag inside out and put Kitty’s clean clothes inside, then called out to my husband and his cousin in the other room. “Quinn? Kitty? We should be going now. We’ve got to head down to Mountain Memories, ‘cause I promised Roberta we’d be there for lunch.”

  Callie came into the laundry room with a frown. “You have to go so soon, Marcie? You just got here.”

  The look on her face broke my heart. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I promised Roberta…” I pulled her to me and took her hands. “We’ll get together soon, okay? How about a nice dinner down at Tall Pines this weekend? Once we figure out what to do with Kitty and how to keep her safe, we’ll take a few days vacation. And we’ll spend it with you and Copper.”

  Callie’s frown melted into a smile. “Okay. That sounds good.”

  We exchanged hugs, then the three of us bundled back into the van with Dak.

  About five minutes into our drive, heading south toward Wells, a big rig came up behind us. With silver exhaust pipes and smoke blasting above the cab, it rolled closer and closer to our rear bumper.

  “Pull over, Quinn. Let him pass us.”

  He held tight to the wheel, his face a study in concentration. “What idiots. Why can't they wait until we get to a passing zone?”

  We came to an especially tight curve, and just as Quinn was about to pull over to the shoulder, they bumped us.

  My head shot forward, then snapped back.

  Dak yelped, Kitty screamed, and Quinn swore.

  “What are they doing?” I shouted.

  Quinn held onto the wheel, then put on his blinker and drove to the shoulder. “I have no idea, but they are in way too much of a hurry. For crying out loud, I was going sixty.”

  Kitty began to cry. Dak climbed up on the seat beside her to lick her cheeks and hands, and in a flash, the black rig passed us.

  To my surprise, they slowed, pulled over just in front of us, then backed up almost to our front bumper. Were they going to tell us they were sorry? See if we were okay?
r />   A prickle of fear ran through me and warning bells went off in my head.

  Could the bastards from the reservation have found us?

  Two men approached, eyes focused on our van, looking serious.

  “Do you think they’re going to apologize?” I asked nervously, watching them come closer.

  Quinn fumed behind the wheel. “They’d better. And they might have to pay for any scratches or dings on our rear bumper.”

  One of them tried on a smile, but it looked more like a smirk. A queasy feeling rolled in my stomach, and just as I was about to tell my husband to be cautious, Quinn rolled down his window to greet them.

  They separated, and one man peeled off to head for my side of the van.

  A pair of hairy arms jerked open my door, yanking me outside.

  “Hey! Who the heck do you think you are?” I struggled hard, but when he put the nose of his gun in my side, I stopped and looked into the distinctly native face of a heavyset, thirty-something man.

  “Shut up,” he growled. “Hold still.”

  A tall man wearing faded jeans and a pirate tee shirt had already dragged Quinn out of the van. I couldn’t see what happened, but heard them grunting and rolling around on the ground, exchanging blows.

  My captor raised his gun high in the air and let loose a shot. He called to Quinn and his partner on the other side of the van. “She gets it if you don’t cooperate.”

  The struggling stopped, and the second man dragged a bloody-faced Quinn around the van, shoving him to the ground next to me. He waved his firearm at us.

  I was happy to see Quinn had landed a few punches of his own, for the tall guy leaked fresh blood near his mouth.

  He swiped at his mouth, kicking Quinn’s side several times. “That’s for the baseball bat.”

  “Stop it!” I screamed, running at him with my fists flailing. “Leave him alone.”

  Hairy hands pulled me back, and I frantically motioned to Kitty to lock the doors. She’d just started to lock them when they noticed, and the leader slid open the side panel door, jerking her outside. Dak barked furiously, growling and lunging toward him. But they managed to get the door shut again, and he stood in the van with his big paws on the window, howling and barking like I’d never heard him before.

  I hoped he’d bitten one of them, but I didn’t see any blood.

  Quinn got up and stood close to Kitty and me, trying to push himself in front of us.

  Blocked from the road with their big rig, we stood with our hands up, staring down the muzzle of several nasty-looking guns.

  “What do you want?” I cried, trying not to let out the sobs I felt in the back of my throat.

  The blue-jeaned leader, a tall thin Indian with pockmarked cheeks motioned his gun toward me. “Shut up. We don’t want any trouble. We just want the girl.”

  His eyes darted back and forth between Quinn, Kitty and me. “Get in the rig. All of you.”

  Hairy hands glowered at us, looking out from beneath a uni-brow. His ape-like body—so different from his lanky leader—had freakishly long arms and bowed legs. Yet he still bore some traces of native blood. I wondered if these two were from the west. Their accents weren’t upstate New York, that was for sure.

  Monkey man opened the back door on the truck, and Pockface shoved us toward it. When we reached the doors, Quinn made his move. Monkey man looked toward the road at the sound of an oncoming truck. Quinn faked a stumble, then rolled, ducked, and lunged for Pockface’s knees.

  The gun went off, and Kitty slipped between Monkey man and the truck doors, diving toward the street. I heard two vehicles collide in a large crunch, but couldn’t see past the van where Kitty had run.

  From the south, a white panel van skittered toward our Dodge Ram, barely missed it, and wedged into the mountainside. A red pickup slid toward the other side of the road, rotating in what seemed like slow-motion circles until it thudded against a cluster of birches. The sound of more vehicles approaching made Pockface panic.

  It’s odd how in moments like these you feel frozen, time slows to ridiculous proportions, and little details stick in your mind.

  Pockface’s pulse pounded in his skinny throat, hard and fast. His face set in a grim mask; a mixture of fear and anger flooded his eyes. He waved his gun in our general direction, spat at Quinn, and ran around to the cab of the rig. Monkey man followed and barely got inside before the tires spun, spitting gravel, and the truck took off in the direction of Wells.

  “Where’s Kitty?” Quinn grabbed my arms, checked me over in one swift glance, and then looked toward the steaming wrecks. “Oh my God, do you think she was hit?”

  In seconds, the escaping rig screamed around the corner and disappeared. Quinn and I ran toward the vehicles, where one man emerged holding a bloody rag to his head and another limped out of the wreckage.

  I looked in the road for Kitty’s body. “Where is she?”

  Quinn’s face went white. “If they hit her, she might have been pushed up ahead of the wrecks.”

  It was in that moment I heard the song Kitty had been singing in the morning while she bathed in the river. Sweet and pure, it invaded my mind.

  A sudden awful thought hit me. Is she dead and is this her spirit saying goodbye?

  No!

  I turned to look in the other direction, and there, up the hill in the direction of Speculator, I saw her. She ran like a gazelle along the highway and disappeared into a trail on the left.

  I pointed to the spot she entered. “I’m going after her.” I leaned down to tighten a loose lace on my sneaker. “Honey? Take care of the injured. See if you can get a cell signal to call the ambulance; we’re not too far from Speculator.”

  Without waiting for him to respond, I bolted up the hill after Kitty. There were many times in my life when I was grateful for the way I pushed myself to run up Cratsley Hill Road every morning. Usually the reasons were more due to vanity than survival. I liked looking fit, but it was harder and harder every year. At forty-three, I had to eat like a bird and run like a deer to stay in my size ten jeans. Every morning I ran two miles up the hill, religiously, while Quinn took his lake swim.

  Today I was more grateful than ever.

  I streaked up the hill like it was a flat grade, churning up the leaves on the roadside and finally pelting into the trailhead. I whisked past brilliant yellow and red flashes of foliage, wishing inside that it was a different set of circumstances and I could stop to enjoy the color and scenery. The sun had come out full force now, and as dumb as the idea was, I almost chuckled and idly wondered if this was going to begin our Indian summer.

  I started to perspire, but it was the good, clean sweat of hard exercise.

  “Kitty? It’s safe now!” I yelled. “They’re gone.”

  I spotted the pink and gray plaid of the flannel shirt I’d given her to wear, and realized she’d be getting hot, too. Even my thin jersey was sticking to me, and I longed to peel it off and run in my sports bra.

  “Kitty!”

  Through the trees, I saw her turn and look.

  And then she disappeared.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Kitty!” I pushed myself harder now. Legs pumping and arms swinging, I flew up the trail toward the area where the girl had disappeared. I’d marked it in my mind by the huge bent birch tree blocking the trail.

  When I reached the birch, I looked around in a panic. Where’d she go?

  I glanced around, noticing skid marks near the edge of the trail.

  I inched toward a drop-off and peered down into an open cave. At the bottom, probably ten feet beneath me, lay Kitty.

  She wasn’t moving.

  “Kitty! Are you okay?”

  Of course she’s not okay, you fool, she’s knocked out.

  “Kitty!” I screamed louder this time.

  She stirred and groaned, lifted her head, then laid it down.

  “Kitty, wake up!”

  The girl raised her head and shook it, lifting her face. S
he saw me, moaned, and tried to stand.

  “It’s okay, honey. The bad guys are gone. Quinn and I will take you to a safe place.”

  Fear shot from her eyes, but she got to her feet and stumbled, catching herself on the wall.

  “Are you okay? Can you walk?”

  She took a few tentative steps, almost fell again, but righted herself and walked a few paces.

  I didn’t think she’d have the strength to climb up after watching her lose her balance twice in a row. What if she has a concussion? “Kitty, I’m coming down after you.”

  She shook her head emphatically and started to climb the roots and grape vines lining the side of the pit. Inch by perilous inch, she made progress. When she was almost to the top, there were no more roots to grasp and she floundered.

  I wrapped my legs around a sturdy limb on the fallen birch, and reached down to help her. “Come on. Just a little farther.”

  She strained, I stretched even farther, and we clasped hands.

  Slowly, I dragged her up, noticing the orange caution sign lying on the ground beside me. With a final tremendous pull, I slid her over the edge and onto solid ground.

  We lay on our backs, chests heaving. White birch trees crisscrossed against the cobalt sky overhead, their saffron leaves rustling a congratulatory dance.

  “We did it.” I caught her hand in mine and squeezed. “Good job, honey.”

  The fear from before melted from her face, and she closed her eyes and uttered a soft sigh. Sunlight dappled her skin, and she returned the squeeze. Somehow, in that moment beyond the pain and horror, we reached a harmony, a moment of quiet perfection.

  I didn’t want to move from the spot.

  I don’t know how long we lay there—maybe ten minutes—but when I heard the sound of the ambulance sirens below, I opened my eyes and sat up. “Come on. We’ve got to get back.”

  We stood and walked side by side down the trail. Just as we were drawing close to the trailhead, Quinn appeared around the bend with Copper.

  My husband sprinted toward us with a relieved expression, followed by the long-legged policewoman who reminded me at that moment of a long distance runner in the Olympics.