The Naughty Box (9 books in 1 box set)

by Davis, SJ

  The road to the pond stretched before him devoid of traffic at the early hour. He drove past logging equipment and piles of skrag as he descended four miles to the public boat launch. At the road’s end he pulled over and shut the engine off. The launching area was empty, as he’d hoped. Pulling on a wetsuit, he threw his fins into the kayak and checked the wind. It was light, from the southwest. Paddling efficiently, he headed toward the fat part of the lake, dodging several small islands. When his truck was a dot on the shoreline, he pulled on the fins and slipped overboard, turning the kayak onto its belly.

  The God was a strong swimmer. It took him only twenty minutes to make it to shore. He stripped off the wetsuit and stuffed it into his backpack with the fins before donning his shorts and T-shirt. Next, he pulled a neatly folded pile of clothing from the Jeep - skirt, blouse, undergarments, and running shoes - and placed them on the pond’s bank. On top of the pile, he left Lena’s rings and wallet. The keys, he left with Zephyr in the Jeep.

  The dog whined and barked as he turned and headed for the woods. Twenty yards in, he pulled himself into the low branches of a white pine and settled against the trunk where he had a good vantage point. He knew he wouldn’t have to wait long. It was Moose season, and Bald Mountain Pond was prime hunting territory.

  ***

  Lena’s meager pile of belongings was discovered an hour later by an old man and his grandson. The God watched from his perch while the grandfather parked his pick-up next to the Jeep and lit a cigarette. The boy, a heavy-set kid, not more than fourteen, hopped from the cab, rifled her wallet, and pocketed the rings before pointing out her keys, clothes, and sneakers. The old man emerged from the truck, took a look at the neatly folded clothing and returned to his truck. He re-joined the boy a minute later and began to scan the water with binoculars.

  “See anything, Gramps?” the boy said.

  The old man shook his head. “Put everything back the way you found it, Paulie. That means the wallet and rings, too.”

  “What rings?”

  “The ones in your pocket.”

  “Oh, man.”

  The God watched as the boy dropped Lena’s wedding and engagement rings onto her t-shirt.

  “And the cash,” the old man said.

  With a sigh, he deposited a few bills into her wallet and placed it on the ground.

  “Is that all of it?”

  The boy nodded. “Yessir.”

  “All right, here’s what we’re gonna do. I want you to sit here next to her things. If she comes back, tell her to get into cell phone range and call me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  The old man returned to the truck and pulled the door open.

  “Where’re you going?” the boy asked.

  “Back down the ridge to call the police.”

  “Do you think she drowned, then?”

  “Hard tellin’ not knowing, son, but it’s cold out there in the water and I don’t see any sign of her. Better safe than sorry.”

  The boy nodded. He shrank from the clothing like drowning was catching. “Can I let the dog out?”

  “Better leave him alone,” the old man said, climbing into the cab. “If she comes back, she might be mad. If she doesn’t, the police will know what to do with him. Connecticut,” he said, with a glance at the license plate. “It figures…a gol-durned flatlander.”

  The God waited until the truck disappeared down the road before he climbed from the tree. Creeping through the woods, he emerged a quarter mile away. From there, it was just a short jog to reach the wooded path that led from Bald Mountain to Blackwater Pond. Five minutes later, he turned back into the woods and picked up his pace, headed for home.

  ***

  There were two cop cars in Lena’s meadow when he got back to Blackwater Pond. Training his telescope on them, he stripped and took a cold shower as the rain that had been threatening all morning began in earnest. Ignoring it, he dressed in jeans and a sweater, grabbed his poncho, and paddled across the water to plant his last seeds of misinformation.

  “Hello,” he called to the cop on the dock, his accent pronounced. “I came to check on Mrs. Walker. Is she home?”

  The cop walked to the dock’s end. The God rested his paddle across the bow of the kayak and smiled up at him.

  “No, she’s not. I’ll have to ask you not to step on shore, sir. This is a crime scene. We’re in the middle of an investigation.”

  “What investigation are you talking about, officer?”

  “Detective. Detective Stan Spaulding of the Greenville P.D.”

  “Detective.” The God extended his hand and the cop bent to shake it.

  “Are you the neighbor from across the pond? The one who plays that crappy music?”

  “Yes,” The God said, pointing toward his dock. “I live just over there. What’s going on?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss it, sir. May I ask how you know Ms. Walker?”

  “I’m her neighbor. We’re friends. Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine.” Stan gestured at the cop cars and smiled. “Our being here has nothing to do with her, really.”

  “That’s a relief,” The God said. “For a moment, I was worried.”

  “Do you see much of her?”

  The God shrugged. “We walk in the morning from time to time. Often we have dinner.”

  “Dinner?” Stan Spaulding shook his head. “There seem to be all kinds of men lining up in front of her cabin these days.”

  The God nodded. “She’s certainly attractive. It’s no surprise men are drawn to her. But that’s not the reason for my visit.”

  “Fire away Mr...”

  “Andreassen. Odin Andreassen.” He arranged his features into a concerned frown. “Selene seemed a little…distant today. I just wanted to make sure she’s feeling alright. I’m on my way to town, you see. I always check to make sure she needs nothing before I go.”

  Stan Spaulding crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. “Just how well do you know Ms. Walker, Mr...?”

  “Andreassen. I’m quite close to Mrs. Walker, actually. She has become a good friend.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to be more than just friends, would you?”

  The God smiled and raised his eyebrows. “A gentleman does not kiss and tell, officer.”

  “Detective. Would you answer the question please?”

  The God frowned. He bided his time while the cop waited before he delivered his last tidbit of information. It was the final thing he needed to say; the words that would give Stan Spaulding everything he needed to put all of the wrong pieces together. “A gentleman does not kiss and tell, detective,” he said, finally, “but no…we’re friends only.” Shaking his head sadly, The God dropped his bomb. “Unfortunately for me, she’s in love with another. A young man from Greenville. A carpenter, I believe. Jacob something or other.”

  Stan Spaulding’s eyes widened. “Jake Morris? Are you sure?”

  The God cocked his head and frowned. “Jake Morris. Yes, that’s the one.”

  “I knew it! No wonder her husband’s divorcing her!”

  The God dipped his paddle into the water. The kayak began a slow turn. “I’m sorry to have interrupted. I’ll look in on Mrs. Walker later on.”

  “Wait!” Stan said. “You mentioned that she seemed out of sorts this morning?”

  He back-paddled, remaining a length away from the dock. “Perhaps it was the weather. Rain causes depression, I’m told. Or perhaps it’s because of this mess with the Janson woman. Lena mentioned she was quite close to Ann.”

  “Diana,” Stan said.

  He shrugged. “Lena called her Annie. I assumed she was an Ann.”

  “It’s a common mistake. Happens all the time.”

  “Want me to get started?” The call came from the shore. The second cop, cloaked in an orange raincoat, waved his shovel in the air.

  “Hold off a minute, Blake. Let’s wait for the other guys.”

  The other cop nodded. The Go
d watched as he retreated to Lena’s porch. “I really should be going,” he said. “I have an appointment in town and don’t wish to be late. Good luck with your investigation.”

  “Greenville?” Stan Spaulding asked.

  “No, Dexter.” The God picked up his paddle and dipped it into the water. The kayak turned slightly. “When Mrs. Walker returns, please tell her I stopped by?”

  “Of course.” Stan glanced over his shoulder as two more police cars pulled into the driveway then turned back to the kayak. “We’ll probably need to speak with you again. How can we get in touch?”

  “203-675-0067,” The God said. “I check my messages every day.” He paddled into deeper water. “It’s always better to check with me before you come all the way up, though. I’m frequently away. My girlfriend lives in Dexter, you see.”

  Stan nodded and tucked the notepad with his number into his pocket as he turned away.

  “Oh, and detective?” The God added. Stan looked over his shoulder. “Please make sure you lock the gate on your way out…Selene’s afraid of people lurking about.”

  “I’ll bet,” Stan muttered.

  The God waved and glided off amidst the pattering raindrops. In the middle of the pond, a fish jumped. He smiled. It was only a matter of time, now, until Lena Walker was just a memory. First, though, she would have to become the bogeyman.

  Back on his side of the pond, he started Madame Butterfly for the detective’s listening pleasure while he checked on his prisoners. They were both sleeping soundly. Locking the shed behind him, he turned the Forerunner around and headed for the Mountain Road, humming as he drove. Behind him, his love goddesses slumbered; before him his new conquest awaited. Lovely Maeve, so young, so fresh, so willing. It was time to take things a step further with the Dexter girl. It was time to give her everything she desired.

  Chapter 38.

  The strident jangle of the bedside phone woke Alex Walker up. He looked at the digital clock and swore softly. He’d overslept. It wasn’t surprising considering the amount he’d had to drink the night before.

  Beside him, Pam Desjardin groaned. “What time is it?”

  “Ten fifteen,” he said, reaching for the phone. “I was supposed to be on the road by seven.”

  “Oh no,” she said, bolting from the bed. “You were supposed to be on the road, but I was supposed to be at work! I’m late.”

  Alex watched the bathroom door slam behind her trying to remember just how she happened to be in his room. He remembered talking with her at The Black Swan and he remembered drinking shots of Jagermeister. Other than that, his mind was a total blank until three a.m. when he’d woken to her ministrations. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and picked up the receiver. “Hello,” he said.

  “Alex? Alex Walker?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Detective Stan Spaulding of the Greenville Police Department. If you have the time, sir, I’d like to speak with you.”

  “Go ahead,” Alex said.

  “In private, sir. It’s about your wife.”

  Alex clutched the phone frowning. “She’s okay, isn’t she?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk about sir. She’s not with you this morning, is she?”

  “No.”

  “You’re absolutely certain?”

  Alex laughed. “Absolutely, positively.”

  “I’m down in Blanchard, below Breakneck Ridge. Do you think you could meet me at your wife’s cabin?”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Like I said, I’d rather speak with you in private, Mr. Walker, but I can tell you that there’s reason to believe that she was distraught last night and now she appears to be missing.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Alex said, pushing the sheet away and reaching for his boxers. “By the way, how did you know where to find me?”

  “Greenville’s a small town, Alex. Word gets around fast.”

  “I’ll say… I just got here yesterday afternoon.”

  “It seems you made quite a spectacle of yourself at The Swan last night,” Stan Spaulding said. “According to Len, he had to cut you off and throw you out on your ass. Word has it you alienated everyone in town in just over four hours. Say hi to Brookie for me if she hasn’t left yet, by the way, would you? We’re old friends.”

  Alex hung up and reached for his pants, replaying the conversation. The detective had said that Lena was missing. There had to be some misunderstanding; when she’d tossed his wallet onto the bar, she’d been mad, but other than that, she’d been fine. Certainly, she hadn’t been distraught. He pulled on his shirt, threw his things in his bag, and left the room without a goodbye. Pam Desjardin had been fun for a night, but he wasn’t interested in revisiting the action. Jake would be pissed if it got back to him, and so would Lena…although she could hardly blame him after throwing him over for her Norwegian neighbor. He sighed. It was probably too late to control the damage. Small towns. If Stan Spaulding already knew he’d slept with Pam, the whole town knew, Jake and Lena included.

  Passing through Monson, he stopped to fill the tank and use the bathroom. At the front counter, he bought a cup of coffee and paid for the gas. His eyes were bleary and his head ached; he could smell the alcohol from the night before as it seeped from his pores. The woman at the register ran his credit card and handed it back with a look of distaste. Alex knew, from her expression, that he was not at his best.

  The sight of so many vehicles in her meadow renewed his anxiety. Something was certainly wrong. He searched for her Jeep among the unmarked Fords and the big SUV that Stan Spaulding drove. It wasn’t there. Dodging through the cars, he headed for the cabin.

  Stan himself met him at the door. “Come in, Mr. Walker,” he said, waving a piece of yellow notepaper in Alex’s face. “Thanks for getting here so quickly. It seems that we have ourselves a little problem.”

  “Problem?” Alex pushed past him into Lena’s living room. It was overrun by Stan Spaulding’s cronies. He pushed aside a box of doughnuts and threw an empty coffee cup in the trash and turned to face the cop. “I’m sick of the suspense. Why don’t you spell it out for me.”

  “Take a look at this note,” the detective said. “Don’t touch it, just look. Is this your wife’s handwriting?”

  Alex frowned as he read the words. “It looks like it. What does it mean?”

  “I have a team digging out the outhouse as we speak. If we find what we think we will, Lena’s in some deep trouble.”

  “What do you think you’ll find?”

  “Annie Janson’s head,” Stan said, bluntly.

  Alex shook his head. “No way, Stan! There’s absolutely no way Lena had anything to do with Annie’s death.”

  “I’d reserve judgment if I were you, Mr. Walker. At least until we check out this lead.”

  “Lena didn’t kill her,” Alex insisted. “Annie was her best friend.”

  “We’ll soon see, won’t we? Have a seat. You look like you could use one.”

  Alex sat. The old outhouse had been overturned and dragged away from the pit. He watched from the window as four men with shovels took turns digging. Fifteen minutes later, they had their answer.

  Blake Johnson arrived at the door, his face pale. “We found it,” he said.

  Stan turned to Alex with a smug grin. “You see?” he said. “I told you to reserve judgment. In the light of this new piece of evidence, I think you’ll have to agree that Lena was involved in the death of Annie Janson. It just remains to be seen to what extent.” He tapped on the doorframe and gazed out at the rain on the pond. “The only real question I have is where your wife is right now. Greenville? Dexter? Back home in Stamford?”

  Tap, tap. Taptaptap.

  Alex sank into a chair and lowered his head to his hands.

  “Any idea where she’d go, Mr. Walker?”

  “No. We’re estranged. She wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  “Really?” Stan Spaulding crossed his arms and stooped to Al
ex’s level. “I’m not so sure that I believe you.” Grabbing a jelly-filled doughnut, he walked across the floor of the cabin toward the front porch. “Don’t worry,” he added. “Wherever she went, she won’t get far. We’ll hunt her down and bring her in. If she’s in any way guilty in the disappearance or murder of Annie Janson, she’ll pay for it…I guarantee it.”

  ***

  The Interim Chief of Police got the call about the suspected suicide at Bald Mountain Pond just as he entered Greenville’s town limits.

  “Sorry, Stan,” the officer from Dover said. “We got all the way over there before we realized it’s on your side of the pond which makes it your jurisdiction.”

  “Shit,” Stan said, pulling into the Indian Hill Market. Three other cars, including the forensics team from Bangor and a statie, followed him. They convened in the parking lot, and held a hurried conference as the local population cruised by and speculated. Handing over the last piece of evidence, he said goodbye to the city folks while Blake entered the sporting goods section and hunted down the manager, Slim Grossman.

  Slim backed his Dodge Ram up to a trailer-load of kayaks and hitched it up. “I brought all the high-power flashlights we have in stock,” he said. “You all need anything else that you can think of?”

  “A tarp and rope in case we find her,” Stan said. “And food for the boys. Could you stop by the deli?”

  Slim nodded.

  “Get a dozen ham and turkey Italians, some chips, and a few jugs of pop. Charge them to the station.”

  “Sure thing, Chief.”

  “Do you know your way to Bald Mountain Pond?”

  “Ayah. We camp there every year.”

  “Good. We’ll get going on ahead. I’ve called for a special dive unit from Portland but they won’t get here until tomorrow. Hopefully, we’ll find her tonight.”

  Slim shook his head. “If she’s in the water, she’s a goner. It’s been cold these past few nights and the water temps are down… I doubt anyone’d last more’n two, three hours in there, tops.”

  “There’re lots of islands in that pond. She could have changed her mind and holed up on one of them,” Blake said.