by Dan Padavona
“Good day,” she said, rubbing the chill off her arms.
“Mrs. Mourning, I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, I’ve been up since sunrise.” She ran her eyes over the deck. “You work quick.”
“I like to finish projects.”
“When the Flemings were here, I worried the deck would collapse, it sagged so much in the center.”
“Old deck. It was time to replace the boards.”
He motioned her to sit on one of two Adirondack chairs off the deck. She fell into one. He turned the second to face hers as she gazed at the water. From Thomas’s yard, she could see Wolf Lake. When the wind came from the north like today, waves piled against the shoreline, and a cold spray wet the land.
“You have a beautiful view.”
He nodded and looked toward the water.
“I find it peaceful. When I was young, I’d sit here for hours until my aunt and uncle called me in for dinner.”
She noticed Thomas talked about his aunt and uncle with reverence, but never mentioned his parents.
“Sounds wonderful.”
“You can have the same view, you know?”
“About your offer to cut down the trees. That was kind of you, but that’s too much work.”
He removed his gloves and set him on the chair arm.
“It wouldn’t take long. A sunny afternoon is all I need, and you can keep the firewood.” He set his hands in his lap and assessed her. She got the impression Thomas was good at reading people. “You and Scout are welcome to use my yard anytime. I’ll finish the deck by tomorrow evening. I’d like to have you both for dinner, if you like barbecue.” He lowered his gaze. “The deck. That was insensitive. I don’t have a ramp for your daughter. We would sit in the yard, of course.”
She flipped her hair behind her ear.
“Let me talk to Scout. Speaking of my daughter, thank you for helping yesterday. I worry about her pushing herself around when I’m not there to supervise. That’s not the first time she got stuck.”
“Happy to help. She seems like a nice girl.”
“She is, and she’s maintained a good attitude since the accident.”
He leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees.
“Accident? Sorry. I assumed she had always…never mind.”
Naomi’s throat constricted. Sometimes the memory overwhelmed her. She could still see the look on Glen’s face as his eyes shot to the mirror, still felt the truck motor rumbling through her bones before impact. She brushed a tear off her eye and stared at her lap.
“We were driving out of Ithaca two years ago. A tractor trailer lost its brakes. The impact crumpled the rear of our car, and Scout was in the backseat when it happened.” She swallowed as her eyes misted over again. “The doctor told us Scout would never walk again. I keep praying for a miracle.”
Naomi dug a tissue from her pocket and wiped her nose. Thomas’s face remained stoic, but she caught a flicker of emotion in his eyes.
“Anyway,” she continued, crossing one leg over the other. “Glen, Scout’s father, blamed himself for the accident. There’s nothing he could have done. We both saw the truck flying at us. Glen says he should have punched the accelerator and shot through the intersection. But there was another car. He’s not remembering the incident accurately. My husband couldn’t live with himself after Scout lost her ability to walk. A chasm formed between us, and he stopped being a father or husband and crawled into a shell.”
“How’s Scout handling all of this?”
Naomi glanced over her shoulder. She expected her daughter watched from the bedroom window.
“My daughter hides her feelings well. But I know it’s killing her. Before the crash, she had so many friends in Ithaca. The kids in Wolf Lake don’t know how to approach her. They make her feel welcome in school. But when someone organizes a sleepover, they conveniently forget Scout. It doesn’t help that her father is missing in action.”
“So you separated from your husband?”
“Yes. We never divorced. But it’s been two years since we lived together, and Scout doesn’t see her father more than once a month.” Naomi pressed a fist against her teeth. “And the time between visits keeps getting longer.”
For a long time, they sat without speaking, the April wind shrieking over the water. Thomas narrowed his eyes in thought.
“What if I built a path through your backyard? Something that wouldn’t bog down every time it rained.”
“You keep offering so much, yet we just met. I’d be overstepping boundaries if I agreed.”
He waved her concern away.
“I could dig the path in a day, then fill it with concrete. Let it set for forty-eight hours, and Scout can get around the yard without worrying about mud.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t that cost a few thousand dollars if I hired a contractor?”
“Most of the cost comes from labor. Give me two days of clear weather, and I’ll trade you straight up—my labor and concrete for a couple steaks.”
Naomi played with her ponytail.
“You strike a hard bargain, Deputy Shepherd.”
“Please consider the offer. When my uncle built this house, his neighbors were his family.” He stared at his hands. “That was forward of me.”
“Not at all. Neighbors should be like family.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
When the clouds cleared after sunset, the night turned colder. Thomas was tempted to turn the heat on as he walked around the upstairs, shutting windows. A knock on the door brought him down the stairway. Except for Naomi, he hadn’t had a visitor since returning to Wolf Lake. He spied Darren Holt, the state park forest ranger, at the front door. A surprise on his face, Thomas pulled the door open.
“Hope you aren’t here to tell me I have another stranger sneaking around my backyard.”
“Ha, nothing like that. What’s your work schedule like this week?”
“First day is tomorrow morning at eight. I fall asleep at ten and wake up at six.”
Darren shook off his confusion and jiggled his car keys.
“I’m bored out of my skull. You up for a beer at Hattie’s?”
Thomas shoved his hands in his pockets. The last place he wanted to visit was a bar, but he talked a good game about meeting his neighbors and hadn’t left the house in twenty-four hours.
“I’ll grab a jacket.”
He eyed his wallet and reminded himself to stop at the bank tomorrow. Slipping a Mets cap over his head, he followed Darren out to the midnight blue Dodge Silverado parked in the driveway. The engine roared when Darren turned the ignition. Thomas turned his head toward Darren as they pulled onto the road.
“Who were looking for last night when you came through my yard?”
Darren returned the glance.
“I’ll wager Sheriff Gray spoke to you about the drug trafficking rumors.”
“Gangs come down from Harmon.”
The ranger nodded, his strong hands wrapped around the wheel as he navigated toward the village center.
“That’s the theory. I’ll let you in on a dirty little secret. The high school has an opiate problem. But don’t say that too loud in the village center, unless you want someone to shout you down. Wolf Lake buries its problems and keeps them secret.”
“Who’s supplying these kids?”
“Two gangs run the streets in Harmon—the 315 Royals and the Harmon Kings. The Kings push more opiates than Walter White. There’s a kid named LeVar Hopkins. He’s the muscle behind the Kings. Drives a black Chrysler Limited. You can hear the music thumping from his speakers a mile away. Twice in the last month, I spotted LeVar cruising Wolf Lake. Now why would a banger like LeVar frequent a sleepy resort village five miles from home? I doubt he’s checking out the real estate.”
Thomas stared out the window. Residences lined the road, and a child’s bike lay on its side in a front yard. People in Wolf Lake didn’t worry about crime, and some old-timers sti
ll left the doors unlocked.
“Okay, but why would LeVar sneak around the state park grounds after dark?”
“Two nights ago, I saw him driving along the lake around nine o’clock. Moving real slow, like he was looking for an address. The engine cut off a mile west of your place, and I lost sight of him. A half-hour later, someone crossed the trail.” Darren stared across the car. Thomas hadn’t made the connection. “If you head due east from the park, you’ll hit Wolf Lake High. This winter, the sheriff’s department chased off a group of kids, congregating out by the football field at midnight. Everyone scattered before the deputies caught them. The theory was the department broke up a drug sale.”
Thomas scratched his chin. He’d keep an eye out for LeVar Hopkins. But he wasn’t convinced a drug trafficker would cut through the state park to reach the high school. Wouldn’t it be easier to drive to the school?
Darren pulled the 4x4 truck into Hattie’s parking lot before Thomas could reply. Music from a cover band pounded through the doorway as Thomas and Darren leaped from the cab. Several patrons mingled outside Hattie’s. Two men in flannel work shirts eyed Thomas as he crossed the lot.
Hattie’s reminded Thomas of every rock-and-roll club he’d stepped into during his adult life, usually responding to an altercation. A stage sat opposite the bar, separated by a hundred feet of floor space. The staff pushed tables along the wall to make room for dancers. Mostly, people stood in front of the stage and bobbed their heads to the beat, bottles hanging at their thighs. The band butchered an ACDC song as the singer strained on the high notes, and the guitars sounded out of tune. A sarcastic clap followed when the set ended. After Darren chose a table away from the crowd, the waitress brought them two bottles to start. Thomas twisted off the cap, wiped the top on a napkin, and took a sip.
“When I’m upstairs, I see a light at the top of the park, shining through the trees. Is that you?”
Darren drank from his bottle.
“That’s me. There’s a row of cabins along the ridge line. Mine is on the end.”
“Anybody rent this time of year?”
“We get a few campers on the weekends. Business won’t pick up until the summer tourist season. You should stop up. I have five pavilions and a dozen grills to myself.”
Thomas picked from the bowl of pretzels the waitress set on the table.
“What’s it like living in a state park year round?”
Darren cocked his head in consideration.
“It’s about what I thought it would be. Relaxation interspersed with bouts of extreme boredom. We had a family of black bears knock a cabin door down last autumn. That was exciting. What about you? What made you leave the glitz and glitter of LA?”
He touched his back. After a heartbeat, he considered what his LAPD partner, Mick Harlan, would say. He’d make a joke.
“Besides waiting tables for ten years, expecting Hollywood to call?”
“Don’t forget earthquakes, fires, and runaway property taxes.”
“Yes, the taxes are high,” Thomas said, leaning back in his chair. He wondered how much Darren knew about the ill-fated raid. The story made the local papers. “They pay for infrastructure and social programs. But California was too busy, too frantic a pace. I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life there.”
“Anything in particular bring you back to Wolf Lake?”
Just as Darren asked his question, a woman with shoulder-length black hair crossed the room and took a seat at the bar. Thomas’s chest turned to ice. It couldn’t be her. She sat beside an athletic looking black woman with long braids down her back. They clicked bottles and shared a laugh. Damn, it looked like Chelsey Byrd. But he would have heard if Chelsey returned to Wolf Lake.
As the woman turned her head and reached into her purse, Thomas saw her face. His stomach dropped. She wore her hair a few inches longer than he remembered. Otherwise, she seemed caught in a time warp. Chelsey hadn’t aged a day since he last saw her before high school graduation.
Darren followed Thomas’s gaze.
“You know her?” Darren asked, knocking Thomas out of his haze.
“From a long time ago, yes.”
Glass smashed behind him when someone dropped their beer. Chelsey and her friend turned to look. Thomas ducked and covered his face, feigning a headache. He prayed she hadn’t seen him. He hadn’t processed Chelsey being in Wolf Lake. What would he say if she recognized him? He exhaled when she turned to her friend.
“I know that look,” Darren said, setting his bottle down. “Let me guess. Old girlfriend.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ll bet. You don’t seem excited to see her. Hattie’s isn’t the only bar in town, if you’d prefer a change of scenery.”
His racing pulse told him to get the hell out of Hattie’s before a yell from the doorway brought his head up. Dammit. Ray Welch strode into the bar, accepting slaps on the back from friends. Suddenly, Thomas starred in a nightmarish episode of This is Your Life. Bad turned to worse. Ray sauntered over to the two women at the bar and pinched Chelsey’s backside. Thomas rose from his chair, wondering if he was about to defend his old girlfriend from the jerk who terrorized him through his teenage years. To his shock, Chelsey grinned and kissed Ray on the cheek. What the hell was Chelsey doing, dating a guy like Ray Welch? He caught a scowl from the ebony-skinned woman as she sipped her drink. Apparently, the friend wasn’t as high on Ray as Chelsey.
“You know, I wouldn’t mind a change of scenery.”
Darren gave him a knowing wink.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
He stood below the deputy’s window. Darkness curled around his body like an old friend, making him one with the night’s shadows. An electric current buzzed inside his body. He’d gotten away with murder. It didn’t seem real.
Since Friday night, Jeremy had expected a sheriff’s cruiser to screech to a halt in front of his apartment building, lights flashing. No one came. Did they even realize the whore was missing?
Above his head, the A-frame pointed skyward and divided the starlight. So many windows. If Deputy Shepherd had been home, he could have watched the officer through the glass without the man knowing. He’d read about Thomas Shepherd in the newspaper. The idiot threw himself in front of a bullet to save another fool. And now he’d returned to Wolf Lake as a supposed hero.
He knew the real reason Shepherd came home. The man was a coward, running from his fears.
Behind Jeremy, the skiff bobbed with the waves. It had been a struggle to yank the boat from the state forest to the deputy’s shore, but the effort had been worthwhile. He’d drop his first victim’s headless corpse into the lake, steps from Deputy Shepherd’s home. The concept sent giggles rippling through his body.
His only regret was the deputy hadn’t been home tonight. The A-frame’s windows were no match for the glass cutter inside his pocket. The tool made an effective weapon in a pinch. But he preferred the serrated survival knife sheathed at his hip.
The urge to kill grew as he remembered the murder. The whore’s blood had appeared midnight-black beneath the starlight, and he longed to see it again.
A door slid open on the neighbor’s house as Jeremy edged away from the A-frame. He crept beneath a tree and watched from the shadows as a woman stepped onto a patio and cupped her elbows with her palms. A ramp led from the patio to the sliding glass door. Yet she wasn’t wheelchair bound. The breeze carried her scent. She smelled like wildflowers and desperation. His fingers curled and uncurled as the woman stepped off the patio and wandered into the yard.
Yes, please. Come closer.
He removed the knife from the sheathe and left his hiding place, following the shadows toward the unknowing woman. This was too easy. It was as if she’d ventured outside as a willing sacrifice.
Closer now. She stood ten steps away with jittery eyes fixed on the night. She sensed him.
His hand curled around th
e hilt. The woman shifted so her back was to him. She’d never see him coming.
A deer bounded out of the brush and startled the woman. Jeremy ducked behind a hemlock tree when she whipped around. The blood thrummed in his ears until he only heard his own breathing. The animal disappeared up the ridge line and angled toward the state park.
Before he lunged, the spooked woman backed away and rushed inside the house. He cursed beneath his breath.
No matter. He’d come back for her.
CHAPTER NINE
He’d made a mistake coming home to Wolf Lake. Thomas wore a painted-on smile as he passed Maggie’s desk and wished her a good morning. Sheriff Gray was waiting for Thomas inside his office.
He hadn’t slept. Thomas figured Chelsey moved to the other side of the world and settled down with a nice guy, someone who cared about her. Seeing her with Ray Welch sucked the life out of him. He grabbed a coffee out of the break room. Sheriff Gray sipped from a mug when Thomas knocked on the door.
“Bright and early on your first day,” Gray said, gesturing at the chair across from his desk. “That’s what I like to see.”
“I wake up two hours before work and exercise.”
“Great. Time to hit the ground running. You’ll work with Deputy Aguilar this morning. You’ll like her. Veronica joined the department three years ago, and she’s our best resource on Harmon gang activity.” As Thomas nodded, Gray opened a drawer and slapped a folder on the desk. “Speaking of Harmon, a woman went missing over the weekend.”
Gray opened the folder. The first picture was a school photograph of a young teenage girl, her tawny hair tied into a ponytail, eyes hopeful. The second photograph appeared taken from the window of a police or sheriff cruiser, the subject blurry and looking away from the camera. It was the same woman, now three to five years older. From the fishnet stockings and heels, Thomas surmised the girl worked the streets.
Gray tapped a finger on the second photograph.
“Girl’s name is Erika Windrow, eighteen-years-old. Grew up in a suburb outside of Syracuse. She ran away from home at fifteen and ended up walking the streets in Harmon. The 315 Royals run the prostitution ring, and the Harmon Kings are at war with the Royals.”