by Susan Slater
She walked to the back door. It looked like the smokehouse was still in one piece, just off the deck, a few steps from where she stood. Skip had offered full services for any game killed on the premises—he could have the animal quartered and wrapped, then frozen, smoked or dried for jerky. He could have meat packed in dry ice for fresh delivery to anywhere in the states. Pheasants, ducks, and geese were dressed, ready for the oven; duck and goose pâté would be packed in separate containers. It was little wonder his ‘retreats’ as he called them were so popular. She moved to the hallway and admonished herself to stick to the task. A nostalgic tour wasn’t why she was here. She needed evidence in addition to empty chili cans that whoever was living here was also up to no good. An understatement considering murders and bombings.
The gloom now invaded the corners of the rooms and seemed to float down the hall ahead of her. It was no longer possible to see clearly without light. She switched on the flashlight again and swung it in an arc. She distinctly remembered a cloak room opening onto the hallway. Yes, there it was, complete with double barn-style doors. She opened the top one, pushed it inward, leaned against the shelf counter, and pointed the flashlight at the back wall. Rolls of house plans, some leaning, some stacked on the floor, filled a quarter of the tiny room. Connie’s house? Spec houses? Maybe someone rigging an explosive would need blueprints but finding plans wasn’t proof of anything. This was disappointing. No Robby, no explosives—
“Finding everything all right?”
Julie dropped the flashlight and whirled toward the voice. He was standing on the bottom step of the stairs about twelve feet to her left. An arm casually thrown around the pineapple carving of the balustrade. Even in the near-dark the picture taken twenty-five years earlier could have been taken yesterday. Arthur ‘Mac’ McNamara hadn’t changed much. There was still the bravado, the mocking half smile that seemed to curl his lip more than express emotion. And the eyes—hard, piercing and more than anything else, angry.
She swallowed, “I’m Julie Conlin. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m executor of Ms. CdeBaca’s estate. Her lawyer asked me to inventory all holdings on the property.”
“That’s bullshit, Sweetie. I don’t want to waste time pretending. Something more like curiosity brought you here. You know and I know I’m supposed to be dead. You were with the squaw princess the day Mr. Devon went to his reward.”
“With your help?”
The laugh was harsh. “Hardly. He was an idiot. He blew himself up.” Again, that guttural laugh. “I did help myself to what was mine, however, and traded places. The squaw princess owed me. I don’t think she ordered me killed—I think that was the PI’s bright idea.”
“But you killed the golden goose—that doesn’t seem too bright.”
“The squaw princess? Sorry, not my work.”
“But the cover up?”
“Taking her house out? Now, you’re getting warm.”
“I could have been killed.”
“You weren’t supposed to be there.”
“Who warned me? He probably saved my life.”
“I think you know.”
What did he mean? Did she know? Had it been Robby all along?
“Where’s Robby?”
“Son of squaw princess? Hey, sounds like the title of a book or a bad sitcom.” More laughter. “Can’t tell you that. Never seen such a family for half-breeds and bastards. Ol’ Skip’s flipping in his grave.”
“You can’t tell me where Robby is? Or don’t know?”
“Same difference, isn’t it? But that’s for you to find out.”
“Was Wayne just in the way? Knew too much maybe?”
“You could say that. Ever know a lawyer to respect boundaries? Know when enough was enough? This one couldn’t even follow directions.” He straightened and stepped down to floor level. “The question is, what do I do with you? I wasn’t planning on company.”
“My fiancé just dropped me off. He’ll be back in half an hour.”
Mac stepped to the door and, only briefly taking his eyes off of her, opened it a crack. “I doubt that. No one’s going anywhere in that mess and not up this road. But I bet he’s going to be surprised to find that the driver’s a CdeBaca. He’ll probably figure out you’ve got company up here. He’ll try to play the hero.” Mac was frowning, obviously not liking the situation.
“So, you’re in this mess with your old Army pal?”
“You could say that. Jonathan doesn’t want to see this place ruined any more than I do.”
“And that excuses killing?”
“You do what you have to do.” He looked out the door again, then shut it firmly. “Looks like it’s just me and you for the evening. Isn’t that cozy? Shall we adjourn to the soft furniture?” He made a flourish of clicking his heels, coming to attention and slightly bending forward at the waist, holding his arm outstretched.
She hesitated. What was she going to do? Should she bolt and run? Could she outrun him? Doubtful she could even get past him and out the door—front or back. And near white-out conditions … could she make it to the road? How disorienting was the storm?
Suddenly, her cell began a rendition of a Sousa march. Ben. She quickly dug the phone out of her pocket. And just as quickly Mac struck it from her hand.
“I’ll keep this.” He picked it up off the floor and let the ringtone finish. Then he snapped it open, turned it off and dropped it in his pocket. “Don’t want any temptations lying around. Now, how ’bout a little drink by the fire? Oops, forgot there’s no firewood and no liquor.”
He grabbed Julie’s arm and twisted it behind her, forcing her to walk in front of him.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Ben looked in the rearview as he drove away, but Julie had already disappeared in a curtain of white. He hoped he was doing the right thing by splitting up. It certainly seemed the safer thing to do. He was going to have to push it to catch the Hummer and that would be dangerous. The snow was at least four inches deep and continuing to come down—faster and thicker. It was like driving into a wall. He had maybe a car’s length of visibility and the truck was struggling to maintain traction.
It hadn’t dawned on him that the lodge might not be open, but Julie would be smart enough to break a window or seek shelter in one of the outbuildings. He’d be back within the hour. She was dressed warmly. He reached for his cell, flipped it open and dialed Lieutenant Samuels, but he had left for the day. He ended up telling a dispatcher what was going on, where he was and that he needed the Hummer intercepted. He tucked the phone back into his jacket pocket and was thankful he’d freed up two hands for the steering wheel as the truck glanced off the side of a large rock and slipped precariously close to the opposite edge of the road. An eight-foot embankment would have taken him out quickly. The snow had buried several pitfalls, and he was driving from recent memory with crossed fingers.
He rechecked that he was in four-wheel-drive and then he accelerated. Twenty miles an hour seemed like a hundred. Rounding the first turn, a gust of wind cleared the air for a second and he could see the Hummer’s taillights. He had to acknowledge that Mac was a good driver or maybe the Hummer really was the better vehicle for these conditions. He was doing at least five miles an hour faster than Ben. The trick now was going to be keeping him in sight and not losing him when they got to Juan Tabo Boulevard.
They passed the turnoff to Connie’s and now were covering the last mile of downhill paved road, which intersected with the major thoroughfare. The 7-11 was dark other than security lights that offered a pale gold glow at the corners of the building. Then it dawned on Ben—the Hummer wasn’t slowing down. There was no way the driver could keep it under control on the icy incline unless he slowed now.
Ben began to brake but was mesmerized by the vehicle in front of him. Suddenly its brake lights burst on at the same second it started to spin, careening wildly left, back right, and then in a three-sixty, it flew onto Juan Tabo going sideways across traffic. Ben didn�
��t need to have the window down to hear the sickening scrunch of metal as the Hummer plowed into a pickup, pushing it into a guardrail.
Ben parked at the edge of the convenience store’s parking lot and sprinted onto the boulevard. Another car had stopped, putting on its flashers. Ben reached the driver’s side door on the Hummer and pulled it open as Jonathan CdeBaca slipped sideways from behind the wheel. Ben caught him and lowered him to the ground. He checked for a pulse and used a rag from under the Hummer’s front seat to slow the blood gushing from Jonathan’s hairline. Ben wound the cloth tightly around his head and tucked the ends. Makeshift, but the flow seemed to be slowing. He appeared to only be knocked out, but paramedics would make sure.
He left Jonathan to check on the driver of the pickup. The man was already out of his truck’s cab and inspecting the damage. Ben introduced himself and told him help was on the way. A few scratches but the guy seemed all right, just mad. His truck was totaled.
The shock of not finding Mac McNamara didn’t register until Ben had pulled himself up into the Hummer on the passenger side to see that it was empty. Jonathan had been the only occupant. Ben heard sirens as he walked back around the Hummer to stand beside Jonathan who was making noises of coming to.
What had Ben done? Thinking she would be safe—safer than riding with him—he’d put Julie squarely in danger. Big danger. There was no doubt in his mind Mac was at the lodge—maybe Mac holding Robby hostage. He’d never felt so impotent.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Julie’s number. It rang seven times and went to voicemail. He banged his gloved fist on the Hummer’s fender. Damn it. What if it was too late? All his strength seemed to drain away—do something, he kept saying to himself, you’re wasting time, you have to go back. Move. He didn’t see Lieutenant Samuels until the cop was standing in front of him. Ben quickly told him what had happened and the danger he suspected Julie was in—maybe Julie and Robby.
“Shit.” Lieutenant Samuels stood looking across Juan Tabo and up the county road. “There’s no way you’re going to get a vehicle up there. We’ve closed all major arteries and when those go, the side roads including the county are off limits. There’s at least eight inches on the ground with a lot of drifting and deeper snow at higher elevations. We’re going to have to hike it.”
“We?” They both stepped to the side as the paramedics strapped Jonathan to a gurney and prepared to wheel him to the emergency vehicle.
“Can’t let you do this by yourself. I think you could be in real danger. Let me make sure this guy’s held after treatment and then we’ll take off.”
Ben felt the minutes like stings to his conscience. He had to stop thinking they wouldn’t be in time. They simply had to be in time. Ben watched as Jonathan struggled to get out of the constraints and a uniformed officer stepped into the emergency vehicle and closed the door.
“Looks like stitches and then he can be taken downtown. Don’t think he’s happy about it.” Lieutenant Samuels was pulling on goose-down reinforced gloves. “Ready? Let’s hit it.”
Ben fell in behind Samuels as both jogged across the street and began the incline past the 7-11. It wasn’t going to be easy; already the snow swirling from the east was blinding them. And they’d be walking into the storm the whole way. Ben slowed to take a scarf out of his pocket and wind it around his head, covering mouth and nose. Ben accepted the offer of a police-issue billed cap and watched the lieutenant snap his down jacket’s hood in place and pull the drawstrings to snug it up to his chin.
The first mile was hard; the second brutal. There was no pushing it. In a white-out, attempting to keep their bearings meant losing something as simple as the road. Time and time again they found themselves almost waist deep in snow, obviously having slipped off the road and into a ravine. Climbing back to where they should have been meant falling more than once. Their footing on the second mile of pavement was treacherous at best. The temperature drop of an hour earlier had formed a layer of ice, now covered with blowing snow. They quickly learned not to speed up just because the wind had cleared a patch of concrete—that was a recipe for a nasty tumble.
Trees which had seemed romantically beautiful before were now all but obscured. Darkness had fallen and even the lieutenant’s flashlight worked poorly. Ben wanted to check his watch. He did stop once and hit redial on the cell but again got voicemail. Of course, it could just be the storm, a problem getting a signal, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding. He’d never forgive himself.
“Isn’t there a shortcut?” The lieutenant had to cup his hands and yell literally in Ben’s face.
“I think we can get back to the house in a straighter line by going left where the mailbox used to be. The road levels there. But it’s going to be easy to miss.”
“Have you been that way before?”
“No.”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable trying something new when there’s no visibility. It’d be easy to get lost. Disoriented. I know we won’t be able to see the lodge.”
“We know we can stay on the road but it’ll be about thirty minutes longer—if not more.”
“It’s your call.”
Ben hesitated. Could he gamble getting there quickly against not getting there at all? “Let’s play it safe.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
They sat opposite each other in front of the fireplace on moldy-smelling overstuffed chairs. The leather was cracked and peeling and snagged Julie’s coat sleeves. The snow from her boots puddled on the hardwood floor and melded with other black stains too numerous to count. The room was far from its glory days. She pulled her coat around her. The wind seemed to find every chink in the log exterior and whistle in. And the downdraft from the fireplace attested to an open damper or no damper at all. It was better than being outside, but just barely. They were now in almost total darkness with the only sound being Mac’s drumming his fingers.
Was she setting Ben up? Yes—with no way around it. No way to warn him. The minute he found out Mac wasn’t in the Hummer, he’d be frantic. If he couldn’t drive back up to the lodge, he’d walk in. She knew him and he was beating himself up for leaving her, insisting she’d be safer here. But there had been no way of knowing—knowing Mac’s accomplice was his old Army bud. And she wasn’t sure how far Ben had to chase Jonathan. Had he been able to get a hold of the cops and get help? He might have ended up so far away it would take hours to reach her. She fought a feeling of dread. She just might be in this by herself.
“Is Jonathan coming back?”
“He was going to the 7-11 for supplies. Don’t know what’s going to happen with your boyfriend chasing him. But Jonathan can take care of himself. If I were a betting man, I know how I’d place my money.”
That wasn’t what she needed to hear. Would Ben even be able to get back to the lodge? If there had been a confrontation, Jonathan may have been armed. With Connie and Wayne dead, and probably Robby, what was one more? Or two? She couldn’t let herself go there, but she knew too much and was in the way. At least they had told Lieutenant Samuels about Mac switching places with Stan Devon. And there was proof. Mac’s cover was blown. Somehow it wasn’t very comforting to know he probably wouldn’t get away with anything. She’d really like to be around to make sure.
She needed to think. Her best chance, maybe only chance, was to get away. But Ben? Shouldn’t she wait? He would come back … if he could come back. She would need to warn him. No. Sitting here didn’t improve her chances of survival or his. She simply couldn’t take a chance and wait for Ben. She hadn’t seen a weapon but then this was a man who preferred strangulation or explosives—or both. A hands-on kind of murderer, so to speak. So, she’d just have to out maneuver him. How she was going to do that, she didn’t have a clue.
She could use the old bathroom ruse. There was a utility room off the kitchen complete with tiled floor, a drain in the center, and two deep double-sided utility sinks separated by a long granite counter—a place to clean the kil
l before it was brought into the kitchen to be dressed or taken to the smokehouse. Because skinning and gutting was anything but neat work, Skip had outfitted the room with a shower. And later turned it into a full bath the kitchen help could use by adding a commode.
She remembered large windows across the back of the room to the west and two on the north. At certain times of the day the natural light was perfect; Skip had often used the area to tie flies or clean his guns. Earlier, when she’d been in the kitchen, there had been a decided breeze coming in around that door. She’d bet anything a window was broken out.
If she had the time, one minute or two, she could get out the window and run for it. Definitely a figure of speech because she doubted there would be any running. She would go south, breaking for the trees as soon as she was off the deck. And then? The best bet would be to double back to the road and follow it to civilization. If luck were with her, she might intercept Ben.
“I’m going to the bathroom.”
“What?”
“Bathroom. I have to use the bathroom.” Julie got up, turned her back on Mac and started toward the kitchen.
“Not so fast.” He moved like a cat. He grabbed her arm before she heard him leave his chair.
“I don’t need company. This is something I can handle by myself.”
“And you think I was born yesterday? Come on, you’re not going anywhere.”
“I have to pee. I’m going to the bathroom.” She turned to confront him, defiant, hoping if she stood her ground and insisted he’d either have to let her go or show his hand. And somehow she didn’t think he was ready to make that decision. Was he waiting for Jonathan? That made the most sense. No killing unless there was a consensus of opinion.