by Gail Lukasik
Rather than answer him, I got up, leaving the sugar packets on the table, and walked toward the dining lodge exit.
Before I reached the door, he yelled, “You got me all wrong.”
As I followed the path toward the apartment quad, I considered Bob’s text. Contrary to what I told Rich, a part of me believed Bob had found something at the cabin, but I didn’t want Rich to know that. There was no way Rich could have faked that text. Maybe I should check out the cabin again.
But the bigger part of me was starting to worry that Rich was seriously unbalanced. The sooner I was finished with this article and back home, the better. Hurrying up the limestone steps, I started formulating how I would handle Theo Sinclair, M.D., plastic surgeon to the stars.
“Nate talked me into becoming a part owner,” Theo Sinclair explained. He had a flat Midwestern accent and an openness I hadn’t expected.
I’d told him I was writing an article on the BT, which was sure to go national because of Nate’s death, and that Nina was announcing the partnership tonight after the performance, along with the identity of the anonymous donor. It wasn’t a complete lie; Nina was announcing the anonymous donor.
Sinclair had expressed no knowledge about an anonymous donor. Though he seemed enthusiastic about the possibility, calling it “Just what the doctor ordered.”
“Nate came to me last year for a consult. Can’t say more than that. Anyway, we got to talking, and that’s when he made his pitch. His ex-wife Nina Cass was desperate to rebuild the theater, and Nate wanted to help her out. He admitted that I’d be helping him as well, since he was trying to make a comeback via the BT.”
“As a partner are you involved with the production end of things?” I was leading him ever so gently to what I really wanted to know. Were there conditions on this partnership?
“I leave that up to Nina and Alex. My involvement is purely financial. My tax accountant thought it was a good investment. Didn’t Nina or Alex explain this to you?” Suddenly, he sounded suspicious.
“Nina was a little fuzzy on the details and said I should talk to you about it. Like I said, Nina intends to announce the new partnership tonight. I just wanted your side of things.”
“Well, you’ve got it.” He was definitely on guard.
“Are there any conditions to your partnership?”
“Like what?”
“Like do you have the option to end the partnership if not enough money is raised to rebuild the theater?”
“Listen, any partnership can be dissolved depending on the terms. You should know that.”
“Right, but you didn’t answer my question. Is there a condition in your partnership contract that if not enough money is raised to rebuild the theater, your partnership is null and void?” He was already suspicious, so what did I have to lose by asking again?
“Look lady, I don’t know what you’re fishing around for, but the terms of the partnership are none of your business. Now I’m due in surgery, so if you have any more questions, you can call my lawyer.” He hung up abruptly, without giving me his lawyer’s name or phone number. I’d bet my meager salary his next phone call would be to Nina.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
After a quick lunch of peanut butter, saltine crackers and diet soda, reminiscent of my college days, I decided now was the ideal time to check out the cabin. It was almost two o’clock, which meant everyone would be occupied elsewhere: the actors and crew in rehearsal, and Rich busy setting up the beer garden for this evening’s performance.
After locking my apartment door, I shuffled down the steps and around the back of the building, avoiding the main theater grounds.
Traveling light, I’d taken the essentials—pepper spray, mag-light, notebook, pen, cell phone and baseball hat. Though the heat was like a wet blanket, I’d worn jeans, running shoes and a long-sleeved cotton shirt, anticipating the array of insects after my blood. All exposed areas were doused in bug juice.
It was a short jaunt through the BT woods to the shoreline trail. When I reached the trail, ominous clouds were moving in, blotting out the sun and turning the sky smoky gray. Maybe it would finally rain and end the drought. Ignoring the heat, I quickened my pace, wanting to get on the path to the cabin before anyone saw me.
As I rounded the curve, I saw the bench, the unofficial marker, and starting jogging toward it. When I reached the bench, I stopped to catch my breath while I looked up and down the trail. Satisfied no one was following me, I donned my baseball hat and walked left into the woods. The dense tree cover and heavy clouds made the narrow rocky path barely visible. Afraid I might trip over a fallen tree branch or hummock, I slipped my maglight from my pocket and shone it in front of me as I walked.
Every few minutes I stopped and glanced back, making sure no one was behind me. The skittering of squirrels and the fluttering of birds added to my paranoia.
Finally, I spotted the green painted cabin through the thick clustered trees. Seeing the lonely isolated cabin made me want to turn around. Instead, I increased my pace, keeping the light focused on the path. If Bob had found something in the cabin that explained Danielle Moyer’s disappearance, I wanted to see it.
When I reached the cabin, I switched off the maglight and moved toward the kitchen window I’d pried open. But as I walked past the front door, I noticed the piece of wood nailed across the door was no longer there.
Someone’s been here recently, I thought, looking around. A few feet away, I spotted the wood slat resting against a cedar tree. Whoever had removed it intended to put it back. Staring at the now unfettered front door, I debated whether I should go inside the cabin.
“Hello,” I called, my voice echoing through the woods. “Anyone here?”
A crow cawed loudly in answer, then something scurried through the underbrush. My first instinct was to run back to the shoreline trail and return to the safety of my apartment. But after a few deep breaths, my hammering heart calmed. My rational side told me that other than animals, no one was here. The door was open. I might as well take a look.
I put my fingers through the splintery hole that once held the doorknob, opened the door and walked across the rutted threshold into the cabin. Even with the windows unboarded, it was dark inside, the overhanging trees and gloomy day added to the darkness. I turned on my maglight and made my way down the short hallway to the kitchen. A rank smell I hadn’t noticed before now permeated the air. Probably a dead field mouse, I reassured myself.
On the kitchen table there were three white stoneware plates and glasses instead of two place settings. The candle was still there, only it had burnt down to almost a nub. Matches were also on the table. I struck one on the table and lit the candle. It was so dark inside that my shadow grew and ebbed around the room as I searched through the cabinets and drawers, finding a few odd pieces of silverware, a chipped cup and a faded, water-stained photograph caught in the back of a drawer. Even in the intense halo of the maglight, I couldn’t make out the faces of the three people. I put the photo back in the drawer.
All that was left to explore was the pine cupboard, which I was purposely avoiding, saving it for last, afraid whatever I found inside would send me running from the house before I finished my exploration.
I left the kitchen and checked out the west-facing bedroom. Other than cobwebs and dust almost as thick as a carpet, the room was empty. As I entered the second bedroom, I stopped. Pushed against the wall was what looked like a sleeping bag, which hadn’t been there before. It was rolled up and tied with a piece of rope, and something stuck out of the top. Resting the maglight on the floor, I squatted by the sleeping bag, untied the rope and unrolled the bag. A faint smell of body odor wafted up. Tucked inside was a pair of men’s jeans and a plain white t-shirt. The t-shirt was what had been sticking out of the bag. I picked up the maglight and examined the jeans, which were torn at the knees, frayed at the bottoms and mud-splattered. The tag had been torn out of the waistband; the same for the t-shirt. If I had to guess, I�
�d say the clothes were a large. What were they doing inside the abandoned cabin rolled up in a sleeping bag? Was someone living here?
I put the clothes back inside the sleeping bag just as I’d found them, rolled up the bag and tied it with the rope. As I stood up, a wave of dizziness came over me. The cabin’s rank smell, mingled with the stink of body odor, filled my nostrils. It felt like I couldn’t get enough air. I still hadn’t found anything relating to Danielle Moyer’s disappearance. There was only the kitchen cupboard left to explore.
When I returned to the kitchen, the candle had sputtered down to a puddle of wax, its light all but gone.
As I reached for the cupboard’s wooden knob, I told myself there was nothing in there but a tattered nightgown with a brownish stain. But still I hesitated, my hand on the knob, a clammy sweat breaking out all over me. I touched my forehead with the back of my hand as if checking for a fever. Okay, get a grip.
Instead of flinging the door open and ending the mounting suspense, I directed the maglight’s concentrated circle on the middle of the door as I ever so slowly eased it open, keeping my eyes focused on the light. A white filmy object came into view—the nightgown I’d seen before. I let out a deep breath and flung the door open. What was I expecting, a dead body?
Then I let out a yelp and fell backward against the table, knocking the dishes to the floor in a resounding crash. Still holding the maglight, I shined it at the horror inside while I listened to the scuttling of animals overhead.
A woman had been shoved in the closet, her long dark hair covering her face, wearing a nightgown splattered with blood. As I moved the maglight up and down her crumpled body, I put my left hand to my chest in relief. The woman was a mannequin. Someone had put this horrific thing in the closet after I’d last been here. Was this what Bob wanted me to see?
Even though I knew it was a mannequin, it still gave me the creeps. The grotesqueness of the bloodied nightgown, the mannequin’s head bent over, the hair covering the face, created a scene out of a horror film meant to terrify whoever found it. I stepped closer and pushed the hair from the face, letting out another yelp in spite of myself. Her eyes were open and looking right at me, glassy blue with black irises, so real I wanted to shut them as if she were dead and needed to be put to rest.
Bob’s text message played in my mind. “Danielle Moyer w/s ghost.” The part of me that thought Bob had sent the text was all but gone, replaced by my belief that Rich was the culprit. I didn’t know how he could send that text to himself. Unless he had Bob’s phone. And if he’d sent the text, then he’d planted this mannequin with the blood-splattered gown for me to find.
For what reason? Payback for not wanting to date him? Was he that sick? Suddenly, I was shaking. I had to get out of there and fast. I dug my cell phone out of my purse and quickly took a photo of the mannequin, as if even I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t have proof.
Then I ran down the short hallway and into the woods, the maglight guiding me like a glow of safety, lighting the stony narrow path through the dense woods back to the trail, back to the real world. My imagination was in full gear, every sound loud and menacing as I crashed through the woods, making too much noise. If Rich was hiding somewhere, he had only to listen to find me.
I shined the flashlight up ahead and saw that the shoreline trail was just a little farther. Why had I fallen for his sick joke? Because I couldn’t believe he was that demented. I prided myself on reading people, using my gut to get a sense of who they were, studying their gestures as if they were moving pictographs, listening for the meanings behind their words. I knew Rich was a social misfit when it came to women, but I didn’t think he was vindictive enough to do this. Even his inappropriate flowers weren’t malicious; misguided yes, but not malicious.
Just a few more feet and I’d be back on the trail. I slowed my pace and took off my hat, fanning my face with it. Suddenly, I was yanked backward by my hair. I grabbed at my hair, trying to free it, dropping the maglight and my hat in the process, then turned and slapped at my assailant.
“Hey, quit it,” Bob said, letting go of my hair and putting up his arms in front of his face to ward off my slaps. “It’s me, Bob.”
My adrenaline was running so hard, I slapped at him again. “You scared the hell out of me!” I shouted.
“You came. I didn’t think you’d show up.” He was grinning sheepishly.
“Listen, you idiot.” I was still pumping with nervous anxiety and fright. “You could have given me a heart attack. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were staying with some college buddies or something.” I was starting to calm down. He looked as scared as I felt.
“Shush,” he said. “Not so loud.” He pulled me by my arm deeper into the woods.
“Let go of me,” I jerked my arm away. “This better not be one of your and Rich’s practical jokes because it isn’t funny. It’s demented.”
“It’s not a joke, okay. Something bad is going on here. Really bad.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come back to the cabin and I’ll tell you.”
I crossed my arms firmly across my chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You tell me now, or I’m going to report you to Alex. You’ve been living in the cabin all this time, haven’t you? I saw your clothes rolled up in the sleeping bag.” I stared up at his pudgy face, taking in his sickly smell of body odor and dampness. “I’ll bet he’d like to know that. You know he called your parents and complained to your school.”
“Yeah, well, he’s a dick. I tried to tell him what was going on. But he wouldn’t listen. And now Nate Ryan’s dead. And your friend got attacked. I saw the photo of you and her on the Internet.”
“What do you know about any of that?”
“I heard something I shouldn’t have. Only after Ryan died and your friend ended up in the hospital did I realize something wasn’t right. That’s when I sent that text to Rich and asked him to show it to you.”
“What did you hear?” I wasn’t convinced, but he had my attention.
“The night of the after-party, I saw that friend of yours leave with Ryan. Then he comes back all smiles and high on something. He even patted me on the back as if I was his BFF. He was like bragging to me about how he was going to save the BT, then his cell phone goes off. It must have been a text because he’s, like, reading it. And he turns kinda pale and then bolts like he’s got some big appointment at three-something in the morning. By then the party’s winding down, so I decide to bolt too. As I’m walking, I see Ryan on the trail up ahead. He’s not running, but he’s walking fast and muttering to himself, angry like. Just as the trail curves right, he disappears into the woods. He doesn’t even see me, he’s so upset. I know he’s heading for the Moyer cabin, so I follow him. When he gets there, I hide near enough to watch. Someone’s pried open the front door and he goes in. That’s when all hell breaks loose.”
“What do you mean? Was someone else there?”
“I couldn’t make out most of what they were saying, but yeah, someone else was there. They were shouting. Well, mostly Ryan was shouting. At one point, he shouts, ‘I could kill you, you bitch.’ Then she screams back, ‘Like you killed her.’”
“Who screamed back?”
“Hold up, let me finish. Then Ryan really flips. ‘You can kiss the new theater goodbye. If you think you can threaten me.’ Stuff like that. Then she screams, ‘I didn’t do this!’”
“And then what?” His erratic storytelling was starting to irritate me.
Bob shrugged his shoulders. “Then Ryan storms out.”
“And the woman?”
“Guess.” Was this some kind of game to him? He certainly wasn’t acting like someone who was frightened enough to disappear.
I thought I knew who the woman was, but I wanted Bob to tell me. “I’m not going to guess.”
“It was Nina. She left about five minutes after Ryan, looking around like she knew someone else was there hiding in the woods.
But she didn’t see me.”
“Did you hear the name of the woman Nina accused Ryan of killing?”
“Nope. But after they left, I went inside the cabin. I nearly puked when I saw what was there. Hanging from the kitchen rafter was this dummy wearing a bloodstained dress. And get this. Pinned to her gross dress was a cast list for Twelfth Night. A red circle was around the name Danielle Moyer. So I’m thinking Nina meant Danielle Moyer.”
“That’s what someone wants it to look like,” I answered, concluding the same thing, but still not sure if Bob was behind the whole prank, although he had nothing to gain by it.
“I tried to tell Alex about it the next morning, but he told me he was done with my crap and he fired me. So I cleared out. Hitchhiked to Madison. But when I heard about Ryan and that lady, I came back.”
“Why should I believe any of this?” It all sounded so fantastical. But then Bob reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
“Check this out. It was pinned to bloody Mary,” he chuckled. “I kept it to show Alex.”
It was the second page of the original playbill from the BT’s production of Twelfth Night 1988. And just as he’d said, Danielle Moyer’s name was circled in red ink. As far as I knew the BT didn’t keep old playbills, so it was looking like Bob wasn’t the culprit, though Rich could have kept an old playbill. “And you’re sure you found this pinned to the mannequin.”
“I’m not making this up, okay? Alex didn’t believe me, and there’s no way the police are going to take me seriously. But you could do something. Rich told me how you were involved in those murders along the Mink River and ended up solving them. How the police had arrested the wrong guy.”
I cringed at the memory of how close to death I’d come, solving the murders.
“Maybe you could find out what happened to Danielle Moyer. That’s why I came back. I knew you wouldn’t believe me unless I showed you.”