Jumping Rise

by S. W. Hubbard

  She was ticked, all right.

  They sat in the spot where trees had been cleared to provide a clear sight-line to the lake. The raindrops hammered into Mallard Lake, creating small waves across a surface that had been glassy and smooth in the morning. “I like watching a storm,” Penny said. “If I didn’t feel like I was being held prisoner here, I could enjoy this.”

  Frank tried to get interested in the spy novel, but the appearance of professional assassins pursuing women with unpronounceable names caused his attention to stray. He rose from his chair and paced up and down the porch, wondering if it was raining this hard in Trout Run, and if Earl was having trouble managing Edith’s funeral traffic. Finally, he spied a patch of blue in the west. “I think it’s clearing up.”

  “I’ll go get our bag,” Penny said.

  “I’ll look for Chet and meet you on the dock.”

  Frank’s baseball cap and fleece pullover protected him from the lingering fine drizzle. He followed the sound of a whining table saw to Chet’s workshop in the outbuilding behind the main house. Inside, Frank passed a jumble of shovels, gardening tools, tarps, a chain saw and gas cans. Ahead of him, a bare lightbulb illuminated a workbench where Chet appeared to be fixing a broken porch chair. The man ignored him until Frank stood directly in front of the saw. “We’re ready to go. Meet us at the dock.” Frank intentionally omitted a please and thank you.

  Chet glanced up from his work and gave one brief nod.

  Frank trotted down the long series of switch-backed stairs until he reached the dock. The sun had fully emerged from the clouds, and the lake sparkled. Frank took a deep breath of the fresh, rain-washed air. A fish broke the surface of the water and snatched a fly. The Balsams truly occupied a beautiful spot. He approached the edge of the dock, wondering if he could see a bass or a walleye stirred into activity by the storm.

  Frank gazed into the shallow water. No fins. Instead, long strands of blond hair waved like ribbon leaf pondweed.

  For the second time in twenty four hours, a young person’s body floated just below the surface of the water. But this one wasn’t unconscious. Her waxy face and staring green eyes told Frank she was dead.

  Heart pounding, Frank knelt for a closer look. The young woman’s tee shirt and shorts clung to her slender body. Her left foot rested against the sandy shore.

  The toes were painted sparkly blue.

  I know this woman. Her name is Caitlin.

  Chapter 13

  Frank and Chet pulled the girl’s body from the water and laid it out on the dock.

  The handyman had shown up as Frank was crouched at the end of the dock. His only reaction to the gruesome discovery was a slight grunt.

  “Do you know her?” Frank asked as they faced each other with the body between them at their feet.

  Chet shook his head, and Frank said nothing about recognizing the girl. He checked her pockets for ID, but they were empty. Frank’s thoughts churned. How had Caitlin gotten from the Mountain Vista Motel in Trout Run to this remote lake when she had no vehicle? Why was she here?

  By this time, Penny and Desmond had arrived. As Frank explained the situation, Penny’s hand came up to her mouth and her eyes blinked back tears. He sent her to sit in the boathouse while he walked Desmond out to the end of the dock. “How tragic,” Desmond said. “She must’ve been out on the lake and got caught in the storm.”

  But if the girl had fallen into the water in the middle of the lake and drowned, she would’ve sunk straight to the bottom and only risen to the surface when the body filled with gas after a few days. This girl hadn’t been dead for long. So she must’ve gone into the water close to shore. Frank recalled Penny’s insistence that she’d heard a young woman’s voice in the house last night. “Do you know her?” he asked Desmond.

  “No. I’ve never seen her before.” Desmond averted his eyes from the corpse on his dock. “She must be visiting one of the other camps on the lake.”

  “She’s about your sons’ age. Let’s get them down here and see if they recognize her.”

  “My sons don’t know any local girls,” Desmond insisted.

  “But you must know the residents of the other camps.” Frank didn’t let up. “There aren’t many, are there?”

  “Only three.” Desmond pointed across the lake to the East where no buildings were visible. “The camp over there is operated as a high-end corporate retreat. We have no reason or desire to socialize with the changing cast of visitors there.” He pointed in the other direction, toward the dock that Frank and Penny had been headed to when the storm came up. “That camp is owned by the descendants of Andrew Etheridge. Children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren—I know a few of them, but I can’t keep track of them all.”

  “Chet can stop there to ask if they’re missing anyone on his way to call the state police,” Frank said. “Will he need to go all the way to Verona to do that, or can he pick up cell service closer than that?”

  Desmond eyed him quizzically. “He’s taking you and Penny to Verona. You can call from there.”

  Frank shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere until the State Police arrive here. And Penny will stay with me.” He sure as hell wasn’t sending his wife off alone with weird Chet. He would have preferred to keep Desmond in his sight and away from his sons, but he had no grounds to detain the man, and Frank knew damn well that Desmond wouldn’t quietly obey his orders.

  “As you wish,” Desmond said with a frown. He pivoted to return to the house, then paused. “Aren’t you going to cover her? I can get a blanket from the boathouse.”

  “No, a blanket will contaminate the evidence found on her body.”

  “Evidence? Evidence of what? She fell out of a boat during a storm and drowned.”

  “Possibly. Possibly not.” Frank sat in an Adirondack chair on the dock and prepared to wait. “That’s for the medical examiner to determine.”

  Frank wrote out a detailed message to be read to the state police and dispatched Chet to Verona to make the call. With the handyman gone and Desmond back at the house, Frank returned to Penny in the boathouse and explained who the victim was.

  “Seriously? You’re sure she’s Mina and Sanjiv’s mystery guest? What would she be doing here?”

  Frank arched his eyebrows and pursed his lips as Penny said what he’d been thinking. “I want you to take a look at her and tell me if you ever saw her at the library.”

  Penny squeezed Frank’s arm tightly as they approached the body. She stopped a good five feet away. “God, she’s so young. No, I’ve never seen her. I would have remembered a girl that pretty.”

  Penny’s fingers pressed into Frank’s flesh. “This must be the girl I heard in the middle of the night.”

  “I didn’t want to bring that up to Desmond until the state police get here and can interview each of the Hales separately.”

  Frank led Penny back to the shore. Flies had begun to buzz around the body in the summer heat.

  NEARLY TWO HOURS PASSED before the state police arrived, but when they came, they came in large numbers. One team dealt with the body, while Frank spoke to Lt. Lew Meyerson, of Troop B in Ray Brook. Frank and Lew had worked together on cases in the past, and although they shared a mutual grudging respect, they also tended to butt heads over procedure and jurisdiction.

  Meyerson’s stoic face grew more incredulous the longer Frank talked. “You’re saying this girl disappeared from the Mountain Vista Motel...what...four days ago? And now she’s turned up dead here? And Penny heard a young woman’s voice inside the house last night?”

  Frank nodded. “We need to do a full autopsy. Check her body for evidence. For all we know, she may not have drowned. Maybe someone killed her and tossed her in the lake. But even if her death is accidental, we have to figure out her identity. This girl’s not a drifter or a runaway. Someone cares about her.”

  Lew looked in the direction of the massive house, not visible from here at the dock. “I’ll interview each of the Hales.”
He turned his head and squinted at Frank. “And what are you going to be doing?” Meyerson spread his hands to the surrounding landscape. “This is not your jurisdiction.”

  “I’m going back to Trout Run to track down Kinsella, the guy who rented the room. And I’m going to question Sarah Patel to see if she can give me more information about Caitlin.” He clapped Meyerson’s back. “You know me, Lew. Always willing to lend a helping hand.”

  BY THE TIME FRANK AND Penny made it back to Trout Run, the sun had slipped behind the white pines along Stony Creek. Frank had turned over the driving to Penny, so he could spend the time on the phone with Earl. He learned, with a mixture of pride and disappointment, that Earl had managed quite well without him. There had been a small scuffle at the Mountainside Tavern on Friday night, but the boys had settled down when Earl showed up. Edith’s funeral procession had contained thirty-four cars but had gone off without a hitch. On Saturday, a hiker had felt faint half a mile from the Hurricane trailhead, but Earl had revived him with some Gatorade and a granola bar. But Earl saved the big news for the end of the call.

  “Doris’s nephew, Blaine, is in the hospital. He OD’d.”

  “What!” Frank shouted into his phone. “How could he overdose in the county jail?”

  “Some guy visited him and slipped him some heroin to snort. We figure it must’ve been mixed with Fentanyl, and with Blaine being clean for over a week, it was too much for his system,” Earl explained. “They revived him with Narcan. Close call.”

  “But Blaine is on restricted visitation—just his lawyer and immediate family,” Frank protested.

  “Guy showed up claiming to be Blaine’s brother. Except Blaine only has two sisters.” Frank began sputtering in outrage again, but Earl cut him off. “Don’t worry—heads are going to roll over at the jail.”

  Blaine’s situation, on any other day, would have been a crisis. But today, Frank was preoccupied with the death of Caitlin. “Say—have you heard anything from the Patels?” he said without providing any context.

  “No, why should I?”

  “I’ll explain tomorrow morning. I have a lot to tell you, but it’s too complicated for the phone.”

  Frank hung up as Penny pulled into their driveway. “Man, I’ve never been so glad to be home.”

  Chapter 14

  On Monday morning, Frank drove directly to the Mountain Vista before even checking in at his office. He knew the state police would show up eventually to talk to Sanjiv and search Caitlin’s room, especially if the girl’s death turned out to be something other than a simple drowning. But Meyerson’s first priority would be talking to the other residents around Mallard Lake. Frank had no grounds to be involved in that, but he could use his relationship with Sanjiv to dig a little from this end.

  Sanjiv looked up in surprise to see Frank appear while customers were fixing themselves coffee and cold cereal at the motel’s breakfast bar. His cheery smile morphed into curiosity as Frank urged him to step outside for a chat.

  “We found Caitlin,” Frank began.

  “Oh, that is very good news indeed.” Sanjiv clasped his hands before him. “Will she be returning soon to claim her belongings?”

  “I’m afraid not. She’s dead.”

  Sanjiv gasped. “A traffic accident? A fall?”

  Frank explained the circumstances as briefly as possible and warned his friend that the state police would eventually want to talk to him. “It’s vital that we identify her, Sanjiv. I’ve been thinking about Caitlin. I’m sure she’s not some throwaway, some transient. Someone cares about her. But why did she end up here?” Frank squinted down the row of motel doors. “And how in the world did she get from here to Mallard Lake?”

  Sanjiv’s brow drew down in concern. “I, too, feel that she was a well-spoken young lady from a good family. Not rough.”

  “Did she ever talk to you or Mina about Trout Run or the High Peaks in general?” Frank asked. “Did you get the feeling she knew the area?”

  Sanjiv shook his head. “She did not make the small talk. Just asked for what she needed, but always very polite. However, the fellow, Kinsella, who booked the room....” Sanjiv pursed his lips as he thought. “As he booked the room, he looked around the office and said something like, ‘the place looks good.’ I am not certain, but he gave the impression he had been to the Mountain Vista before I bought it and approved of the updates Mina and I have made.”

  Frank perked up at this news. “Do you have the registration records from the previous owner?”

  Sanjiv made a sorrowful face. “They are not computerized. Just boxes and boxes of handwritten registration cards down in the basement. Mina tells me every year to throw them away, yet for some reason, I hang on to them. Maybe this is good, yes?”

  “We’ll see.” Frank did not relish combing through them, but imagined he might assign Doris and Earl the task. “Before I get them, I’d like to talk to Sarah. It seems she’s the only one who had any conversations with Caitlin.”

  By this point, Mina had joined them outside on the sidewalk.

  “I have already asked her to tell me anything she knows about Caitlin,” Mina said. “Sarah says the girl never gave her last name or explained who this Mr. Kinsella might be.”

  Frank knew Mina was a good mother, but he suspected Sarah might clam up under her no-nonsense interrogation. He planned to take a more light-hearted approach with the little girl. “Just let me chat with her as Uncle Frank, okay?”

  Mina shrugged and called her daughter. When Sarah skipped up, Frank asked her to show him her vegetable garden. Together they walked around to the back of the motel while Sarah chattered about bees that carried fairy dust to make the flowers bloom and sunflowers that shared their seeds with chipmunks.

  “Caitlin drew some good pictures of the chipmunks, huh?” Frank asked.

  “Yep. She showed me how to start—a circle for the head, an oval for the body, a rectangle for the tail. Caitlin says you can draw anything by looking for the shapes it’s made of.”

  “Sounds like she knows a lot about art,” Frank said.

  “She does,” Sarah opened the gate to the fenced-in vegetable garden. “Caitlin is a good artist, and her sister Rachel is a good musician. She plays that instrument that you hold funny.” Sarah pretended to saw away at the air between her hand and shoulder.

  “A violin?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Rachel is playing at a big concert, but Caitlin couldn’t go to hear her.” Sarah bent over to pick some sugar snap peas. “You can eat these raw—try one.”

  “Delicious!” Frank chewed and swallowed. “Why can’t Caitlin hear her sister play?”

  Sarah shrugged and ran to the end of the garden to chase a big starling pecking at the corn.

  “Rachel is pretty like Caitlin,” Sarah offered, apropos of nothing.

  “Oh? How do you know?” Frank bent over and pulled off a cabbage worm crawling over a broccoli plant.

  “Caitlin showed me her picture.”

  “A drawing she made of her sister?” Frank hadn’t recalled seeing anything like that in the sketch books, but perhaps he’d missed a page.

  “No, a picture in her camera,” Sarah said.

  Frank tensed. “She had a camera?”

  “Sure. She’d take pictures of the birds because they wouldn’t stay still long enough for her to draw them. But she had old pictures in there of her sister.”

  Sarah climbed onto a big rock and jumped off a few times.

  Frank picked a cherry tomato and savored the acidic explosion as he bit into it. Had Caitlin taken the camera with her, or was it still in the room? He hadn’t searched every drawer thoroughly. But why hide the camera if it simply contained pictures of wildlife and her family?

  “The day I took her mama’s chicken curry, Caitlin was sitting on the sofa in her room looking at the pictures in the camera.” Sarah said. “She was crying a little, and I asked her why and she said she missed her sister.”

  Frank watched as Sara
h skipped through the garden unaware that the young woman she’d befriended was now dead. But Frank had been correct—Caitlin was not alone in this world. She had a sister whom she loved. A sister who deserved to know what had happened to Caitlin.

  Frank brought Sarah back to the office, where Sanjiv now sat behind the desk with Farhan. “Come with me to room 12,” Frank said.

  Sanjiv rose immediately and grabbed the key while Sarah happily took his place on the swivel stool behind the counter.

  “Sarah has told you something useful?” Sanjiv asked as they returned to Caitlin’s room.

  “She said Caitlin had a camera with pictures of her sister on it. It’s a long shot, but maybe we’ll discover some clue to her identity.”

  When they re-entered the room, Frank went directly to the small sofa. He removed the cushions, revealing the folding bed mechanism. Carefully, he started to pull the bed frame out until it got stuck and made a scraping sound.

  There, jammed in the mechanism, was a small silver digital camera.

  Had it slipped down there, or had Caitlin hidden it?

  Frank pulled latex gloves from his pocket and handed them to Sanjiv. “Put these on and turn on the camera,” Frank told Sanjiv. Watching the motel owner, Frank hoped the little camera wasn’t out of juice. He still didn’t know if Caitlin’s death was an accidental drowning or something more. He couldn’t justify removing the camera from the room. If a crime had taken place, the state police would want to see the room with nothing disturbed. But Sanjiv had legal standing to be here.

  The camera hummed to life, and the lens cover popped open. Sanjiv’s nimble fingers called up the photos stored in the camera. As Frank watched over Sanjiv’s shoulder, they scrolled backward through the photos, from newest to oldest. As Sarah had said, there were many close-ups of birds and frogs and other small creatures. There were also some rather blurry photos of the view from the motel.