Jackal

by Jackal in the Mirror (retail) (epub)

  And I hope

  New love will banish my fear.

  Now

  That you’ve died in my mind,

  It almost feels

  That you never were here.

  My heart has survived

  More than I thought it would.

  Now

  It simply looks

  For a love it can share.”

  Karla studied Daryl. His eyes were lost in his memories and filled with unshed tears.

  She reached over and touched his arm. “That’s so sad.”

  He turned to her. “It’s sad and happy. It’s the end of what shouldn’t have been, and the beginning of what might be.”

  “You wrote it?”

  “No. It’s from a book of poems I once had, and lost.”

  “You like poetry?”

  He shook his head. “No, only that poem. So,” he gestured toward the horizon, “what about of the view?”

  She turned toward the scenery. “You’re right, it’s stunning.”

  His gaze remained fixed on her. “It is indeed.”

  “How long before the sun sets?”

  “Long enough for us to enjoy it.” He slid closer to her.

  Sarah looked around to find herself parked on the side of the road, the sun glistening off the lake below. She whispered, “Martha, is Daryl referring to your book of poems? Is he the one who saw you with Gabriel?”

  She emerged from the car, stretched, and stepped to the edge of the road overlooking the lake. Mesmerized by the serene beauty of her surroundings, she gazed into the distance.

  “Okay, Martha, enough. I’m standing here, in the middle of nowhere, completely baffled, and with no cell reception, thanks to you. I certainly deserve your help. You’ve had enough time to recharge.”

  Left bank.

  Sarah turned left and squinted. In the distance, she managed to spot a small pier with a rowboat floating nearby. Above it, surrounded by trees, she discerned the top of a dwelling.

  “Oh, my God! Finally. Thanks, Martha.”

  She ran back to her car and sped off.

  17

  The Trail

  “Where the hell is she?” Conrad paced back and forth inside Sarah’s empty cabin.

  “I have no idea.” James stood by the door, dumbfounded. “I left her here last night after dinner. She wasn’t planning on going anywhere, or at least she didn’t tell me. I’m so sorry, Conrad.”

  “It’s not your doing, James, nothing to apologize for. Darn woman. She gets like this when someone is in her head. She reacts on instinct.” He looked at James standing sheepishly by the door. “Please, come in. Sorry for ranting and raving.”

  James stepped in and closed the door behind him. “She’s been detaching—the story in her head—”

  “Yeah, I’m well aware of what she does. It must’ve freaked you out.”

  “No, not really. I understand what she’s going through.”

  “Good. What was the last vision she had?”

  James sat on one of the chairs next to the small table. “While we were having dinner, she learned that the gossip in town was that one of the twins had killed his mother, but Sarah wasn’t convinced. She also said she knew where the first woman had been killed—she wanted to go right then and there to look for it. But it was dusk and I talked her out of it. Or thought I had.”

  “Any idea where that might be?”

  “Not a clue. She mentioned a house by a lake with a pier and rowboat. She said it reminded her of a plantation-type home, but on the other hand she doubted that was the one because the first house she saw was smaller. So in essence, no real clues.”

  “Well, at least it’s a beginning. We can start there.”

  “The problem is that most folks who live by the big lake or any of its tributaries have a pier and at least one boat.”

  “Yes, but she described the rowboat as being old and rickety.”

  “I suppose we can drive around and try to spot it.”

  “At least it would give us something to do.”

  James got to his feet. “Let me call the sheriff’s office and find out if they’ve made any progress in identifying the family she described.”

  “Can you check if they can trace Sarah’s location from her cell phone, too?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sure they’ll give it a go. The problem is that around the lake reception is very sporadic, and to top it all off, the entity is interfering with her signal.”

  “Interfering? How?”

  “By using her energy to block the phone connections with ear piercing static.”

  “That explains why I couldn’t reach her.”

  “Exactly. C’mon, let’s try to find that lovely wife of yours.” James stepped out of the room, grabbed his cell phone, and dialed the sheriff’s office.

  Sarah painstakingly followed the road around the lake, searching for a driveway that might lead toward the house on the left bank. However, the density of the trees impeded the view of the lake or any homes.

  After numerous attempts that ended in dead ends, her frustration, fed by increasing exhaustion, began to mount.

  “Martha, I’m having trouble finding the house, and I’m not going to trespass, so you need to guide me.”

  Silence.

  As she returned for the umpteenth time to the main road, she spotted a gas station a few hundred feet ahead. A quick glance at the gas gauge indicated that the encounter was indeed fortuitous, since the car was nearly empty.

  After filling the tank, Sarah pulled the hose from the car and headed toward the store. She reached the counter and spotted a young man crouched behind it retrieving packs of cigarettes, which he moved to the shelves behind him one by one.

  “Excuse me,” Sarah called out, “do you have a restroom I could use? Been on the road for a while.”

  “Here’s the key, it’s straight back on the right.”

  “Thanks.” Sarah headed back.

  A few minutes later, she came out, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed toward the counter. “I’ll take this. Would you happen to know if there is a house around here that belongs to the McKenzie family?”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar. You’re sure they live here in Clearlake Oaks?”

  “Not sure at all. But the house has a small pier and an old rickety rowboat.”

  The young man laughed. “Lots of folks have houses like that on the smaller inlets. Right around here you’ll find the big yachts. Just head north and veer off towards Alderwood. It’s more likely you’ll find small piers and old rowboats around there.”

  “Thanks.” She paid for her water. “You think I could use a phone? My cell is dead and I need to let my husband know where I’m headed. I’ll pay you for the call.”

  “Sure thing.” He reached for the phone under the counter and plopped it on top. Sarah picked up the receiver, but loud static kept her from putting it to her ear.

  “That’s bad,” the young man said, taking the receiver from her. “The lines go dead here and there, but I’ve never heard something that loud.”

  “Thanks, anyway.” She left the store, got in her car, and pulled out onto the road.

  “Martha you better tell me if I’m heading in the right direction.”

  Relate

  Daryl and Karla drove in silence.

  “Why so quiet?” Daryl asked.

  “Nothing special. Admiring the fading scenery as the sun disappears and thinking.”

  “About Andrew, no doubt.”

  Karla continued to peer out the window.

  “You’re a fascinating woman.”

  Karla turned toward him. “Thanks.”

  “So, what attracted you to Andrew?”

  Karla stretched in her seat and grinned. “You mean what’s a nice girl like me d
oing with a mystery man like Andrew?”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  “What could’ve made you hate him so much?”

  “I don’t hate Andrew. I told you that already.”

  Karla sighed and turned toward the window.

  “We’re different, that’s all. Very different.”

  “You can say that again. Like night and day.”

  “What do you find attractive about him?”

  She rested her head against the window. “Well…I love his unusual combination of strength and fragility.”

  Daryl shifted gears and gunned the engine. “Fragility?” he asked.

  “Why does that surprise you?”

  “Unless he’s become someone entirely different since I last saw him, my brother could never, and I emphasize never, be described as fragile.”

  “Well, he is.”

  The car tore along the winding road with increasing speed. Karla grabbed onto the dashboard. “Please stop this.”

  Daryl turned to her with an impish look. “You’re beautiful when you’re frightened.”

  “That’s a compliment I can do without.”

  He slowed slightly and she turned away from him. “Relax. I delight in beautiful women, and I enjoy telling them so.”

  “Now, you have, so you can stop showing off.”

  “As you command.”

  “Where’s this cabin anyway?”

  “It’s in Rosewood, a—”

  “Rosewood?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That’s where they found the bodies of all those women that were killed.”

  Daryl pulled over and stopped. He turned toward Karla and reached for her hand. “Listen to me. Don’t believe all those stories they told you back there. Rosewood is nothing more than a sleepy old town. Relax. Anyhow, I’m here, and nothing is going to happen to you.”

  “To me?”

  “Isn’t that why you’re scared?”

  “I’m not scared. It surprised me to hear that we’re actually going there, that’s all.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’re not frightened.” He engaged the gear and accelerated back onto the road. “All is well?”

  “All is well.”

  As the car careened along, the shadows of the night descended like a black curtain. An occasional light emanated from the smattering of homes along the mountain road.

  “You’ve entered Rosewood,” Daryl announced.

  “What? No welcome sign?”

  “No, they took it down.”

  “Why?”

  “To avoid notoriety.”

  “Can’t say I blame them.”

  A few minutes later the car approached an L-shaped building on the side of the road. The front was lit by a couple of old-fashioned lampposts and a sign that read “General Store.”

  Daryl parked in front of the store, got out, and walked around the car. He opened her door and offered her a hand getting out. “You’ll like this place. It hasn’t changed much since the early ‘40s.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep, been here forever. My dad loved it. He used to bring me here to get sweets and other things. It was our secret.”

  “Sounds like you were close to your dad.”

  “I was,” he answered with pride. “He was a great man and I learned much from him. C’mon.” Daryl dashed in looking like an excited kid on a visit to the neighborhood store.

  The moment Karla entered she felt immediately transported back in time. The store was stocked to the rafters with groceries, household products, and items such as shoes, shirts and jackets. To one side, the typical mid-century counter offered a myriad of sweets, sodas and ice creams. On the far end, behind a smaller counter, medicines and herbal remedies made their home.

  A balding middle-aged man wearing an apron tied around his rotund belly emerged from the back. He caught sight of Daryl and beamed. “Daryl, my boy, so nice to see you.” He strode over to him, picked him up in a bear hug, and laughed. “You’re definitely too big for me nowadays.” He set him back down and bent over to catch his breath.

  Daryl patted him on the back and laughed. “I’ve been too heavy for you for many years, but I love it.”

  The man straightened, holding on to Daryl to steady himself. “Nice of you to say, dear boy, considering I’m about to croak with the effort.” He glanced at Karla.

  “Oscar, this is Ms. Karla Jordan. She’s a reporter from the big city. Well, she’s actually much more than that.” He winked at her.

  Karla smiled and extended her hand. Oscar held it in both of his and shook it vigorously. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Jordan.”

  “Please, call me Karla.”

  “So be it. You writing about my boy here, Karla?”

  “No, actually about his brother, Andrew. Has he been here lately?”

  Oscar glanced at Daryl, who shrugged. He then turned back to Karla. “Not lately. In fact, I haven’t seen him in quite a while.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “A very long time. C’mon, join me at the counter and I’ll fix you a nice milkshake while we chat and catch up. We—”

  “No time for that, I’m afraid,” Daryl interrupted. “We’re off to the cabin and I’m cooking this lovely lady some nice steaks, so don’t spoil her appetite. Got any good ones hidden in your stash down in the basement?”

  “Sure do. Come, you can pick them yourself.”

  “No, I’ll hang around here and get some veggies and such. Take Karla with you. She’s never been in a place like this.” Karla frowned at Daryl. “Well, you haven’t.” He patted her on the shoulder.

  “How would you know?”

  “By the way you looked when you stepped in,” he said with another wink, “a sure sign.” He turned and walked away.

  “Miss Karla, you’re in for a nice trip down memory lane. Follow me.” Oscar headed toward a door at the back of the store. “This good-old store has been in my family since Robert McKenzie senior and his bride Anastasia first set foot in this part of the world. Well, almost.”

  Karla followed Oscar. He swung the door open and invited her to go in first.

  “This here is the office. The furniture is from back in the late thirties, early forties. I’m a bit messy, but my son keeps me on the straight and narrow. He runs the place these days and tries to show me how to organize things. When left alone, I create clutter. He’s away with his brood for a holiday so, as you can see, I’ve made a mess of things here. He’ll have a cow when he comes back.”

  Karla laughed. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

  “Oh, but it is. I’m just for show, like the rest of the antiques. So if I need to find something when a customer calls and I have no clue where it is, I flutter about and let them find it themselves.” He opened a door to one side of the office and switched the light on, illuminating a narrow staircase. “Watch your step going down those stairs. They’re a bit narrow.”

  Karla took one step at a time and descended into the basement.

  “This basement was Anastasia’s idea, so my grandpa said. A natural cooling system she told him, and she was right. We do have freezers upstairs, but the meat ages better down here.”

  “She had a hand in the store?”

  “I’d say. She’s the one talked good old Rob senior into the whole thing. He partnered with my grandpa and their wives stocked it. I’m sure you noticed some of the original products scattered about upstairs. Not for sale, mind you, but they give the place a nice nostalgic aura.”

  “Your family was in the same business as the McKenzies?”

  “Heavens, no, not at all.”

  “But—”

  “Rob senior started in the mines when he was in his teens.”

  “I heard that’s how he got started, but these pa
rts aren’t exactly famous for mines.”

  “Back in those days they yielded quicksilver, gold, and borax. My grandpa gave Rob a bit of a shove when he first came here from Canada so the townsfolk around here would take a liking to him. He got into mining and hit it big, got out, bought some land, and started farming walnut, pear, and other fruit trees.” He smiled. “Come to think of it, we did connect in business.”

  “Oh?”

  “My grandpa sold Rob’s produce. We still do, in fact.”

  “Even their wines?”

  “For sure.”

  “How did Rob get into wine making?”

  “Rob senior started it all right here with a few vineyards, but Rob junior, that’s Daryl’s dad, he’s the one got that industry going big. When Daryl took over, he bought wineries here and all over the world. That boy has a real knack for business, like his daddy.” Oscar laughed. “All the McKenzies do, really.” He opened a sealed locker and exposed several shelves of prime beef, each with the date their dry aging had started. “Pick what you like.”

  “Please, Oscar, you do it. I wouldn’t dare. You’re familiar with Daryl’s taste better than me. I only met him recently.”

  He stared at her in surprise. “Oh?”

  “I’m in search of Andrew, so I went to Daryl.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Are you asking me why I’m looking for Andrew, or why would I go to Daryl?”

  “Both, if you care to answer.”

  “Okay. Well, Andrew disappeared out of the blue several days ago, and later his studio was ransacked—”

  “Studio?”

  “He’s an artist.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. Any good?”

  “Very good.”

  “So you’re one of them investigative reporters?”

  Karla laughed. “No, nothing like that. I write for art magazines.”

  “You’re an artist, too?”

  “No, I love art and can write about it. That’s the simplest way to describe what I do.”

  “You’re a critic?”

  “No, more of an observer.”

  He grabbed a piece of butcher paper, and selected a slab of meat, from which he sawed off a couple of steaks. “How about these?” he asked when he’d placed them on the paper.