Bones and Brew Page 6

“Come on, Ben.” Louise jumped out of the boat and grabbed the oversized duffle bag packed with emergency supplies. She flung it over her shoulder and ran through the calf-deep water for the concealment of the woods.

  Figuring she had a couple minutes head start before the guy’s boat reached the shore, Louise ran along the rugged rocky trail as fast as her arthritic knees permitted.

  “Go … Ben,” she called out between gasping breaths. “Find … Milt … find Milt.”

  The hefty black Labrador sprinted ahead, disappearing over a wooded ridge a good fifty feet ahead of her.

  Ben was smart. He knew what the word find meant and knew Milt. She prayed the dog would put the two words together and run to the trading post where Milt worked.

  If Ben showed up anywhere without her, the Tumble Lake locals would realize something was wrong, gravely wrong, and launch an aggressive search effort to find her. At least that’s what she told herself.

  She veered off the main trail. In anticipation of losing whoever was chasing her, she zigzagged through the woods.

  While picking her way along the deer trails, three crates lined up under a clump of quaking aspen trees caught her attention. “What in the world are those?”

  The boxes appeared coffin-sized. The blonde wood, not weathered gray, indicated recent construction. Someone had plans. Deadly plans.

  Another wave of dread rolled over her, thicker, more ominous than the previous one. She slowed to a trot. Her mind ran wild.

  Was the corpse floating in the lake she and Ben just discovered destined to fill one of the coffins? Were bodies already in the boxes? Or did they remain to be filled with victims yet to be murdered? Had a serial killer taken up residence in Tumble Lake … a serial killer who might be chasing her?

  There was no time to investigate the coffins. Despite her attempt to throw the shooter off her trail, the crackle of snapping twigs and thunder of pounding footsteps foretold he remained in hot pursuit.

  Unable to keep herself from glancing back at her pursuer, she craned her neck over her shoulder. The sight of the man—a man she recognized—took her off guard. She gasped. Did a double-take. Distracted, she failed to pay attention to the rugged deer trail.

  “Ahhhhh,” she shrieked as the toe of her athletic shoe clipped a bulging root and sent her tumbling to the ground. The weight of the duffle bag threw her onto her right side. Her head smashed into a tree trunk.

  Vision blurred, head spinning, Louise continued to move, crawling along the narrow trail on her hands and knees.

  “You weren’t supposed to be at the lake this morning,” the man growled. He grabbed her arm and yanked her rearward with such force her back slammed against the front of his legs.

  “Uuummph,” she groaned, the impact knocking the wind out of her.

  He dropped to his knees behind her and engulfed her neck in the crook of his thick arm. Clamping her head in a brutal chokehold, he squeezed. “You very well could have ruined the entire op.”

  Unable to breathe, her windpipe on the verge of collapse, black panic consumed her. Thrashing her body about, kicking wildly, and madly clawing his arm, Louise fought for her life.

  But she was no match for the well-built man.

  An instant later, Louise lost consciousness.

  Chapter Eleven

  Captured!

  Head throbbing, shoulder aching, Louise awakened. Blinking, she strained to focus, but couldn’t decipher the bright muted images in front of her face. Her vision was distorted by a cloth, maybe a pillowcase or a shirt, pulled over her head.

  Whatever engulfed her head emanated a potent smell. She wrinkled her nose. The scent was pleasant. Familiar. A brand of costly cologne for men. Jason’s? No, that wasn’t right.

  Regardless, the overpowering fumes burned her nostrils and watered her eyes.

  Seeking to gain her bearings and assess her situation, she taxed her memory. The last things she recalled were being shot at on the lake, rowing to shore, sending Ben to summons help…

  Suddenly a low fluctuating hum of voices in the near distance startled Louise. She jerked her head to the side and held her breath.

  The words were muffled, almost garbled. Reminded her of an intercom at a fast food drive-thru when the clerk repeated the order back but the speaker was so lousy whatever was said couldn’t be understood.

  Positive she wasn’t hearing voices via a fast food speaker, nevertheless, Louise questioned her sanity. Was she experiencing auditory hallucinations?

  Listening to the distorted speech a few seconds longer, she concluded the deep voices belonged to men.

  About to call for help, No! shouted a voice in her head. Don’t move, don’t speak.

  The telepathically-received warning felt like a message from Tom and resonated in her heart. Heeding the advice, Louise remained silent and motionless, acting unconscious.

  Allowing herself to relax enough to analyze her state, Louise determined she was lying on her side, arms behind her back, fingers tingling with numbness. A shiver of fear raced over her. My hands are tied.

  The burn of raw skin emanating from her ankles provided a clue her ankles were also bound.

  Becoming more coherent, the moments leading up to losing consciousness revealed her dire predicament. I was attacked by someone I thought I knew.

  Although lying on her side, she wasn’t on the ground. The surface felt hard, dry, and flat, unlike the cushiony, moist, and lumpy forest floor. And it smelled of freshly cut timber. Perhaps pine.

  “This is messed up,” one of the men whispered. “She wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the lake this morning.”

  He’s talking about me. Louise swallowed a dry gulp. Held her breath. Strained to hear every word.

  “Obviously, your source’s information was wrong,” another male responded with a heap of disgust.

  Source? Just this week, Louise had picked up the Monday through Wednesday morning shift at the trading post for Rachel. Who, other than a few employees, would know she wouldn’t be at the lake that morning?

  Silently chuckling to herself, Louise answered her own question: Everyone. Since Rachel knew Louise’s schedule, everyone and his dog within three counties knew.

  Louise closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Listened.

  “This op is screwed up, and we’re screwed,” one of the men said, desperation escaping his voice. “Commander Ragazzi will have our butts.”

  Op? Commander? Had she stumbled upon a secret government operation? Had Pete been made privy to an undercover law enforcement sting then sort of let it slip this morning?

  She racked her brain for clues. The sudden appearance of Alton and Ruben at Tumble Lake raised her suspicion of their involvement. Were they good guys or bad guys?

  If her eyes weren’t deceiving her, Alton had attacked her. Shot at her. Choked her, tied her up, and covered her head.

  She inhaled a breath, the ritzy cologne once again burning her nostrils. Her heart wedged in her throat. The distinctive scent of the cologne sealed the answer to her question. Alton and Ruben were bad guys!

  “The commander knows even the best-laid plans can go sideways. We could still salvage this op. Collateral damage is often the acceptable cost of business. Worst-case scenario, since she’s already in the crate, we could just nail the lid shut and bury her or throw her into the lake.”

  Oh, good heavens. No. Louise shuddered but otherwise remained unmoving. No way would she be buried alive in the ground or underwater without a fight. Finding the duffle bag could make the difference between life and death. The emergency bag contained flares and a flare launching gun. Although not a firearm, shooting her would-be murders with ignited flares could cause enough injury to give her time to escape.

  Time. Another issue.

  Without knowing how long she’d been knocked out, she couldn’t estimate if Ben made it to town to summons help or not. She figured if the dog averaged running about twelve miles-per-hour, it would take him forty-five minutes or long
er to arrive at the town. Plus, another ten or fifteen minutes before someone realized Ben was asking for help. Then who knows how long before a search and rescue operation was launched.

  Louise’s heart sank. Help wasn’t coming. At least not any time soon. And finding the emergency bag was pie-in-the-sky.

  Hands and feet bound, helplessly she lay in a coffin, her life dangling at the mercy of Alton and Ruben. Anger and hurt wrestled for control as feelings of betrayal surged. The two young men she once adored as extended family planned to kill her.

  “We’re not burying Mrs. T,” one of the men said with a tone of finality.

  A speck of hope lifted her spirits. She couldn’t distinguish whether the voice standing up for her belonged to Alton or Ruben.

  “Only God knows how they tortured Dot before they drowned her.”

  Alton and Ruben didn’t kill Dot?

  “By the look of these freshly made coffins,” Alton or Ruben continued, “she spilled her guts and the Barrs know we aren’t real buyers.”

  Real buyers … of what? A shiver sprouted another wave of goosebumps across Louise’s body. What had she stumbled upon?

  “What about Mrs. T?” the other man pressed. “She’s not part of this. She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “We’ve done what’s best for her and us by making sure she can’t continue to be that pesky fly in the ointment.”

  Pesky fly in the ointment? Ouch.

  “We can’t leave her here.”

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “What if the Barrs find her before we return? I don’t want to imagine what they’ll do to her.”

  “Not our problem. I adore Mrs. T as much as you, and as much as it pains me to do it, we’re leaving her. She’s excess baggage and a hindrance to the op.”

  “Baggage? She’s been like a second mother to us. How can you say that?”

  “Don’t make me pull rank on you, Ruben. Rein in your emotions and act like the highly-trained MTAF agent you are.”

  “You can be a real jerk sometimes, Alton.”

  “That’s why I was promoted over you,” he responded with a slight chuckle. “Now let’s go. That’s an order.”

  Anxiety pounding her heart, but continuing to play unconscious, Louise kept her cool. If Alton considered her baggage and an obstacle in their mission to bust the Barrs, rescuing her wouldn’t be a priority. Maybe not even an afterthought.

  Restrained and lying in a homemade coffin on the side of a remote mountain, if Alton and Ruben didn’t come back, she could die from dehydration. And being found by the Barrs…

  Louise had only one option: Rescue herself! She listened for her captors’ footsteps to fade.

  While waiting, her mind drifted to Jason. Promised herself if she survived, she’d let him know how much he means to her. And would start by planting the mother of all kisses on his inviting lips.

  She smiled, feeling comforted and right about her all-hearter decision.

  Permitting her daydreams to fade, she focused on listening for footsteps or whispers.

  Hearing only the songs of birds and the slight rustle of leaves in the wind, she figured Alton and Ruben had vacated the area.

  Confident it was safe to move, she thrust her body upward and twisted sideways into a seated position. Straightening her legs, the bottom of her feet hit against the side of the wooden crate.

  Knees aching, head pounding, wrists and ankles throbbing, a groan of misery escaped. Louise shifted her butt side to side and twisted at her waist, attempting to stretch kinked muscles. Having little success, she concentrated on freeing up her sight.

  She flicked her head back and forth, trying to remove the cologne-scented hood. When that didn’t work, she leaned over and brushed the side of her face against the edge of the coffin.

  “Stop,” a man whispered.

  Louise froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Friend or foe?

  She’d have her answer in moments.

  Chapter Twelve

  What the Heck…?

  “Woof-woof-woof! Woof-woof-woof!” A dog with a deep voice barked outside the trading post door.

  Rachel bagged a carton of eggs, gallon jug of milk, and box of brown rice for Jen, Milt’s girlfriend.

  “As usual, will you please put these on my tab?”

  The dog continued to sound off, the intensity of its bark picking up pace. “Woof-woof-woof! Woof-woof-woof! Woof-woof-woof-woof!”

  “Sure.” Rachel nodded at Jen. She wrinkled her forehead and elongated her neck, straining to see outside. “Who’s dog is barking?”

  Jen glanced over her shoulder at the front window. “It’s a big black dog—”

  “Holy ham hocks, that’s Ben!” Milt bolted from the diner kitchen toward the trading post’s front door.

  Rachel’s heart leaped into her throat. “Aunt Lou must be in some kind of trouble.” She dashed from the register and flung the door open, beating her Uncle Milt to the dog.

  Frothy white saliva dripped from the sides of the dog’s mouth as he panted hard in between barks.

  “I’ll get him water.” Jen sprinted back to the kitchen.

  Ben stomped his front feet and barked. Eyed Milt, swiveled his head to look across the street at the trailhead, then back at Milt again.

  “Lou’s in trouble.” Milt pulled off his cooking grease stained long white apron and handed it to Rachel. “What time did Lou call saying she was heading to the lake?”

  Rachel reached into the pocket on her Tumble Lake Trading Post embroidered smock, withdrew her cell phone, and tapped the screen several times. “Nine-thirty seven.”

  Milt glanced at the big red digital clock at the back of the store. “It’s after eleven.”

  “Woof-woof-woof! Woof-woof-woof!”

  “Good job, Ben.” Milt stooped and rubbed the dog’s ears.

  “Here’s some cool water.” Jen placed a metal mixing bowl in front of the dog.

  Ben collapsed onto his stomach. With the bowl between his front legs, he slurped the water.

  “He’s bleeding.” Jen pointed at the red smear by Ben’s right front paw on the boardwalk.

  Milt transformed from his happy-go-lucky diner cook demeanor into a take-charge first responder. Employing the medical training he received as the Tumble Lake Fire Chief, he examined the dog’s foot. “It’s not serious. Just a superficial laceration on one of his digital pads he probably sustained from running across the edge of a sharp rock.”

  “I’ll grab the gauze and medical tape if you want to bandage his foot,” Rachel offered.

  “Thanks, but that’s not necessary right now and not the priority. Keep Ben here,” he instructed Rachel and Jen. “I’ll get the Fire Department’s UTV then be back to pick up Ben.” He patted the dog’s broad back. “And you’re gonna lead me to your momma, aren’t you?”

  Ben wagged his tail and raised his head from the nearly empty bowl. Water drizzled from his muzzle.

  “Don’t worry about the diner, Babe.” Jen rubbed her palm across Milt’s back and deposited a kiss on his lips. “I’ll cover the grill. You find Lou.”

  Milt nodded a thank you to Jen and addressed Rachel. “Contact Pete. Tell him I’m heading to Lou’s cabins via the Main Street lake trail but don’t know where Ben might lead me from there.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Let him know I’ll have the two-way radio tuned to channel nine.” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “I’ll give you one of the radios so you can listen in. In other words, you’re on radio silence. If you break radio silence and try to call me for any reason, Pete, and every other law enforcement officer who happens to tune-in to channel nine will hear. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” Rachel saluted her uncle.

  “I’m not joking, Rachel.”

  “Me neither.” Her voice quivered. “I’m scared for Aunt Lou.”

  “Come here.” Milt engulfed Rachel in his arms and squeezed her. “Your aunt is s
mart and tough. She knows the wilderness around the lake like the back of her hand. Ben and I will find her.” He chuckled, pulled back, and wiped the tears from Rachel’s face with his fingertips. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes strolling down that trail any minute.”

  “You’re right.” Rachel kissed her uncle on the cheek and fabricated her best smile. “You’re right,” she repeated, hoping to believe it herself.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Milt and Ben on the Way

  Milt drove the bright red four-seat utility task vehicle across Main Street and into the Tumble Lake Trailhead parking lot. Ben sat seat belted in on the front passenger side.

  “I’m counting on you to lead me to Lou.” Milt patted Ben on his side. “If we don’t find her right away, Sanders will be our eyes in the sky.”

  As if understanding, the dog cocked his head, listening to Milt.

  “Hang on. Here we go.” He gunned the vehicle, rocketing it up the steep incline of the winding trail.

  After about a half mile climb, the trail leveled off and the lake came into view. As they neared the fork in the trail with one path leading to Tom’s statue and the other to Lou’s cabins, “Pete for Milt,” the two-way radio squawked.

  Milt picked up the radio, held it to his mouth, and depressed the button labeled PTT for push-to-talk. “Milt here. Go ahead, Pete.”

  “Cease and desist your search for Lou,” Pete’s voice crackled through the hand-held radio speaker.

  Milt stopped the UTV at the fork in the trail.

  The moment the vehicle stopped, Ben went nuts barking. The seat belt kept him from lunging out.

  “Shhh, Ben.” Milt twisted the volume knob, cranking it as high is it would go. “Lou’s been found?”

  “Negative.”

  “Then why do you want me to stop searching for her?”

  “It’s not me, Milt.” Pete cleared his throat. “A federal agency is involved.”

  “What?”

  “Woof-woof-woof! Woof-woof-woof!” Ben jerked his body against the seat belt. Frustration mounting, he gnawed the strap holding him in.