Black Otter Bay (36 page)

Abby wasn't certain of her exact location, but followed the land as it sloped gently downhill before her. She knew that ultimately it would lead her to the rocky shoreline of the big inland sea. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, so that soon she was picking out shadows of individual trees cast in the moonlight. Her senses had been on high alert when she left her friends back at the car, but she'd heard nothing to suggest that pursuit was coming. She almost laughed out loud at the thought of some city slicker trying to catch her out here. Not even Arlene's mafia guy could match her in the woods. Now, already a mile or more from the road, she left her mind and senses open to absorb the wilderness rhythms around her.

At a break in the forest cover, she paused to catch her breath and slow her heart rate. The air here was perfumed with balsam fir, a wild north woods aroma that for her evoked the familiarity and comfort of home. She paced left and right in the clearing, hands on her hips, breathing deeply, her eyes turned up to the stars overhead. When she noticed the long, narrow regularity of the break in the treetops, she spun around and followed the same opening in the opposite direction. The Superior Hiking Trail!

She set out again at an easy lope along the path. It was well worn, mostly clear of rocks and ruts, and broad enough to be followed in the dark under the moonlight. A hairpin curve at the top of a steep incline over a feeder stream marked her location. She knew this place. She'd hiked here with Ben and her father.

Ben. How long had he been gone? Just two weeks? Three? It seemed so much longer. She stepped up her pace to race along the trail as it twisted back inland to detour around Black Otter Bay. All thoughts of exhaustion and sleep were gone. She had a pretty good hunch where Ben was, and if she could get there quickly enough, her little brother might be sleeping at home with them tonight.

The trail swung back toward the lake again, and by looking hard over her right shoulder she discerned the faint glow of
lights from town receding behind her. This was where they'd crossed the trail when she skipped school with Ben to go fishing out at Big Island Lake. She had to pay close attention now. Boulder outcroppings and gigantic virgin white pines marked her way along the trail. To her they were like fire hydrants or telephone poles lining a city sidewalk, marking the way. And where city children had memories of riding bikes or rollerblading, Abby had her own memories: this was where she'd run a footrace with her father, and just back there was where they'd spotted a massive white-tailed buck resting on the ground. She'd wanted to take pictures, but her father told her to keep walking. “If you stop, he'll get spooked and run away,” he'd said. So they'd walked until the deer was out of sight, and then they turned around and walked back. Three times they did this, with Abby clicking pictures each time they passed the resting animal.

She slowed to a walk now as the path led to the brink of a dark, gaping chasm. This was the place they called The Ladder, a thirty-foot vertical drop down the cliff face to the trail below. The Ladder was actually a series of breaks and cracks in the rock, probably formed thousands of years ago by the pounding of a narrow, powerful waterfall continuously fed by a receding glacier. It was an easy descent in daylight, with plenty of foot and handholds, and for Abby only slightly more challenging at night. Of course, if you didn't know it was there it could be deadly, and that was a big reason why her father discouraged hiking in the woods at night. But Abby climbed down The Ladder with ease, much like a teenage counterpart in the city toeing a skateboard.

The trail leading away from The Ladder traversed several acres of flat, boggy lowland. A boardwalk bridged some of the wettest spots, and her shoes clomping on the wood startled a few sleeping deer caught off guard by her unexpected appearance in the night. When the path began an ascent to higher ground, she paused for a moment to listen. Over the throbbing of her heart in her ears, she heard the distinct rumble of a semi
as it accelerated northbound out of Black Otter Bay on Highway 61.

Once again Abby stepped off the trail to cut cross-country toward the sound of the truck and Lake Superior. Many of the larger trees had been thinned out here, forcing her to push through overgrown patches of dogwood, aspen saplings, and alder thickets. She worked her way forward, an eye always on the stars to maintain her heading. Finally, just when she began despairing over her slow, time-consuming pace, she saw a break in the forest ahead. Stepping through the last of the tangled maze of brush, Abby paused beside the ditch lining Highway 61.

In a crouch, she eased her way into the tall grass in the bottom of the ditch. The semi was long gone, just a faint hum in the distant background. To get her bearings, she scanned both directions on the highway, and then closed her eyes to clear her mind and focus her hearing on any sound that didn't belong in the nighttime woods. Convinced that everything was as it should be, she stood up for a closer inspection of the roadway, and a self-satisfied smile arose on her face as she realized she'd cross the blacktop within a couple hundred yards of where she wanted to be.

Abby slid forward to the furthest edge of her hiding spot. One last look revealed no one on the road, no glimmer of approaching headlights, and not a sound coming her way. She stood up, took a deep breath, and charged out of the ditch onto the roadway. The blacktop stretched out flat and smooth before her. Within seconds she was sprinting full speed, angling northeast across the road, running hard while searching the woods on the lake side for her destination. When she hit the narrow strip of shoulder at the far side, she continued running, racing along the painted white line edging the highway.

The opening she'd been looking for suddenly loomed out of the darkness. Barely slowing her pace, she turned off the highway, but didn't stop running until she located the sign that read, R
OSIE'S
B
AIT
S
HOP
—O
PEN
24 H
OURS
.

• • • • •

S
heriff Fastwater had just hung up from talking to the authorities in Duluth when his cell phone erupted on the desk. He grabbed it after one ring. “Fastwater,” he answered.

“Uncle Marlon? I found Mom.”

“Leonard? Where are you?”

Static and noise disrupted the connection, as if his nephew had dropped the phone. More commotion and muffled voices, and then in the background he heard his sister say, “Give me that phone, Leonard.”

The wrestling continued, and soon Fastwater was yelling into his own phone. “Leonard? Arlene? Leonard!”

“They're okay,” Leonard finally said, panting, like he was jogging to keep the phone away from his mother.

“Where are you?”

“I found them on the back road, just like you said. Actually, they're not on the road, they're in the ditch, but everyone's okay. We'll have to call the wrecker out here to yank them out.”

“What the hell is she doing in the ditch?”

“Says some guy ran them off the road. I'll let her tell you about that. I just wondered what you want me to do now.”

Of all the things that could've happened tonight, this was one the sheriff hadn't considered. He stood behind his desk, silent, a thousand questions running through his mind. Finally, Leonard spoke up again. “If you want to come out here, I could head back to Duluth, you know, to help pick up Randall and Jackie. Or, I thought maybe it would be best if I give the ladies a ride up to your office. Marcy is pretty upset.”

“Yeah, do that. Duluth will pick up Randall. As long as Abby is safe and sound, we're all right.”

“Abby isn't here, Marlon.”

“What?”

“Mom said she took off into the woods when they hit the ditch. Abby told her she knows where Ben is.”

“Damn it, Leonard. Put Arlene on the phone.”

“Yes, sir.”

Another pause, more noise in his ear, then, “He's driving a big black car, Marlon. Something like you'd see in a
Godfather
movie.”

“Arlene, what the hell happened? Where is Abby?”

“Abby took off. She has some notion of where her brother is. She never said where, but I'm guessing it's near town, because we're not that far away.”

“How could you let her go? Why didn't you call me?”

“I don't have my phone. We were chased out of the house. Marcy is frantic scared right now.”

Fastwater paced around the desk, running his heavy, thick fingers through his hair. Of course she didn't have a phone. He knew that. “Okay, Arlene. I'm sorry. How long ago did she take off?”

“Twenty minutes. Maybe a half hour.”

“And you have no idea where she went?”

“No. She'd been talking to Randall earlier this evening. I guess he'd been drinking. Anyway, he told her that he knew where Ben was, and that he was safe. He said that her brother would be coming home soon. It must have been something he said, because it was like Abby suddenly figured it all out.”

“Hmm.”

“Listen to me, Marlon. He's driving a big, black, shiny sedan. If that car shows up in town it'll stick out like a sore thumb. Bust his ass, Marlon, but be careful. He's a pro, and I'm thinking he's the connection to Chicago that we've been looking for.”

“Arlene . . . Really, you think the mob is working up here?”

“I'm serious as hell, Marlon.”

The phone line was finally quiet for a moment. Fastwater couldn't believe this, but his sister worked in a totally different world than his. He said, “If you're right about this, you're lucky you just ended up in the ditch.”

“It wasn't luck.”

“Hey, these guys usually for play for keeps.”

“Probably. But not this time, and not this guy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He had us dead to rights, but then he drove off. I'm pretty sure he had no intention of hurting us, he only wanted to stop us from getting to town.”

“Why?”

“Because Abby figured out what's going on, and he had to stop her. The thing is, he doesn't know that I saw him, and I know who he is.”

“You do?”

“Yup. And so do you, Marlon.”

Abby Simon

T
he fog rolled onshore shortly after sunset, blocking out the stars and moon and cloaking Lake Superior's rugged coast in a thick, damp shroud, like a sodden old woolen blanket. The temperature along the shore was a good twenty degrees cooler than just a quarter of a mile inland. Not a breeze stirred the fog as it settled in, hiding the rock-bound coast and ancient cedar forests in its grasp, while coating everything in a cold, clammy mist.

Abby crept along the bait shop driveway. She knew the way but stretched her hands out at arm's length for protection anyway, slowly groping along while trying to stay in the center of the lane. At slight breaks in the fog, a diffused glow of moonlight draped a haunting, surreal aura over the landscape. She didn't even notice the house at first; it just rose up beside her out of the fog. No lights, and no sound.

This had to be right, she thought. The search for Ben had been called off days ago, and all the volunteers and searchers had gone home, making the deserted bait shop an ideal place to hide Ben. It was convenient to the highway, but secluded a half mile outside of town. She remembered her mother saying that Randall had already signed over or sold Rose's property. If he planned to take credit for finding her brother, this would be a great place from which to orchestrate Ben's return. The house itself couldn't be used, as lights would be visible from up on the highway, but the bait shop, tucked in behind the house near the woods, was invisible from the road.

Abby stood near the house, listening. The absolute silence was spooky, like a hulking, unseen presence, a wolf watching
from the shadows. The air was heavily scented here, as if the fog were perfumed. If she tried, Abby could smell the rot and decay in the old buildings, but overall it was the natural aroma of the forest that defined the night: wet driftwood down along the shore, the damp, cool fog, and the pungent scent of wet cedar and pine.

He must have gotten a fortune for this property,
she thought,
enough to cover dozens of gambling debts.
Or, like her mother had suggested, more than enough to open a truly high-class art gallery, maybe in Chicago or New York. But was it enough for him to justify having his own mother removed from the picture? And, if so, how could Abby trust his word to keep Ben safe?

She looked from the vacant house into the quiet, somber forest. This just had to be the place. Everything fit. If Randall intended to release her brother, he'd have to bring him up here to keep him hidden until the time was right. She felt a nervous energy in the woods around her, maybe not so much like someone watching, but more like an expectant audience awaiting her arrival. Abby shivered. She wished she could just call out Ben's name, yell at the top of her lungs to break the tension and let her brother know that she was here.

Stepping away from the house, Abby crept along the driveway to where it circled around the back of the house in front of the bait shop. She moved slowly, listening for any sound that didn't belong. Finally, the darkened hulk of the bait shop loomed before her. Again, she didn't see any lights, but there was just the one window in the small door, and that could be covered up. Abby darted across the driveway to the large overhead door with the fishing mural Rose had painted on it years ago. She stood tightly against the door, an ear pressed to it, listening. She half expected the big yard light to come on, exposing her in the open with nowhere to hide.

The only sound was the soft rustling of young leaves in the aspen grove behind the shop. Abby stepped quickly across
the front of the building to the smaller service door, trailing a hand along the rough-cut siding. She found that the window was indeed covered, blocked by a thick tarp draped over the door on the inside. Reaching for the doorknob, Abby glanced quickly over her shoulder, held her breath, and quietly turned the handle. Locked. She tried again, harder this time, and then stomped her foot and grunted in frustration. The bait shop had never been locked before, but then, if she was right and Ben was here, it would have to be locked.