Black Stump Ridge (13 page)

Today, Charlie was eleven once more. The ride went around and around and up and down. The calliope played madly, discordantly. Only this time, the brass ring gave more than a free ride. The prize was time. Time to think. Time to plan. Time to do — something. Anything.

How long before the police figured out where he was? How much time until they came to arrest him? Had they discovered Janine’s body, yet? Probably. She said she had plans for the holiday. Were they with her family? Her lover? Did it matter?

If her plans were with her family, then he had a little more time, perhaps the rest of the weekend. Surely they knew, after all of these years, how unreliable she was when it came to keeping engagements. They probably wouldn’t be concerned for some time – even if she failed to show.

Her lover? That could be another story. Had she told him of Charlie’s hunting trip? He could think of no reason for her not to. It would add to the sympathy she sought. Would she plan to have them stay at the house? Charlie didn’t think so. As cruel as she was, that was not her style. No, she would keep the affair away from her nest, if for no other reason than to keep her family unaware for as long as possible.

So, how long would Romeo wait before he checked on her? How many unanswered phone messages before he suspected something was wrong? How long before he acted on those suspicions? Would he first call the police? Or, would he investigate on his own? Since she was married to someone else, the cops might not pay a lot of attention to his concerns. No, Romeo would have to check things out for himself.

What then? Like a scene from one of Charlie’s favorite TV crime shows, he watched it play on his mind’s video screen.

•

The young man pulls up in front of the house. He parks the car – a sports car, maybe a convertible. Philanderers always drive sports cars. He sits there for a few moments. He stares at the house while he tries to figure out if anyone is home. Janine said her husband would be out of the state for the weekend, but does he really trust her? After all, how good can her word be if she cheats on her husband?

Finally, after checking his Hollywood good looks in the car’s mirror, he gets out and walks slowly up the sidewalk to the front door. He looks left and right. He’s nervous because he knows that what he’s doing is wrong. Suppose the husband changed his plans and is on the other side of the door? Is he ready for a confrontation? Is this affair really worth an altercation? Is this woman? Surely there are easier conquests. Although his mind is filled with caution, his penis is giving the orders.

Romeo hesitates. He is not supposed to be here. He is clearly violating the ground rules she established at the beginning of their relationship. Although he knows where she lives, she has never invited him here. He stands, balanced on the blade of the knife. On one side his hopes that all is well. On the other, the fear that something is wrong.

He looks at the door. His mind tells him to turn away. If he knocks on that door it might kill the relationship. He gathers his courage. He presses the doorbell. It echoes eerily inside the house. He waits. There is no answer. He presses again. He knocks in case the bell isn’t working, despite the fact that he has heard it ring both times.

There is only silence.

He leans forward. He cups his hands to around his as he looks into the house through the small window in the door. It is dark inside. He cannot make out any details.

Has she forgotten their rendezvous? Is she out with someone else? Another thought raises a disquieting voice. What if she is merely late and is even now waiting with growing impatience in the hotel restaurant?

He turns away from the door and walks down the sidewalk. He glances to his left at the closed two-car garage door with its bank of small windows. Without thinking about it, he crosses the strip of grass to the driveway and, cupping his hands as he did at the door, looks inside.

Her car is parked inside.

Now Romeo is confused. Is she ignoring the doorbell? Is she asleep? Is she ill? Has she had some kind of an accident? He returns to the front door with renewed purpose. He rings the bell despite his certainty that the action is pointless. There will be no response. He knows that, now. He tries the doorknob, although he knows it is locked. His certainty that something is wrong continues to grow.

He walks around the house looking for another entrance. There is a small door leading into the garage, but that, too, is locked. He reaches the patio with its sliding glass doors. He looks inside.

Janine lies on the floor. Her pulped face is turned towards him. Her head lies within a dark pool on the floor. Flies crawl unconcerned over her blank, staring eyes. Her open lips now kiss only the busy, hungry insects.

Fear floats on the bile that burns the back of his throat as Romeo steps away from the door. Is she hurt and unconscious or is she dead? He steps forward and tries the door, but it’s locked and unyielding. He can see the burglar bar in place on the inside, further blocking entrance.

He looks around, ignoring his rising panic, and tries to find something — anything — that he can use to break into the house. Picking up a heavy patio stone, he throws it at the glass. The panel cracks but doesn’t break. He picks it up and tries again. The sound of breaking glass shatters the quiet afternoon silence. He ignores the noise and shards of glass radiating from the door’s frame and reaches inside. He undoes the bar and then works the lock open. He slides the door to the left and steps inside…

•

Charlie shook his head. The vision faded, but the likelihood of it lingered. How much had Janine told her lover? Knowing Janine, she only told him that Charlie would be gone all weekend with his friends.

Had he told anyone? Perhaps a co-worker? He tried to remember, but nothing came. Still, he had to assume that someone knew. Were the police, even now, questioning the guys’ families? Was the search already closing in?

He shook his head. No, probably not. Not this quickly, at any rate. That kind of speed only happened on television where every crime had to be investigated, analyzed, and solved within sixty minutes, commercials included. He still had time. They might be closing in by Friday night or Saturday – Sunday at the very latest.

Of course, by then it would be too late. He hated to end his friends’ trip like that, but Charlie had no intention of going to prison. This was the best solution. It was the only solution.

He stopped. The surrounding forest looked vaguely familiar, but he had no idea how he managed to get here. He looked around. He saw no signs of houses in any direction. He studied the trees. On the left, about twenty yards away, was the blind that Fred had showed him. Charlie smiled as he crossed to the tree.

A makeshift board ladder snaked up the trunk. He tested the rungs within reach. They seemed solid enough. He tightened the cooler’s strap and the shotgun’s sling. After tugging on the boards one last time – the irony of his planned suicide being thwarted by a broken leg did not escape him – he climbed the fifteen feet to the crude wooden platform.

Once he was in the blind and standing on the platform Charlie looked around. The view was magnificent. He could see over a shoulder of the mountain to the next ridge. There appeared to be some sort of ruin near the top, although at this distance it could just as easily have been an oddly positioned deadfall. Perhaps he would explore it tomorrow. He turned slowly, taking in the rest of the view. It amazed him that such a small change in elevation could make such a difference.

The platform was safer than it appeared from the ground. Two-by-four rails of yellow pine supported by evenly spaced uprights of the same wood formed a secure balcony. A roll of canvas tarpaulin lay on the right side of the blind. Steel eyebolts screwed into the floor’s planking provided anchors for the tarpaulin’s ties. He looked at the sky. What clouds he saw were few, high, and fluffy. There was no threat of rain. Although a slight breeze caressed his cheeks, the thin branches and scant leaves surrounding his aerie barely moved. He decided to leave the tarp where it was.

He passed the sling over his head and rested the shotgun on the platform. He unclipped the cooler, sat down with his back against the tree trunk, and took a can of beer from the container. He popped the top and took a deep drink. He belched loudly.

“Better out than in, I always say,” he told the tree. He smiled – his first real smile of the day – and settled in to watch the afternoon fade into evening.

And, to think.

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Fred sat in a folding chair on the deck enjoying what remained of the afternoon sun as it made its descent behind the ridge. The shadows marched across the redwood planks toward him. Soon the sun would be gone and with it what little warmth remained in the day. He looked up at the tree-covered slope. The shadows were already deep beneath the branches. With the arrival of the moonless night, the darkness would be reduced to starlight, although this far from civilization even that meager amount could be quite bright.

Charlie was up there somewhere. Hopefully he was in the blind and protected by the tarp. He was an experienced hunter and no stranger to the out-of-doors, so why had he decided to go up there alone? The more Fred thought about it, the more certain he became that something was bothering Charlie.

Was there trouble at home? Perhaps he and Janine had argued before the trip. Probably about the trip. Fred tried to draw Charlie out a couple of times, but one or the other of the guys had interrupted, bringing an end to any answers he might have gotten.

“It’s nice out here.” Fred heard the sliding door open and then close. Johnny snagged another folding chair and set it near Fred’s.

“Yeah, but it’s going to get cold fast once the sun goes down. I hope Charlie gets back soon. I’d hate to have to go up there to look for him.”

“It’s going to be pitch dark, too. I noticed that when we came in last night. No moon.”

“Has Charlie talked to you about anything?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Trouble at home, maybe? Something’s been bothering him. He was really quiet on the drive out here. He didn’t say much at all today during dinner. Now he’s gone up there by himself.”

“Yeah, I noticed it, too. He hasn’t said anything to me, though.”

“Well, whatever it is, I hope he gets over it. We’re supposed to leave all our problems behind us.”

Johnny said nothing as he stared into the woods. The quiet grew until Fred could no longer stand it. Something was bothering Johnny. He sighed. This was turning into a journey of secrets, it seemed. Charlie and whatever was eating at him was beyond Fred’s help for now, but he saw no need to remain in the dark about this friend.

“What’s up?”

Johnny blinked and looked around as if he’d forgotten where he was. He looked at Fred, his expression guarded. “What do you mean?”

“Charlie’s not the only one with something eating at him. I’m thinking you came out here to talk to me about more than the dark night.”

Johnny stared impassively at Fred. After a moment, though, he had to look away. “What makes you think something’s bothering me?”

“How long have we been friends?”

“I don’t know. Fifteen, maybe sixteen years.”

“Do you think maybe I’ve learned to tell the happy you from the unhappy you after all that time?”

“Probably.”

“Probably? Try definitely.”

Johnny shook his head. Fred knew him too well. He’d come out here seeking Fred’s input, but now he wasn’t as certain. He had to turn to someone, though. He didn’t know Peete or Charlie as well as he knew Fred – certainly not well enough to share something like this. Although he had been a friend with Dave almost as long as he had Fred, Dave was a joker. Would he treat Johnny’s secret with respect and consideration? Johnny hoped so, but was unwilling to test that hope.

“Well?”

Johnny settled back into the chair. His shoulders slumped. He seemed to collapse in on himself like a deflating balloon. He looked back at the sliding glass doors and into the family room. It was empty. Dave and Peete were probably still sleeping off their turkey in front of the television. He turned back.

“I was hoping I could hold on to this for a couple more years. Just two and it wouldn’t matter any more.” Johnny shook his head. “I don’t know where to turn. I can’t tell Samantha, of course. There’s no way she would understand. And, what about the kids? How would they handle it? It’s just not right for me to bring this kind of confusion and hurt into their lives. Not now. They’re still kids no matter how grown up they try to act. It would be like yanking a carpet out from under them.

“I tried to keep it casual. I told myself that as long as no one got serious that there was no danger. Unfortunately, it didn’t work that way. I became emotionally involved. We grew close. Now I’m trapped.”

Fred struggled to keep his jaw from dropping open. This was the last thing he expected to hear from his friend. Johnny was a devoted family man. He and his wife, Samantha, had been married almost twenty years. Amanda, his daughter, was seventeen and about to graduate from high school. His son, Kevin, would follow his sister a year later. The idea that Johnny might be having a one-night stand was bad enough. An affair? Inconceivable. Yet, that was where the conversation seemed headed.