Creighton's Hideaway (19 page)

Creighton slumped in the rocker on his front porch, staring into the midnight sky. Thoughts twisted in his mind.

Thomas had been a pain-in-the-neck little brother when they were kids. Then as a fun-loving, rabble-rousing teen, Creighton had been thankful that some of his chores could be handed off on Thomas. The antagonism came out when Creighton returned home from Wayne State College and made decisions regarding the ranch.

What had he ever done to Thomas to earn such derision? It wasn't his fault that their dad had a will. As the oldest, Creighton was named executor and owner of the ranch. Their mother, Vera, had taken care of business until she died. The life insurance policy had been tucked away in the bank. Heaven only knew why his father had made payments. That money was split between Rita and Thomas, and Creighton had used the ranch fund to bury their father.

Had Creighton wronged Thomas and never been aware? Maybe Thomas had never forgiven him for being a drunk like their dad and felt Creighton was undeserving of the ranch?

But, thanks be to God, Creighton no longer drank. “And on that note, Father, I'm asking You to lift this cloud from my heart. Please bring Thomas to Yourself. Maybe then he can forgive me for however I've wronged him.”

Creighton stood, feeling the damp coolness. He looked towards Shana's cabin and threw good-night wishes her way, and frowned at the tug in his heart.

Was she calling out to him?

 

****

 

A thud from the other side of the sliding door shook Shana into action. She gazed from the left side of the door, through the kitchen area, over the glass, towards her bed. By the time she garnered courage to move forward at a snail's pace, a deeper shadow slithered on the other side of the glass. A person-sized shadow.

Shana sprung across the room, not circling, but vaulting over the sofa. Her toes caught, and she stumbled over a throw pillow. She slammed the slider open in time to hear thudding footsteps slapping against the decking.

No four-legged animal would make that kind of noise across the treated wood.

She screamed Creighton's name and took off at a run. She was still screaming when she ran square into a chest at the edge of the pine windbreak. Her pulse beat in her ears. Her erratic breathing was enough to scare off any creature of the night. She struggled in the person's grasp. Kicking proved fruitless.

“Calm down, Shana.”

Creighton. Oh, Creighton's here, thank You, God
.

“Someone was in my cabin.”

His grip tightened and he slung her behind him, ready to charge.

Somewhat quieter on the outside, she clung to his solid biceps and leaned into his side. “Whoever it was is long gone, I think he ran to the road.”

Creighton rotated in a complete circle. “We can get my quad.”

“No.” Shana untangled her feet from the grass. “Let me get the Lincoln policeman's card and see if he thinks there's a link.” She clasped Creighton's hand like a lifeline as they returned to her cabin.

Anxiety built. Couldn't she just ignore it all for a little while longer? Stay in the safety of Creighton's world? Once inside, she trailed her hands down her arms. Her trembling fingers checked the laptop. Then she reached into her pants pocket to assure herself the flash disk remained safe.

But was she safe?

“All right. Why is this happening to me? I'm done taking this thing lying down.”

He held her hand in his, somehow transmitting strength to her, as they hurried to his ranch house. The telephone rang, and they ran the rest of the way.

Creighton seemed to move in slow motion when he reached to pick up the phone. He kept her by his side as he answered. “It's for you.” He passed her the cordless handset and raised her other hand to his lips.

As she said hello, he kissed each knuckle. A new kind of craziness took root in her stomach, at the same time she tried to focus on her father's voice.

“…I checked in with Investigator Shelbourne.” She heard his hesitation and recognized it as nothing good. “Sorry, sugar, no progress to report on the investigation.”

“I'm losing everything.”

Creighton shook his head and mouthed, “No. You have Jesus.”

She leaned against the door, finding it almost impossible to concentrate.

He drew a circle in the air, communicating that he was going to walk through the house.

She nodded, but wanted to freak out. To run into the night, screaming until it all went away. Whatever it was. The dial tone buzzed at her ear. She didn't remember saying good-bye to her father. Instead, she imagined the flash of a human shadow outside the window. Would she be safe again in the cabin? She could be homeless soon. She had no reserves, nothing to fall back on. She was all alone.

You have Me
. A hushed Voice sounded in her soul.

Creighton was right.

She wasn't alone. Tension dropped from her brow. Following that thought, Shana pictured a verse in John's Gospel. “I am the way and the truth and the life,” Jesus said.

Jesus was with her.

No lightning flashed. No thunder slammed. But peace invaded her soul. “Give me strength, Father. Please. And thank You, Jesus.” With a deep sigh, she dug into her pocket for the investigator's business card. No reason to put it off. Technical Investigator Shelbourne at the Lincoln Police Dept. answered on the first ring. She identified herself and asked if there was any news concerning her situation.

“We really don't have much to go on, Ms. Arnold. Your case isn't big enough for a common thread connecting it with other similar incidents. Sorry to say, white collar crimes like this are the up-and-coming trend. Unfortunately, we don't have a large enough database established yet to link the smaller cases. And, no news on your car, either.”

“I appreciate all that you have done and I guess I'll chalk this up to one of life's bad experiences.” She paused, sighed in resignation. “There's something else, though. I returned to my cabin tonight to find that same strong perfume smell. I didn't actually see anything more than a body-sized shadow, but I heard footsteps on the deck and ran back to the ranch house.” Fear lodged in her throat once again, even though Creighton had returned to rest on the couch arm, giving her support by his presence.

Shelbourne's voice sounded like he'd had a shot of espresso. “Ah. Whoever this is must be escalating his activities. Is there a local sheriff to contact? Someone I can talk to up there?”

“I'll have Creighton find out and hopefully contact you so we're all on the same page.”

“Wish there was more we could do. I'm curious now, and will check on that perfume smell you mentioned. I followed up on Young's report of the break-in.”

Shana straightened, paid more attention.

“We did pick up a latent print from your bureau.”

“That's great news isn't it?”

“We should know soon. When will you be returning to Lincoln?”

“I'll be there this weekend.”

“Good. Please stop in so we can compare your prints with the others that we found.” He hesitated. “It's different if you are the target instead of your finances.” Shelbourne asked to speak with the rancher.

She thanked the officer and handed the phone to Creighton. Shana stomped ten paces one way and ten back. Who was that mysterious someone…her enemy without a name?

Before any kind of answer could form, Creighton gathered her close, while speaking into the phone. He shot her a wink. “My neighbor about five miles away is a deputy sheriff. I'll have Hank Flowers come by in the morning to take a look around.”

 

****

 

Bright sunlight defied whatever went bump in the night, and Creighton prayed Shana saw joy in the morning at her own cabin.

Deputy Sheriff Hank Flowers prepared to leave Creighton's home. “That about does it. Nothing much to say except there are signs that a car was parked up the road. Other than that, all we found was disturbed dust and a sleeping bag in one of the rear cabins. I'm guessing someone slept there. I'll send another deputy to see if there are any prints or other evidence. Don't go to that cabin until we clear it.”

Creighton turned to go inside. He'd have to warn Valerie to be extra cautious. If needed, the women could stay at the house. He was struck by the emptiness of his rooms. He stood with his back against the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of cold cereal flakes, unable to sit at the table because he pictured Shana seated across from him.

She'd be gone in a matter of days.

He didn't want to think about it now. His appetite gone, he set down the bowl. “How can I help her, Lord? I feel like my hands are tied here.” He dug his thumbs into his temples and massaged his forehead, as though unscrambling his thoughts.

The sun glared when he stepped outside. He climbed on his four-wheeler and rumbled through the pasture on his way to Valerie's cabin, but detoured to the top of the nearest bluff. From that vantage point he waved at Roger, who was checking the stock tank at the far windmill. Soon, Rog would sell the calves and drive the cows to winter in the corrals at his place.

Fall meant a time of transition. A time between peaks of growth and the slumber of winter. Maybe he should invest in some cattle of his own. His thoughts idled with the motor beneath him. In the next couple of days, he'd ride the fences and make sure they were all tight.

Suddenly, the winter ahead loomed long and dark. He had to come up with a project. He circled around and headed for Valerie's cabin.

She stepped outside as he pulled up. “I just need a few things at the store, Creighton. A twenty should cover it.”

He lifted his bright red cap and resettled it on his head. “Everything OK? Nothing needs a look?”

Valerie reached into her skirt pocket and started down the deck steps. She glanced at her list and handed it over, paper-clipped to a twenty-dollar bill. “The cabin's in tip-top shape. But, now that I can see your eyes, you look tired. I don't think you're in tip-top shape.”

“Just trying to work some things out.”

“You young people.” Valerie shook her head and her long blonde-gray ponytail swung with the action. “Try not to be so serious about life. Enjoy each day, each problem, be glad in the Lord, and go with the flow.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Sing, Creighton, sing. Your heart will be gladdened.” And with that, Valerie belted out a hymn he loved.

He laughed aloud. “Thanks. I needed that. But I don't know if I'm in a singing mood quite yet. Shana had a scare last night and I can't say I blame her. Looks like she had an unexpected visitor who disappeared without a trace.”

“Two-legged or four?”

“Appears to have been a person. So, please be on the look-out, OK?”

Valerie promised to check on Shana, and he was on his way again.

Shana had insisted on sleeping in her own cabin last night, and despite his reservations, he went with her wishes. At Shana's cabin, he waited for her to come outside and give him her grocery list, but she made no appearance. After her interrupted night, she probably needed to sleep in. Creighton reviewed their precautions of the night before, and knowing Valerie was keeping an eye on Shana, he went on to the grocery store.

 

 

 

 

16

 

Deputy Flowers showed up to ask questions, which Shana answered as well as she could. When he'd gone, Shana escaped the cabin.

She went over events of the night before, after Creighton had walked her back and checked every nook and cranny inside and out. She'd searched every surface, every cupboard and drawer, even the refrigerator. But she found nothing out of order.

Except that horrid perfume. She'd opened both doors to the cabin so the cross-breeze could flow through.

Earlier, she had distinguished the rumble of Creighton's four-wheeler headed to Valerie's place. Now, in the quiet and bracing fresh air, she crested a high pasture hill. She stopped to drink from her water bottle and attempted to count the cows and calves surrounding Roger Mills off in the distance.

On her descent, a spot of white in the grass ahead drew her attention. With an eye on the oddity, she wended her way across the pasture, ever alert for holes or cactus.

She thanked the Lord for protecting her laptop and for the flash drive she carried in her pocket. Whoever had been in the cabin could have destroyed her future by erasing her files.

When she reached the object, Shana discovered a sun-bleached bovine hip bone. The socket looked like a fist. She straightened, drank from her water bottle again, and swept her gaze over the horizons.

A phrase came to mind from a Psalm Valerie had mentioned.
The works of God's fingers
had created this land.
Marvelous. Wondrous. Mighty.
There were not enough adjectives to capture the magnitude. She felt so small. Her state of being was minutia in light of the great expanse that surrounded her. Money could not purchase the peace that seeped into her pores.

She grabbed the bleached white bone and marched on. Shana stumbled over the ridges of stones without realizing at first what they were. When she did, she rotated in a slow circle. On the side of a small hill she was surrounded by circles of round stones. The stones were similar, gray with blackish-green lichen of some sort. In varied heights, they dotted the earth. Flat stones were nearly invisible, covered by grass. Others rose six to eight inches.

She pictured two boys, one tanned golden, the other dark cinnamon. One with coffee bean brown hair, the other so black it shone blue, following the circles. She gazed off in the distance, and tried to imagine Creighton's friend, Leslie. His boyhood home after he left the reservation was near here. There were two separate groups of trees where homesteads could have nestled. Ranch buildings looked like game pieces from a Monopoly set.