Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) (8 page)

Struggling harder, she twisted and turned but couldn’t evade his strong grip. A sharp odor filled the air, and within seconds, he’d clamped a rag over her nose.

She slumped against him and everything went black.

Portia roused herself from the memory. “That’s it. That’s how he did it.”

Chapter 16

D
aisy folded Portia in her arms when she finished.
“Oh, baby.”

Portia let her mother embrace her, but this time the tears didn’t come. Leaning against Daisy, she listened to the snippets of conversation around the table.

Grace: “I knew it! I knew she wouldn’t leave on her own. Stupid cops and all that crap they started about her running away…”

Dirk blurted, “Where did he keep you? Was it near here?”

Boone said, “How’d you get that truck? And what part of Wisconsin did it come from?”

Anderson shouted, “What was his name? We ought to report it to the police, right now.”

Portia stiffened, feeling bombarded by all the questions. “I don’t know his real name. He made me call him Murphy. I don’t know if it was his first or last name.”

Her father leaned toward her. “Okay. Murphy. Over six feet, longish gray hair, well-muscled, funny sounding voice. Is that right?”

Portia nodded. “And pockmarked skin.”

He started to jot down the particulars. “Where did he take you, honey? Was it all the way up in Wisconsin, like Boone said?”

She sat up straighter. “Yes. I don’t know the town name, but maybe we could find it from the registration papers in the truck? When I left the cabin, I just drove like a maniac to the interstate, and didn’t look back.”

“A cabin?” Grace said, with wide eyes. “In the woods?”

“Yes.” Portia looked down at her hands, finding it harder to go on. “It was surrounded by woods, with just dirt tracks going in and out of the place. But I never saw the outside. Until the day I escaped.”

Boone leaned forward, his face a study in horror. “He kept you inside for two years?”

Portia’s hand flew to her face, which temporarily crumpled. “Yes.” She reached for strength, found it in her father’s hand that squeezed hers, and took a deep breath. “Except when he tied me to the porch on that last day.”

Boone stood up and started pacing. “We’ve gotta tell the cops who this guy is, the sick f—” He stopped, realized there were ladies present, and turned to Dirk and Anderson. “Or we could go out there, find the bastard, and beat him to death.”

Anderson held up a hand. “Not that the idea doesn’t have merit,” he said quietly. “But he may be armed.”

Boone’s face turned dull red. “I’ve got a rifle and I know how to use it. I’m not afraid of that bastard.”

Daisy’s face went gray. “What if he has another girl in there? Maybe someone else’s daughter.”

Portia stiffened and squirmed in her seat. She needed to tell them. “Um.”

Her father picked up on her distress. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“You can’t tell the police where he is.”

Boone almost shouted his answer, seeming angrier by the moment. “Why the hell not?”

She put both hands over her face and mumbled her words. “Because,” she said. “Because I think I may have killed him.”

She felt her father stiffen beside her.
“What?”

The tears came, freely again. They traced her cheeks and made her voice hitch. “I think I may have… I may have killed him. It was the only way I could get away.”

Grace jumped up and ran to her sister, pulling her into a hug. “It’s okay. We’ll take care of you. And I don’t blame you one bit. That prick should’ve been strung up to die from the worst kind of torture. If you killed him,” she wailed, suddenly in tears herself, “then good for you.”

Anderson added his counsel again, the voice of reason in a sea of chaos. “But Portia’s right. The innocent don’t always get the benefit of the law. If she did kill him, they might charge her. But if they don’t know who she is…”

Boone stopped pacing and looked toward the barn. “We’ve gotta dump that truck. And its plates. It needs to disappear, forever.”

Her mother’s face had turned paler than before. “I don’t know about this. We’re talking about conspiring to break the law.”

Portia sat still, crying silently, but the tears still wet her cheeks. “Mom? Do you want me to go to jail?”

Daisy turned to her, resolve stamped on her face. “Goodness, no, baby. I’m sorry.” She stood, placing her hands on Portia’s shoulders. “I'm with you all. Let’s do what we have to do to protect our girl.”

Dirk stood, looking out the window. “We’ve got to go out there, find out if he’s dead or alive.”

Anderson nodded solemnly. “It has to be done quietly. There needs to be a good excuse for us to be there. Something completely innocent and believable.”

Grace swung toward Anderson. “Us?”

His face hardened. “Of course, us. I’m not going to let your father and Boone face this monster alone.”

Grace slumped back in her chair. “Right.”

“No!” Portia bolted from her seat, ran to her father, and started pulling on his arm. “You can’t go out there. If I didn’t kill him, if I just knocked him out…he’ll kill you. He’s ruthless. He’s strong. He’s smart.” She sobbed the last words. “He’s a monster.”

Boone stepped toward her. “How would he know us, Peaches?”

“He had no television. But you guys were all over the newspapers. He bought several papers each week, clipped the articles. He knows you all by name.” She turned to Anderson. “Except you. I don’t think he knew you guys were married.”

Grace looked scared. “Oh my God.”

Dirk turned from the window. “We can’t assume he isn’t capable of retribution.” He thought for a moment. “We’ve gotta find out what happened to him. Carefully. Without alarming anyone.”

Grace said, “What about the papers? We can do a search on the town. Look at the obits online. That kind of thing.”

“That’ll work if his body was found,” Boone said. “But if he lived like a hermit, which I’m assuming is why Portia was never found, he could still be lying there.” Boone pulled out a chair again and sat down, running his hands through his shaggy blond hair. “I’ve got some ideas. Let me think on it. Meanwhile, Peaches, can you tell us more about the place? What did you see the first day you arrived?”

Chapter 17

T
he ride to the cabin had been long and filled with blackness and distortion. He had settled Portia on the seat beside him, and when she began to wake up, he’d clamped the horrible cloth over her face again, pushing her back to the darkness.

“I remember a few things on the way up there, but mostly I was drugged. Chloroform, I think. He poured it out of a bottle and put it on a cloth over my nose.”

They listened closely while she mentally returned to the trip that had begun her two years in hell.

“He threw my purse out the window at one point. I remember feeling a sense of terrible loss. Everything was in there. My license. My cell phone. Everything.”

Boone spoke up. “No one ever reported finding it.”

“It was very rural. I’d just woken up because cold air came in the window, and when he leaned over to toss it out, I saw it go sailing past me in what felt like slow motion. I was so dizzy. But I seem to remember going over a bridge. Maybe a river.”

“That would explain it,” Boone said.

Dirk continued to take notes. “Bridge. River. Okay. What else?”

“There was a town called Middleton. I remember signs for hotels lit up. It was night.”

Anderson looked up. “I know where that is. I did an undergrad semester at the university in Madison, Wisconsin. It’s just next door.”

Grace and Daisy watched and listened with intent expressions on their faces, as if they were trying to absorb as much as possible and somehow, through the powers of their minds, find answers.

Portia turned to Boone. “In the truck behind the barn, there are papers in the glove box. Probably his registration and insurance. Can you get them?”

He was out the door in a flash, and back in a few minutes with the folder in hand. “Here you go.”

“Give it to Dad, please.” She motioned to her father. “Check out the address.”

Dirk rummaged through the papers and peered at them closely. “Daisy? Have you got your glasses on? What’s that say?” He handed the paper to his wife.

“Looks like his name is Budley McVail. And it’s a place called Baraboo, Wisconsin. What a funny name. For both of them.”

“I don’t think that’s his real name,” Portia said, sounding defeated. “He might have stolen the truck.”

Portia’s father jumped up and grabbed a US Atlas from the desk in the living room, flipping through the pages until he found Wisconsin. “Let see. Here’s Madison.” He moved his finger up the map. “And here’s Middleton.”

Boone and Anderson got up and watched over his shoulder. Dirk’s finger moved on the map. “There it is. Baraboo. Looks like it’s about thirty or forty miles north of Middleton.”

Portia sat quietly while they talked about the landscape, and possible approaches. She waited until their comments had slowed, and said. “There’s more. We were right next to a lake.”

“Hmm. There’s a lake just south of the town called Devil’s Lake. Could be a possibility. Lots of woods and state land there, too.”

“That’s it!” Portia said with a shiver. “Devil’s Lake.”

Her father looked up with an encouraging smile. “Please, go on.”

“The road to the cabin woke me up. It was so bumpy, like it wasn’t even meant for cars, you know? I remember hearing the axle hit roots or rocks, and occasionally he’d have to back up and go around another way.”

She paused, closing her eyes to remember. “There was a pole at one intersection with deer antlers nailed to it. Like some sort of trophies. I remember the truck headlights lighting them up. Disgusting.” She shook her head and grimaced. “Of course, when I drove out of there I was in such a panic I don’t remember a thing about it. It was a miracle I found my way out.”

Daisy leaned over and touched her hand. “Could you see the cabin? What did it look like?”

Portia sighed with trembling breath. Exhaustion started to creep over her and she didn’t know how much more she could share before she’d need a break.

Her mother picked up on it. “That is, honey, if you’re up to it? Do you want to stop for a bit?”

“No. A few more minutes will be okay.” Portia steeled herself. “It was a hunting cabin, I think. Heated by wood. It had a tin roof, and I only know that because I’d hear the rain on it, beating away…” She focused inwardly. “There was a front porch. All the windows were boarded up. It had a generator which ran the lights and well pump.”

Boone said, “That might make it easier to trace. He’d have to feed it with gas all the time. He’d have to go out for that on a regular basis.”

Anderson agreed. “Good point.”

Portia let out a tired sigh and leaned back against the chair. “He did. He often went out for gas for the generator.”

Grace said, “What was it like inside?”

Her sister’s face fell. “It was my prison for two years. I could draw you a picture of every square inch of the inside.” The emotion that hit her came swiftly, surprising her with its sudden intensity. She collapsed onto her arms on the table, weeping softly.

Daisy stood suddenly. “That’s enough for now. I'm taking her upstairs.”

Portia raised a tear-stained face to her mother. “No. I don’t want to be cooped up anymore. I want to be outside.”

Daisy’s eyes widened. “Well, okay, honey. Wanna sit on the porch?”

Portia shook her head. “No. I don’t want anyone to see me.”

Boone stood and held out a hand with a tentative smile. “How about that old glider behind the barn? We can set you up so you can see all the horses, the hills. Want to try that?”

She nodded, tears still trickling down her cheeks. “Thank you. That would be perfect.” To her own surprise, she took his hand and let him walk her toward the door. Before they went out, she turned to the group with a hitch in her throat. “Thanks for listening.”

The returned murmurs of affection gave her a renewed sense of strength, and surprising herself even further, she let Boone lead her around the barn.

Chapter 18

B
oone settled Portia on the glider, then ran back into the house to bring out a quilt, pillow, bottle of water, and a few magazines Daisy pushed on him.

“Here you go,” he said, slightly breathless from running. “You can even use the little bathroom in the groom’s apartment. Remember? It’s right through this door, here.”

She snorted. “Of course I remember. I’m not totally brain dead.” She tucked her legs under her, covering her lap with the quilt.

Boone grinned. “Okay, Peaches. Settle down there, girl.”

“I’m not a horse!” The corners of her mouth twitched. “Except I think I’d rather be one, at this point in my life.”

“Don’t blame you. It would be one nice life. Especially if you lived on this farm.” Boone pointed to the far end of the glider. “May I?”

“I guess.” She nodded, sliding closer to the other end, away from him.

He sat down and began to move the seat back and forth in a comforting, rhythmic motion. “Remember when we were kids? We’d come out here after we had a long ride, have your mom’s lemonade… Those summer days were some of my best memories ever.”

Portia began to relax. The sun-dappled patterns from the lilac hedges growing near the barn warmed her face and fluttered on her eyelashes, soothing her. “Me, too.”

“Remember the time we went up to Deacon’s Point? And we got—”

“—caught in that thunderstorm?” she said.

“Yeah. That was so cool.”

She actually chuckled, welcoming the sound. “We got drenched!”

“And ran for that cave, where you heard the mysterious growling sound.”

“I wonder what lived in there. Was it a big cat? Or a bear?”

“I didn’t hear it. I still think you imagined it,” he said, tilting a smile toward her so she’d know he was just kidding.

“I didn’t imagine it!” She unfolded her legs and put them on the ground, pushing back and forth in the same rhythm as Boone. The simple feeling of gliding gave her comfort, and for the first time since she returned home, she felt safe.