H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy (17 page)

Chapter 42

Jim enjoyed the drive into their farm. The fields on both sides of the long driveway were a beautiful shade of green in the spring, bursting with life in the summer, shielded the house with a golden yellow corn in the fall and gave a sense of hope for the future in winter. Their house contrasted sharply with the traditional two story, Sear’s catalog circa 1925, farm house. This was a cozy two-story cottage style log home with a large porch. Right now, its soft reddish brown hue seemed to glow in the last hour of the setting sun.

Jim parked the Jeep in the garage and they began to take their suitcases and other debris from the trip into the house. Molly immediately began pushing her bowl around the floor and looking plaintively at her masters. Eve opened the pantry door, picked up a scoop of dog food, told the dog to sit and poured it in the bowl. Molly’s eyes begged for the release command as Eve filled the water dish. With the word “Okay,” Molly’s feet scrambled on the tile as she rushed to her dinner. Jim carried the last suitcase to the bedroom, closed the garage door and went to the living room. Soon the TV was on and Jim was searching for the evening’s news.

Eve poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle in the refrigerator, slipped on her heavy sweater jacket and opened the back door to let Molly run. Following the dog onto the large back porch Eve spent a moment looking over the fields. Several corn stalks shuttered unnaturally in the still air. Eve smiled; deer were in the field again.

She watched Molly racing toward the pasture, then took a seat in one of the two overly large, white wicker chairs. The screen door slammed back against the door jamb making a homey ‘BAND-bang’ sound. By now the western sky was filled with reds, oranges and purples as the night captured the day. Soon the clear cool evening would burst with stars pinpricking the sky. Once comfortably curled onto the overstuffed cushion she opened her cell phone and called Sherrie anxious to tell about what they had learned at the library.

Cole’s foot caught in the grassy weeds growing between the corn stalks. His arms flew out to his sides and gripped the nearest stalk for support. The leaf’s sharp edge quickly slicing his skin. “Damn this…” He quickly choked down the remainder of his curse, afraid someone would hear. He had fallen to his knees so he stayed there, knees cushioned in the soft earth and rested. After a moment Cole stood, picked up his backpack and stumbled forward.

A short while later, light fading Cole faced two buildings. He selected the one on his left and slipped inside. It was an equipment shed, a tractor and some other equipment, but no boat. Cole found a garden rake and began a quick tour of the building, breaking the bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling as he went.  There was no boat here.  Disappointed, Cole slipped out the way he’d come in.

A few minutes later he stood at the back of the larger building. Carefully he slid the door open, just a foot. Just enough to squeeze through. He could smell hay. The barn’s interior was darker than he expected. There were only small windows set high in the walls and they were covered with a layer of dirt and dust which allowed only a minimal amount of light into the building at high noon.

Carefully Cole groped his way along a wide hallway. It was dark now. A small room, with door half open stood on his right. He stepped past the door. Bits of barnyard light found their way through dirt covered windows, cracks and holes in the barn’s wooden walls.  In the dim light he could just make it out. He had found it. The Chris-Craft stood tall in her cradle.

Cole swallowed a cheer, took off his back pack and began removing his tools. He placed a saw, crowbar, hammer, his tool-grabber and a knife on the ground. Then he pulled a small flashlight from the bag and settled into the task of expanding the hole into the boat. In twenty minutes he’d be rich, save his house and business and never, never worry about living in some broken down farmer’s pathetic attic again.

Several minutes later Cole had nearly finished widening the hole into the boat. All he needed to do was cut one more board and he could wedge himself into the hull far enough to reach the pile of cash he knew was there and….

A noise. Not a sound of the night. Not a raccoon or opossum but man made. He didn’t know where it came from. He turned off the flashlight and put down the handsaw.

Silence pounded in his ears. He wanted to turn on the flashlight and find the intruder, whomever or whatever it was. He stood, turned and faced the window ten feet away. Unconsciously Cole tilted his head and listened.

Nothing…. Maybe it was some animal, a rat or fox, something that belongs in a barn. Rationality fought to intrude on his delusional brain. It wasn’t an animal, he knew it wasn’t. The backyard light came on, filtering into the barn through the windows and around the building’s tractor doors.

This was turning out to be a bad idea. He’d driven three hours to find the boat. Now he was going to be caught. Bullshit! It wasn’t going to happen. Cole studied the barn’s double doors. They didn’t move. Good, whomever came through those doors was going to get…he looked around. “Where is that damned gun?” he asked himself. He groped in the dark, found his tool bag and hefted a hammer. It would have to do. This was his find.

He knew there was more money in that boat and he was going to get it. The hammer wasn’t right, it wasn’t enough; he needed the pistol. Whoever came in that barn door was going to be blown away. He would do it. He would blast the first person that came through those doors. No one was going to take his money again.

Cole’s hand slid to his pocket. Not there. The pistol wasn’t there. He spun, eyes searching the floor. The light didn’t penetrate this deep into the barn; he couldn’t find the damn pistol. Cole fell to his knees, he needed the pistol; where was the pistol? Sweat began to bead on his forehead. A flick of the thumb and the flashlight flared.

Cole swept the light across the floor, his tool bag, the inside of the boat, then spotted the weapon laying on a beam of the boat’s cradle. He grabbed the gun and extinguished the light.

From the darkness he heard someone; the breathing was loud, fast, excited. Cole raised the gun and tried to find the sound. The breathing moved quickly from one side of the room to another. Cole struggled to find it, if he turned on the light they’d know he was here. But the sound. It was to his right, no left. It was behind him. Then the angry, excited bark of a dog filled in the darkness.

He flipped on the flashlight. A beagle stood just ten feet away, its bark constant, its howl loud. The dog bayed like it had treed a raccoon. Cole rushed at it, the dog dodged and barked again. He kicked at the noise, slipped, and fell. The flashlight crashed hard to the concrete floor and without so much as a flare it went out. He rushed at the animal, it ran. Cole stumbled forward, found a door and slammed it shut.

Eve closed her phone in disgust. Sherrie had her phone off. Eve had big news and she couldn’t share it. She finished her wine and was about to call for Molly when a chorus of howls erupted from the inside of the barn.

“Ahhhh…that stupid dog….” Eve thought, “getting her back is going to take a half hour.” Opening the door to the house Eve shouted, “Your stupid dog is on a rabbit again, I’m going to get her.” Walking across the yard Eve smiled. The dog was Jim’s when not coming when called and her’s the rest of the time.

Eve had just reached the barn when she noticed Molly’s bark wasn’t the howl of a beagle happily running the trail of some cottontail. These were the sharp barks of a dog that was angry. “Oh no, she’s cornered something. God I hope it’s not a skunk,” she thought. She pushed open the barn door and called, “Molly, c’mer girl.”

She waited. Nothing. Normally, she would hear the gentle jingle of the tags on the dog’s collar. The barn was silent. She tried again but nothing returned from the dark void of the barn’s deep interior. Stepping inside she felt for the light switch, finally found it and flipped it on.

Nothing happened.

“Oh crap, I hate this damned barn in the dark,” Eve muttered. Then she heard a soft whine from deep inside the dark building. Molly had somehow gotten inside the tool room and couldn’t get out.

“Molly you stupid dog,” Eve said as she began to feel her way along the isle to the far side of the building. Without much difficulty she found the tool room door and began to fumble with the door catch. Suddenly a flashlight illuminated just to her left. She turned in that direction. A loud bang exploded in her head. She sagged, then felt herself hit the floor. Her cheek hurt. Unable to move she watched the beam of light pass over the toes of a pair of mud caked work boots. She could hear Molly whining…then nothing.

Chapter 43

The Sports Network Scoreboard was rolling credits as Jim walked into the kitchen, took a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and went to the porch to join Eve. Her nearly full wineglass sat on the table next to her cell phone. Curious that she was not there Jim placed his bottle next to the wineglass and called into the dark backyard. Not receiving an answer he reached inside the backdoor, found the light switch and flipped on a large florescent light attached to the roof of the house. Immediately the yard and pasture beyond were bathed in light. Odd, long octopus shadows filled the gaps, but no Eve.

He called to her again, and again no answer. A nagging sense of unease began to creep up the back of Jim’s neck. He walked to the equipment shed, opened the door and turned on the light. Nothing happened.

“Odd,” Jim thought. He’d been working in this building just a few nights ago and the lights had all worked fine. Moving to the workbench Jim found the flashlight hanging at it’s end. Taking the light he quickly searched the shed. No sign of Eve. As he moved around the tractor his light moved over the light fixture screwed into an overhead beam. The light bulb was broken.

Jim hurried to the barn. Reaching for the light switch he noticed it was already in the ‘on’ position. He swept the beam of his flashlight across the ceiling until he found the metal conduit. Tracing the pipe with his light he came to the first light socket. The bare bulb had been broken here too. Jim called Eve’s name again and again only silence answered.

Then he heard a small whine. It was Molly, she sounded far off, deep in the interior of the barn. Something was definitely wrong here. He retreated a few steps. A rack of yard tools was mounted to the wall next to the barn door. Jim scanned the tools hanging there, selected a small hand sickle and resumed his search.

Extending the flashlight outward in his left hand and holding the long curved blade in his right at the ready Jim slowly advanced.  Carefully he made his way to the back of the barn, checking light fixtures as he went. The light bulbs were all broken. Eventually, he reached the tool room. Molly’s insistent whine was plainly coming from inside the small room. He opened the door and Molly ran out, barking and running circles around him.

“Molly how the heck did you get in there?” Jim asked as he shined his light into the room. Molly, of course didn’t answer, and Jim continued his search of the barn. He called Eve’s name several times with no answer.

Cole gripped the pistol tightly. Just a few more steps and this guy, whatever the hell his name was, would be dead. Cole thought about that; maybe he’d better use the hammer. It was quieter. No, no, he’d stick with the gun. But the pistol was…

There was a better chance for a quick kill with the gun, no muss, no fuss. Over, just like that. Bang and it was done. But, it was murder. Was he really a murderer? Cole wondered. Conflicting, disjointed thoughts raced across his brain like the scenery outside a trucker’s window. Jim, that was it. The guy’s name was Jimmy-boy. It was the gun, definitely the…maybe the hammer.

He’d done some bad things, was doing a bad thing now. But was he a murderer? Alan’s death had been justified. Was it murder to kill someone that was killing you? Alan had been killing him. Sure it was slow, but Cole could see what was happening. The bastard had been methodically sucking away Cole’s life. Any judge that really thought about it would know Cole had been justified in what he did.

The light stopped. Cole focused on the light.

Jim was now very concerned. The broken lights were odd. But, maybe Eve had chased Molly into the woods or into the field and was lost in the dark. That didn’t make sense, she could see the lights of the house. Besides, even in the dark she would just walk toward the noise of the road. Something was very wrong here.

For the first time since childhood a fear of the dark crept up his back. He could feel a stranger’s eyes and he began to feel very much like a trophy whitetail on opening day.

Slowly Jim backed down the hallway. He reached the door and quickly slipped around the corner and into the shadows between the tool shed and barn. The police were too far away to be of much help. It would be thirty minutes or more before they were here. He needed help now.

Maybe Eve was just lost in the field or the woods. He decided to call his neighbor, Dave Frederickson. Dave and his three boys could be here in minutes.

Cole stood silently behind a stack of equipment watching the light come closer. His prisoner rested against the wall, unconscious. He could just shoot Jim now and be done with it; no, wait, that was too much noise. Cole’s mind raced, this was exciting, dangerous and the best damned adventure he’d ever had. Which was better? The gun, definitely the gun. But the hammer would be quieter.

Wait, what if Jim over there had already found the money and hidden it? Cole would never find it then. Or, what if he’d found the money and had already put it in a bank? Then he’d need to be alive to get it out. No, better to take the wife and have Jimmy-boy over there deliver the money to him. That was it! That was a great plan. Cole smiled; he’d done it again. God, he was freakin’ brilliant.

The light stopped. Slowly it retreated. Cole watched it slide further away and suddenly it was gone. Finally, he was able to leave. He opened the rear door then lifted Eve over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Cole faced a small patch of grass and then a large field of corn. He couldn’t remember the little pasture, but he was sure this was the field he’d crossed on the way to the barn. His van was parked on the side of the road a few hundred yards away.

Cole began to hurry across the pasture, but it wasn’t easy carrying even a small woman.

“Hey! Who the hell are you?” A shout came from behind. Cole dropped his prisoner, whirled, pointed the pistol and fired twice.

Jim heard two loud bangs. A loud SMACK exploded from the barn wall a few feet from him. He ducked behind the building. Several minutes passed. Jim peeked around the corner again. The pasture stood empty in the cool starlight, his antagonist was gone.

Jim ran to the house. If this guy wanted a war he’d get one. Jim took the porch steps two at a time. About to enter the house he was stopped by the sound of Eve’s cell phone. Knowing he should ignore the phone he headed to the basement for one of his guns; but this wasn’t right. No one would be calling right now. Not exactly at this instant.

He listened. The phone went to voice mail. Then it rang again. This was a call Jim knew he needed to answer. Picking up the phone he pushed the answer icon. A voice said, “I have your wife.”

Jim’s hands began to shake. The voice said something, Jim didn’t hear. “I have your wife.” What did that mean? How did this voice get this phone number? Jim’s heart pounded in his chest. His breathing became shallow.

“HEY, I’m talkin’ to you idiot! Get the money and bring it to…”

“What money? What are you talking about?” Jim was recovering fast. “I don’t have any money. I did, but I bought a farm. Farmers don’t have money.”

“The money in the damn boat! “

“What money? Are you insane? What are you talking…”

The voice cut him off. “Don’t screw with me. If you want to see your wife again. Get it and drive to the fisherman’s shrine.”

“The what?” Jim couldn’t understand what was happening. “What fisherman’s shrine?” Jim couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Fisherman’s shrine? What was that? His wife was being held by the damned Riddler?

The voice on the phone began to laugh. “Think Jimmy boy, think…”

Jim’s mind raced. He’d been to the statue in Glouster Massachusetts called the fisherman’s shrine or statue or something like that. That didn’t make sense, it had to be… In vacation country! It had to be up north. “The fish statue? In Kalkaska?” Jim asked

“Yeah, you know another one?”

“But, I don’t…”

“Shut up dumb ass. Look, you get there and we’ll call you. Got it? If you’re not at the trout in five hours, she’s history. And one more thing. We’re watching. We’ll watch every place you go, everything you touch and every phone you talk on. If we see a cop, if we smell a cop or even think a cop might be in the same county, she’s dead. You understand? You got that?”

The phone went dead in Jim’s hand. He sunk into the porch chair. This was bad. This was real bad. He had five hours to find some money he didn’t know about and drive three hours north. This was as bad as it got.

Jim sat forward and began to rub his temples…money, boat, “fisherman’s shrine”? What the hell? Just say the town’s name, “Kalkaska.”

The man said “we”. That meant there were more than one of these creeps. Okay, Jim thought. He could deal with that. The caller said he would call when Jim got to the fisherman’s shrine in downtown Kalkaska. The shrine was a statue of a big brook trout. Some people called it Kalkaska’s elk because an elk diner raised the money to buy the statue. Jim knew exactly where that was.

Jim had watched as many shoot’em up movies as the next guy. He knew the cops would swarm all over the farm. There would be a command post and a yard full of cop cars and State Police troopers and FBI agents and none of them would act fast enough. He’d lose her, he’d lose the only thing that made life worth living. “Okay Jim, get ahold of yourself. Think, think.” His mind raced. He knew all that but what was “the money” thing? What the hell was that all about? What money? He hadn’t been asked for a sum, an amount, just “the money”. Jim pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The voice had said the money and the boat. No, it was the money IN the boat!

Jim hurried to the barn, pulled open the tractor doors and inspected the boat. He couldn’t see much.

Some tools lay on the floor. Someone had been working on the boat! He needed more light. Jim rushed to the tool room and found the box of spare light bulbs. Then he tripped the barn’s fusebox, took some tools from his bench and began to remove broken light bulbs from their sockets. When he had replaced them all he flipped the circuit breaker and the interior of the barn was bathed in light.

The Chris-Craft sat in the middle of the barn on a large cradle. Next to the front of the boat a handsaw, several other tools and a tool bag lay on the floor. Someone had intended to cut their way into the boat. Eve must have surprised them before they got started. Jim began his search there.