The Summit (27 page)

Her eyes filled with tears as she pulled the door open and Ben swept her into his arms.

“Oh Ben.”

“It's all right, baby. It's all right.”

Autumn clung to him, her arms locked around his neck. She moved her head but her throat was too tight to speak. She didn't object when Ben lifted her up and carried her over to the sofa, sat down and cradled her in his lap. For long moments, he just held her.

“It's okay,” he said, smoothing back her hair. “Everything's going to be all right.”

But everything wasn't all right. It hadn't been for weeks, not since the dreams had begun.

Autumn trembled, then dragged in a shaky breath. “I wanted it to just be a dream.”

“I know, honey.” He pressed his cheek to hers and held her a moment more, then eased away. “We've got to tell Doug Watkins. The police think there's only one man. We need to tell them there were two.”

“They'll figure it out. There's bound to be evidence. Maybe they already know.”

“You were there. You saw what happened. You might be able to tell them something that will help them find the killers.”

She swallowed past the knot in her throat, let out a shuddering breath. “I know you're right. I just…” She closed her eyes and leaned into him. “Knowing it's real makes it worse.”

Ben squeezed her hand. “I know. Dammit, I wish we knew why you had that particular dream.”

“None of it makes any sense. Why did I dream something like that—something so different from the others?” She lifted her head off his shoulder and looked into his face. “We've got to go up there—up to Ash Grove. Until now, all the dreams have been connected. Maybe the blond man was one of the killers. Maybe he lives right there in town. We've got to show the local police the sketch, see if they recognize him.”

He eased her off his lap, down beside him on the sofa. “I'm going to call Doug, ask if he can meet us at the station. You think you're ready to handle it?”

“Do I have a choice?”

He reached out and cupped her cheek. “I'll be with you all the way. Just remember that. We're in this together.”

Autumn clung to the thought as they walked to the door.

 

Detective Watkins was waiting at the police station when Ben and Autumn got there. Without a word, he led them down the hall to what Autumn had begun to think of as the Ansel Adams room.

Ben didn't bother to apologize for bringing Watkins down on his day off. “I imagine you've seen the news.”

“The murder? I've seen it. It's been on every channel.” He looked over at Autumn. “Don't tell me you've got information on the murder?”

“She dreamed about it last night,” Ben explained. “She saw the woman get killed.”

Watkins blew out a breath, ran a hand over his shiny bald head. “I need a cup of coffee. You two want some?”

“I'm fine,” Ben said.

“I could use a glass of water,” said Autumn.

Watkins disappeared and returned with a bottle of Aquafina for Autumn and a paper cup filled with thick black coffee for himself.

“All right, start from the beginning.” He sat down in a chair across from them. “What time did you have this dream?”

“Sometime around two o'clock,” she said. “That's about the usual time it seems to occur.”

“So the murder had already been committed.”

“Apparently so. I wasn't sure if what I was seeing was going to happen or already had. It seems to happen both ways. I was hoping it wasn't going to happen at all.”

He sighed. “But it did.”

She didn't answer.

Ben shoved the notes he'd taken across the table. “This is what Autumn told me when she woke up. I wrote it down as closely as I could. She couldn't possibly have known any of this at the time since she was with me.”

Watkins sipped his coffee and grimaced at the bitter taste. “All right, let's take this one step at a time.” He held on to the notes but didn't read them. “Tell me everything you saw in your dream.”

Autumn took a steadying breath and began to describe the terrible events. She tried to stay unemotional, tried not to feel the woman's terror, but it was nearly impossible to do. She picked up the bottle of water, but her hands were shaking too badly to crack off the lid.

Ben pried it from her fingers and opened it for her. Autumn took a long drink of the icy water, grateful the detective had brought it.

“So that's about it,” she said. “I never saw their faces. I couldn't get a good enough look at the men's eyes to tell what color they were, but I remember as they left the room, they were smiling.”

Watkins frowned. “Smiling? Are you sure?”

She nodded, swallowed. “I could see their mouths through the holes in their masks. I remember the way it made me feel—sick inside, you know?”

The detective grunted. “I can imagine.” Though he had been scribbling on a pad throughout, he reached for Ben's notes. “I need to make a copy of these.”

“Go ahead,” Ben said.

Watkins left with the notes and brought them back a few minutes later. “I don't know what to say, how to handle this. I'll just do the best I can.”

“We're going up there,” Ben told him.

“No way. You can't do that. You can't get in the middle of a police investigation.”

“Unless you plan to throw us in jail, we're going. This is all somehow connected to Molly and that little girl in Idaho. By the way, Laura Purcell recognized the guy in the sketch. He was camping next to her Brownie troop up at the lake.”

“Man, this is a wild one.”

“We've got to roll with it, Doug. So far everything Autumn's given us has checked out.”

“Yeah, but we've still got no idea where to look for the bastard.”

“Yes, we do,” Autumn said. “He's in those mountains near Ash Grove. Maybe he lives right there. This dream has to be related to the others in some way.”

“It's possible the blond man was one of the men who murdered that woman,” Ben said.

“And if he is and you're up there getting in the way of an ongoing investigation—”

“We won't do anything that might jeopardize your case. We just need to take a look around and ask a few questions.”

“All right, but you had better watch your back. There's a dead woman involved in this now. You go up there asking questions, someone might not like it.”

 

They left the office and started making plans for the trip. “This is liable to take a few days,” Ben said. “Can you clear your schedule?”

“I'll call Josh and ask if he'll take my classes. The pay is good for the private lessons so he'll probably be glad for the extra money.”

“I never thought of that. If this starts costing you money, I'll be glad to—”

She sliced him a glance. “I don't want your money, Ben.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't. He was beginning to understand her. She was extremely independent and she wanted to keep it that way. Surprisingly, Ben seemed not to mind. Of all the men she had dated, he was the only one she could think of who really allowed her to be herself.

Steve Elliott had wanted her to change her into his ideal woman. Luke Noland hadn't made the effort to know more about her than how good a climber she was. Ronnie Hillson just wanted to get laid.

“What about Katie? What did you tell her yesterday when you cancelled your day?”

“I told her something important had come up. I said I'd make it up to her during the week. Since I almost never miss one of our dates, she was okay with it.”

Autumn and Ben both went back to their apartments to pack their bags, enough to last for several days. Ben arrived for the trip in his pickup.

“It's got four-wheel drive,” he explained. “And it's a lot less conspicuous.”

Autumn thought that considering they were dealing with child abduction and murder, the less conspicuous the better.

A
sh Grove wasn't easy to find. It was little more than a wide spot along a two-lane road leading north off scenic Route 20. There was a run-down gas station, a mercantile that sold groceries, a café with a handicraft shop that catered to what few tourists ever found their way up there, and the Ash Grove Motel.

Most of the houses in the area sat on large pieces of land, Ben noticed, which was the reason no one had heard the murdered woman's screams. Her name, Priscilla Vreeland, had finally been released to the news media and Doug Watkins had grudgingly given them the property address, a route number they found painted in black letters on a mail box tilting precariously over the narrow road. The light blue stucco house sat at the end of a long gravel driveway off the main road behind a cluster of pine and sycamore trees, nearly out of sight, which would have aided the murder and get away.

“How do you think we should handle this?” Autumn asked. “We can't just pull up in front of the house and start asking questions.”

Ben smiled grimly. “I think maybe that's exactly what we should do.”

Turning the pickup into the driveway, he drove toward the robin's-egg-blue house. It was gable-roofed, with what appeared to be a couple of bedrooms upstairs. He recognized the yellow tape strung across the front door, designating the place as a crime scene. He'd seen it in a hundred TV shows. Two cars were parked in the open space in front of the house, a sheriff's patrol car and a plain brown newer model Buick. Probably the medical examiner, who, in an area like this, could be any person with forensic training, from a dentist to a mortician, under special contract with the county. Fortunately, at least for the moment, the TV camera crews were gone.

Ben parked near the perimeter, out of the way, and both of them climbed out. They headed for the deputy sheriff standing guard outside the front door, a young man with wheat-colored hair, deep-set eyes and youthful features.

“Any suspects yet?” Ben asked.

The deputy gave them an assessing glance. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Ben pulled the rolled-up sketch out of his pocket. “We're looking for the man in this drawing. We were hoping someone from around here might know who he is. There's a chance he lives in the area.”

The deputy's nearly white eyebrows pulled together. “Pretty average-looking guy. Hard to tell from this. Could be a lot of different people.”

“Anyone in particular you can think of?”

“Blond hair, blue eyes,” he read. “Average height and weight. Like I said, could be a lot of people. Why are you looking for him?”

“He's a person of interest in a child abduction case. Two of them, actually. One two months ago, one six years back.”

The deputy studied the sketch, then handed it back. “Sorry. Can't help you.” He looked up. “You got some reason for thinking the guy might be an area resident?”

“We know he's a big outdoorsman or at least we're pretty sure. Rumor has it he may be holding the girls somewhere up here in the Cascades.”

“Rumor?”

“Leads we've tracked down.” It was a lie but easier than trying to explain the truth.

“What's your interest? You a private detective?”

“One of the missing girls is my daughter.”

The deputy's youthful features softened. “I wish I could help you, I really do.”

Funny thing was, from the uneasy look on the young man's face, Ben thought there was a very good chance that Deputy Cobb, the name on the silver tag on his pocket, might be able to do just that.

Ben handed the deputy one of his business cards. “We'll be checking into the local motel. If you think of anything, you can find us there.”

“You may have trouble getting a room. Lots of media folks around.”

“Yeah, I figured.” They got the last of six small rooms, tossed their stuff onto the sagging double bed and flipped on the TV.

“Thank God they're hooked up to satellite,” Ben said, using the remote to click through channels until he found a news broadcast.

“In the bizarre murder of a young woman in rural Warren County,” the reporter said, “it now appears the attacks were perpetrated by two men instead of one, as police originally believed.” The newsman went over the latest facts, which were few, and began to rehash what both Ben and Autumn already knew. Ben clicked off the TV.

“At least they know there were two of them,” Autumn said.

“Yeah, but not much more.” It was getting late. Even in summer, dark set in quickly once the sun dipped behind the high mountains. They had driven up late in the afternoon, wanting to tackle the curvy road into the canyon while it was still light enough to see.

“You hungry?” Ben asked.

“Not really, but I guess I could eat.”

“Good. That's what you need to do. Tomorrow we'll start digging around, see what we can find out.”

“Let's take the sketch with us and show it to some of the people in the café.”

They headed out, walking the short distance along a narrow road that was paved but had no sidewalks. The Grove Café was about half full. A couple of families, a pair of leather-vested bikers, some media types who were waiting like vultures for the next trickle of news and a guy and girl with sunburned faces Ben figured for backpackers.

There were great hiking trails in the area. Ben had kayaked the river running through the canyon and backpacked the trail over Cascade Pass.

“I climbed up here a couple of summers ago,” Autumn said as they sat down at one of the heavy pine tables. “Josh and I came to climb Angel's Peak, which is only a little farther down the road, but it started to rain and it's a tough climb to begin with. The weather turned nice the next day, but we were already into another area.”

They each unrolled the paper napkins that held their silverware then reached for the menu, a scratched plastic holder that enclosed the usual dinner fare and the specials of the day. A waitress arrived in a black skirt and white blouse. They ordered hamburgers, always the safest bet, though Ben was tempted to have the meat-loaf and mashed potatoes. The woman called in their selections, including a couple of Diet Cokes, then returned with plastic glasses full of water.

“Your order will be up pretty soon,” she said.

Ben pulled out the sketch. “We're looking for someone…maybe you could help us.” He read her name tag. “Millie, is it?”

“That's me.” She had short, frizzy blond hair and a face full of wrinkles, which made her look older than she probably was.

“We're trying to find the man in this sketch. We think he might live around here.”

She looked down at the drawing.

“It's an estate matter,” Ben added. “There may be an inheritance involved.”

It was the story they'd come up with on their way to Ash Grove, a tale they would tell the locals, if not the police.

The waitress frowned. “Pretty much an average lookin' fella. Says he's got blond hair and blue eyes. A lot of people around here look like the guy in this picture.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“Well, Isaac Vreeland looks a little like him. He's the poor fella whose wife was murdered.”

Ben cast Autumn a glance. “Terrible about that. Do the police have any idea who did it?”

“Not so far.”

“Is Mr. Vreeland back in town?” Autumn asked. “After what happened, surely he isn't staying at the house.”

“He got back right after they found the body. Once the police got through talkin' to him, he left with his cousin, George. He's got family all over up here.”

Millie left to wait on other customers. She seemed to know a lot of them, stopped to gossip with those she knew and some she didn't. The woman could be well of information, Ben thought, if he could manage to keep her talking.

She brought their Cokes and set them down on the table.

“So, Millie, what do you think happened up there? Doesn't seem like Ash Grove would be the kind of place a woman would get murdered.”

The waitress set her hands on her very generous hips. “Coulda been some scum off the highway, I guess, but the fact is, Priscilla'd been askin' for trouble. She shouldn't have married Isaac in the first place. She didn't belong up here. Folks in these parts didn't like her much.”

“Why not?” Autumn asked.

“Folks here got their own ways, their own beliefs. Prissy Vreeland was always tryin' to change things, tellin' people what to do.”

“What kind of things did she try to change?” Ben asked.

“Family things. Church stuff.” Millie whisked herself away to refill a customer's coffee cup before Ben could ask more. Besides, he had a feeling he'd gotten all he was going to get.

“What do you suppose she meant?” Autumn asked.

“I don't know.”

Millie arrived with their greasy hamburgers, which smelled delicious.

“Would it be okay if I left you a copy of the sketch? Maybe someone will recognize the guy. Like I said, it's an estate matter. Could mean a good bit of money for him.”

Millie took the sketch. “I'll put it up on the bulletin board. Folks know to look for things there.”

“We're staying at the motel, if someone needs to find us.” Ben handed her his card. “Or they can call me on my cell phone.”

They ate their hamburgers and drank their Diet Cokes, Autumn's appetite better than Ben had expected. He paid the check, then they headed back to the motel. He'd told Autumn about the pistol he'd brought along. Guns were sold in all his stores. He'd made a point to learn how to use them and because of his business, he had a permit to carry. He wasn't really expecting trouble but a woman was dead. It was better to be safe than sorry.

“There's something about this place…” Autumn said as she slipped into a sexy lavender nightgown that made him think about something besides murder. “I'm not sure what it is, but it's like…like there's something we aren't getting.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Ben took off his jeans and shirt but left on his boxers. They were sleeping down the street from the scene of a brutal killing. Neither of them felt comfortable naked.

“I think you should take a sleeping pill,” he said. “You need to get a good night's sleep and you won't if you're dreaming about a woman being murdered.”

Autumn shook her head. “I can't do that. I might learn something that could help the police—or something that could lead us to Molly.”

Ben ran a hand through his hair. “Dammit, I don't like this. Not one bit.”

“No, but you know I'm right.”

He gave up a sigh and climbed into bed, reached over and drew back the covers. “Come on. I think we both need to get some sleep.” He nestled her against him, her head resting against his shoulder. They were tired and uneasy and neither of them felt like making love. Instead they closed their eyes and tried to fall asleep.

 

It was sunny in the room when Autumn's eyes slowly opened. She couldn't believe it. Once she'd fallen asleep she had slept the entire night through without dreaming. It had happened before of course, recently, in fact. Still, sleeping right down the road from the scene of the murder she had witnessed the night before, it was amazing she hadn't suffered the nightmare again.

She heard the doorknob rattle and realized Ben was already up and dressed. He shoved his key into the lock and opened the door, juggling two foam cups of coffee.

Autumn leapt out of bed and caught the top cup just before it toppled over.

“Nice save.” He smiled. “Thanks.”

She looked up at him. “I didn't have the dream, Ben.”

“Yeah, I figured that out when I woke up and it was morning.”

“I wonder what happened.”

“Who knows? None of this makes any sense. But we've got to presume your theory's correct and all the dreams are related.”

“Which means the murder is also related. What do you think we should do next?”

“We need to get a look at Isaac Vreeland. If we get lucky, he'll turn out to be the blond man in your sketch.”

“If he is, where are the girls? The news reports didn't mention any children. I got the impression the Vreelands had only been married a couple of years.”

“Millie said Priscilla Vreeland wasn't well-liked. Unless the killing was random, someone disliked her enough to murder her.”

“Who, I wonder?” Autumn said. “And why?”

He took the lid off his black coffee and took a sip. “Isaac Vreeland is staying with one of his cousins. Let's find out where the cousin lives and go see him.”

It wasn't difficult to find George Vreeland. The TV crews were stalking the husband of the murder victim as if they were on a big-game hunt. The story of a young woman so brutally murdered seemed to have caught fire across the country.