The Summit (28 page)

Ben pulled his pickup out of the motel's gravel parking lot behind a CBS van and followed it up the winding canyon road. Several turns later they pulled up in front of a simple, single-story house where a group of media people had gathered. Ben and Autumn wandered over to join them.

“Has Vreeland made any sort of statement?” Ben asked one of the reporters, a skinny guy craning his neck to see.

“Not yet. He's due to come out in ten minutes.”

They settled in to wait and fifteen minutes later a blond man came out to face the yard full of reporters.

Isaac Vreeland looked like the guy in the sketch. His cousin, who walked out after him, also looked a little like the guy in the sketch.

Neither one was the man in Autumn's dreams.

 

“So much for getting lucky,” Ben said.

They listened to the victim's husband's statement and his plea for any information on the murder of his young wife, then watched him disappear in tears back inside the house.

“Well, that did us a lot of good,” Autumn said.

“Come on, let's take a drive. There are a couple of other rural communities in the area. We'll show the sketch around, ask some questions, see if anyone knows anything. Before we head back, we'll stop at the sheriff's station in Beecherville, see what the authorities there have to say. And I'd like to speak again with Deputy Cobb.”

They spent the day making stops, one after another, showing the sketch to anyone who happened to be around. None of the rural communities had more than a single business or two. One had a gas station, another a grocery store of sorts. One had a post office and café. There was the occasional seasonal motel. This time of year, a few places had stalls set up to sell items made from the area's natural resources: pottery, wood carvings and various other handicrafts.

One of the communities in the area was Beecherville, the farthest town east. It was located on the opposite side of the pass, which was closed from the west in winter.

Though Beecherville had actual city services, parks and schools and a volunteer fire department, it was still small, with a population on the sign that read eleven-hundred and two.

“If he lives in the area,” Autumn said as Ben pulled into a parking space in front of the local sheriff's station, “he's picked a good place to hide. I've never talked to so many I-don't-know-anything people.”

“You're right. If they do know something they aren't saying—not even if it might mean money for someone.”

Ben helped Autumn down from the truck and they went inside the narrow brick building. There was only one sheriff's car parked out front.

“May I help you?” An older woman moved toward the counter. Her gray hair was pulled back in a bun and she didn't wear a trace of makeup.

“I need to speak to whoever's in charge,” Ben said.

“Sheriff Crawford's in from Warren today, but I'm afraid he's extremely busy, what with the murder in Ash Grove and all. He was up there all morning. He's here now, but he's on the phone.”

“Tell him we have information that may be pertinent to the murder.”

The woman's eyes rounded. “I'll tell him.” She hurried away, wearing a loose-fitting dark-brown dress that fell well below her knees, a pair of thick support stockings and sturdy brown shoes. During the day, Autumn had seen other women dressed in an equally plain manner and she couldn't help thinking of the waitress's comment about
church stuff.
She'd noticed several churches in town as they drove through. One in particular caught her eye.
Community Brethren
the sign out in front read.

The woman returned to the counter. “The sheriff will see you. Please follow me.”

They pushed through the low swinging door at the end of the counter and made their way into an office at the rear of the building. Sheriff Crawford stood up as they walked in, a heavyset man with iron-gray hair, a belly that tipped over his belt and sideburns that needed trimming.

“Lottie says you've got information on the murder,” Crawford said without preamble. “What's your name?”

“Ben McKenzie. The lady is Autumn Sommers.”

The sheriff tossed her only the merest glance, one that gave her the impression he didn't think all that much of women. “So what information do you have?”

Ben unrolled the sketch. “This man has been identified as being at the scene of two child abduction cases—one six years ago, one just two months back. There's a chance he may live in the area.”

The sheriff looked down at the sketch. “What makes you think he's connected to the Vreeland murder?”

“Nothing conclusive, just a couple of leads we've been following that led us up here.”

The sheriff eyed him with suspicion. “What's any of this got to do with you?”

“My daughter was one of the kidnap victims.”

“That so..?” Sheriff Crawford studied the sketch, read the description on the bottom, then rolled it up and handed it back to Ben. “You think this fella might be involved in a murder but you don't have any proof, just these so-called
leads
you've been following.”

“That's right. We were hoping you might help us find out who he is.”

The sheriff shrugged his beefy shoulders. “Could be anyone. Lots of fair-skinned folks in these parts. Norwegians settled here way back, came here for the logging.”

Ben tapped the rolled-up sketch. “So he doesn't look familiar?”

“Not particularly. What's a kidnapping got to do with murder?”

It was Autumn who answered. “We don't know, Sheriff. We just thought the incidents might be connected.”

“Hmm, I don't know anything about any child abductions and so far the murder is still under investigation. So if that's it, I guess your business here is finished.”

“I guess it is,” Ben said, his jaw a little tight. “At least for the moment.”

The sheriff's mouth thinned. “If I were you, I'd think about heading back to where I came from. Folks in these parts value their privacy. They don't cotton to people sniffing around, poking into their personal business, asking questions.”

“Is that some kind of warning?” Ben asked.

“Matter of fact, it is. I'm warning you to stay out of a Warren County murder investigation. You don't, you're asking for trouble.”

Ben said no more, just settled a hand at Autumn's waist and urged her toward the door. As they climbed back into the pickup and snapped their seat belts in place, Autumn suppressed a shiver.

“Nice guy,” she said.

“I can see why he's the sheriff. He fits in perfectly with the rest of the know-nothings up here.”

She almost smiled. “Are we going back home?”

“Not until I talk to Deputy Cobb. Since he doesn't appear to be here in Beecherville, he's either in Warren or still in Ash Grove. Odds are, they'll be wanting to keep an eye on the crime scene. We'll go over there again tomorrow morning.”

“You think you might be able to get him talking? So far we haven't had much luck in that regard.”

“It's worth a try. I got the feeling he knows something we don't and he seemed a little more inclined to talk than most of the people we've spoken to.” Ben fired up the engine. “Let's get something to eat and then head back to the motel.”

W
ith the road so narrow and curvy, it was a fairly slow drive back to Ash Grove and dark had set in by the time they arrived at the aging, fifties-era, flat-roofed motel. Autumn was tired and frustrated and she knew Ben felt even worse. They didn't talk much, just undressed and got into bed. When Ben kissed her goodnight, things started to heat up.

A round of sweaty sex left them drained and sated and able to fall asleep. Autumn tried not to think how much she enjoyed their lovemaking, enjoyed being with him. It was frightening, her growing attachment to him.

I'll deal with it when this is over,
she told herself, burying the thought beneath the more urgent problem of finding Molly.

Autumn wasn't sure what time it was when a rustling sound in the room broke through her sleep. Her eyes flew open at the feel of a man's hand clamping around her throat, turning her scream into a muffled croak.

Next to her, Ben shot up in bed, his hand reaching for the drawer next to the bed where he had put his automatic pistol.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” A man dressed completely in black stood over him, pointing a gun at his head.

There were two other men in the room, the one pinning her to the mattress with a chokehold on her throat, the other at the foot of the bed, aiming a gun at her heart. Instead of ski masks as the men had worn during the murder, they were wearing handkerchiefs tied over their noses and mouths like a trio of Wild West bandits. The subtle difference gave her hope they weren't Priscilla Vreeland's killers, but it didn't keep her heart from slamming into her ribs.

“Don't make any sudden moves,” the guy next to Ben warned. “You do and one of these guns might go off.” Autumn could barely see the man in the darkened room, but she could tell he was taller than the others and very thin. “You wouldn't want anything to happen to your lady friend.” He glanced over to his cohort at the foot of the bed.
He's young,
she thought, but wasn't quite sure why. To make the point, the younger man shifted his aim to Autumn's head and Ben's whole body went tense.

“How did you get in here?” he asked, his back against the headboard, the covers bunched around his waist. “What do you want?”

“We're just here to deliver a warning,” the tall man said. Apparently he was the leader.

“That's right,” agreed the man with the chokehold on her throat. “We don't need outsiders up here sniffing around, prying into Brethren business. The woman down the street…she found out what happens to people who meddle in other people's affairs.”

“You killed her?”

“Not us,” said the younger man. “But we aren't surprised it happened.”

“You don't want something like that to happen to you or your lady,” warned the leader. “Take my advice—leave Warren County and don't come back.”

Autumn managed to swallow, then sucked in a breath as the man holding her reached down and jerked back the covers. She was naked and trembling and a scream lodged in her throat. Ben came up off the bed like a tiger, the muscles in his arms and shoulders bulging, his chest heaving as went into battle mode. The cocking of the pistol pointing at Autumn froze him there on the bed.

“Easy…” the leader warned.

“Nice…very nice,” said the man beside her, leering at her over the top of his mask.

“Women up here know their place,” said the leader. “We got no patience for those that don't.”

The blunt hand moved away from her throat, releasing her, but the gun at the foot of the bed didn't waiver. Autumn reached down and yanked the sheet back up to cover herself.

“This time no one gets hurt,” said the tall man. “Next time you won't be so lucky.”

They were gone as silently as they had entered the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

Ben pulled open the drawer and drew out his pistol, then leaned over and pulled Autumn into his arms. “Christ, are you all right?” The tension in his muscles remained. Autumn couldn't seem to stop trembling. She nodded and blinked against the burn of tears.

“Take it easy. It's over now.”

She took a shaky breath. “I'm…I'm all right.”

“No chain,” Ben said, staring at the door. “And only one lock. The manager must have given them a key.”

“We…we can't stay here. We aren't safe with a door we can't even lock.”

“We'll leave as soon as we talk to Deputy Cobb.” Ben moved his hand and the pistol glinted in the thin ray of moonlight that streamed in through a crack in the curtains. “This is a 40 millimeter Springfield. It's pretty much state of the art.” His jaw hardened. “They come through that door again, they'll be in for a surprise this time.”

Autumn made no reply but a shudder ran down her spine.

Ben cursed. “With the reception we've been getting around here, I should have figured something like this might happen.”

“There's no way you could have known.”

He made no reply, just leaned back against the headboard, the gun still gripped in his hand. “I'm wide awake. Why don't you try to get some sleep?”

Autumn got up and turned on the TV, put the sound on low. “Let's find an old movie,” she said. “I think we're both done sleeping for the night.”

 

Ben almost wished the bastards would come back. Every time he thought of the son of a bitch who'd assaulted Autumn and leered over her naked body, he wanted to kill him. He'd brought his pistol for protection. He hadn't been prepared for the assailants to have a key to their room.

The TV's harsh glow lit the motel room. He and Autumn watched until first light, barely aware of what show was on, then dressed, packed their overnight bags and headed over to the coffee shop. Neither of them were hungry, but he could use a cup of coffee and he wanted to give young Deputy Cobb time to get to the crime scene at the Vreeland house.

He figured there was a good chance the officer would be there. The story was still big news and Ben didn't think the sheriff would want anyone out at the house tromping over whatever evidence might remain.

If the deputy was there, Ben had a little information of his own to offer—mainly the fact that more than a few people in Ash Grove believed the murder was some sort of retribution. Their reference to the Brethren confirmed his suspicion that the church figured heavily in what had occurred. He wondered what terrible offense Priscilla Vreeland had committed to get herself killed.

He wondered if Sheriff Crawford was a member of the Community Brethren Church or if he actually gave a damn about the murder of Isaac Vreeland's young wife.

They finished their coffee, then went back to the motel to check out. Conveniently, no one was working in the office. The room was already paid for, but he'd wanted to ask how three armed men were able to simply unlock the door to unit six and walk into his motel room.

“I had a feeling the manager wouldn't show up,” Autumn said.

“Yeah, at least not for a while. Probably figured, after what happened we'd be gone before breakfast.”

“I wish we could be.”

“Let's go up to the house and see if Deputy Cobb is there.”

She nodded, let him take hold of her arm. She'd been quieter than usual all morning and her face was a little pale, missing its usual sunny glow. She'd been scared last night. In truth, so had he.

A woman had just been murdered. For an instant when he'd awakened and seen the men, he'd thought the same thing was about to happen to them.

As he climbed into his truck, his hand tightened around the steering wheel. He had never felt so damned helpless in his life. If it hadn't been for Autumn, there was no way in hell he would have just sat there and let three masked men point guns at him. He would have done
something,
even if it was wrong.

He turned to look at her as he shoved the key into the ignition. “Listen, about last night…I wish I knew what to say that would make you feel better. I let you down, I know. I should have protected you. I—”

“You didn't let me down.” She reached over and touched his cheek. “We had no way of knowing those men would be able to walk right into our room. If you hadn't reacted exactly the way you did, one of us might have been killed.”

He released a weary breath, trying not to think of the way the bastards had manhandled her. “I hate what they did to you. I'd like to put my hands around that bastard's throat the way he did yours. I'd squeeze the bloody life out of him.”

“It's all right. So they saw me naked. It wasn't your fault and both of us are alive.”

“That's a point, I guess.” The pickup rounded a corner and moved farther up the hill. “Still, I don't like the idea of anyone but me lusting over your beautiful body.”

Autumn finally smiled.

“As I look back,” Ben added, “I don't think they had any intention of committing murder.”

“No, they just wanted to scare us to death. If that was the plan, it worked for me.”

He clenched his jaw. “I hope I run into the bastards somewhere else. I've got a message I'd like to give
them.
” He rounded another corner. They were almost at the turnoff.

“The important thing is to figure out how they're connected to all of this,” Autumn said. “I don't think they were involved in the murder. When I compare them to the killers I saw in my dream, there's something about the way they look that doesn't fit. Maybe their size or the way they moved, I don't know.”

“I don't think they did it. They wouldn't have let us live if they had.”

Autumn said nothing, but her face went even paler than before. Ben figured she was remembering Priscilla Vreeland's brutal murder.

He slowed the truck to make the turn into the driveway and as they neared the house, spotted a gold and white sheriff's patrol car and Deputy Cobb leaning back in a wooden chair on the small front porch.

 

Autumn noticed the tension creeping into Ben's shoulders. When she glanced up the driveway, she understood. “He's here.”

“Thought he might be.”

“Now if he'll just talk to us.”

The deputy stood up, tall and lanky, wheat-colored hair showing beneath the flat brim of his brown uniform hat. As Ben pulled into the yard and turned off the engine, Deputy Cobb came down the wooden steps and met them before they reached the front porch.

“I see you're still here. Any luck finding the guy you're looking for?”

“Not so far. No one's being particularly helpful. Matter of fact, some of the locals went to a lot of trouble to keep us from finding anything out.”

“People are pretty private round here.”

“So we gathered. Last night we got a warning in no uncertain terms to stop asking questions and leave the area while we still had the chance.”

The young man straightened. “That so?”

“Three men broke into our motel room.”

“Actually,” Autumn amended, “they had a key.”

Cobb's gaze sharpened. “You had a break-in last night? Were either of you injured?”

Autumn showed him the red marks on her throat while Ben filled him in on the details of the assault.

“They referred to themselves as the Brethren,” Ben said. “I saw a church with that name in Beecherville. You know anything about it?”

“That'd be the Community Brethren. The congregation—the Brethren—are a powerful group in this area.”

“You a member?” Ben asked.

Cobb shook his head. “My family only moved up here about ten years ago. Most of the folks in the area have been in these parts for a lot longer than that.”

“How about Sheriff Crawford?”

“Crawford, the mayor of Beecherville, more than half the people in that area belong to the church.”

“Must be a pretty tight-knit group.”

“
Real
tight-knit.”

“The men who broke into our room said Priscilla Vreeland got what she deserved,” Ben said. “It isn't the first time we've heard that sentiment. You mind telling us why the Brethren might feel that way?”

The deputy glanced around as if he were afraid someone might see him. “I'll tell you. It's not exactly a secret. But I'd appreciate it if you didn't say where you heard it.”

“Fair enough.”

“Priscilla Vreeland met her husband, Isaac, in Portland a couple years back. He's in insurance. I suppose he was there on business. The members discourage marriages outside the church, but I guess Isaac was in love. He and Priscilla got hitched and she joined the church, but…”

“But..?” Autumn prodded.

“But there are things about this particular church she couldn't go along with. She started speaking out, said it wasn't right and tried to encourage some of the members to stand up for their rights. Twice she turned a report into the sheriff's office that she was assaulted. She couldn't identify the men and they were never apprehended.”