What We Find (11 page)

“Sure,” she said. “Listen, it’s not like this brought me to my knees, Steve. It’s a combination of things, really. Mostly my dad, but—”

“Maggie, go a little easier on yourself. This kind of thing brings everyone to their knees, even those big badass surgeons who didn’t have a single additional stressor in their lives. Believe me, I know. I’ve worked with a great many of them.”

She sighed. “My dad says I have high expectations of myself,” she said, when in fact it was she who carried those expectations.

“Yes, I know. Uncomfortable, I know. And that’s exactly what it takes to make a good surgeon. We’ll talk soon.”

She sat at her dad’s kitchen table for a half hour. When she went back to the store, she didn’t mention the call to anyone.

* * *

Cal settled into his cabin, the farthest one from the house, and Maggie was with him after their usual fire, then sneaked into her own bed in the middle of the night. The next night she got to bed a little earlier, but one of these days soon she was going to steal a whole night with Cal and not even blush about it.

Cal’s truck and compact pop-up trailer sat behind the cabin he “rented” for which Sully would not take money. Since the days were a bit longer, the store was staying open a little later. Come summer, their hours would be sunup to sundown.

On Wednesday, Tom Canaday came to the grounds early to help with cleanup, grounds keeping, grass and shrub trimming and trash hauling. Cal spent most of the day helping with that while Maggie put in her time at the store, restocking and cleaning. Sully was back and forth between the store and the grounds, giving advice, trying his damnedest not to tote and lift, getting grumpier by the hour. With warmer weather, the crossing was expecting a surge starting the next day, Thursday afternoon, and extending for ten days. They were getting ready. Even Frank was smart enough to be scarce on Wednesdays, knowing he could be put to work.

Yard work done, Enid gone home to her husband and Tom to his kids, Cal grilled fish fillets and an aluminum foil packet full of green veggies and the three of them ate at a table on the porch so they could mind the store if any of the few campers who were still around needed something. When dinner was finished Cal went off to his cabin to shower while Sully headed for the house with Beau to catch a little of the news on TV.

Maggie stayed at the store until closing, which she’d do as soon as cleanup was complete. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the lake, when Maggie was on the front porch wiping off the tables. An old, mud-splattered, rusty black pickup was parked down the road near the lake. It looked like three people sat in the cab. She leaned on her rag on the table and peered in its direction—two men flanking a small blonde woman. Not campers. Not locals—she hadn’t seen the truck before. Two big men and a small woman made shivers go up her spine.

The truck began to slowly inch toward the store and when it neared she saw the two men were scruffy-looking strangers to her but between them, wearing a frightened expression, sat Chelsea Smyth.
Where was her family?
Had they sent her to get help for some reason? The driver parked at the side of the store and Maggie tried to concentrate on her wiping up. She wouldn’t give away her concern in case something was wrong.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong
.

The men talked for a moment and then the passenger got out of the truck. All she knew for sure was that the men looked creepy and Chelsea looked scared.

The man who approached the front porch was dirty and unkempt, not a strange look around a campground. Locally there were fishermen, hunters, ranchers—also frequently messy and disheveled. His pants were baggy and dirty, his boots had seen better days and his beard was scraggly, but it was the look in his dark eyes and the rather large hunting knife holstered in leather at his belt that cautioned her. So she smiled.

“How you doin’?” she asked with a friendly smile.
How long is Cal’s damn shower going to take?

“Yeah, you got beer?”

She nodded. “Draft or six-pack?” She glanced at the truck out of the corner of her eye and the fact that Chelsea hadn’t moved over near the passenger door once the first man got out told Maggie all she needed to know.

“Six’ll do.”

“Right in the cooler,” she said, standing back so he could enter the store.

He was waiting right inside the door. He looked at her over his shoulder.

“Over there,” she said, pointing.

He smelled, but not of ranching or fishing. He smelled of body odor, greasy food, gasoline and smoke, not wood smoke but probably tobacco smoke. And the way he looked at her, it was the most threatened she’d felt in a long time. They’d had a patient go postal in the ER once and that had scared her enough to pee her pants but security got him under control quickly.

There was no security team here.

She went behind the counter by the cash register, wondering if he was going to rob her and cut her up into little pieces. The broom was within her reach if he got too close or pulled out that knife. But he put the six-pack on the counter and took out a wallet he kept on a chain. Then he looked over at the bar. “Get me one a them bottles,” he commanded. “Whiskey.”

“We don’t sell...” She stopped herself. What was she thinking? “We don’t usually sell by the bottle, but you’re probably my last customer for the day. I’m closing up in ten.” She went across the aisle to grab a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from under the bar and took it back to the cash register. She had a thought. It might be a stupid thought but Maggie usually assessed and made decisions quickly and it was the only thought she had. She knew he was wrong and she didn’t want him wandering back into the vast wilderness and doing harm to Chelsea. She began ringing up the purchase. “You passing through?”

“More or less,” he said.

“I got two empty cabins if you want it to be less,” she said. “Fact is, middle of the week hardly anyone’s around so we lower the price if it’s one night. Twelve dollars. I can’t do that for more than one night. Can’t do that on weekends, you know—we stay full on weekends. In good weather.”

Stop chattering
, she told herself. Her knees felt liquid. If Cal would just walk through the back door, maybe she’d come up with a better idea.

“You can park around the back of the cabin, if you want it.”

He looked at her suspiciously. It looked like he was onto her. He turned from the counter as if to leave but instead he brought back an armload of snack food—chips, pretzels, jerky, nuts. He piled it all on the counter. “Add it up. Gimme the key on that cabin.”

She rang everything up, gave him the total and he handed her a credit card. The credit card belonged to Gilbert Anthony Smyth.
Wrong, wrong, wrong!
She ran it and it showed
approved
on the machine. She turned and grabbed the key, slapped it on the counter and said, “You don’t need a receipt, do you?”

“Why?”

“Most people don’t,” she said with a shrug. “You can’t deduct supplies unless you’re on business.”

He sneered at her.
Like he was on business?

She bagged up his things and he left the store.

Maggie sank behind the counter, her knees useless. She heard the truck start and motor slowly around the store along the drive that led to the cabins.

No one had reported Mr. Smyth’s card stolen or the machine wouldn’t have approved it. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Or maybe the card was taken off his body? Or were they tracking it? Oh God, how long had that child been with those two?

Shaking, she reached for the phone to call 911. She identified herself to the dispatcher and tried to calmly explain. “Two creeps in their thirties just checked into one of my cabins with a fourteen-year-old girl I know was here with her family last week—they were camping here. Her name is Chelsea Smyth and I believe she may have been abducted.”

“Was the girl in distress, ma’am?” the dispatcher asked.

“She looked terrified! Never mind, I’ll call Stan!” She disconnected and dialed Stan’s cell phone.

“Yel-low,” he said thickly, like his mouth was full of dinner.

“Stan! Stan! There’s a kidnapped juvenile and two creeps have her and I gave them a cabin! Need help fast!”

He coughed and spit. “Jesus, Maggie! The Smyth girl?”

“Yes! Yes! I just called 911 and the dispatcher asked me if the girl was in distress! You know about this? Where is her family?”

“The family reported her missing. The bulletin went out a few hours ago—earlier today. They’re searching for her. She walked away from the group to answer nature and didn’t come back.”

“She’s here. I recognized her. She’s with two creepy guys in a dirty, old, muddy truck. Where’d she go missing?”

“Northwest of Leadville, in the mountains. They aren’t looking this far south. They thought she was lost but started exploring abduction just lately,” he said.

“One of the men used her father’s credit card—Gilbert Smyth. Please, hurry before they hurt that girl, if they haven’t already.”

She heard the sound of Stan’s movement, running, car door opening, huffing and puffing, like he was either at home for dinner or at a diner in town. “Where are you?” he shouted to Maggie.

“I’m in the store. I’m alone. Dad’s in the house, hardly any campers. I’ve got this shotgun...”

“Maggie, no!” he shouted. “Don’t you do
anything
! You lock yourself in the store and wait for me!” Then she heard the car door slam, engine start and Stan flipped on his siren to be en route fast. She listened while he radioed a variety of case numbers and emergency calls to everyone and their brother. She heard him call out
in progress
and
Sullivan’s Crossing
. “Maggie,” he said, a little breathlessly. “They armed?”

“Gun in the rack and big hunting knife strapped on a belt. And Stan—they’re big! She’s just a little girl.”

“Stay in the store. We’re on the way.”

Then he tossed his phone, probably onto the seat next to him. She could hear him on the radio in the background so he hadn’t disconnected. She overheard key words like
SWAT
,
abduction
,
negotiation team
,
air support
,
dogs
,
armed and dangerous
. She went to the storeroom for the shotgun. She loaded it. It held four rounds of small pellets and she knew how to use it. It was loud, scary and depending on where it was aimed, potentially deadly. But more to the point, it was probably
not
deadly.
Probably
being the operative word...

Where was Cal? Should she go find him?

Maggie, Maggie
, her mind asked
. When was the last time you had to have a man to help you make a decision?

Well, hell, Cal didn’t seem to be in possession of a gun and who knew if he’d ever fired one. He was a theme park employee!

She grabbed a roll of duct tape out of the store. Maggie loved duct tape—it cured almost everything shy of an aneurysm. She’d even seen a maintenance guy slapping it along the leading edge of the wing of a 757 once! But, if she had the chance, she was going to tape up the hands and feet of two bad guys. She stuffed it in her pocket and went out the back door.

She had several concerns, all of which had her marching with a shotgun toward the closest cabin.
Sully
. She couldn’t let him try to handle this—it could kill him. A few months ago she would have turned it over to him but not now. She could wait for Cal but something told her he might try to reason with her—make her wait. And she knew what was coming—law enforcement complete with a negotiator. They would surround the cabin and... She was reminded of an emergency case years ago, her last year of residency, the victim... Oh God, what they could do to that girl in the time it took...

“What if they already have,” she said to herself.

Then they won’t again
, her mind whispered back.

Oh, this was crazy. She stopped walking ten feet from the cabin to ask herself essential questions—could a frontal attack make this worse instead of better? They could shield themselves with the girl...but not both of them. She could shoot the other one if that happened. It could piss them off. Oh hell, they were already dangerous. My God, he bought snacks and liquor to enjoy while they did who knew what to that innocent girl! Maybe if the police, better equipped and experts in this sort of thing, had their chance, maybe no one would... But they weren’t expecting
her
. If the police and SWAT team surrounded that cabin, they’d have all the time in the world to plan how to defend themselves or hurt the girl.

Then she heard Chelsea’s scream fade into a sobbing cry and Maggie couldn’t stop herself. She marched to the front of the cabin and gave the door a mighty kick right at the latch. When it didn’t open she gave it another right away and the door flew open. She fired a shot into the ceiling and it made an earthshaking blast, a thundering explosion. She barely had time to make out what was going on inside. One of the men was standing on the left side of the bed, crouched in a fighting position with that big hunting knife in his hand while the other was moving off the bed toward something—the gun was leaning against the wall in the corner. His pants were open and even though she didn’t see Chelsea, she shot the man with the open pants, shot him below the chest, dropping him screaming to the ground. Then she swung her shotgun wide to aim at the second man, racking up the next round, a scary sound.