Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set Read online

  Pride swelled in my chest. Damn. He had the most self-control of any human I’d ever met. On the spot, I decided to make tonight very special. My man deserved a reward.

  Chapter 3

  I helped my mother out of the car, and we wandered around looking for a good spot to set some chairs and the cooler. We decided on a shady patch beneath a clump of silver birch trees, then walked back to the car to get our stuff.

  A billowing cloud appeared down the road. The white truck that had been following us earlier roared into view. Thelma froze. Her hand flew to her mouth and she screeched. “Oh my God! It’s them!”

  I patted her arm. “For goodness sakes. Maybe they’ll help us.” I wasn’t sure why she kept overreacting, but I wanted to get the hell out of there. To prove to myself that I could take charge as well as any man, I stepped toward the oncoming truck to flag them down. They slowed. I stepped back, expecting them to pull over.

  Two bearded blond men peered at me, at the van, and then at my husband and mother. I waved again, pointing to the car like Vanna White. They seemed to be arguing. I heard a few cusses flying in and out of the half-open windows.

  The driver floored the gas and zoomed past us, popping up and down out of the potholes like a metallic white rabbit. Startled, I stared at their disappearing bumper.

  I guess I should’ve shown more leg.

  “Oh my God.” Thelma ran a few feet with her hands waving in the air, then collapsed on the grass.

  Since my stepfather died in May, my mother had become incredibly paranoid, needy, and judgmental. Quinn endured her strange behavior, but everything we did was examined under her microscope, especially since she’d moved in with us. Of course I expected her to be a wreck after losing the love of her life, but her extreme emotional ups and downs worried me. And they hadn’t lessened in the past twelve weeks since the funeral.

  Raoul Mendoza wasn’t my biological father, but he was the only father I ever knew. I called him dad, and I’d loved him fiercely. The pain of his loss tore me apart every day, but since he died, I hadn’t been able to properly let it all out. With Thelma falling apart with grief, I needed to support her. Something told me I couldn’t let her see me wallowing in sorrow. I don’t think she could handle it. So I cried at night in the bathroom with the fan on.

  I shook my fist at the truck. Heaving a sigh, I joined Quinn at my mother’s side. “Thelma. What’s got you so scared?” I helped her up, patted her hand, and tried to get her to look me in the eyes.

  “That truck. I thought they were going to ambush us.” She hitched a sob. “Or something.”

  “Ambush us?” Quinn said. “Why would they–”

  “I don’t know! They just followed us for so long, it seemed very odd.”

  Quinn’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Just relax, now. The truck’s gone. I’m going to get some lawn chairs for you two ladies to sit on while I hoof it to the hotel.”

  My mother’s face drained to sickly green. “You can’t leave us alone! What if they come back? You can’t, Quinn. Please!” Her hands shook when she yanked on his sleeve.

  I jumped in. “Thelma. It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you. And if you prefer, Quinn can stay here to protect you, and I’ll go for help. It’s not a big deal. I think we’re actually pretty close to the hotel.” I looked at Quinn with the question in my eyes. “That’ll work, won’t it, honey?”

  His shoulders slumped. I knew the idea of sitting for an hour in the heat beside my mother wouldn’t appeal to him. But he surprised me.

  “Sure. I’ll stay.”

  I tossed him a big smile, then turned to my mother. “See? You’ll be fine.” I helped her up and brushed back her hair from her frightened eyes.

  Back at the van, Quinn unloaded the lawn chairs and Ruby’s cage. “What the matter, Ruby? You hot in there?”

  The bird was his sweetheart—he’d bred and raised her from a baby. Ruby’s official breed, the “ring-necked parakeet,” actually fell in the parrot family. Her rose-and-orange jeweled feathers were one of a kind. And although I appreciated her beauty and rare coloring, I often felt ridiculously jealous and imagined that he loved her more than me.

  He set the cage on the dusty road and let the slight breeze blow through the bars. After rummaging around in the cooler for water, he refilled her water bottle.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll be there soon. You’ll be able to fly free.”

  Our destination, a luxury hotel named For The Birds, was literally “for the birds.” It was also for their affluent, doting owners. Each room featured a one-hundred-square-foot balcony aviary with breathtaking views of the Adirondack Mountains.

  Of course, we wouldn’t have been able to afford such lavish accommodations except for the wildly uncharacteristic offer Thelma made a few weeks ago. She insisted on paying for the trip in full, claiming it was a long overdue “anniversary present” for us and that we all needed something fun to look forward to after the heartbreak of the past few months. Thelma adored Ruby and was certain our little feathered wonder could become the superstar of the bird world if she won this competition.

  After I found a private spot in the woods to relieve the persistent pressure on my bladder, I set up two lawn chairs in the shade. Thelma plunked her size twenty-six bottom onto the mesh seat and wiggled it around to get comfortable. Quinn fussed around Ruby’s cage by the van.

  “Is she okay?” Thelma yelled.

  Quinn gave her a curt nod.

  She shrugged and took out her hairbrush. The color had come back into her cheeks and her eyes looked less haunted. She worked on her white hair for a few minutes, then called to Quinn again. “Come on, Skippy. Bring her over here in the shade. Put her right beside me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Quinn muttered. He hated her pet name for him, claiming it made him feel like a jar of peanut butter, or worse, a little boy caught with his hand in the jar of peanut butter. He held Ruby’s cage as if he were handling a delicate egg with a hairline crack. “I think the trip upset her. She looks a little funny,” he said, peering inside.

  “You da man!” Ruby squawked. “You da man!”

  It was one of the first phrases Quinn had taught her, and it always cracked me up. The bird shuffled sideways on her perch and cocked her head, as if asking what in blazes her crazy owner had done to her world. She’d never traveled, and we’d been afraid she’d get sick from the motion.

  Quinn walked her over to the shade where Thelma sat drinking a lukewarm can of club soda.

  “Oh, poor little Ruby. Set her right here between us.” Thelma reached for the cage, but Quinn waved her away and chose a shadier spot for his baby. Thelma scraped her chair closer to Ruby. “Polly wanna cracker?”

  Quinn rolled his eyes. “Can’t you be more original?”

  Ruby cocked her head again and hopped up on her swing. “Feed Ruby.”

  The bird was always hungry.

  “Is my pwetty little baby hungry?” Quinn said, making kissy noises at the bird. He sprinkled some seeds in her tray.

  I tried not to laugh. I loved the way he turned all mushy when it came to his bird.

  Quinn reached into the cage and rubbed two fingers against Ruby’s neck feathers. I looked up and down the deserted road one more time, then went back to the van for my running shoes.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I laced up my cross trainers and tossed my flats into the van. “You two be nice to each other, okay?”

  My mother and husband both looked off into the distance, muttering their agreement under their breath.

  I wasn’t convinced. “I’ll be back with a tow truck.” I grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler, slung my purse strap over my neck, and set off at a jog.

  Chapter 4

  The hotel brochure claimed the northern Adirondack Mountains would be cool in July. Today’s soaring temperatures made them liars. I loped steadily under the glare of the sun for longer than I’d hoped. My hairline dripped with perspiration, and my pretty pink
sundress that I’d chosen especially for this trip clung to me. After jogging for twenty minutes, I came to a steep hill. I dug deep into my reserves and churned up it. When I reached the top, I stopped to catch my breath and stare.

  In the valley below, a smooth asphalt highway merged with our curvy dirt track. Several hundred yards farther, a wide tar road led directly to the resort. Apparently, we’d sidestepped the express route to our hotel. Thank you, Road-Mapper.

  I groaned and vowed to get a GPS at the very next opportunity.

  The photos on the website didn’t do justice to For The Birds. Set back in the hills, fronted with rolling green lawns, and flanked by a calm lake, the monstrous hotel sprawled tens of thousands of square feet, featuring dozens of building wings radiating from the center of the star, where a two story glass aviary rose above it all.

  I trotted down the hill, up the country highway, and through the white-painted iron gates with an elaborate rococo grill featuring six crows flying in a woven circle of leaves.

  White oyster shells crunched beneath my sneakers. Hedges trimmed to resemble cockatiels, ravens, and owls embraced the winding drive. The sun winked bright on well-waxed surfaces of Mercedes, Jags, and BMWs that jammed the entrance. I winced, realizing how out of place we’d be in our fifteen-year-old Dodge Ram van.

  I neared the main entrance and stopped again to take in the grandeur of the place, gazing at a 3-D stained glass statue mounted above the white-pillared portico. The work of art towered twenty feet high, depicting a parrot in brilliant hues of jade and tangerine.

  Feeling more and more out of place, I jogged up the marble stairs in my stinky cross trainers, until a sense of dizziness stopped me cold. I leaned against the doorjamb and unscrewed the cap on my water bottle.

  I drained the few remaining drops in the bottle, waiting for the nausea to pass. A woman in a skinny mink stole, sequined skirt, and blue hair pushed past me. Like someone out of an Audrey Hepburn movie, she sneered at me, looking me up and down. If I’d been wearing preppy running clothes, I might have passed as a ritzy exercise freak. But the limp, damp fabric of my sweaty dress apparently didn’t cut the mustard.

  I found my second wind and hurried inside. “Sorry. Excuse me.” I pushed past Mrs. Bluehair into the thronging crowd of well-dressed elite, carrying birdcages, followed by maids loaded with suitcases and trunks, and queuing at the check-in desk like gamblers at a bookie’s window. A tall man with a silver-headed cane that matched his hair plugs actually stepped away from me and wrinkled his nose. I realized my powder white non-staining heat-intensive underarm deodorant hadn’t quite done its job today.

  I finally caught the attention of the concierge, who may have recognized my look of agony, or perhaps it was my glistening skin. His nametag read Cromwell.

  “Ma’am? May I help you?”

  Tall, black, and devilishly handsome, he reminded me of a gray-haired Cuba Gooding Junior. I particularly liked his smile.

  He caught me when I sagged against him. “Oh, dear. Please. Sit here. Is everything all right, ma’am? Can I get you some water?”

  I caught a look at the raccoon lady in the mirror with black frizzy hair and half moon pit stains.

  “That would be nice. Thanks.”

  He snapped his fingers, beckoning a skinny kid dressed in the hotel colors of green and orange. The boy gawked at me as if he’d seen an apparition, then scooted toward the back of the lobby and around a corner. He returned in seconds with a frosty bottle of flavored water.

  “You’re very kind. Thank you.” I wiped perspiration from my face with some tissues I grabbed from a dispenser on the authentic Shaker table beside the embroidered loveseat on which I dripped. “I’m Marcella Hollister. We have reservations for two rooms tonight.” I plucked my shirt from my ribs and took a swallow of the cherry-flavored water. “Our van broke down. We expected to be here a half hour ago, but the directions put us on this crazy road that turned into–”

  “Oh, ma’am.” Cromwell frowned with empathy. “You didn’t follow the Road-Mapper directions, did you?”

  I blanched. “Um… yes.”

  “Mrs. Hollister, we specifically warn our guests about that road. It’s really not suitable for anything but all-wheel drive vehicles. Didn’t you get the material we sent?”

  “Maybe. Probably. My mother planned the whole trip. I’m afraid she took care of all the details.”

  He clucked. “Dear me. Is she traveling with you?”

  I nodded. “And Mr. Hollister and the bird, of course.”

  “Of course. I see. Where are they now?”

  I wagged a finger toward the window. “A few miles up that dirt road.”

  “I’ll get our local garage to tow the van. Meanwhile, we’ll send Ardy to pick up your family and bird in our hotel shuttle. Will that be acceptable?” He motioned toward the bellhop who hovered nearby. He didn’t look old enough to drive.

  I found myself starting to talk in the upper crust voice Cromwell used.

  “That would be delightful, Mr. Cromwell. But I’d like to go with him, if that’s acceptable.”

  Whenever I came in contact with any kind of local accent or style of speech, it was only a matter of minutes before I started to mimic it. Not on purpose, mind you. I couldn’t help it. It was one of my many flaws. And it embarrassed the heck out of me.

  With a flourish, he motioned toward the end of the hall. “Of course. But first, would you care to freshen up in our lady’s boudoir?”

  I stood up, caught my reflection again, and cringed. “Yes. That would be lovely.” I downed half of the water while following Cromwell to the fancy ladies room.

  “In here, Mrs. Hollister. Just see me when you’re ready to go.”

  Thankfully, the restroom was empty. The maroon satin-covered walls, white marble countertops, and gold fixtures would have normally given me pause, but after getting a close up view of the disaster that was me, I didn’t skip a beat. I took one of the soft towels from a basket on the shelf and soaked it in warm water and sweet smelling soap. After scrubbing my face, I rinsed it and patted it dry. It was hard without cold cream, but I eventually got the mascara mask off. I dug out my hairbrush and loosened my ponytail, letting my black hair fall to my shoulders. I wished to God I had a hot shower, hair dryer, and curling iron, but settled for running a wet brush through it and pulling it back tight with a clasp.

  I wet another towel and carried it into one of the stalls, then swiped under my arms, neck, and inside my legs. I dried myself off and buttoned up. With an added spritz of my Rafinée perfume, it would have to do.

  I headed back to the lobby, but went the wrong way and ended up face to face with the largest aviary I’d ever seen. It towered from the center of the complex two stories high, completely enclosed in glass. Inside, exotic birds of all varieties swooped, cawed, and fluttered on real trees that stretched almost to the ceiling. I caught sight of some little sparrows and cardinals—probably the local representatives—and an amazing purple Macaw.

  Off to the side, a large plasma television played a slide show explaining the types of birds inside the aviary, with characteristics of each clearly pointed out by a velvet voiced narrator. I couldn’t wait to show Quinn.

  With a start, I realized I’d been staring at the birds for five long minutes, and I scurried to find my way back to the lobby.

  Ardy pulled a dark green minivan up to the entrance. He jumped out and slid the side door open, motioning for me to get in. I chose the seat directly behind him and pointed to the road.

  “Thanks. Just take a left up there. It’s about two miles. Look for a maroon and rust colored Dodge Ram conversion van.”

  He hopped back in and smoothly accelerated down the drive, surprising me with his finesse behind the wheel. We passed several cars heading in the opposite direction, but no white trucks. I kept an eye out, just in case. I had a score to settle with those two morons who left us stranded by the side of the road.

  “So what happened to your car, m
a’am?” he asked, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the rear view mirror.

  I hated being called ma’am. But since my driver was about ten years old, I guess it was okay this time. “The engine started steaming. My husband said it was a radiator hose.” I peered over his shoulder toward the next curve in the road.

  He nodded sagely, as if he’d dealt with many split radiator hoses, then expertly drove around the boulders and potholes scattered along the dirt road. We came to the washed out section. He carefully wound around the edges of the gully and got us safely to the top of the hill.

  “The van should be right here,” I said.

  He slowed when he took the curve and saw the van.

  “That it?”

  “Uh huh. Just pull over here. They should be right…” I stared out the window, then unsnapped my seatbelt and jumped out. “What the hell?”

  The lawn chairs lay neatly folded against the back of the van. My heart hammered against my ribs and frantic thoughts pressed against my brain.

  The white truck. Oh my God.

  I circled the area and stared into the woods.

  Nothing. No one.

  The bastards had taken Quinn and Thelma. And Ruby’s cage was missing.

  “Where’d they go?” Ardy asked.

  I paced around the van, and looked inside to be sure. Nobody sat in the stifling vehicle.

  “Hey, maybe they got a ride back and we missed ‘em,” he said, peering into the van after I did, as if I’d have missed two adults and a noisy red bird.

  “Maybe,” I said, but my stomach jangled with frazzled nerves.

  I walked down the road to the next bend and peered in the direction opposite to the hotel. Had they decided to walk? Maybe the wrong way?

  The sound of grinding gears came from the direction of the hotel. In seconds, a tow truck rumbled into view, performed a smooth K turn on the narrow road, and backed up to the van. Ardy helped me collect the lawn chairs. We threw them inside the van, then locked it up with my spare set of keys. The driver got out.