Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) Read online

  Deputy Mills stuttered, his eyes raking Portia’s wounds. “Oh, I…er…sorry.”

  Doc pushed past them. “You need to give this girl some space. Portia’s fragile right now. I’m here to see how she’s coming along.” He leaned down to lift Portia’s chin, examining her eyes. “Think you guys could continue another day? The kid needs her rest.”

  Doc took her wrist in his hands, checking his watch to measure her heartbeat. “Haven’t you got enough to go on yet?”

  The Sheriff nodded and closed his notebook. “I think we’re good for now. I’m sure we’ll have more questions, but we can do this another day. The important thing is she’s home and safe.” He rose and turned to Dirk and Daisy. “I’d like to assign an officer to keep watch on your place. That okay with you folks?”

  “Thanks, Sheriff.” Dirk stood and peered out the window. “That’s not a bad idea. Until we know what we’re up against, anyway. God knows where this monster is. He could be watching us right now.”

  Boone glanced toward his rifle that stood by the door beside Dirk’s. No way is that guy getting to Portia. Not while I’m alive.

  Chapter 23

  Boone slumped over the computer in the Lamonts’ living room, staring at the screen. He’d been at it for hours after the family went to bed at nine o’clock. The couch beckoned with its soft pillow and comforter Daisy had laid out for him. She’d even tucked a fresh sheet into the cushions.

  But he couldn’t give up. He needed to find out as much as possible about this guy Murphy, and his quest unearthed more than he expected.

  The archives of the Baraboo newspaper were mostly online, and his searches for things like school photos, town events, and related articles had borne fruit. The printer had been spitting pages for the past hour, and he’d laid them out on the table beside him.

  Murphy was a football star in high school, and yes, he’d gone to Baraboo High. Some well-intentioned enthusiast had posted football photos in albums by year on the school website of all varsity teams going back to the fifties. It was a work of love, and Boone silently thanked the person who’d scanned photos, uploaded them, and meticulously labeled the players’ names by row.

  He found several photos of Murphy in 1995, captain of the team. He’d been a senior then, so Boone figured he was born in 1979 or thereabouts, which would make him about thirty-five now.

  Charles C. Murphy. The name matched the scowling face of the brute in the fourth position of the top row.

  He looked big all right. Massive shoulders, beefy face, taller than his teammates.

  He’d also shown up in a newspaper photo of a fishing derby winner’s circle two years ago.

  There he was, smiling like a fool, holding up his giant pike.

  Had he gone fishing while Portia was tied to his bed? Or was this before he’d gone mad and kidnapped her from the greenhouse parking lot?

  Footsteps came down the stairs, slow and steady.

  Boone glanced at the clock. Two A.M.

  “Boone?” Anderson ran a hand through his sandy hair. “You still up?”

  “Yeah. Doing some research.”

  Anderson shuffled toward him, yawning. “I’ve been trying to sleep, but kept dreaming about that monster who took Portia.” He bent down to look at the computer screen. “We need facts. We’ve gotta know if he’s dead or alive.”

  Boone stretched his arms over his head, leaning back in the chair. “Exactly. Which is why I’m doing this.” He waved toward the photos. “Now we know what he looks like.”

  Anderson came fully awake and picked up the printout of Murphy in the fishing derby. “Great Scott. You did it.” He peered at the face. “This is him, huh?”

  Boone nodded. “I want to make the picture bigger. You know how to do that?”

  Anderson seemed excited. “You bet I do. Shove over. Let me see if they have Photoshop on this beast.”

  Boone got up and stood behind Anderson, who searched for the program, found an old version of it, and uploaded the picture file saved on the desktop.

  “There we go.” He clicked on the photo, highlighted Murphy’s face, and dragged a square around it. “Now, I just need to crop it, and…”

  Murphy smiled at them from the screen.

  Boone grimaced. “Mr. Charles C. Murphy, we’re coming to get you.”

  Anderson shot him a grim smile. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Boone nodded. “Tomorrow morning okay with you? I printed out the directions on MapQuest. About eight hundred miles. Maybe twelve hours of driving. If we trade off, we could be there by dark, head out to find the cabin in the morning.”

  Anderson stood, his eyes burning with purpose. “We’ll take care of this bastard.”

  Boone studied Anderson’s eyes. He hadn’t expected such murderous passion from a drama teacher. “You seen any action before? I mean, you’re a college prof, right?”

  Anderson smiled, his chest swelled. “Iraq. Two tours of duty.”

  Boone smiled broadly and shook his hand. “Afghanistan. Two years.” He glanced upstairs. “Dirk’s a good shot. He was a sniper in the army, long time ago, and he can hit a fly on a toad two miles away. The guy’s amazing. He’ll protect the ladies while we’re gone.”

  Anderson paced the living room, thinking out loud. “I hate to leave him here alone, though.” He turned to Boone. “What about your brother? Could you ask him to hang out here while we’re gone? Keep an eye on things?”

  Boone slid his phone out of his pocket and started to text. “Excellent idea. Let me send him a message. He’s a light sleeper.”

  An hour later, Ned stood in the living room, dark hair tousled and rifle in hand. “I’ve got this, guys.”

  Boone quickly filled in his brother and gave him a copy of the blown-up photo of Murphy, while Anderson changed and threw together a backpack with clothing and supplies. Miraculously, the rest of the family hadn’t awakened.

  Boone slid into his jacket and gave his younger brother a hug. “Take good care of them for me, buddy. And tell Dirk I’m sorry I didn’t wait. I just think the sooner we get up there, the better.”

  Anderson shouldered his pack, smiling. “Grace’s gonna be mad. She didn’t want me to go when we talked about it yesterday.”

  Ned shrugged. “I’ve seen her pissed off before. I was in her Spanish class in high school.” He laughed. “She’s a wildcat. But I can handle her.”

  A smile slid onto Boone’s lips. “I know you can. Thanks.” He headed for the door, then stopped and turned back to his brother. “Tell Portia we’re gonna take care of this. And…tell her I’ll see her soon.”

  Ned raised his rifle in a mock salute. “Will do. Now just go.”

  The men slipped into the dark night.

  Chapter 24

  At 2:30 PM in the afternoon, Anderson pulled into a MacDonald’s in Madison, Wisconsin and shook Boone awake. “Boone. Almost there.”

  Instantly awake, Boone sat up and grabbed the map. “Where are we?”

  “We just got off the beltway.” Anderson pointed to U.S. Route 12 on the map. “South of Baraboo. Probably another half hour.”

  “Let’s get some burgers,” Boone said. “I’m starving.”

  Anderson nodded. “Me, too.”

  Over their meal of burgers and fries, the men plotted.

  Boone demolished the first burger and started on his second. “When we get there, we find the newspaper office first. I’ll wait in the car. Got your story straight?”

  Anderson nodded. “Absolutely. I’m doing a story on aging football heroes. I think that’s less telling than what we talked about before, checking out hermits living off the grid, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll ask ‘Where are they now? What happened to them over the years?’ I’ll show them the photo of Murphy’s team.”

  “Right. And if they get suspicious, tell them you work for the Democrat and Chronicle, and that you’re going cross-country to gather your material. If they ask fo
r credentials, admit you’re a freelance wannabe, and that you hope to sell this to the D&C when you get back.”

  “Got it.”

  “And pour on that charm. Find a gal you can wow with your big geeky smile.”

  Anderson chuckled and popped a fry into his mouth. “Sure. I’ll just use my phantom of the opera voice.”

  “Huh?”

  “I played that role in college, after I got back from the war. It was a blast. And it got me a number of…shall I say…adoring fans?”

  Boone snorted a laugh. “Is that what you call them?”

  “I didn’t sleep with them all.”

  “Really?”

  Anderson’s smile widened. “No. None of them, actually. I had a girlfriend at the time. She would’ve killed me.”

  Boone nodded. “That sounds more like you.” He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Now, be cool about this. Show her photos from several years. You’ve got the new ones I printed out, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Don’t ask about Murphy specifically until she tells you he was the captain. Then go in for the kill and find out where that damned cabin is.”

  Anderson’s eyes turned somber. “Consider it done.”

  ***

  Boone waited in the car while Anderson disappeared into the office of the Baraboo News Republic. He watched a few trucks pull into the loading docks in the back, and wondered if they were delivering rolls of blank newsprint or picking up papers to deliver. A few people came and went, and after about fifteen minutes of boredom, his mind began to wander back to Portia. He tapped her parents’ phone number on his phone and waited for someone to pick up. Dirk answered on the first ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hope you’re not mad, Dirk,” Boone said.

  “Gosh darn it, Boone,” Dirk practically shouted into the phone. “You didn’t even give me a choice in the matter.”

  “Listen, I know. I’m sorry. But Portia said Murphy knows you, and somebody’s gotta be there to protect the family. In case we’re on a wild goose chase, you know?”

  Dirk was quiet for a moment, and Boone pictured him walking in tight circles around the yard by the barn.

  “I know. It’s just…”

  “You wanted to be part of this. I understand. I do.”

  “I wanted to kill the bastard, not just be part of it. That is, if he isn’t already…”

  “I know.” Boone almost smiled. “But that’s another good reason for you to stay home. We don’t need more complications.”

  Dirk sighed. “I guess.”

  “Listen. We’re here, anyway. Anderson’s in the newspaper office right now, trying to get some info on the cabin. I’ll let you know what we find out, okay?”

  “Call me when you can. We’re going crazy here, wondering. And Portia seems kinda worried about you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m still mad at you.” Dirk suddenly barked a laugh. “Yeah. She’s worried about you. But don’t get too excited about it. She’s still my little princess, and nobody’s ever been good enough for her.”

  “I hear you. Portia’s gonna need lots of help to get through this. I’d never…”

  “I know.”

  “So, how did Grace take it?”

  “She threw a hissy fit. Said she’d kill Anderson when he got home.”

  “That’s kinda what he expected,” Boone said. “We didn’t want to hang around and fight about it. We just needed to get it done, you know?”

  “I do. Even though I’m still kinda pissed off that you left me behind.”

  “Again, I'm sorry, Dirk.”

  “Yeah. So you say.”

  Boone sat up straighter. “Gotta go. Anderson’s coming out.”

  “Boone?” Dirk’s voice took on a more serious tone. “You come back in one piece, you hear?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

  “We’ll count on it, then.”

  Boone thumbed off his phone and watched Anderson hurry down the steps to the parking lot.

  Chapter 25

  Anderson slid into the passenger seat and motioned with a brisk wave of his hand. “Go.”

  Without hesitating, Boone pulled out of the parking lot. “Which way?”

  “Take a left up here. We’ve gotta head south, back down to Devil’s Lake.”

  Boone eased into light traffic and headed south again. “Okay. So spill. What’d they say?”

  Anderson clipped his seatbelt closed and turned to Boone. “Well, first of all, I did find a lady to chat with.”

  “Yeah?” Boone smiled. “Did you use your Phantom charm?”

  “I did. And it worked.” Anderson’s lips curled up. “On an eighty-four-year-old woman.”

  Boone pulled into the passing lane. “Hey. Whatever it takes, right?”

  Anderson unrolled the printouts he clutched in his hand. “She was a sweetheart. Told me much more than I needed to know. She’s been working for the paper since she was a teenager. You want to know anything about the town, you go see Hannah.”

  “We hit the jackpot, then?”

  “We did. I’ve got directions to the cabin, but she said it gets pretty dicey when you enter the state land. Lots of little roads, no more than trails. She gave me directions to the edge of the park, then told me to work my way toward Devil’s Lake and watch for the cabin with the boarded up windows.”

  “She knows it?”

  “Vaguely. Has heard about it, hasn’t actually been there.”

  “Did she know Murphy?”

  “Yes. By name and reputation. Remembers him entering and winning the derby. But she hasn’t really had much to do with him on a personal level.”

  “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  Boone followed Anderson’s directions to the edge of the state land, and after following a fairly well-traveled dirt trail for a while, the road forked into a Y.

  “Hang on,” Boone said. “Let me take a look at my GPS. I should know which general direction the lake is in.”

  Anderson examined both roads while Boone got out and tried to get a signal.

  “Damn,” Boone said, waving his phone around. “Signal’s too low.”

  “That’s okay. Let’s try this side,” he said, getting out and examining the right hand track. “Look. It’s got some deep tire ruts. Could be from Murphy’s truck. Looks a bit more worn than the other side, too.”

  Boone hopped back in the car, but first grabbed both rifles from the trunk. “Let’s see how far we can drive in. Then we’ll continue on foot.”

  It wasn’t as easy as they’d hoped. They came to multiple forks in the road, and each time, Anderson examined them and chose the one he thought seemed more traveled. But seven times they came to a dead end, had to back up or do tight K turns, and ended up almost where they began.

  “This is ridiculous,” Anderson said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Come on. Let’s go back to that last intersection.”

  Boone followed his directions, then stopped and pulled over. “Look.”

  Anderson glanced up from the map he’d drawn of the trails that nested throughout the forest. “What?”

  A row of antlers were nailed to a tree, in a bizarre he-man showoff display of I killed it.

  “Okay. That’s what Portia told us about, right? Now you’re talking, Boone old man. Let’s take this one.”

  “How ‘bout we just park it here and hoof it in. The cabin can’t be too far.”

  “Good idea.” Anderson grabbed his gun, took a swig of water from the bottle in the drink holder, and smiled. “Let’s go find this creep.”

  They tromped through the greenery. Birds sang with abandon in the woods around them, as if they hadn’t borne witness for the past two years to the torture of one very fragile young woman.

  Boone’s heartbeat quickened. He breathed deeply, calming himself. He needed to focus. “I see something,” he whispered, throwing out an arm to stop Anderson.

  “Right,” Anderson whispered back. “Straig
ht ahead.”

  Both men melted into the woods, off the trail, carrying their weapons low.

  “Slow and easy,” Boone said.

  Without speaking, they made their way toward the cabin, stopping to listen every few minutes. No sounds came from within, no lights winked through the boarded up windows.

  “Let’s just wait and watch for a bit,” Anderson suggested. “See if there’s any movement.”

  They crouched behind a low hanging spruce bow, listening and waiting. The minutes dragged onward, and Boone’s muscles ached to move again.

  After fifteen minutes, they nodded to each other and moved forward. Boone motioned for Anderson to go around the back. He reached one side of the cabin and slowly peered into a crack between the planks blocking one window on the Devil’s Lake side. His eyes raked the room within. Woodstove. Couch. Small dining room table and two chairs.

  No Murphy.

  Anderson met him at the back of the cabin. Sotto voce, he said. “Nothing on the porch. No movement. Can’t see anyone inside.”

  Boone straightened and spoke in a more normal tone. “Okay, then. Let’s go knock on the front door.”

  PART II

  The Taking

  (two years earlier)

  Chapter 26

  Portia thrashed against the foul rag pressed to her mouth and nose, but the man was strong and clamped it tighter. She held her breath, struggling to escape his arms, but he held her like a child gripping a doll against its chest, tightly and with no intention of letting go.

  No luck.

  Don’t breathe, don’t breathe, don’t breathe!

  What the hell was happening? Who was this guy who’d parked his truck behind the greenhouse? And why did he say she was “with him” now?

  The dark night went darker. Her head swam.

  She breathed.

  Hours later she woke in the truck, arms tied together with rope and her head pounding. He’d parked around back of what looked like a gas station, and had left her in the truck alone. She wanted to scream, but something about the drug he’d used made her head stuffy, her throat muscles didn’t respond to her brain’s signals.