Black Otter Bay (38 page)

Abby shut off the flashlight and took a deep breath. She realized now that she'd been right, that she really had figured out Randall's riddle. Something big was happening here tonight, and it included her little brother. She had no choice. She was completely alone, there was no help to be had, and this was her last chance to make it right with Ben.

She looked back at the footpath and the quickly disappearing light up ahead. After reaffirming her grip on the heavy flashlight, Abby set out on the narrow trail to the beach, trusting her memory to carry her safely over the rocky path in the dark to a reunion with her little brother. And this time she was determined that he wouldn't slip away.

• • • • •

B
etween the office phone and his cell phone, Sheriff Fastwater had taken more calls tonight then he usually received in a week.

“Fastwater,” he said, grabbing the office phone off his desk.

“Marlon? I just talked to Abby.”

“Mrs. Bean?”

“Abby is down at the bait shop. She said Arlene and Marcy are in the ditch out behind town.”

Fastwater sat back. The bait shop! Why on earth would Abby think that Ben was down there? They'd searched that whole area a thousand times.

“Did you hear me, Marlon? Your sister went off the road.”

“I know. Leonard is bringing them in.”

“Abby called me on Rose's old CB radio.”

“Did she say why she's down there?”

“No. But she asked me to call Matthew to pick her up.”

“Can you raise her on the radio again?”

“No. It's dead.”

Fastwater shoved his cell phone and car keys in his pockets, patted his utility belt, and let his gaze fall on Gitch, lying on his rug looking up at him expectantly. Into the phone, the sheriff said, “Okay then, thanks, Mrs. Bean. Go ahead and call Matthew if you want, but I'm on my way down to the bait shop now. I'll bring Abby home if he wants to wait for her there.”

“Okay, Marlon. I'll call him.”

Fastwater wanted to run, felt the need to find Abby as soon as possible, but when he reached out to hang up the phone, he heard the postmistress still talking.

“What? What's that, Mrs. Bean?”

“I was just asking if everything is okay.”

“Everything's fine now. I'll just run down and pick up Abby. Leonard is bringing Arlene and Marcy in, and he'll get the wrecker out there to retrieve the car. I have to go now, Mrs. Bean. Thanks for helping.” He didn't give her a chance to say more, but hung up and grabbed his SOO cap off the desk. “Come on, Gitch,” he said. “Time to saddle up, buddy.”

The big dog bounded to his feet and joined the sheriff already striding through the door. Outside, they found the fog piled up against the ridge like enemy armies amassing along a walled fortress.

“Jesus Christ,” Fastwater muttered while opening the back door of the squad car for Gitch. He paused to look out into the black void over the lake. It was like the town below him and the stars above had completely disappeared. “What a night to go chasing around in the woods,” he commented. And then he climbed in and pointed the big car down the hill. As an extra precaution, he turned on the emergency roof rack of lights, and they flitted silently through the deserted streets of town like a gaudy one-car parade on their way out to the bait shop down Highway 61.

• • • • •

A
bby shivered. It felt like the fog inundating the aspen grove had a weight to it, cold and wet, and almost smothering in its density. Young saplings crowded in against the path, further obscuring her line of travel in the dark. But she knew the twists and turns in the trail by memory, and her tired feet carried her over rocks and tree roots. The bobbing light up ahead was gone and she didn't dare turn on her own flashlight, so she carefully crept along in the dark, reaching out into the fog to feel her way forward.

Randall had said that Ben would soon return. She wondered if that meant he'd simply be set free from the boathouse, or if they'd haul him up into the forest somewhere to be found. And if Ben did come home safely, how could Randall expect that neither one of them would talk? She had to consider that once again Randall was lying, that he had no intention of letting her brother go. If Ben did come home, Randall's leverage over her would be lost. He couldn't risk either one of them talking to the authorities, which would explain the chase through Canal Park to Arlene's house and up the back road from Duluth.

No one ever used the back road anymore. Other than some locals, no one even knew it existed, so how had the man in the big car found them? There were just too many questions without answers, making it too risky to leave Ben's fate in the hands
of Randall. With a frown, she admitted to herself that the one thing she knew for sure was that none of this would have happened if she hadn't made Ben skip school to go fishing.

An exposed tree root caught her toe and sent her careening down the path, the flashlight clattering to the ground as she swung her arms to keep from falling. Finally regaining her balance, she crouched in the pathway, silently berating herself.
Pay attention, dummy!

She paused to listen, but the forest maintained its brooding silence. From down on the shore Abby heard the incoming surf splashing over the beach. It was a gentle lapping, with the soft sound easily carried to her through the fog. She backtracked a few steps, feeling around on the damp ground for the flashlight. Ready again, she continued on her way, treading slowly along the twisting pathway leading to the boathouse.

Lake Superior acted like a natural air conditioner down here along the shore, and the sweat she'd worked up running through the woods from the back road had dried against her skin so that she trembled now in the damp fog. She heard voices up ahead, and the banging around of equipment being moved in the boathouse. The square-hewn log structure soon materialized out of the fog, but with no windows to peek through, Abby just slid her fingertips along the well-worn logs and tried to listen.

The voices were a jumble of words against the surf. The open wall facing the lake provided the only access, so she crept forward over slippery rocks, letting her fingers lead the way along the smooth log surface. Reaching the front corner, she squatted sideways against the building to listen. She could smell the lake here, the cold, deep water, wet rocks, and driftwood underfoot. And then a hand slipped around her face and a mighty force yanked her off her feet.

Abby fought and kicked, twisted and squirmed, but the big hand over her mouth choked off her breath, leaving her helpless to fight back. Within seconds, she quit struggling and went limp, settling back against the bulky form behind her.

“Hello, Abigail,” a voice close in her ear said.

That voice! The day Ben was taken she'd heard that voice on the telephone.

“I had a feeling we'd meet face to face one day,” he said, and a moment later she was heaved around the front of the building and set down inside. A large open boat with a center console, unlike anything Abby had seen before, rested on the boat ramp. Light from an overhead lantern reflected off a glittering metal-flake fiberglass finish. The prop from an enormous outboard motor protruded into the water. Randall stood in the boat behind the console, a coil of rope in one hand, the gun in the other, wearing a huge grin on his face. In the bow of the boat sat Ben, duct tape wound around his head to cover his mouth. His hands were tied behind him. He jumped to his feet at the sight of Abby, but Randall casually swung the gun up and leveled it at his face.

“Sit down,” he commanded.

Abby jerked against her assailant, but the large man clamped down on her with a vise-like grip. At a nod from Randall the hand over her mouth was removed, but still he held her body tight against him, restraining her arms at her sides with his overpowering size and grip.

Randall leaned over the far side and handed down the coil of rope. “Come over here and help secure our guest,” he commanded. When he stood up and looked back at her, he smiled. “This is just wonderful, Abby. How nice of you to drop in on us.”

Abby interjected, “How did you get here so fast? I just saw you in Duluth.”

Randall chuckled. “On the water it's less than fifty miles as the crow flies.” He patted the leather-wrapped, oversized steering wheel. “I made it up here in just over half an hour.” He wore his thinning shoulder-length hair tied back in a short ponytail under a Greek fisherman's cap. Abby thought he looked like a middle-aged father taking his family on vacation
up north. “Come on, Danny,” he called again to the third man in the boathouse. “Get over here and lend a hand.”

Abby looked at her brother, who watched everything with an incredulous, wide-eyed stare, but she nearly choked up when his gaze fell on her. He wore his tear-stained, naïve little brother expression, and the glitter of expectation in his eyes said that he believed she could fix all this. He frowned at Randall's friend coming around the front of the boat and leaned away when the man reached over the railing to pat his shoulder. When Abby finally saw the man, she gasped out loud, “Uncle Dan!”

He looked up at Randall in the boat. “Let them go,” he said. “That was the deal, Randall: no harm to the kids.”

So that was how they knew about the back road! Abby studied her uncle. She hadn't seen him in a long while, years probably. He'd always been the fun one, the adult bending all the rules, the family vagabond blowing through town with outlandish stories and silly gifts. Despite the present circumstances, she couldn't hold back a little thrill at seeing him. He wore his old brown leather jacket over khaki trousers, and his thick hair, dappled with gray now, was brushed back in a tousled, carefree style. He still reminded her of the old Indiana Jones character.

Daniel Simon stood close to her, and she could feel the intensity rattling through him as he directed his glare at Randall. The set of his jaw was just like her father's. She'd recognize the family resemblance anywhere, no matter how many years he stayed away.

Randall seemed to be enjoying his position of leadership, standing above everyone high up in the boat. He ignored Daniel's request, instead smiling down at the girl. “I knew you'd show up, Abby. I always told your mother that you're a clever one.”

“Come on, Randall,” Dan interrupted. “Let them go.”

Randall nodded at Abby's captor. “Tie her up, Eddie. This chit-chat is fun, but we don't have the luxury of time.”

Dan persisted. “We had a deal, Randall.”

Randall turned on him. “And now the deal is done,” he growled. “Your guys got the property, and I finally have the money I should have gotten years ago for this place. You have no idea what a rotten life I had here. My father, the local fishing hero, was a tyrant. Even my own mother,” he sneered, “wouldn't stand up to him.”

Daniel Simon approached the side of the boat and looked up at Randall. He lowered his voice, as if in confidentiality, but in the narrow, enclosed room Abby could hear every word. “After these bozos screwed things up for you, I promised to help. You said no one else would get hurt. The kids got in the way, but you promised to keep them safe.” He grabbed the boat railing and shook it violently. “You're not going to hurt these kids.”

Randall smirked and leaned toward the railing, cocking the handgun and pointing it at Abby's uncle. “You're a fool, Dan Simon. Just like your brother and all the other low-brows in town.” He looked at Eddie and barked, “Tie her up!”

Abby gave her uncle a pleading look, and then glared at Randall in the boat, but with the arm around her waist suddenly loosening, her anger exploded in freedom. Taking a step forward, she spun on the balls of her feet, swinging the flashlight like a baseball player swinging for the fences. The heavy stainless steel flashlight connected with a solid “thwack” against the side of Eddie's head. He never saw it coming, and quietly crumpled in a pile at her feet. Abby stumbled backwards as her uncle dropped to the ground, grabbing at the handgun in Eddie's waistband. Spinning in a crouch, he used both hands to steady his aim at Randall. When she looked up in the boat, however, she found her brother clutched close in Randall's arm, the gun pressed tight against the boy's temple.

“It's over now,” Randall announced, his calm voice more unnerving than an outburst. “Abby, get up here in the boat, and Daniel, go ahead and drop the gun.” When her uncle didn't
move, Randall dragged Ben to the boat railing and sneered, “If you try anything stupid, I'll drop this whole affair in Jackie's lap, and yours, too. Think about it, Danny-boy. You're up to your neck in the Ardito family. They'll put you away forever, and you'll never see these kids again.”

“What are you going to do?” Dan asked.

“We're going for a little boat ride.” He held Ben in front of him like a shield, leaving no opening for an attack. “Toss that gun outside. Go on, Danny, throw it out the door into the lake.”

Dan hesitated, staring at his adversary, until Randall said, “Your choice, Danny. Toss it, or I can just as easily shoot now and dump them later. It's your call.”

Abby watched as her uncle pitched the gun underhand through the doorway. It landed with a heavy splash in the surf.

Randall grinned at his apparent victory. Nodding at Daniel, he said, “Thanks to you and Eddie, I finally got paid for those god-awful years working the nets. No one knows of my involvement in this, and Danny, I really don't think you're stupid enough to say anything yourself. I mean, how would that look? Your own nephew and niece.” He pressed the muzzle of his gun hard against Ben's head and looked at Abby. “Now, for the last time, get in the boat.”

Daniel asked, “Where are you going?”

“Far away, but it starts with a simple forty-mile boat ride to the south shore of Wisconsin.” Once again he displayed his cruel-hearted smirk. “If we don't all make it across, well, you know what they say: Lake Superior never gives up its dead.”