Dark Demon Rising: Whisperings Paranormal Mystery book seven (10 page)

“They
drive like maniacs. The roads are fine.”

“We’re
nearly there,” said Jack.

We
approached the courthouse. Maggie crawled to a snail’s pace and edged to the
sidewalk opposite the wide steps. “Quickly. Before anyone in Beanz spots me.”
She let her arm flop out the open window.

Jack
slid out of the car but lingered, still clinging to Maggie’s aura. “You will
come for me?”

“You
bet, Jack.”

“You
better. And, Maggie, please take her to Nordic Meadow. The sooner we get her in
her body, the better.”

“I’ll
think about it.” Maggie folded her hand back inside, forcing Jack to release
her or be dragged when she drove off.

We
drove away, leaving Jack on the sidewalk. With all the people going in and out of
the courthouse he would soon hitch a ride inside.

“Maggie,
you
have
to take me to Nordic Meadow.”

She
shot me a sideways glance. “I don’t
have
to do anything. And what good
will it do, anyway? The cops will have been through the cabin.”

“They
may have missed something.”

She
took a right on Orchard. “If the roads are bad, I’m going home.”

I
wanted to hug her. “You’ll take me? Thank you. Thank you, Maggie. Your help
means so much to me,” I gushed.

“Yeah,
invaluable,” she said sarcastically.

I
felt quite merry as we left the city limits and crossed the valley heading
west. Something intangible told me the cabin was important. I’d find its secret
if I had to stick my ethereal face into every crack and crevice.

But
we had to find the place first.

The
road followed the Snake River where ice crept in from both riverbanks, leaving a
narrow jagged channel zigzagging a trail of rushing water. The pure white snow
on fields and trees glistened. Already frozen and with snow settled on it, the
lake resembled a gigantic field. Abundantly dotted with ice fishermen’s
shelters, the older, rigid brown styles looked like molehills bursting through
the snow.

We
drove past Nordic Market and the post office, which serve Nordic Meadow and the
adjacent towns of Hunter and Freedom. The next left, a steep road, led to
Nordic Meadow.

Founded
in 1860, Nordic Meadow began as a small farming community. The slopes were
popular with local families for tobogganing, sledding and tubing before the
resort opened in the late 1960s with a ski hill, two chairlifts and several ski
runs. Over the years, the ski area expanded with additional terrain prepped and
cleared, and more ski runs were available by the 1970s. It’s a small resort
with an elevation of 7,400 feet, popular with beginners and families.

With
a population of 650, Nordic Meadow is still a small, unincorporated community.
There are no street lights, little traffic and no pollution. The roads are
narrow and winding and not always signposted. Every home is set away from the
road at the end of a long driveway and many don’t post their addresses outside,
illegal as it makes finding a place difficult for emergency services. The
residents of Nordic Meadow don’t care. I have heard they value their privacy
and someone told me they are friendly without being intrusive, but if a neighbor
needs help they are there for them.

A
fresh fall had left two inches of snow on the road. Maggie guided the car to
follow tracks left by another vehicle. “This isn’t too bad.”

The
car crept around a ninety-degree bend at the top, and less than two minutes
later we were in another world.

“Shit!”
from Maggie.

We
drove on compacted snow and walls of the stuff rose either side of the road, making
it little more than a single lane width.

People
get lost in Nordic Meadow. I don’t mean lost as in call out Search and Rescue,
you can see the valley below and find your way out if you keep heading north. I
mean lost when they are trying to find an address for the first time. We got
lost quickly and passed the same house twice before we got to a main road.
Turned out, it was wider and clearer of snow because it led to the ski resort
and the management kept it open to give skiers easier access.

I
knew, from the photo of Avery’s cabin, we needed to be higher and south of the
resort. I drew Maggie’s attention to the first road past the resort. “Surrey. We
need to go up there.”

Maggie
pulled up and let the Mini idle. “You are kidding me.”

A
mighty steep road faced the Mini. They tend to be steep when they climb a
mountain. “I’m sure you can make it.”

“No
you’re not.”

“So
I’m not. But you can try.”

Shaking
her head in annoyance as she puffed out a breath, Maggie got the Mini going and
turned right.

Near
the top of the hill, the wheels spun. We must have hit ice under the snow.
Maggie put the car into reverse and backed, swinging nearer the road’s edge.
For a horrible second, I didn’t think the Mini would stop and we’d go sailing
downhill but the plucky little car gripped the surface. We started off again
and realized ice covered the width of the road. The Mini ended with its bumper
in a snow-bank.

“Not
doing that again,” Maggie declared firmly.

“I
think there’s an easier way farther on.”

“We
have to turn first.”

Maggie
performed a reverse three-point-turn and the car edged down the incline. I would
have held my breath if I had any.

We
continued north, passing another equally steep hill on our right, a field on
our left and climbed a gentle hill, more a bump in the road, and drove on the
level again. Minutes later I spotted the other end of Surrey Lane on our right.
“This one.”

We
climbed gradually and navigated two small hills until level with the slopes.

“It
has to be someplace on this road. Slow down.”

“You’re
trying to be funny again, aren’t you,” Maggie said. If the Mini slowed much
more, I could walk faster.

We
chugged along checking out the homes visible from the road until we reached the
top of the hill which had defeated the Mini and saw a mess of tire tracks where
the little car swerved all over the place.

“It
has to be one of the homes set way back.”

“You
mean I have to turn around?” Maggie squeaked.

“Unless
you want to drive on down the hill and around again.”

She
shuddered as she eyed the hill. “No, thank you.”

After
turning, we passed several driveways disappearing in the trees, but I vetoed
them. “Nothing’s driven on the snow for days and I bet the police have been to
Avery’s cabin. Watch for tracks.”

We
arrived at a driveway where the snow was tamped and rutted. A lot of autos had
driven on it. I asked Maggie to pull over past the entrance.

“This
one?”

“May
be.” I tried to see a house, thought I saw the edge of the roof but the trees
obscured the rest. “Most of these places are vacation homes. Could be someone
who lives here year ‘round, or vacationers come for the ski season. But it’s in
the right place. We’ll walk from here.”

“Great.”
She looked at her suede shoes. “These’ll be ruined and my feet will probably
freeze.”

Grumbling
under her breath, she got out of the car, locked it and started along the
driveway with me clinging to her. Our eyes searched the snow-cloaked scenery
for vehicles or people. Chickadees hopped on the branches and a magpie cried
overhead but nothing else moved.

“Damn,
it’s cold,” Maggie complained.

“I’m
sure it is.”

“You
don’t feel the cold?”

“I
don’t feel anything externally.”

“Oh.”

That
shut her up until we reached the cabin.

“This
is it. See the wreath next to the door? I saw it in the photo.” Exhilarated and
gesturing wildly with one hand, I almost let go of her. “And those curtains,
they’re the same.”

“Was
the door nailed shut in the photo?”

Four-by-fours
top, bottom, middle and diagonal nailed the door to the frame. I pointed to the
wood around the lock. “Look. The door’s been busted open.”

“Cops
did it? They may come back at any time.”

“I
doubt it. I’m guessing, but I expect they have the local sheriff keep an eye on
the property. They don’t have the manpower to assign someone to watch
twenty-four-seven.”

“But
Avery’s a fugitive, the FBI are on it too. They may be out there hunkered down in
winter camouflage.”

“Maggie,
you’re letting your imagination run riot.”

“I’m
letting self-preservation run riot. How am I going to explain getting caught?”

“You
won’t
get caught.”

“Says
you.”

As
frustrated as she made me, I was also on edge for I knew she might be right. I
doubted agents in winter white hid in the trees but someone with a good pair of
binoculars and a two-way radio on the ski slope may have eyes on the cabin.

I’d
put Maggie in a bad position and part of me wanted to tell her we should leave,
now. But I couldn’t. I needed her more than I ever needed anyone.

“Can
you see inside?”

She
moved along the porch to the big glass window. Cupping her hands against the
glass to block reflective glare, she peered in. “Not much. A living room, and a
kitchen in the rear, I think.”

“Is
there a back door?”

“Can’t
see from here.”

“Take
us around back.”

She
looked at her shoes, moisture making them a darker shade. “Why the hell not.
They’re already ruined.” And she stepped off the end of the porch into deeper
snow.

Talking
her into breaking the glass in the back door and going in the cabin took me awhile.

A
typical A-Frame vacation home, the back door opened to a kitchenette and
breakfast room with a three-quarter bathroom off to the side. The front room,
where stairs ascended to a loft, ran the width of the cabin. Two sleeper sofas,
a coffee table and unit with a television covered most of the hardwood floor.
Although small, the big windows made it a light and airy little place of pine
floors and matching cabinets, and the wood-burning stove must make it toasty
when lit.

I
took a tentative step away from Maggie, another, and found I could move without
her. “Okay, let’s poke through this place.”

She
stood in the kitchen looking at the glass on the floor, guilt written on her
face. “I should clear this up.” Her gaze went to the smashed pane in the door. “And
what about this? Critters can get in and wreck the place.”

Raccoons
would have a ball inside, but I didn’t feel friendly toward Avery Magnusen and
although wild things destroying his possessions was petty revenge, I’d take it.
“Don’t worry about it. We don’t have time.”

With
a gusty sigh, Maggie stepped away from the glass. “What are we looking for exactly?”

“I
don’t know. Maybe nothing.” I eyed the walls. There are spaces between and
behind cabinets. “Look where you can and I’ll check places you can’t see into.”

“Maybe
nothing?” she grumbled. But she swung open a cabinet door and looked inside.

I
held my breath and closed my eyes. Being a shade came with a few perks and I
meant to use them, including deliberately sticking my head through a wall. I disliked
doing it, but maybe Avery hid something in crevices the cops didn’t know
existed.

I
searched the kitchen and found nothing hidden, no clues. One thing struck me as
odd: although cabinets held cooking equipment, utensils and cleaning supplies,
no packaged dried food or cans, no silverware or dishes,  not even paper
plates.

After
we went through the kitchen, I checked out the master bedroom in the loft while
Maggie explored the living space.

I
came downstairs to find her looking in a closet next to the staircase. Wide but
not deep, shelves on each side held board games and a long-handled fishing net hung
on the back wall.

“I
can’t believe I let you talk me into coming,” she grouched. “What a waste of
time.”

“Yeah.
I don’t see any supplies stashed. If Avery is a survivalist, he has a place
somewhere else and he’s hiding there.”

“Why
are you obsessed with the survivalist gig? Maybe he likes those kinds of
magazines. Maybe he thought of getting into it but didn’t.”

“It’s
the only lead I have. Anne didn’t want anyone to see those magazines, including
the police.”

“But
surely it’ll surface during their investigation?”

“Eventually,
but they haven’t dug deep yet.”

Maggie
stepped nearer, halfway inside the closet and rapped the back wall with her knuckles.
“You haven’t looked in here yet, but it seems solid enough.”

I
stuck my head through the wall, expecting to look into the bathroom on the
other side.

Face
to face with Avery Magnusen, I squeaked.

Jerking
my head free, I yelled, “Out! Maggie, get out! Avery is here!”

“Avery?
Behind the—” she began, when the wall came down and hit her head. She yelped, stumbled
and sat on her bottom with a thud. Eyes closed, she swayed and put one hand on
the floor to support herself. All the color left her face. She was going to
pass out.

The
wall was an inch thick, backed by a thick sheet of insulation and a piece of
plywood, so knocking didn’t produce the dull sound you get when there is a
space behind a wall. Poor Maggie.

Avery
Magnusen burst through the opening and stood over Maggie, his rifle’s stock
pressed to his shoulder, sighting along the barrel at her.

“Maggie,
stay with me!” I yelled.

She
opened her eyes and surely wished she hadn’t when she saw Avery looming at her.

“Who
are you? This is private property,” he growled. He glanced around.

“I
. . . I’m sorry,” she said groggily.

“You’re
going to be,” he threatened. “Who were you talking to? Give me your phone.”

And
right then a large body crashed through the big front window, rolled, dove at
Avery and smashed him to the floor. His rifle rolled over the boards. I
automatically ducked as glass splinters and a shard as big as my hand flew
through my body. Miraculously, the spraying glass didn’t catch Maggie and
Avery.

It
was one of those
don’t try this at home, kids
, moments. A regular man
diving through a triple pane window is going to be badly cut, but Royal didn’t
have a single nick on his big body.