Murder in the Devil's Cauldron (27 page)

Why the hell people did it was still beyond
him. The fact that they did it on purpose and even looked forward
to it was even more inconceivable.

Finally, though, the grime was gone and he
was dressed in clean, beautifully pressed tan slacks and shirt that
made him look as if he was walking on a white sand beach in the
Caribbean instead of the wilds of Minnesota. Everything was back in
place and when he checked his image in the mirror, he immediately
felt better. He looked relaxed and in charge. Once again the
successful businessman on his honeymoon.

Fowler's success depended on looking the
part. Few people looked beyond that. It was all about presentation
and expectations. If anything was off, suspicion was not far
behind. But make it look good and you were gold.

He gave his reflection a snarky little grin
and then sauntered off to his car and drove up to Ruby Cove. He
would pick Viv up and go over everything during dinner. With any
luck, he could get her in front of that nosy park ranger tonight or
first thing tomorrow morning. When people had an unanswered
question, it started nagging at them like something stuck in their
teeth that they could feel with their tongue, but couldn't quite
dislodge. At some point, the ranger would get tired of waiting.
Then he'd start nosing around or go to the sheriff. And from there,
Fowler could only guess where that might end up.

It was always best to take care of things
early on and avoid unpleasantness down the road. And as soon as the
ranger saw his "wife", he'd kick that kid's accusations right to
the curb. Or, in this case, right into the lake. Fowler grinned at
his clever riposte.

However, when he got to Ruby Cove, he
discovered that his plans had once again been hijacked. He pulled
into the driveway of the Bide-A-Wee Motel and drove around back. He
walked to the room she was supposed to have taken. But when he got
to the door, he hesitated.

Something was off.

He fished the pink message slip out of his
pocket, congratulating himself for thinking of it at the last
minute. He read it again. Cabin 14. He looked back up at the door.
He was in front of Cabin 15. He walked to the next one, but it said
16 in shiny gold numbers.
The better to see you with, my
dear
. No mistaking those numbers unless you were totally in the
tank. A nice touch in the gloom created by the overgrown Christmas
trees surrounding the place.

He looked around to make sure he was
unobserved, then skirted the motel, coming around to the side
facing the highway. There he discovered that while Cabin 14 was
indeed on the end per his instructions, it was in the front in
plain sight of the highway and all of Ruby Cove. Not to mention the
office window where anyone could look out and see him standing
there.

He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling
to get control of his exasperation. When he felt calmer, he opened
his eyes, took a deep breath and knocked on the door. He rather
doubted the big old country boy who ran the place was paying
attention to the comings and goings, but Fowler didn't want to
chance it. It was unlikely the guy would recognize him, but he had
learned that anything could happen and most likely would.
Murphy
was alive and well and on the North Shore
.

He grinned and knocked again, harder this
time. He was about to yell at her through the door, but managed to
resist. The last thing he wanted right now was to attract
attention.

Still no answer. She'd probably already gone
to dinner. Damn this place and the lack of cell coverage.

He strolled casually back around the corner
and returned to his car. He wrote a short note, then ripped it up.
It was much too likely someone would see it and decide it might
make interesting reading. He considered it for a moment, then wrote
a second one. This one didn't give anything away, but let Viv know
he was looking for her.

He looked around the parking area. Still no
one around.

He got out of the car and returned to Cabin
14. He knocked again just in case, then tried to push the note
under the door. But it was too tight and the paper wouldn't go
through.

Fowler frowned, then stuck the paper between
the door and the jamb, resting the bottom of the note on the
ground. He stood back a little and was not happy to see how visible
it was. His only other option was to hang out in the parking lot
for hours and that would be worse. He would just have to hope
people would mind their own business and leave it alone.

He returned to his car feeling as if the day
was steadily going downhill. He put the key in the ignition and
then just sat there. His stomach growled, reminding him that it
needed feeding, but he ignored it. His thoughts kept playing a mini
movie of someone walking by, seeing the note and reading it. It
really didn't matter who it was. What mattered was that someone was
likely to do exactly that. This was the hinterlands of Minnesota
and people had no shame about poking their noses where they didn't
belong.

What mattered to Fowler, was that whoever
read that note would be able to connect him with Viv. Which meant
that taking a chance, no matter how small, was a really stupid
thing to do right now.

Fowler sighed, got out of the car and went
back to the corner of the motel. After making sure no one was
likely to see him, he scooted around the corner, picked up the note
and scurried back to the car, the note tucked safely in his
pocket.

This time when he got in the car, he started
it and continued up the shore towards Grand Marais and a decent
restaurant.

He'd simply have to come back tomorrow.

Starr knew she was in for it as soon as she
reached the cabin. Her mother was standing on the porch, her purse
slung over one shoulder. Her arms were crossed and her expression
was like an approaching tornado.

"I'm sorry," Starr said as she skidded to a
stop by the porch. "It wasn't my fault. Honest."

Her mother's lips tightened into flat lines
and her eyes were little more than narrow slits.

"Is it really too much to ask you to at least
be on time for dinner?" her mother demanded. She put one hand on
her hip and glared at Starr as if she had just done something
disgusting on the carpet. "Well?"

"I'm sorry. It's just that …"

"Sorry doesn't cut it. You know I have to be
back to work at six."

"I know," Starr said miserably. "But
something happened in the park and …"

"Something always happens," her mother
interrupted. "Something is always more important than anything I've
asked you to do. In case you forgot, it took forever to find a
decent job after your worthless father took off. I was darned lucky
to get this opportunity and I'm not going to let you muck it up for
me."

"But mom. This is important."

"Don't give me that," her mother snapped. "My
job
is important. Being on
time
is important. Doing
what I
ask
once in awhile is important. At least do that for
me, can't you?" She shook her head. "Your dinner is in the oven. It
should still be warm."

"But mom…."

"Not now."

The set look on her mother's face told Starr
that it was time to zip it up and toss away the key. Maybe for a
really,
really
long time.

"We'll talk about it later." With that, her
mother stalked past Starr up the path towards the Lodge.

Starr made a face as she watched her mother
vanish into the trees. Part of her hoped her mother would change
her mind, turn around and come back. Maybe ask her what happened
and why she was late. Maybe even help her figure out what to
do.

But she knew better. They
wouldn't
talk about it later. They would
never
talk about it. And
Starr knew her mother would never change her mind and come back. Or
ask what happened. Because she didn't care and Starr knew she never
would. Starr was going to have to figure this out on her own.

Her breath hitched as the weight of this
knowledge landed on her as if it was the Edmund Fitzgerald going
down in the storm. Starr's eyes welled up as she stood in the
silence, hoping that if she waited just one more minute, her mother
would come hurrying back.

Starr wanted to give in and have a good cry,
but she knew that it wouldn't change anything and she rubbed the
tears away with the back of her hand. She pulled an extra napkin
left over from lunch out of her backpack and blew her nose. Feeling
a little better, she touched one of the feathers on the
dreamcatcher for luck, unlocked the cabin and went inside.

Harry Peterson was watching the Twins come up
to bat in the bottom of the fourth inning. So far it was one to
nothing in favor of the Red Sox, but the power hitters were up and
he was hoping something would break loose. Things around the motel
were slow and he wasn't really expecting anyone to show up. There
weren't any unfilled reservations waiting for a late night traveler
and he only had one cabin left, but he still kept an idle eye on
the parking area, just in case.

Someone had driven in a few minutes ago, but
when they didn't come to the door, he didn't worry about it. Even
when it looked as if they were skulking about. But Harry could tell
they weren't trying to break in.

There was a lull in the game and he tilted to
one side to get a better view of what was going on, but it looked
like the guy was just trying to leave a note.

Probably one of the Johnsons who had taken
over a bunch of rooms like they did every summer. Harry considered
poking his head out to tell the person that most of the family had
gone up to Lutsen for dinner, but before he could get his weary
self back on his feet, the batter for the Twins hit a good one. By
the time the ball curved just foul, whoever was outside was driving
away. Probably figured it out, Harry thought as he went back to the
game.

The Twins were coming out on the short end of
the game with the Red Sox. They hadn't been the same since losing
Kirby Puckett and Hrbek, not to mention Gladden, and Harry didn't
hold much hope out for their chances again this year. Still, he
liked to keep an eye on things in case the Twins pulled a surprise
rally like they often did when he was out of the room for a quick
beer.

The first thing Starr did when she went
inside the cabin was lock the door and double-check the windows.
The last bit of fading light filtered in through the windows where
the trees didn't quite block it out, but mostly it was dark and
Starr flipped on the light in the living room and then in the
kitchen.

She felt better immediately. It wasn't so
much the lights being on as it was that a lot of the shadows
disappeared. She went back to the front door and turned the
deadbolt so the door was really locked. That made her feel a little
better.

She could smell spicy tomato sauce and peeked
in the oven. A gigantic slab of lasagna sat on a plate in the exact
middle. Just looking at it made her stomach growl. She closed the
oven door and carried her camera and tripod to her room, tucking
the camera into the secret compartment. The tripod didn't fit, so
she sat that next to the bookcase where it was out of the way but
easy to grab.

Returning to the kitchen, she took a salad
and juice out of the frig and set them on the table. As she opened
the oven door, though, she heard a rough raspy sound and froze, the
oven door half way open. The smell of cheese and sauce that had
been so enticing a few minutes ago immediately lost their appeal.
Starr slowly eased the oven door shut and listened intently, not
daring to move. She was suddenly aware that she was alone in the
middle of nowhere and if the killer came after her, no one would
hear a thing.

The memory of the woman falling into the
Devil's Cauldron replayed in her head and Starr wished she hadn't
said anything in front of the killer. Not only did he know who she
was, he knew she was a witness. What would stop him from coming
after her next?

The house stayed quiet and the silence
started to feel creepy. Starr hurried back to the front door and
double-checked the deadbolt. It was still locked and she relaxed a
little. She cocked her head, listening for anything odd, but
nothing disturbed the silence. After a few more minutes, she gave
herself a little shake. Now she was just being silly. While he knew
she lived around here, there was no way he knew exactly which cabin
she was in. So it was unlikely he was lurking around outside just
waiting to break in. She took a deep breath, only then realizing
she had been holding it.

Shaking her head a little at herself, Starr
returned to the kitchen and took her dinner out of the oven and sat
down with anticipation. Then found herself listening for anything
out of place instead of digging in. When she finally forced herself
to eat, the lasagna had turned to a slab of cold rubber. Starr was
tempted to throw it out and just have something later. But that
would mean dealing with her mother again later and even the thought
of that made her feel tired.

Besides, she was absolutely
starving
.

Starr popped the lasagna in the microwave and
zapped it. Forcing all thoughts of murder out of her mind, she
practically inhaled her dinner.

When she was done, she was still hungry. She
quickly rinsed the dishes and packed them in the canvas carrier.
Her mother had already turned the stove off because she didn't
trust Starr to do it, but Starr double-checked it anyway. She
didn't want to get chewed out for missing that, too. Especially
now.