Strangers in the Night (8 page)

“In Oceanside all my life. Out here for about ten years. Isabelle hired me to keep an eye on the place.” He chuckled. “Tough job, but somebody's got to do it.”

“You all can chit-chat later,” Pops said. “We'd better head out before sunup if we want to catch some trout.” He had already loaded the boat. Now he stepped in and took the seat in the bow.

“Aye, aye, sir.” Abbie climbed in behind him and Jake took the rear.

Jake told Travis they'd talk later. Turning to Pops he said, “Now I know why you invited me. You need some muscle to row this thing.”

“Would you mind?” Pops asked. “My back is giving me fits this morning and I need to save it for reeling in the trout.”

“I don't mind. I was planning to work out today anyway.” Jake settled onto the seat beside Abbie. “Unless you plan to do the rowing, you might want to sit aft.”

She'd never rowed a boat in her life and should have simply moved, but something in her nature resisted. “Why not? How hard can it be?”

“Okay. Have at it.” Jake moved to the bench behind her. Abbie didn't miss the winks he and Pops exchanged. She should have given in and let Jake take over, but no. She was not the type to give in without a fight—not anymore.

She studied the oar, noting a ring with a sort of spike protruding from it. She surmised that the spike might fit into the hole on the side of the boat. She picked up one of oars, slid the ring up slightly, and placed it into the hole, letting the paddle part of the oar rest on the water. When it fit perfectly she did the same to the other side. Pleased with her progress, Abbie dipped both oars into the water in front of her then pulled them back. Up, forward, and back. The boat moved ahead a bit and then rotated slightly to the right. She repeated the movement several more times, beginning to get the hang of it. But her arms were already starting to hurt, and she was only about twelve feet from the shore.

“Not bad,” Pops said. “Let us know when you've had enough.”

The harder she rowed, the more the boat listed to the right. “Your right arm is stronger than your left,” Jake offered. “So you need to compensate.”

She raised the right oar out of the water, using only the left. After a few minutes, her arm muscles not only ached, they became so weak she could barely bring the oars out of the water.

Jake came forward and sat beside her. “You're doing great, Abbie, but do you mind if I give you a few pointers?”

“Sure.” Too achy to argue, Abbie moved back to the seat he'd vacated.

Jake turned to sit facing her. “First, you want to face aft. This allows you to put more power into the stroke.” He dipped in the oars, almost parallel to the boat, then with one swift move pulled them nearly to his chest. The boat must have moved forward five feet. He repeated the process several more times until they were near the center of the lake. Pops directed him a little closer to the far shore to his favorite fishing hole.

The boat drifted peacefully atop the still water. Jake set the oars in the boat and the three sat quietly, soaking in the predawn stillness. An owl hooted and a frog croaked as morning began to break. The sounds reminded Abbie of early mornings on the farm when she'd wake up early and amble out to the henhouse to gather eggs. She often stopped at the pond and listened to nature's symphony, absorbing the beauty around her as the sun began its slow and colorful rise over the vast expanse of farmland.

Here, evergreens towered all around them. Abbie drew a long breath of fresh, crisp morning air. Her father broke the silence with a cough.

“What do you think, Abbie?” he asked.

“I can see why you fell in love with the place,” she said. “Just sitting here fills my senses and makes me want to capture it on canvas.”

“I knew you'd like it.”

They took a few minutes to bait their hooks and drop their lines into the water.

Her father leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “I'll let Jake here tell you about the lay of the land.” Turning to Jake he added, “It was too dark to see much when we got into the town itself, but I figured she could see all that later. The buildings can be repaired or torn down. This”—he waved an arm—“is what's important.”

“I couldn't agree more.” Jake grinned at her. “The place has a lot of potential.”

“I can see that. How large is the lake?”

“About twenty-five acres. It's about a mile wide here and then cuts in. I have a map that shows the lake and the town so you get an idea of proportions.”

“I remember. Is there another way in?”

“By car, no. There is a trail from town. Isabelle doesn't like having a lot of people driving in, so we don't usually direct non-locals out this way. We encourage tourists to hike in, and most are willing to do that. They come out to an area of the lake you can't see from here. There are a couple of docks there and some places to fish from the shore. This is a fresh-water lake with nutrients, which means it can sustain fish and other wildlife. So far we have plenty of trout. We've never had to stock it. This is as pristine as it gets. We don't even allow motors except in emergencies.”

“Yet there is a motor on this one.”

“I've never used it,” her father said. “I just take the boat out the old-fashioned way.”

“One of the things locals are worried about,” Jake said, “is what property development could do to the lake. Isabelle doesn't want to sell to anyone who plans to cut down the timber.”

“We certainly wouldn't need to do that. I love the woodsy feel.” Abbie hesitated. “We'd have to improve the road in, though.”

Jake nodded.

Abbie asked about Travis's place. “Pops and I were talking about Travis and how he might feel if we eliminated his house and built the retreat center there.”

“We were thinking he might stay on,” Pops added. “We're going to need someone to keep an eye on things.”

“Travis knows there's a good chance the mobile home will have to be moved. I'll bet he'd be happy to stay on—at least for a while.” Jake's line jiggled, and he jerked the pole back to snag his catch. A wide grin stretched across his face. “I got him.”

“You sure did—I'd say from the bow you got on that rod he's a big one.” Pops lifted the net, ready to scoop up Jake's catch.

“Four pounds, I'm guessing.”

Abbie watched, fascinated, as Jake let the fish play, reeled it in, and let it play again. The rainbow trout lived up to its name, colors flashing just under the surface.

Abbie rooted around in her bag for her camera and just as the sun began its brilliant ascent, she snapped off the lens cover and shot what might become her next painting. The trout fought hard, but Jake expertly reeled it in and held it above the water just as Pops raised the net and drew it into the boat. The colors would be vibrant. She could hardly wait to have the film developed. While Abbie had the camera out, she snapped a dozen or so photos of the exquisite sunrise and the lake, the tall firs and cedar. As she turned back toward the dock and the house, she noticed Travis sitting on his deck, legs stretched out, drinking from a large mug. She switched up the settings, zoomed in for a close-up, and snapped another couple of photos.

She loved it here. Her parents were right. This was the perfect place for an artists' retreat. She imagined guests imitating Travis, serenity evident in their faces. She scanned the shoreline, snapping photos of fallen logs, interesting inlets, and inviting fishing spots carved into the landscape at intervals.

An hour later, the threesome, with their six lovely trout, headed back to shore. Jake hadn't rowed far when Abbie spotted something red floating in the water near a fallen tree.

She pointed it out. “It looks like a piece of cloth or plastic.”

Pops mumbled something about littering.

Jake nodded and rowed in that direction. “We should pick it up. Travis tries to keep the place pristine, but not everyone follows the rules.”

They pulled up alongside the snag and Pops fished what looked like a piece of loosely woven fabric out of the water. He wrung it out and shook it open. “Looks like a woman's scarf.”

“It is.” Jake paled as he examined it and then peered into the water below.

“What's wrong?” Abbie eyed the beautiful fabric, woven with various shades of red and gold threads with tassels on each end. It looked handmade.

Jake's eyes, filled now with dread, locked with hers. He took the scarf from Pops and placed it on the seat beside him. “It's Barbara's.”

“Are you sure?” She, too, looked into the water, fearing the scarf's owner might be there as well. It was shallow and clear. The fallen tree rested on the bottom. Several fish zipped in and out between the branches.

Jake lifted the oars and began rowing again. “Not definitely, but she had one like it. I'll check with Travis and call Jeff.”

“I think he's right, Abbie,” Pops said. “I recall seeing her wearing a red scarf like this last week when she met us out here.”

“Maybe she lost it—did she ever come out here with Travis?” Abbie wasn't sure why she'd asked. The woman's scarf being in the lake didn't mean anything, did it?

Jake shook his head. “Maybe, but I have a feeling there's more to it than that.” He gripped the oars and began rowing back across the lake as if he were in a race.

Abbie shivered and tucked her hands into her sweatshirt sleeves and stared at the scarf for a long moment as if she expected it to reveal its owner's story. It didn't, of course.
It's just a scarf
, she told herself, but she couldn't shake the sense of urgency she seemed to share with Jake.

Face deeply etched with concern, Jake rowed back to the dock. He pulled alongside so Pops could get out and tie the boat up, then, after helping Abbie onto the dock, grabbed the scarf off the seat.

“Like I said, I don't know if it means anything, but I need to call Jeff. You guys can follow me up to the house. I'm sure Travis will have coffee on.”

With that, he jogged on ahead of them, the red and gold fabric furling like a flag in the light breeze. “Why don't we pack up our stuff before we go to the house?” Pops asked.

He hadn't said much since they'd made their discovery. Abbie suspected that he, too, feared the worst—that if Barbara Nichols' scarf was here in the lake, her body might be as well.

One did not necessarily follow the other
, Abbie reasoned. After all, Barbara and Travis were dating. He could have taken her out on the lake for a romantic sunset picnic, where she'd accidentally dropped it. Besides that, her car had been found over forty miles away at the bottom of a ravine. Still, Abbie's stomach churned with worry as they loaded the car and hurried up to the house.

The door was ajar and Abbie stepped inside. The mobile home was larger and homier than she'd expected. Double glass doors and a large window framed a perfect view of the lake. A deck beyond the patio door sported several Adirondack chairs. A number of expensive-looking woodcarvings were artistically displayed around the living room. Travis obviously had money and good taste. He sat on a leather couch, head buried in his hands. The scarf was draped across his lap.

Without speaking, Jake came forward to usher them in and close the door.

Travis looked up when she and Pops entered. For a moment his eyes flashed with anger. Or had they? Perhaps she had misread him because in the next moment, he seemed to look straight through her. “Jake tells me you found her scarf.”

“So it really is Barbara's.” The words caught in her throat.

He nodded. “I was with her when she found it at the art gallery in Depoe Bay. She…it made her happy and I bought it for her. I— I can't imagine how it got out here.” He gently ran his hand over the fibers and fingered the satiny label bearing the artist's logo.

Are you sure?
The question remained unspoken. Of course he was sure. A hard knot formed in her chest.

Perhaps it was Jake's expression that zapped her of the hope that the woman would be alive. Then, too, came Travis's revelation that Barbara, to his knowledge, had never been to the lake other than to show the property to a prospective buyer. Of course, sometimes you just knew that something was terribly wrong.

Abbie wished she could walk away from the aura of despair emanating through this place. Though she hardly knew these men, their pain became hers. “I'm sorry.” The words seemed empty and hung in the silence like worthless particles of dust.

Travis stood then and walked the few feet into the kitchen area. From the freezer compartment of the refrigerator, he withdrew something wrapped in aluminum foil and set it on the counter. “Zucchini bread, in case you want something to eat. Coffee's on. I made a fresh pot.” He reached into the cupboard to the right of the sink and pulled down a couple of hand-thrown pottery mugs.

Travis appreciated art. Perhaps that, in part, explained why she felt drawn to share his grief. Sadly, the thought that she was drawn to him disturbed her. This man, she realized, could be lying. He could have killed Barbara.

If she's dead
.

Lord, let her be alive
.

Even as the prayer flitted in her mind, intuition told her it was too late for prayers.

Half an hour later, Abbie poured herself another cup of coffee and refilled her father's. She paced across the olive-green shag carpet, staring out the plate-glass window at the two boats and the six men looking intently into the water. Travis and Jake worked alongside the sheriff and two deputies as they scanned the lake, beginning at the dock and spreading out toward the old tree that had caught and held Barbara's scarf.

While she watched them, another reality forced its way into her mind. She had been with Jake and had actually spotted the scarf. What if the sheriff wanted to question her? What if he recognized her name or went to check her out? He'd find out soon enough that she was a fugitive.

She should leave. Now.

Hauling in a long breath, she willed her heart to stop slamming against the wall of her chest. He wouldn't need to question her, would he? Her name might go into his report, but he wouldn't consider her a suspect. He wouldn't need to look up her name in his files. She folded her arms across her chest.

Maybe Jake wouldn't mention her name. He knew her situation. Knew she needed to avoid the police.

Coming home had been a terrible mistake.

No it wasn't. This is what you needed to do
, Abbie reassured herself.
Regardless of what happens, you couldn't keep running
. Jake had told her everything would work out. Somehow, she had to keep believing that. Soon, once he'd gathered the information he needed to assess her case and advise her, she'd be hearing from the attorney.

God, please let the news be good
.