Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) (11 page)

The Sheriff stood and paced, glancing out the window. “That so? Did he ever threaten you with that?”

Portia shrank into the couch. “Yes. He did.” She closed her eyes as if reciting from memory. “He said if I ever left him, he’d find me, and kill me slowly.” She shuddered. “Those were his exact words.”

Deputy Mills leaned forward. “He doesn’t know where you live, does he?”

Portia’s eyes filled with tears, and all Boone wanted to do was gather her in his arms and take her away, far away from it all.

“Yes. He followed the stories in the papers. Clipped the articles about it. He loved reading their accounts about how I disappeared.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “And he’d laugh. Talk about how much smarter he was than the police.”

Sheriff Dunne bristled. “Well, he may be smart, but we’ve got God on our side. We’ll find this bastard, Miss Lamont. We’ll find him, arrest him, and make him pay for what he’s done to you and your family.”

In spite of the fact that Boone was worried for Portia—seriously afraid she might have committed murder in self-defense—he realized he liked this guy. “Sheriff,” he said. “Anything we can do to help, you just let us know. We want him behind bars more than you’ll ever know.”

Deputy Mills narrowed his eyes, doubting Boone’s right to be there. “You part of the family, son?”

Boone stood his ground. “Hey. I’ve known Portia since she was a little kid. We used to ride the hills together. And my family’s been friends with the Lamonts forever. They went through hell when she was taken. And if you need a hand, you can deputize me on the spot. I’m one helluva shot.”

The Sheriff sent a nod in his direction. “Thank you, Boone. We’ll keep that in mind. Now, Miss Lamont. How do you think this guy targeted you? Did he you watch you? Plan it for a long time? Or do you think it was on impulse?”

Portia looked him straight in the eye. “He told me he’d been trolling for the right woman, Sheriff. He kept the chloroform in his truck, and he’d been searching for the past few weeks, driving from state to state. He said—” Her voice broke and she stopped for a minute. “He said when he saw me, he knew I was ‘the one.’”

Sheriff Dunne grimaced. “Crap. Sounds like a lunatic.”

Portia’s face tightened. “You’ve got that right.”

Mills flipped a page in his notebook and interrupted. “What the hell did he do to you, anyway, Miss? Why couldn’t you get away?”

Before Portia could answer—Doc Hardy entered the room, black bag in hand and a worried expression on his kindly face. “Mills, you’re an idiot. Look at the scars on her wrists and ankles. The monster tied her up.”

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

B
oone 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

A
t 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 for 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.