Perilous (13 page)

“The bedrooms are to both sides, off the living room,” I said. “The bigger one is to the left with bunk beds. Mel and Jeff, that will be yours with Tommy.”

“Video games!” Tommy said. He ran over by the old television and rummaged around the vintage Nintendo system.

I walked through to the kitchen at the front of the house and set the groceries on the counter. Jeff followed, trying to take the place in.

I looked at him. “Toss whatever needs to be in the refrigerator in there. I’ll go get the power and water turned on.”

“Sure,” Jeff said.

I walked back to the living room. The girls hadn’t moved more than an inch since they’d walked in the door.

“It will just be for a bit. It will be fine,” I said.

“I think it’s colder in here than it is outside,” Melissa said.

“I’ll get a fire going in a minute.”

“Um, I don’t see a bathroom, babe,” Callie said.

“It’s out front on the side of the house.”

“An outhouse?” Melissa asked.

I nodded. “Try to go quick, or you’ll freeze. You’ll need a flashlight, too. There’s not power out there.”

They both stared back at me.

“Damn. We forgot toilet paper. Maybe there’s some out there,” I said.

They continued staring.

“I’m kidding. Well, not really—there is an outhouse out there. But there’s a bathroom with a shower in the corner off the kitchen, too.”

The girls both breathed a sigh of relief. My attempt to lighten the mood had worked.

“Maybe you guys would have seen the bathroom if you got further inside than the door.”

Callie walked to me and put her arms around my neck. She kissed my cheek. “You’re such a jerk.” She smiled.

I pulled her close. “Go get settled in. I’m going to get everything turned on and get a fire going quick.”

She let me go and walked to the back bedroom.

Within twenty minutes, we had water and electricity, and I was working on a fire to heat the place. I jammed another log into the stove and then a wadded-up piece of newspaper beneath it. I pulled a match from the basket next to the wood stacked in the corner and lit the paper. The place would be sauna warm within the hour.

I took a seat next to Callie on the couch.

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

“As soon as I know that fire is good, I’m going to head out.”

“I want to go with you.”

I leaned back into the couch and looked at her. “You’re safe here, Cal. I need to know you’re safe.”

“I’d be safer with you. Please, Carl.”

“What does he think?” I rested my hand on her stomach.

“You mean she?”

I smiled. “I’ll do whatever I can to keep you two safe. To me, you staying here seems like the best idea.”

She was quiet for a moment. “When are you coming back?” she asked.

“As soon as I can.”

“What if something happens while you’re gone?”

“Hold on, Cal.” I rubbed her knee. “Hey, Jeff,” I called.

He walked around the corner from the back bedroom. “Yeah?”

I pointed to the deer mounted on the wall. Below the bust, the hooves were mounted at ninety degrees. They held a rifle. If I knew Jim, shells for it were nearby. He wasn’t one to have a rifle around that wasn’t functional and ready. I stood, walked over to the rifle, and looked it over, pulling it from the hooves—a Winchester Model 94. It was older, but the movement operated like new.

“Dig around a little for a box of shells,” I said.

Jeff did a quick look around the base of the wall and then walked to a small table holding a lamp. He slid out the drawer. “Got them.”

He handed me the box of 30-30 shells. I loaded a shell and walked outside.

A cut-off tree stump poking out from the snow caught my attention. I put the sights on a specific area of bark and squeezed the trigger. The bark ripped from the stump. The round entered exactly where I’d aimed. The rifle was dead-on accurate. My ears rang, and smoke hung in the cold air.

“Looks like it works,” Jeff said.

“Do you know how to handle this?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Show me.” I handed him the rifle.

“What do you want me to do? Shoot it?” he asked.

“Do exactly what I just did. Load it, take aim, shoot.”

“Okay.”

I followed him back inside and observed him load the gun.

“Not taking any chances, huh?” he asked.

“None.”

Watching him load the gun, I was certain he knew what he was doing. I followed him outside and watched him take aim at the exact spot I had. His round entered the stump at the same spot.

“Again,” I said.

He fired again and confirmed.

“Good. Keep that thing near your hand until I come back.”

“I will.”

I walked back inside, checked the fire, and said my goodbyes. I tried to push my worries out of my head. Jeff could protect them if that became necessary. How he would react if there was a person, and not a piece of wood, on the other end of the rifle, I didn’t know. Out in the 4Runner, I checked the time on the radio—4:48. I clicked on the truck’s headlights. The last traces of sun could be seen to the west. It would be down in fifteen minutes. I wanted to be at my father’s while it was still light, but that wouldn’t happen. I had a half-hour drive ahead of me. I took the prepaid cell phone from my pocket and dialed the Oconto County Sheriff’s Department.

“Oconto County sheriff. How can I help you?” a man asked.

That wasn’t the woman I’d spoken with earlier. I’d have to rehash the situation for this dispatcher, or better, try to bypass him altogether and speak with someone in charge.

“Hello, I’m Lieutenant Carl Kane from the Tampa, Florida PD. I’m looking to speak with the deputy in command.”

“Regarding?”

“Two missing persons.”

“Um, one minute.” He put me on hold.

I thumbed the lever for the blower further right. It was already on high, so I twisted the temperature knob for the heater. It was already as far into the red as it would go. I brought the phone back to my ear.

“Deputy Reigns,” a man answered.

“Deputy, I’m Lieutenant Carl Kane from the Tampa, Florida PD. I have parents in your area that I believe to be in danger. I’m about twenty minutes out. I wanted to see if a deputy could meet me at their property to have a look around.”

“Danger how?”

“Earlier today, I took gunfire from a number of men. I’m worried that they also went after my father and stepmother. I haven’t been able to contact them.”

“What is the address?”

I gave it to him.

“One second,” he said.

I could hear him clicking away at keys on a keyboard.

“It says a deputy responded to a call earlier but found nothing out of the ordinary at the residence.”

“They didn’t look inside. From one cop to another, I wouldn’t ask for assistance if I didn’t feel that it was warranted.”

“I’ll get someone dispatched out. Twenty minutes, you said?”

“Yes.”

“Someone will meet you there.”

“I appreciate it.” I hung up.

I drove up my dad’s winding street. Two properties past his, the land turned into the Nicolet National Forest. To say the area was sparse was an understatement. The entrance to his driveway came into view. I saw a car parked, running, its headlights shining against the front of his house. Snow covered the roof of the three-bedroom single-story cabin. To the left of the cabin was the two-story matching workshop that my father was in the process of completing. As I turned in, I saw a lightbar on top of the waiting car. It was a sheriff’s cruiser. The driver’s door was open, and the sheriff stood half out of his car, facing me. My headlights lit him up. I clicked them off and pulled alongside his car. Then I shut off the motor and stepped out.

“I’m Lieutenant Carl Kane. The one who asked you out here.”

“Deputy Kinnear. This is my second time being here today. It looks the same as it did before. I gave the door a knock. No one answered. I tried getting a peek in the windows but couldn’t see anything. What’s going on? Something about a shooting?”

I stared at the house. All the lights were off inside. I looked back at the deputy. He was six foot, with an average build. He wore a blue winter hat with the word
Sheriff
embroidered across the front in yellow. His radio was clipped to the shoulder of his large matching-blue jacket.

“Some family members and I took gunfire from a group of men this morning, and I haven’t been able to get ahold of my father or stepmother, who live here.”

“Is this their primary residence?”

“Yes.” I pointed at the house. “We need to get inside.”

“Keys?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I’ll get the door open. My father isn’t one for spare keys stashed outside.”

“I can’t just let you break into a house that isn’t yours, in front of me.”

I started toward the house and spoke over my shoulder. “Then look the other way.”

I took the six steps up the elevated wood deck on the front of the house. I glanced in the side window that looked into the kitchen. A nightlight plugged into the wall provided a small amount of illumination. I saw no one.

He followed me up the steps to the front door. I thumbed the latch and pulled the screen door open. I twisted the knob—it turned.

“It’s open. My father would never leave the place open,” I said.

He pointed at the door and rested his hand on his sidearm.

I was glad it wasn’t locked. I wasn’t sure I would even be capable of kicking in the front door. My father had built the place with his bare hands a few years back. He was a stickler for craftsmanship. Each log the cabin was made of had been individually cut from his property. I doubted his front door would just fold in.

I pushed the door open and reached in to click on the living room lights. Everything appeared normal. The antler chandelier that my dad loved so much hung from the vaulted ceiling. The moose head over the fireplace was there, like always. The television was off. All tables, furniture, and knickknacks appeared in place. I walked in, and the deputy followed.

“Dad!” I called.

My shouting didn’t receive a response. If he was there, he would have come when cars entered the driveway. I glanced right, into the kitchen and small dining area—empty and untouched.

“Are you sure they didn’t take a little getaway somewhere?” Deputy Kinnear asked.

I waved the comment away. “He was expecting me within a day or two. The last I spoke with him, he didn’t mention leaving. My father isn’t the biggest traveler.”

I walked through the dark wood floored living room and flipped on the hall light that led back to the bedrooms. I froze. At the end of the hall sat the master bedroom. The door was open, and a nightstand and lamp lay on the floor.

“Deputy,” I said, pointing.

He drew his weapon and took the lead down the hall.

“If there is someone in the residence, show yourself now,” he called.

There was nothing but silence.

We got to the first door on our right. It was closed.

“Bedroom,” I said quietly.

He twisted the knob and looked in.

“Empty,” he said.

We continued down the hall. The other bedroom and bathroom were also empty. He called his warning again into the master bedroom—no response. Kinnear reached in and turned on the lights. He stepped in and cleared the room. We were alone.

I stared at the scene. Aside from the tipped-over nightstand and lamp, the bed was a mess. Blankets and sheets were lying on the floor, something my stepmother wouldn’t have stood for. The dresser that the television sat on was pushed back. The television was knocked over. Picture frames were knocked over. Then I saw something that made my stomach sink. There was blood on the carpet. The light Berber of the bedroom had a number of drips and small blood pools at the closet door.

I walked over and knelt. “Call it in,” I said.

Kinnear called back to his station.

I shook my head, taking in the scene. “Dammit, Dad,” I mumbled.

The deputy got off his radio. “What?”

I waved my finger over the blood. Then I stood and followed the castoff. “It looks like he fought. The state of the room suggests it for certain.”

“We have some people coming,” Kinnear said. “It should be about twenty minutes or so for the other deputies, a little longer for someone from the crime lab.”

I nodded.

“Is that a walk-in closet?” he asked.

I stared at the door. The knob had blood on it, and the door was cracked open.

“Yeah.”

Kinnear held his gun out to cover me. I stepped to the left of the door.

My stomach knotted at the thought of what was on the other side. It could have been my father and stepmother’s bodies. It could have been them beaten and tied up. It could have been nothing. I pulled my hand back into my sleeve. If prints were on the closet, I didn’t want to disturb them. My heart thumped in my chest. I reached out and slipped my covered fingers to the back side of the door—then I swung it open the rest of the way. Kinnear stepped to the door opening with his weapon pointed in.

He slipped the pistol back into his hip holster. “We’re clear.”

I swung my head around the door opening—no bodies. My eyes immediately went to another puddle of blood at the base of the standing gun safe. A four-inch circle of red stained the closet carpet. A bloody sliding handprint marked the gray metal safe door near the combination lock.

“He went for his guns,” I said.

I stepped into the closet and got a better look. The safe door hadn’t been opened.

We stepped back out into the bedroom.

I assessed the amount of blood from the two locations. Combined, there wasn’t enough blood loss to be a kill.

“I’m going to have a better look around the rest of the house,” Kinnear said.

“Yeah.”

I stood in place, looking over the room and trying to recreate in my head how it could have gone down. We didn’t see any signs of a struggle anywhere else in the house. My father would have had a gun in his hand before anyone could have gotten through the front door, and we found no forced entry. That led me to believe that whoever got in had picked the lock and ambushed them while they were sleeping. My father then sprang from bed, scuffled with the attacker, or attackers, and went for his gun safe.