A Dark Love (23 page)

T
he forest was awash in shifting, swirling snowflakes. The Jeep bounced onto the turn for the grass track. The Yukon followed close behind, its lumbering shape indistinct against the white snow. The Yukon could handle the rutted track easily, Ken decided. Jim Bell, however, was another story.

The guy was off balance. That fact, combined with the dealer plates, prompted Ken to formulate a Plan B. They would leave Bell’s car here and retrieve it tomorrow. The least he could do was make sure the guy didn’t wreck his new car on the way back down.

Ken took the track slow and steady. Snow changed the landscape, masking familiar landmarks. But Colorado weather was apt to change. The wind at this altitude could clear the clouds at any moment, leaving a sunny afternoon for trout fishing. Maybe.

The sky lightened as the track opened onto the mesa. Ken pulled the Jeep up close to the cabin. The lake was choppy and dull, the color of the shale that lined its shores. Clouds hung low. The only sound was wind.

Ken took it all in. If the Rockies were close to heaven on earth, this place was its cathedral.

The Yukon rumbled to a stop behind him and Bell climbed out, clutching his leather briefcase.

Bell was, Ken thought, every inch the businessman who goes on vacation and spends his time in search of wireless access.

Bell zipped his parka as high as it would go. “Does it always snow like this?”

Ken grinned. “Sometimes.” Bell seemed even more jittery after the drive. Ken already regretted his decision to bring him. The snow was really coming down. He did a quick inventory. The first aid kit was inside. The shortwave radio was in the Jeep. His cell phone would be of no use here.

The first rule of wilderness survival was to avoid dangerous situations, and Ken knew he’d broken it.

One look at Bell’s face told him he couldn’t afford to narrow his margin of error any further.

Bell removed his glasses to rub at his eyes.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“So, this is what you like?” Bell said.

“Yeah.”

Bell hunched deeper into his jacket. When he spoke, his voice had a dreamy quality, soft and weak. “This is the edge of everything. One small move and you’ve crossed over. It’s perfect.” He laughed at some private joke.

Ken did not join in. He’d expected Bell to make the usual comments about the beauty of the landscape, or ask what sort of animals lived here or, like the group of commercial Realtors he’d hosted back in June, ask how much he’d paid. Ken ignored the remark and set to work. The sooner they got out of here, the better.

Bell chuckled, and the sound had a brittle quality. “What I meant was, I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Balancing his gear in one hand, Ken slammed the trunk shut. He eyed Bell’s expensive parka and leather gloves. They were smooth dress gloves, not suitable for outdoor use. The getup was as conspicuous as Bell’s lowland style of driving. Ken’s eyes narrowed. “Come on inside. You can wait in the cabin while I do a few things.” He did not add the fact that they’d be departing again within minutes.

Bell followed, still clutching the leather briefcase. The silence inside was eerie.

Ken filled two large glasses with spring water from a container and handed one to Bell. “Take a seat and drink this. It’s important to keep your fluids up at this altitude.”

Bell pulled off his ski cap and raked one thin hand across his scalp. The gesture had the look of a ritual that was compulsive. Bell caught Ken watching. “I lost every bit of pigmentation in my hair and skin when I was fourteen.”

Ken shrugged. Bringing Bell up here had been a mistake. The man was unbalanced. “Sit down,” he said again. “I’m going to turn off the propane at the tanks outside, take care of a few things, then we’ll head back. This weather’s no good for fishing.”

Bell’s mouth twisted, his eyes glinting in a sudden flash of anger. He opened his mouth to speak but changed his mind and snapped it shut. He rubbed his jaw and looked away. “Please,” he said in a pleading tone. “Can you just show me around? My son will want to hear all about it and I…” Bell’s voice faltered. “I’m not feeling well.”

The man’s simple acknowledgment of his own fragile mental state softened Ken. The drive had taken its toll.
Bell’s eyes were shot through with red, and had dark hollows underneath. Putting something in his stomach might settle him. “Have a seat,” Ken repeated.

Bell sat at last, keeping his briefcase on his lap. He took a tiny sip, then wiped his upper lip on his sleeve.

It was out of character for a man with manicured nails. “You okay?” Ken asked.

Blinking rapidly, Bell nodded.

The man’s face had regained a tiny bit of color.

Ken drained his own glass, keeping an eye on Bell. By the look of it, the guy hadn’t eaten in days.

He was toying nervously with the leather bag in his lap, his pale blue eyes flickering with something Ken had learned to recognize at an early age.

Resentment.

Bell tried to hide it, out of politeness, perhaps, and averted his gaze.

Ken sat, crossing one ankle over his knee, keeping his posture relaxed. But he never let Bell out of his line of sight. He wondered if the guy was addicted to drugs. One look at his pocked face told Ken it was a distinct possibility. His goal was to calm Bell enough to get him back to Storm Pass and from there, get him some help. When Ken spoke, he kept his tone steady and firm. “Does your son enjoy all sports, or just football?”

The room was silent as Bell considered this. “Just football.”

Ken nodded. “He lives with his mother?”

“My wife? I suppose I should say, the woman who was my wife.” Bell gave a short laugh that held no merriment. “She was something. Smart. Fun to be with. Beautiful. You would have liked her.” Bell looked at
Ken, his eyes narrowing as a small smile curved his thin lips. “She’s your type. Definitely.”

Ken became aware that the hairs on the back of his neck were rising. He uncrossed his leg and crossed the other again, disliking the intensity in Bell’s gaze.

“But I suppose I shouldn’t say that, knowing as little about you as I do. Being a big football star and all, any woman would be your type, I’d imagine.” Bell leaned forward, warming to the subject.

If he wanted to, Ken could lift Bell off the couch with one hand and choke the air from his lungs. Ken pushed away the impulse that had risen, unbidden, to his mind. He stood. “Drink the rest of your water. I’ll get you something to eat.” There were PowerBars in one of the cabinets. He got one now and set it down in front of Bell with a napkin.

Bell stared out the window, light glinting off his glasses.

“You need to eat,” Ken said.

Bell roused himself from his reverie, tore the wrapper from the PowerBar, broke off a small piece, and chewed it.

Ken glanced outside. Snow continued to fall, thick and fast.

Bell sipped his water and swallowed with difficulty. “I get overwhelmed. She left me. I tried to make it work. Tried to make her see. And now she’s with someone else.” He shook his head as his face twisted with sorrow.

Ken was well acquainted with the kind of pain Bell described, but it was clear the guy was at his wit’s end. The saddest fact was that he seemed to know it in his lucid moments. Like now.

“I never wanted it to end,” he continued. “And then one day she was gone. Not even a good-bye note. All I really want is to bring her home again.”

Ken flashed back to the first weeks after Suzie moved out. He ate in restaurants every night. He slept on the couch with the TV on, so if he woke he wouldn’t hear the silence. He finally rented a suite at the Fairmont at Country Club Plaza, one of the best hotels in Kansas.

Ken knew better than to share his own story, however. Bell had more problems than the fact that his wife had walked out on him. “It’s rough, I know. But you need to stay strong, Jim. You’ll get through this. You are getting through it. Think of your son. He needs you now more than ever.”

Bell stared at Ken. “Yeah. But I wish things could be different. You’ve got to believe that, Ken.”

The intensity in Bell’s gaze was unsettling.

“Things will work out.”

Bell smiled. “Yes, Ken, they will. It was her call all along. She’s the one holding all the cards. She knows that, and now she has to deal with the mess she’s made.” His voice broke. His face crumpled, and he covered it with his hands.

Wherever Mrs. Jim Bell was, Ken hoped she was happy. She had earned it.

M
aebeth Burkle leaned against the flimsy white pillow and drifted off to sleep. The throbbing in her hand had lessened, thanks to the morphine and antibiotic drip in her arm.

Her husband conferred in quiet tones with the surgeon about the skin graft operation that was scheduled for later that afternoon. Hopefully, there would be no permanent nerve damage.

After checking on his wife, Ted Burkle went off in search of a pay phone. He needed to call Gus Kincaid and ask him to look after the dogs.

Ted dialed Gus’s number and got the answering machine. He kept his message brief. “Maebeth will be fine, back to her old self in no time,” he concluded. “Say, give Ken a call and tell him we need to speak with him about Jim Bell.” He paused, at a loss for words. “Though I guess with the snow, he’ll probably cancel.”

Gus’s answering machine clicked and reset itself on the kitchen counter. The sound disturbed the empty stillness of the place, waking Midnight. The black cat flicked her tail and went back to sleep.

The front door to the inn was still locked from overnight. Gus went around back and let himself in through the kitchen, which was always open. The Burkles’ pickup was gone.

Gus stepped inside and looked around. A muffin tray lay on the floor, licked clean.

Jasper and Wyoming ambled over, tails wagging, planting themselves at his feet.

“Okay, boys, you know what’s coming,” Gus took liver treats from his pocket and fed them each in turn.

The dogs waggled and grunted happily.

“Where’s the missus?” Gus asked.

The dogs licked their jowls and watched him.

Gus picked up the muffin tray and set it on the counter before heading into the dining room. The table was set for a breakfast that had not been touched.

The place was quiet.

The dogs followed him to the front parlor. Gus stood, jangling the change in his pockets. His glance fell on the leather guest book and he opened it, fumbling for his reading glasses. He flipped through the heavy book till he came to the last entry, dated yesterday. Jim Bell from Denver, Colorado. Under the “Comments” section, Jim Bell had written, “Came for the trout.”

“Hmmph,” Gus said. It was late for trout. Even a city type should know better than to waste his time coming up here this time of year. Ken would have told him that. In fact, Ken was just saying yesterday he didn’t have any clients booked till next spring.

Gus frowned. The only sound in the place was Jasper grooming his front paws.

Where was everybody?

Gus hoped this man Bell wasn’t fool enough to head into the wilderness on his own. It made no sense, but Gus Kincaid had seen a lot of things in seventy-eight years that left him scratching his head. He did so now.

He walked around the desk and pulled out Maebeth’s registration file. The cards were in chronological order from the beginning of the year. He flipped to the back and studied the last card. The same hand, this time using tiny block letters, perfectly aligned, listed Jim Bell’s Denver address and phone number.

The section marked vehicle registration had been written in Maebeth’s familiar, looping hand in blue ink. Jim Bell’s car had dealer plates. But it was the make of the car that caught Gus’s eye. White GMC Yukon.

Gus frowned. He glanced at his watch. Quarter to nine.

He reached for the phone and dialed the home number listed on the registration card.

A male voice answered on the second ring. “Good morning. Mile High GMC, Denver’s best. Jim Bell speaking.”

T
he Buick was losing speed. The old car slowed whenever Caroline eased up on the gas. She pressed down harder each time, trying to keep her speed up. She was only one mile from Storm Pass, not even as far as the turnoff to Ken’s place, when the car died.

She steered onto the shoulder where snow was piling up. There was silence. The green ALT light flashed when she tried the ignition. She stared, shaking her head in disbelief. It was as though the car, the weather, the place itself were all conspiring against her plans.

Pippin whined.

She switched off the lights, flipped on the hazards, and waited before trying again. Nothing. Not even clicking.

“Oh, no,” she muttered, dropping her head against the seat. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples, trying to think.

Pippin jumped into her lap, sniffing at her face. The Greyhound would pass through in less than an hour.

She tried the engine a few more times before giving up. She released the hood, donned her wool cap, and got out, squinting her eyes against the driving snow. She opened the latch and looked underneath at lots of metal
parts and hoses, coated with road grime. She was wondering what to do when she heard a powerful rumble.

She saw a pair of headlights, low to the ground, come into view as the candy apple red Porsche pulled up.

Relief flooded through her as the driver’s side door swung open and Gus Kincaid stuck his head out.

“Top o’ the morning,” he called. “Need a hand?”

“Yes, please.” Caroline hurried over and offered her hand as he worked to pull himself out of the low racing coupe.

Gus waved her off with a chuckle. “Thanks, young lady, but I’m afraid I’d take you right down with me. Give me a minute. I can manage.” He hoisted himself to the edge of the leather seat and gathered his weight under him before pushing himself upright. He let out a mighty breath of air and smiled, embarrassed. “My son’s the only one who can drive that thing.”

Caroline nodded, wondering why Gus was out in a storm. She didn’t ask because she didn’t want to be questioned in return. Besides, she had no right. She was about to disappear from their lives forever.

Gus was already poking around under the hood. “Take a seat inside and start ’er up when I tell you,” he said.

Caroline climbed back in and gave it gas at Gus’s signal.

Again, there was no response.

Gus slammed the hood shut. “Generator’s gone.”

Caroline’s heart sank in frustration. She had no idea what a generator did, but she wished it hadn’t picked this day to stop working.

“Time for a new car, I think,” Gus said, surveying Caroline’s overflowing tote bag and backpack that took
up most of the passenger seat. He picked up one of her hands in his and squeezed it. “Where you headed, Alice?”

The feel of his hand combined with his frank gaze was disarming. Caroline choked up.

Gus waited, keeping a grip on her hand.

“I need a ride to the groomer,” she said finally in a low voice.

“I can manage that,” he said kindly.

He did not point out it was a terrible day to drive halfway across the county, a fact she was grateful for. “Thanks,” she whispered.

He collected her bags and waited while she scooped Pippin into her arms and climbed out.

He chatted about nothing, his tone soothing, as she got settled inside the Porsche. Nan told her he’d lost his wife at a young age and had raised their infant son alone. And now that son had grown into a man as strong and kind as his father. Caroline forced herself to hold back the tears that were pulsing behind her eyes. Tears she dared not shed.

Gus shifted into second and pulled out. “This car isn’t meant for driving in snow but she’ll take the road in second gear.”

Within seconds Caroline saw that he was right.

“I can probably manage to get your errands done and get you back to Nan’s in one piece. I’ll have hell to pay if I don’t.” He winked.

She managed a weak smile.

He slowed at the turnoff to Ken’s place. “I just need to make a quick stop here first.”

Caroline’s heart did a flip-flop. Time was tight, not to mention the last thing she wanted was to see Ken. But
she had no choice. Gus’s detour might cost her a seat on the Greyhound bus, a fact he couldn’t possibly know. Or did he?

“I want to trade cars and use his Jeep. ’Cause this thing isn’t worth a darn in the ice and snow, if you ask me.” Gus harrumphed. “Might as well drop by while we’re in the neighborhood.”

Ken’s place was empty. The drive had fresh tire tracks in the snow. The Jeep was gone.

“That’s strange,” Gus said.

A feeling of dread settled over Caroline. They went in, leaving Ken’s spare keys dangling in the door.

She had been here just once before, but a wave of emotion hit her as soon as she stepped inside. A woodsy scent filled her nostrils. Ken’s scent. She looked around, expecting to see him come around a corner any second to greet them.

But the place was silent as a tomb.

On the counter, his answering machine blinked with several new messages.