Beneath a Winter Moon (16 page)

Samuel was furious. Was this cocky little shit who hadn’t been on the planet long enough to have had any real responsibility, threatening him? He tried to jump up off the couch but merely succeeded in lurching around until he could finally managed to stand. “Get out!”

Alan stood and set the beer down. “Alright, Sam.”

“And don’t fucking call me
Sam
, smartass! The next time you need to ask me something, do us both a favor and
don’t
. Otherwise, use the damned phone if you want to talk to your lazy mother. I don’t want to see your face!”

Alan had been through it all before. He walked slowly to the door, fuming over the insult to his mother but knowing that he would only make things worse if he said anything in her defense. “Tell mom and my little brother that I love them.”

“Your little brother is twice as smart as you and could have had a bright future, too…but it seems he listened to your lazy ass one too many times. We will be lucky to get him to finish the school year. Now, get out.” He pointed to the door.

Alan stepped outside, but before he shut the door, he turned around. “I sure hope that Steven and Jenny are alright, don’t you….
Dad
?” He slammed the door, then, not waiting for a reply. As he walked through the yard he found that he was more than a little satisfied at having gotten in the last word.

The old buzzard was hiding something…probably that he failed to report an emergency call or that he had been sleeping on the job again. Alan could not help but believe that his own father was probably going to end up carrying some of the blame for whatever was happening with the Svensons. He shivered as a gust of wind blew stinging snowflakes into his face.

It was about three in the afternoon when pulled into his own driveway. Alan leaned forward over the steering wheel and watched the wipers swing back and forth, shoving small flakes of snow out of view.
No way to tell if this storm is going to clear anytime soon
, he thought. There was only about six and a half hours of daylight left. He needed an hour and a half flight time for the trip to the lake and back. He knew he was taking a chance, never mind that he was probably breaking a law or two, because if the storm were to whip up again while he was at the cabin he would be stuck and he didn’t want to ponder the outcome of a night alone at the scene of some horrible crime.
Was it a crime? Part of it at least,
he thought.
The man on the horse was definitely committing a crime….and just who in the hell was that guy?

Inside, he had a talk with Kathy. He told her everything, and she became upset that he would even think about going out there alone. When Alan reminded her that he would not be alone, she scoffed, knowing that the photographer would not be much help. She pleaded with him to take another person with him if he absolutely insisted on going.

He relented. “I’ll ask Travis to come, too. He’s a good guy and tough as anyone else, I suppose. At least he talks a good game. He’ll want to go when I tell him all of this. Steven and he go way back…much further than I do, anyway. He’s Steven’s age, so they have probably known each other most of their lives. I bet he’ll come.”

Travis Salmon, like most of the people from the town, had grown up in Hope and was known for his hunting skills.

“I still don’t like it, Alan,” Kathy said. “What if you get boxed in by the weather? Right in the middle of what you believe might be murder? That’s insane.” She looked at him, her eyes pleading.

“It’ll be fine,” he said.

He left home after phoning Travis. The short, bull of a man said he would wait for him at the Pub, and had sworn to keep their ‘mission’ quiet. Travis was in his forties and had worked just about every job the town had to offer. He had thick, leathery hands and a massive chest for his height of five feet, seven inches. A wave of relief washed over Alan when Travis agreed to accompany them.

At Enoch’s, Alan sat with Travis and they gathered what news they could about the weather. Supposedly, it was going to clear up for the next few hours, and it looked as though that would be the end of it for quite a while. If so, that would leave them just enough time to get out there, see what was what, and get back before sundown. They decided that, if they ran into the constable, they would stick to the claim of engine trouble.

When the sky cleared, Alan and Travis hurried out of the pub. They stopped at the hotel and picked up an antsy Craig….who seemed so anxious that Alan was really beginning to wonder if taking him was a mistake. He couldn’t refuse his offer, really—after all, it was Craig who had discovered that something was wrong in the first place.

“I’m ready,” Craig said, excitement pouring from him as he slid into the back seat. He was holding up a small leather bag for Alan and Travis to see…as if that was supposed to mean something. He put the bag down and muttered, “My best outdoor and indoor digital cameras…”

Travis smiled at Craig and held up a stainless steel .50 caliber Desert Eagle semi-automatic handgun. “I’m ready, too.”

Alan could not help but chuckle as he pressed Travis’s arm down to get the weapon out of site. “Put that thing away.”

The sky was amazingly clear by the time the men reached the airfield. They had almost four hours of daylight left, plenty of time to take a good look around the cabin and surrounding area, then get back to town.

The Cessna touched down on the ice of the lake, a rough landing on the skids of the aircraft. Alan maneuvered the plane so that the passenger door settled right next to the newly constructed dock. Alan felt more than a little nervous as he crossed over to the passenger side and stepped down out of the cockpit. Travis and Craig were already standing on the dock, looking toward the cabin. Travis had the Desert Eagle stuck in his pants and an extra magazine of ammunition bulged from a front pocket.

They wasted no time, heading to the cabin immediately, but they remained silent, looking in all directions as they approached the cabin. “Shit,” Alan muttered, “look at the door.” They were only about fifty feet away now, and could clearly see the shattered remains of what had been the front door. As they got closer, they saw dark stains halfway in and out of the entrance.

“Fuck me,” Travis muttered, pulling the handgun out and ramming the slide back and releasing it to load a round into the chamber. The sound of the slide seemed much louder than it should have. It was then that Alan took note of the silence all around them. No horses, no animals, no people. Alan inadvertently shuddered as goose bumps formed on his neck and arms.

Travis stepped onto the porch first. He smelled the fresh pine scent of the newly constructed cabin and also noticed a copper-like odor in the air.

“Holy…
moly
,” Travis whispered, understanding beyond doubt that he was standing on pine floorboards that were soaked with dried blood. He whistled softly.

“You go in first,” Craig said, obviously speaking to Travis.

Travis turned and scowled—a step away from the entrance. “Now, why don’t you and your cameras lead us into the house of horror?” The sarcasm rolled off his tongue, but Craig didn’t detect any real anger, taking it as just being Travis’s rough personality.

“Careful,” Alan said, stepping in front of Craig to stand right behind Travis.

Travis took a deep breath and stepped into the cabin, Alan and Craig right behind him. Without any lights on, the cabin was dimly lit, making the men even more nervous. Travis was moving slowly, stepping over the shattered boards that had once been a front door. He held his gun at the ready, just as he’d seen police officers and detectives on television do it. A flickering image of Don Johnson, circa the
Miami
Vice days, came to mind, and he had the slightest rush of adrenaline…and wished he were a snappier dresser.

They walked all the way in, single file, their eyes exploring the cabin. The damage seemed to be contained to the foyer and the door. They cautiously entered the small living area where the new tongue-in-groove pine floor squeaked under their weight. A decision needed to be made. Did they go round the bar and move into the kitchen, or did they veer left, down the hallway…or did they go up the stairs that now faced them and led to the loft?

“Hallway,” Alan whispered. “Into the master bedroom.”

The bedroom was empty and there were no signs of struggle. Travis looked at Alan, seeking orders as he turned around to head back into the hallway.

Alan nodded. “Kitchen,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Then we’ll check the loft.”

They heard a thud. They froze. Travis placed a shoulder against the hallway wall and raised his weapon. They heard a loud scratching and something that sounded like a hiss. They eased their way along the wall until they reached the right-turn leading into the kitchen.

“On three,” Travis whispered. “We go on three.” Alan and Craig nodded nervously. Craig was sweating, his forehead covered in clear rivulets. “Probably nothing,” he whispered.

“One.”

“Two.”

“THREE!” Travis shouted as he launched around the corner, weapon at the ready—and scared the wits out of a raccoon that was at eye level inside an open cabinet. The raccoon leaped high into the air, hissing and screeching, claws extended...a maniacal ball of silver and black fur.

“MOTHERFUCKER, MOTHERFUCKER!” Travis screamed as he squeezed the trigger on the hand cannon twice, his eyes tightly shut.

They felt as well as heard the amazing booms as the Desert Eagle fired. Their ears rang, rendering them deaf for a second.

“God! Oh God! Oh God!” Craig yelled, and then dropped like a sack of potatoes, straight to the floor, hands clamped tightly over his ears.

Alan just about pissed himself, but saw the raccoon and yelled for Travis to stop shooting. He shouted for everyone to shut up. “Christ Almighty, Travis! What the fuck is wrong with you,” he yelled, grabbing Travis by both arms, forcing the man to open his eyes and look around.

The raccoon continued to hiss and screech as it tore through the living room, leaping from one piece of furniture to another, making its way outside.

“Look!” Alan said, heaving breaths as if he had run a marathon. “You just blew two holes right through the kitchen wall!”

Travis jerked away and backed up into the living room. “I…I…shit….I thought someone was coming at us. Fuck me…wow.”

Alan shook his head, “And I had expected you, with all your
years of experience
hunting these mountains, using
all kinds
of weapons…I expected you to be the one who would keep his cool, here.”

“Fuck you, Alan,” Travis said, absentmindedly swinging the handgun in Alan and Craig’s direction. “Yeah, I’ve hunted all my life and know how to use a gun…but shit….it’s not like I have ever investigated a spooky
murder scene…
blood
everyfreakingwher
e
.”

Alan calmed down and reached down to help Craig up. The man was sitting with his back against the wall, knees up to his chest and arms around them. He had only now moved his hands from his ears. He stood up, shaking, but said nothing. He held onto his camera bag as if his life depended on it.

“Well, I think we can assume that no one is in the cabin.” Alan said shaking his head. “We still need to take a look upstairs, though.”

“I’ll do it,” said Craig, shaking as he pulled a camera from his bag.