Rock Harbor Series - 01 - Without a Trace (29 page)

Bree wanted to know this Hilary better. She thought of Psalm 112. There was something in there about a righteous man being steadfast and trusting in the Lord. Hilary hadn’t killed Fay. Relief washed over Bree until she felt almost giddy.

By the time Hilary left, Bree sensed a new friendship building between her and her sister-in-law, a new understanding. This family would survive the tragedy and go on. It was time to put the past away.

Davy was gone. The first step to accepting that fact would be hard. She looked toward the stairway. There was no time like the present. Leaning forward, she caressed Samson’s ears. “I think maybe it’s time, boy. You want to help me?”

The dog whined and got up. Stretching, he nosed her hand.

“Let’s do it,” she told him. Together they walked up the steps. Bree stopped at the closet at the top of the stairs and took out the empty boxes stacked inside. Her heart began to slam against her ribs. It had to be done, she told herself.

Tears pooled in her eyes, and through a blur she walked to Davy’s room and pushed open the door. She would start with the toys. Kneeling beside the toy box, she packed the blocks first. Davy had loved his blocks. Together they would build towers, then he would chortle with glee and knock the blocks in all directions. She had bought him a box of Lincoln Logs for his third birthday, and he was fascinated with the various ways he could make them fit together.

Sobs spilled from her throat as the memories washed over her. She hugged a teddy bear to her chest and rocked back and forth. She couldn’t do this. Maybe she should ask Naomi to do it for her. The bear still smelled faintly of baby powder and bubble-gum toothpaste.

She slowly pulled the stuffed animal away from her chest and placed it to one side. Davy’s favorite stuffed animal, a koala bear he’d called Pooky, had gone down with him in the plane. She would keep
this one instead. She drew in a deep breath, then another. The rest of Davy’s stuffed animals went into the box. She forced herself to move forward.

Step by step, she could get this done. She opened the closet and began to pack Davy’s clothing. The little suit he’d worn to Hilary’s first campaign party, the sweats that matched his daddy’s, the bib overalls he’d worn when they’d made mud pies.

She allowed herself to dwell on each memory. The process would be a cauterization of sorts. If she could get through this, she could get through the rest of her life.

The dresser was next. His small underclothes, socks, and T-shirts went into the box. She pulled out his Barney swim trunks and remembered the way he turned as brown as a squirrel over the course of the summer. Shouting with laughter, he would scream, “Watch me, Mommy,” then plunge into the icy waves that splashed Superior’s shoreline.

The cold water never seemed to bother him. Even when his lips would turn blue, he would beg to stay in the lake. Rob had called him their baby salmon, all slippery and glistening from the water. Shaking, she sat in the rocker until she could go on. The memories crashed over her with the force of a Lake Superior nor’easter. For a few moments she thought she might sink beneath those crushing waves just as the
Edmund Fitzgerald
had done.

She left the chair and went to the bed. Davy’s Superman bedspread, sheets, and curtains were as he had left them. Four quick flips and the bedspread was folded and in the box. Then she stripped the sheets and tossed them into the box as well. She dragged the toy chest under the window and closed the lid. Standing on top of it, she could just reach the curtain rods. The hooks didn’t want to let go any more than she did, but she finally managed to release them, and the curtains dropped to the floor.

Four boxes. Davy’s young life had been reduced to four boxes. Bree stood and looked around the stripped room. Her heart felt equally
stripped, and raw as well. She would ask Kade to help her move the bed to the attic. Maybe she could find a queen-size bed at the secondhand furniture shop. The room was large enough for one, and then her cousin and his wife could have a decent night’s sleep when they came to visit, though that wouldn’t be for some time. They were working in Saudi Arabia for the next two years.

Somehow, taking the boxes of Davy’s things to the attic seemed wrong. One by one, she carried them downstairs to the kitchen. She wished she’d thought of it sooner, but she knew what to do now. She would just have to work harder to accomplish it. Her Carhartt overalls hung on a peg by the back door. She started to put them on then realized it was too dark to pick the right spot. Tomorrow she would dress warmly and dig a hole under the apple tree that held Davy’s tree house. There she would bury Davy’s things.

She would finally have a grave site of sorts where she could place flowers and remember her son—something better than an empty grave at the cemetery. The search was over. She would let it go now. Life wouldn’t be the same without her boy, but she couldn’t live in the past anymore. The future beckoned, and she was ready to face it. She would help Steve find who killed Fay. If that led to the woman in the cabin, fine. But if it didn’t, she was okay with that too.

The snow slowed her progress. Rachel plodded through the drifts with the sun shining weakly through the trees. Sam would be so glad to see her, and even more glad when he heard the news. No more cold cabins for them. By this time next week, they’d be far away from here, somewhere no one could trace them. Somewhere no one could separate them.

She stopped to catch her breath and checked her watch. Nearly two o’clock. Her inner compulsion to see Sam, to make sure he was all right, drove her on. He was such a little boy, and she knew she should not have left him home alone for two days. It had turned colder than
she’d expected while she was gone. Ten inches of snow covered the ground, and she wished she had her snowshoes.

Frank would declare her predicament more evidence of her poor judgment, but then he had never given her credit for anything. Necessity was a hard taskmaster. He had just intended to let Paulie go to prison. Even when she’d provided the way out, Frank still hadn’t intervened for Paulie. Her nephew deserved better from his own father. Maybe when Paulie got out of prison, he would come to visit her. Surely he knew what she’d done for him.

She would even let him stay with her, once she and Sam got their own place. Or maybe they’d get a place big enough for the whole family. Smiling, she started off toward the cabin again. She made it the rest of the way in just over fifteen minutes, and the sight of the cabin warmed her. A light shone through the window, and she frowned. Sam shouldn’t be wasting the kerosene that way. But maybe the lad was frightened.

She sometimes forgot just how young Sam was. He often seemed so much older than four. Those eyes of his had seen horrors no child should witness. He never spoke of his dead father, but she saw his memory in the boy’s eyes. As she pushed the lever to raise the inside latch, the scent of smoke, strong and acrid, burned her nose, and her heart raced.

“Sam?” Alarm made her speak louder than she’d intended. A charred blanket lay by the wood stove. The stove door stood open and wind whistled through the cabin like through a wind tunnel.

Frantic now, she rushed forward. She heard a groan. “Sam?”

“It hurts.” Sam raised his head from where he lay on the floor near the back door.

Soot covered his face and hands, and his pajamas were black with it. One sleeve had been burned, and even from here, she could see the blisters on his arm.

She rushed to kneel at his side. “Sam, what happened?” His body
was chilled. She examined his arm. Second-degree burns, nothing worse. And only in one small area. There seemed to be no other damage.

She scooped him into her arms, carried him to the bed and bundled him beneath the covers, then rushed to build a fire. The kindling box was empty. Confusion churned her mind. This was the second time he’d disobeyed her in the past few days. What had happened to her sweet, obedient son? His disobedience had hurt him. She pushed away the guilt she felt for leaving him alone. He would have been fine if only he’d obeyed her. Necessity was a hard taskmaster.

She grabbed the ax by the door and quickly shaved some kindling from a split log. Within minutes she had a fire blazing, and its pleasant warmth began to creep into the room. Ignoring his pain-filled eyes on her, she washed his burns and applied a salve.

“This is what happens when you don’t mind your mother,” she told him.

“I tried to do it like you showed me,” he murmured.

“Don’t try to blame me for your misbehavior,” she said. “I told you to leave the fire alone.”

“I was so cold.”

Rachel bristled. He didn’t know what cold was. She was the one who had traipsed through the cold Chicago wind all night, and for what? To give a nice home to an ungrateful child. She trembled with the urge to punish him then reminded herself he’d already reaped the consequence of his disobedience.

“The fire jumped on me. Mommy always said to ‘drop and roll,’ so that’s what I did.”

His mommy. He hadn’t mentioned her in months. “I’m your mother now,” Rachel said sharply. She tossed the water out the back door then busied herself with cleaning up the mess. She could not pack with the cabin in this mess. They would be on the bus for Chicago in two days. Frank had promised to pick them up at the station.

She would give him a stern lecture about obedience tomorrow. Frank would toss them out if she couldn’t keep the boy under control. If Sam didn’t do what he was told, she didn’t know what she would do. He had severely disappointed her. She would have to make him understand that.

When Rachel finished cleaning, she pulled on a flannel nightgown and crawled beneath the covers next to her sleeping son. There was so much to do over the next couple of days. But she would breathe easier once they were gone from this place. No one would ever find her and Sam once they reached Chicago.

Adistant hum woke her. From the brilliance of the morning light, she knew it had snowed overnight. She ran to the window and surveyed the blinding landscape. There was at least eighteen inches of snow on the ground. The racket increased, and she caught a glimpse of a snowmobile moving fast through the trees. The rider must be an idiot to travel so fast over this terrain, especially under such conditions.

The sound trailed away in the direction of the old copper mine. Rachel frowned. Could that have been the man she’d seen carrying the woman’s body? What was he doing snooping around here? Sam was still in a deep sleep. She quietly pulled on her clothes then let herself out of the cabin.

Her snowshoes hung on a nail outside the door, along with her binoculars. She slipped the binoculars over her head then put on her snowshoes and started toward the mine. She loved the woods after a deep snow. The peace and serenity soothed her. All she could hear was the sound of her own breath whistling through her teeth as she tramped through the winter wonderland.

The sound of the snowmobile died suddenly, and she guessed from the sound that it had stopped at the mine. Hurrying as fast as she dared, she struggled through the snow until she came to the edge of a
clearing. The old Copper Queen, its wooden shaft and outbuildings weathered and dilapidated, sat at the far end of the clearing. The snow had stopped falling, except for the occasional flake, and she had a good view from where she crouched.

Over the past fifty years, the forest had reclaimed much of the area, but the Copper Queen still stood tall and proud. Last summer Rachel had come here and poked around, hoping to find some relic of the grand old lady’s heyday. But all she had ever picked up were old bottles and a few quartz rocks.

The rider had parked the snowmobile near the entrance of the main offices. She didn’t dare leave the cover of the trees. He had to come out sooner or later. She scanned the surrounding area and detected nothing that concerned her.

Crouching on her haunches, she settled back to wait, though she knew she would have to head back if he didn’t come out soon. Her stomach growled with hunger, and Sam would want breakfast when he awakened.

Rachel took a deep breath. She loved the air’s sharp, cold freshness. She would miss this in Chicago. But the cabin would always be here. Maybe she and Sam could come up for an occasional visit. No, that wouldn’t be a good idea. Once they were gone from here, they needed to stay gone. She and Sam would have to disappear—without a trace.

A movement caught her eye. She tried to bring the binoculars to her eyes, but the brim of her leather fedora blocked her view. She took it off and laid it beside her then focused the binoculars. A man carrying a duffle bag came out of the building. His face was turned away, and Rachel cursed.

“Turn this way,” she whispered.

As if he heard her soft words, the man turned fully toward her. Through the binoculars, Rachel saw his face clearly. It was the same man, just as she had suspected. His cheeks were red with cold, and the concentration lining his face told her that whatever he carried was
important. He secured the bag onto the back of the snowmobile and hopped onto the seat. The roar of the engine cut through the cold air. Then he pointed the snowmobile directly at Rachel.

Panicked, Rachel scuttled back farther into the brush. She didn’t come out until the sound of the engine faded, then she scrambled to her feet and rushed toward home. She’d had no business even coming out here other than to satisfy her curiosity. It was stupid to put herself in danger like that. If he’d seen her, he might have killed her just like he killed that woman.

Hurrying into the cabin, she latched the door behind her with a relieved sigh. The sooner they were gone from here the better.

“I’m hungry.” Sam’s plaintive voice broke into her thoughts. “It’s cold in here.”

He was right. The fire had gone out while she was gone, and the chilly wind had quickly stolen the remaining warmth.

“I’ll have it going again in a jiffy,” she said cheerfully.

“Are you still mad at me?” Sam’s woebegone face peeked over the edge of the covers.

“I’m not angry, but I’m very disappointed in you, Sam.” When his face crumpled in tears, she softened her tone. “You must learn to always obey me, son. Always. I only want what’s best for you.”