Tahoe Ghost Boat (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller) (28 page)

She made a slow nod.

I didn’t know if her hypothermia would have any lasting effects. I didn’t want to push her in any way. I wasn’t sure what to say.

“You’re a tough kid. I want you to know that.”

She didn’t nod. Still didn’t speak. I saw her eyes look from the left side of the window to the right as if wondering if someone might be lurking just out of view.

“Tell you what. I’m going to make us some breakfast. Our food choice is the same as when we got here in the night. We have many cans of minestrone soup to choose from. You sit tight, and I’ll go pick which can looks best.”

I consolidated the melted snow from both pans into one pan. I used the empty pan to heat another can of soup.

I put new tea bags into mugs, poured in hot water, and brought Gertie a mug.

When the soup was hot, we ate. When we were done, I again sat next to her in front of the fire.

“They were going to kill me,” Gertie said in a tiny voice.

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to ask her if she had an idea why, but I thought it best to wait. She’d just been through one of the most traumatic experiences a person can have. I patted her leg.

“They’re still looking for me, aren’t they?” Her voice was soft, her tone wooden, the voice of a girl in shock.

“Probably. But I found a kayak. We can get out of here in a way that won’t leave any tracks.”

She was silent. She sipped her tea.

“Where will we go?” she finally said.

“We paddle down the shore, find another house, and see if it has a phone.”

“This one doesn’t.”

“No,” I said. “I assume the men took your phone.”

Gertie nodded.

“Most of the houses on the lake aren’t this rustic,” I said. “Many of them will have landline phones. We can call the police and get them to come get us with the sheriff’s boat.”

“You don’t have a cell phone.” It was a statement.

“I had one, but it got lost.” No point in telling her about how they tried to drown me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the phone I got after I crashed the Jeep into the van.

“I took this from the man who was in the back of the van with you. It’s got a passcode lock. Any chance you can hack it?”

She shook her head. “When will we go?” she said.

“Sooner the better,” I said.

“Because the men are coming,” Gertie said.

“It’s possible.”

Gertie made another slow nod. “Scruff Boy is stuck alone with my dad. That’s torture for him.”

I nodded.

“I saw your dog in the back of your Jeep, but I was too scared to think. I would have pet him if... if things had been different.”

I nodded again.

“Where is he now?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe still in the back of the Jeep.”

“Oh, my God! He will be frozen! He could die!”

“Someone will find him and let him out, maybe take him into a warm car or house. He’ll be okay.”

After a minute, Gertie said, “What’s his name?”

“Spot.”

She was silent.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” I said. “It must be very hard to be ripped out of your family life and very difficult for your parents, too.”

“You forget,” Gertie said. “I was the unwanted child, remember? I’m sure they don’t want me to suffer, but it’s not like they want me around, either.”

“Okay, but you’ll call them when you get the chance? Tell them you’re okay? I know they are both worried.”

“Maybe you could call them. They’d probably rather talk to you, anyway.”

“What about your friends?”

“I don’t have any friends except Scruff Boy.” Gertie’s voice was flat.

“Emily was very concerned when you went missing.”

“She’s probably more worried for Scruff Boy than me. She tolerates me. The only reason we connect at all is because she doesn’t have any friends, either. So I should be grateful. But you’re a better friend to me than Emily.” Gertie took a deep breath. Let it out. “Okay. I saw you dig out the kayak. Let’s go,” she said.

I walked over and picked up one of the pencils I’d found earlier, found a scrap of paper and scribbled a note to the cabin’s owners. I apologized and said that I would pay for the broken window and other damages. I set a glass on the note and my business card so they wouldn’t blow away if the wind blew down the cardboard I’d put in the window. I knew that Mikhailo and company might find it, but they already knew who I was, and if they came to this cabin, that meant they already knew we’d been here.

“We’ll get you into the front of the kayak,” I said. “You can hold your arms close for warmth, then I’ll wrap that blanket around you.” I didn’t add that I would wrap the blankets loosely so she could swim in case we capsized. And I didn’t ask if she could swim. This was our best chance of escape, and we’d take it whether she could swim or not.

“No,” Gertie said. Her voice was soft, but her tone was firm. “I want to paddle. I know how. I’ve gone on a kayak on the American River two different times.”

“Okay.” I was pleased to see her assert herself. It was the best sign that she would recover from what had happened.

I shut down the air intake on the wood stove, and put the furniture and pans back where I’d found them.

As before, I had Gertie wear my jacket over her hoodie. She got the jacket zipper stuck on the big plastic fob that was attached to the hoodie’s waist drawstring. I helped her to free it. With my big gloves over her hands, she could hold the kayak paddle. It wouldn’t be warm, but it would help.

I ignored the flotation vests I’d found earlier. They are life savers when the water is warmer. But in the winter in Lake Tahoe, a vest merely allows rescuers to find your body after you succumb from hypothermia. And before you die, the vest gets in the way and restricts your movement.

We grabbed the paddles and headed out into the cold.

FORTY-ONE

As we marched through the snow, Gertie in front of me, she looked around through the forest, her nervousness obvious.

I pulled the kayak out from the depression where it had been buried and positioned it in the ice and snow at the shoreline.

“You climb into the front seat,” I told Gertie. “Then I’ll slide the kayak into the water and get into the back seat.”

Gertie didn’t speak. She stuck her paddle into the snow, leaned on it like a crutch, stepped into the kayak, and sat down.

I slid the kayak out. When the stern dropped down from the snow into the water, I turned the kayak broadside to the shoreline and stepped into the rear seat.

The seat was small, the space for my legs smaller still, and the kayak was very tippy as I got in. I leaned the end of my paddle against the icy shore to stabilize the boat as I lowered myself down to the seat. Gertie inhaled as we rocked.

Gertie’s paddle strokes were mild but impressive considering what she’d been through. Because there were few houses to the south heading toward Emerald Bay, we went up the shore to the north. In just five minutes of paddling, we came upon a good-sized, modern house. I used my paddle to turn us into shore.

“You can go farther, faster on the lake than walking through the snow,” Gertie said in a substantial understatement.

“Yeah,” I said, pleased that she was focused on something positive.

I angled the kayak sideways to the shore and, using my paddle as a crutch, stepped out onto the snow. I bent down and steadied the kayak as Gertie stepped out. I pulled the kayak onto the shore, turned it topside down, and pushed it down into the snow so it wouldn’t blow away.

Even though I found a wind-blown area with less-than-normal snow accumulation, it took a great deal of energy to fight our way through the deep snow up to the deck of the house.

There was a sliding glass door with drapes on the inside. At the edge of the drapes was a gap through which I could see an alarm panel with a blinking red light. I didn’t want a loud alarm bell to announce our presence, but I hoped there was a silent alarm that would alert the police.

I’d spoken to Tahoe vacation home owners who told me that they open their Tahoe houses to friends. The problem is that it is hard to communicate how to work the alarm without setting it off, and it is also difficult to get a key to the person. Much easier to leave the alarm visible, blinking, but not set. Easier, also, to hide a key on the property.

The best hiding place for a key is inventive and well-hidden. Nevertheless, the standard locations are still popular. There are three places that produce a key about 50% of the time.

I started with the door mat. I kicked snow off the mat, then lifted it up. No key. Next to the door was mounted a cute little red bucket. Inside sat a ceramic flower pot from which dried flowers still rustled in the breeze. I pulled out the pot and looked into the bucket. No key. I took off my glove and ran my fingers along the top edge of the door molding. There was a little finishing nail that stuck up a quarter inch at one corner. Hooked onto the nail, lying out of sight, was a key.

I used the key in the slider lock, then replaced the key. I opened the door. The little red light continued to blink. No bell clanged. Maybe it was dialing the monitoring company.

I shut the slider behind us, locked it, and closed the drapes.

To the side of the slider was a light switch. It turned on three canned lights. The house had power, a good sign.

As we walked into the luxury home, I thought how ironic it was that I had to break into the old cabin. The house with a hundred thousand dollars in furnishings was basically open to the public.

The house’s climate control was set quite cool, but at least the heat was on. Another bit of luck.

 There was a great room next to the kitchen area. The room had a sitting area in front of a gas stove. I couldn’t find the switch or valve. Then I saw three remotes sitting by one of the overstuffed chairs. The room had a giant TV and a fancy sound system, needing, perhaps, two remotes. One of the remotes had just a few buttons. I pressed some of them. The gas fire lit.

Gertie stood in front of the fire as it slowly warmed up.

I walked around the house looking for a landline phone or a misplaced cell phone that could be charged. I found neither.

When I came back to the great room, Gertie had moved to a big leather chair that faced the fire. Gertie still had my jacket on, the sleeves pushed up so she could use her hands. She looked at the gas fire. The yellow and blue flickering light shone on her red cheeks.

I sat across from her in a matching chair.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“Your friend Emily called me. She’d seen your post of my picture and my name. She also saw your post of the other man who came to your house after I’d left. When there were no more posts and you didn’t tweet what you were doing, she assumed that something bad had happened. So she looked up my name and sent me an email with her phone number. I called her, and she told me what she thought had happened.”

“Wow, she answered the phone when you called? She never answers her phone. She’s a texter only.”

“She was worried about you.”

Gertie was silent.

I continued. “In the background of the photo you posted online was a white cargo van. I also found a piece of evidence that led me to a company in Carson City. There was another indication of a white cargo van. So I put out some notices about a white cargo van and got a call from a man who’d seen a suspicious van on the West Shore of the lake. I drove there and followed the van. That was how I found you.”

Gertie stared at the fire. She hugged herself as if she were still cold. “You told me not to open the door to anyone I didn’t know. I should have taken that more seriously. But how many people can just listen to someone knocking and not open the door a crack? That was my mistake. When the man knocked on my door and I opened it, he batted Scruff Boy out of my arms, and took my hand. He squeezed so hard that I wanted to scream. He said that if I made a noise, he would crumble my hand bones like they were soda crackers. I knew he meant it. So I couldn’t do anything but walk with him out to his van. One of the other men was inside it. They kept me in back, so I couldn’t see where they drove me. I thought they took me to Lake Tahoe because my ears popped multiple times. I knew I was going up in elevation.”

“Where have they kept you?”

“I don’t know. When the man first dragged me into his van, his partner made me put on this hooded sweatshirt and pull the hood up over my head and face. That way if someone looked into the van, like at a stoplight or something, it would be hard to see me. It was night when they took me out of the van. Before they opened the door, they put a cloth bag over my head. I couldn’t see anything. They also taped my mouth so I couldn’t scream, and they taped my hands. They led me a long way.”

“Through the snow?”

“Not much. At least, I didn’t notice it. I could tell that we went through a door inside someplace. But it was like a warehouse or something. The air wasn’t really cold, but it wasn’t warm, either. We walked a long way and went up stairs. When they took the bag off my head, I was in a little room. It was a storeroom or a walk-in closet off a bathroom. There was cleaning stuff on some shelves and a mop bucket in the corner. There was a small mattress on the floor. They attached a chain to my ankle. The chain was bolted to the floor. It was just long enough that I could get to the bathroom. There were two TV cameras. One in the storeroom and one in the bathroom. I thought it was disgusting that they would watch me in the bathroom, so I turned off the light when I went in there. They said I’d be locked in, so there was no point in trying to escape. They said that it was sound-proofed, so there was no point in screaming. The other door in the bathroom was kept locked.”

I was worried about bringing up a difficult subject, but I needed to know. I said, “Did they ever hurt you?”

Gertie glanced at me, then looked away. “If you mean, did they rape me, then no. But they scared me to death. The one guy, I thought of him as Max. Max Cady from De Niro’s character in “Cape Fear.” He kept touching me. Every time he came near me, he’d grab at my boobs or my butt.”