Banshee in the Goblin Valley, San Rafael Swell, Green River, Utah

 

 

 

Mary Jane was a city girl and she did not take to the open spaces or ranching. Her doctor had advised a rural setting in Southeastern Utah as a curative for her visions. Unfortunately, when she and Wayne relocated to the ranch in Goblin Valley south of Green River Wayne began to drink and carouse.

One night in February, Wayne fell into a black spell and took the Studebaker pickup to town for a drink or two. Mary Jane waited in dread, as the radio warned of a winter storm, high winds and snow. Wayne’s drinking and the bad weather would earn her a beating; the last one had cost a tooth.

Mary Jane set a fire and put on the coffee pot, perhaps the cozy setting would assuage Wayne when he stumbled through the door. As the snow began to fall and the wind picked up, Mary Jane cocked her head. Instead of visions, she now heard voices. Above the wind was a strange howl that brought back memories of nighttime Irish fairy tales, scary stories of the banshee keening, warning of death to come.

Mary Jane stood close to the window, watching the snow and once again she heard the shriek, a chill ran down her spine, her skin prickling. She titled her head as the whispering began, giving instructions. The whisperer had a point; it was time to end the beatings and she glanced at the shotgun hanging over the fireplace. 

Wayne struggled with the wheel of the pickup as he navigated the snow-covered dirt road to his ranch. He gritted his teeth and wiggled in the cold seat. It was because of Mary Jane they were stuck in this godforsaken spot. And tonight his hapless wife would pay. He’d teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget.

Lost in rage, Wayne was jolted as the truck slipped to the side, burrowing into a snow bank. Wayne stopped, set the brake and took a long swig from the whiskey bottle beside him. He then pulled up his collar and stepped out into the inclement night. The wind staggered him and Wayne wavered in the icy cold.

 Then suddenly the snow abated and the clouds parted, a half moon emerged throwing a dim light on the road, which showed the way to his ranch house. The moonbeam struck Wayne as a bolt of lightning, causing him to fall to his knees. Wayne bowed, touching his forehead to the snow and breathed deeply. How long he knelt on the road escaped him, but when Wayne rose he was cold sober.

Leaving the truck in the snow bank, Wayne pulled his range coat tight and headed determinedly home with his head high, confidence surging through him. He would embrace Mary Jane and beg her forgiveness. He paused where the road forked, the right track leading to the Henry Mountains.

Wayne confidently took the left fork, knowing he had experienced a rare epiphany, that his incidence in the snow with the moon was a revelation. He would rejoin his church, swear off the bottle, set things right with Mary Jane, and devote himself to his ranch. In the distance, he could see the cabin, smoke curling from the chimney. He was homeward bound and strode onto the porch, pausing at the door.

Turning the knob, the born-again Wayne stepped inside and called for Mary Jane. He was met by the brilliant flash of both barrels. 

They found Wayne’s pickup in the snow bank, a half-empty whiskey bottle in the front seat. The assumption was that Wayne tried to walk to the ranch. Drunk and disoriented, he had veered to the right and taken the fork into the Henry Mountains.
          Mary Jane’s sister came from Salt Lake and they loyally stayed on until spring when searchers once again scoured the area for Wayne. No one thought to look in the old well behind the barn. During the summer, a judge declared Wayne legally dead and Mary Jane came into insurance proceeds. She was also able to sell the ranch to a young couple from Provo. Mary Jane moved west, settling in San Francisco. 

Alice loved the remote ranch and she and Ben planned to try farming, maybe fruit trees. The only discordant note was that some nights, Alice sleepwalked. She often found herself at the back window that overlooked the barn. She was drawn there by someone singing and often saw the shadow of a man, tall and lean, dressed in a range coat.

The figure crossed the back yard, disappearing behind the barn where the old well was located. Alice never caught the tune he sang, but she did hear the lyric and it was always the same line.

          “I’ll wait for someone."

 

 



The Gift Shop at Spanish Fort, Mobile, Alabama

 

 

 After Jolene endured the somber funeral  and the distant relatives left, Cannon Raspberry came out of nowhere. The attraction was instant and within a week Cannon was in her guest room, helping with the Pink Charm, Jolene’s inherited gift shop set in Spanish Fort, Alabama.

         Jolene with her flame red hair and alabaster skin was a beauty. For the first time instead of fending off a suitor, she felt attraction. Perhaps she had found her soul mate in  ruggedly handsome Cannon with the slicked-back black hair. But he was also the quiet type, short on details. Jolene knew little about Cannon’s background or family.
         One night, there was a light tapping at the back door of her brick rambler, which was set behind the gift shop. It was Ralph, the truck driver who had murdered her adopted parents. Ralph had broadsided the old couple as her father cheated through the yield sign on County Road 11, an unfortunate accident, or so it appeared.
         Gazing at the haggard, red-eyed Ralph through the screen, Jolene wondered how she had taken to such a dissolute; perhaps it was his magnetic personality, the kind all girls love. Now Ralph needed more money and was lonely. Jolene frowned. She had paid Ralph $20,000 for the contrived incident, which had yielded her the brick rambler and gift store, plus the $2 million her adopted parents had squirreled away.
         Ralph had promised to disappear, go west, but now he was back for more money. Ralph whined that he had hit a sour streak on the Mobile Bay Riverboat. He wanted $10,000, some of Jolene’s comfort, and then he would move on. Maybe out to Vegas.
         Jolene argued she needed time. She would meet Ralph at the D’Olive Bay overlook, share a few minutes and give him the money. Jolene’s sweet talk bought delay and Ralph left with the rendezvous dancing in his head.
         That night on the patio beside the murky Shellbank River, Jolene explained the situation to Cannon, who asked a few questions about Ralph, where he worked and lived. Cannon got up, kissed Jolene’s head, and then smoked a cigarette at her fence.

The next week Jolene drove to the bay overlook and waited for Ralph. It was early spring and the trees were budding and crocus peeped through the grass. She would distract Ralph and plead for more time. But Ralph never showed and Jolene sat in the car with a nagging doubt.

A few months before she had stumbled into Ralph with his charming gift for gab at the Blues Tavern. After a few drinks and some handholding they were plotting to take care of Jolene’s problem. Now Ralph had stood her up. In retrospect, Jolene wondered how she could have trusted Ralph with such a sensitive plan. Jolene banged her head on the steering wheel.

That evening Jolene told Cannon that Ralph had been a no-show. It worried her that Ralph was so unpredictable, often violent. He could cause trouble.

“Ralph took the long haul.” Cannon said cryptically.

“But when he returns?” Jolene fretted.

“He's not coming back.” Cannon replied.

Jolene turned away and licked her lips. So that was it. She was supposed to forget about the erratic Ralph. Cannon mused it would be nice if they could travel…his first hint at commitment.

Life went on at the pink gift store and the two fell into an easy rhythm. But beneath her happy exterior, Jolene worried. Cannon played his part to perfection, keeping her happy, at her beck and call.

One evening on the patio they shared a bottle of Burgundy and chatted about Jolene’s idea to expand the Pink Charm, maybe offer delicacies. When Cannon did not join in her planning, Jolene took their glasses to the kitchen and refilled them, emptying two capsules into Cannon’s glass, stirring the white powder into the ruby-red wine.

 

A few weeks later neighbors became alarmed at not seeing any life around the gift shop, or at the brick rambler. They knew Jolene had taken a trip out west and that Cannon would mind the store. Uneasy at the stillness, they called the police who entered the shop where they found Cannon hanging from a beam in the back storeroom, an apparent suicide.

Six weeks after she left Spanish Fort, Jolene met Karl in Telluride, Colorado. The young man, a Swiss-German mountaineer, was visiting Colorado in the early spring with a goal of climbing Colorado’s 55 fourteeners. Jolene was into hiking and Karl said he would guide her to a first 14,000 foot mountain peak at nearby Redcloud, an easy Class 1-2 hike.
        They left Telluride early in the morning and drove to Lake City, parking at the trailhead. After three hours they rested and Karl confessed he had researched Jolene, who he knew was from Spanish Fort. He discovered her tragedies, the death of her parents, the suicide of Cannon Raspberry, her gift-shop partner.
        The couple reached the peak late morning, knowing they had to be on the way by noon to avoid the afternoon lightning storms. Jolene led Karl to the edge where they had a spectacular view of the snow-topped, San Juan Mountains. Karl looked at her and smiled, his killer-blue eyes twinkling. Jolene put the flat of her hand between Karl’s broad shoulders. He raised his eyebrows and she gave him a violent shove.
        Toppling over the precipice, Karl hit a ledge head first, then flipped over and plummeted at least three thousand feet, disappearing into a dark crevice. Jolene worried her new companion might research her route from Alabama and stumble over more troubling episodes. She sighed in the clear air beneath the pristine sky.

Karl could have ruined it. After all, there would be more misfortunes as Jolene continued her odyssey west.

 

Such is life.

 

The Honey Boo Kidnapping, Laramie Ivinson Mansion , Sinclair Refinery, Wyoming

 

They grabbed Honey Boo as she came out of the Ivinson Girls School in Laramie, Wyoming. Maura approached the eight-year old girl in the heavy navy coat, gray skirt and white leggings and guided the blond-haired youngster into the van as Bob and Rex watched with baited breath.

Would Honey Boo, as they coded her, suddenly balk, think twice and then bolt? But no, she climbed into the van and settled between Bob and Maura as Rex pulled away from the school. He drove quickly to the Wal-Mart parking lot on the edge of Laramie and they abandoned the van, leaving Honey Boo’s backpack in the back seat. In a few minutes, Latinos would appear and drive the van east to Cheyenne and park it at the airport.

Escorting the girl, who was unusually composed, into a light colored SUV, they headed west on I-80. The plan was on time and going well. Almost too well, Rex thought as he drove along the interstate, glancing in the mirror to see their captive sitting quietly between Bob and Maura, his forever feuding accomplices. Maura with her sandy hair, green-gray eyes and arched eyebrows had once been a beauty. But once Maura started killing, she lost her allure.

“Are you thirsty, hungry, Honey Boo?” Maura asked.

“My name is Alice.” The girl said acidly, taking Maura aback.

Bob snickered, but then rubbed his nose and narrowed his eyes. Alice was acting as if they always picked her up. She didn’t ask about her usual driver who had been diverted by team members. Maybe this was the way of young, wealthy girls who were used to being waited on, catered to.

After twenty minutes, Rex checked the back seat and saw Maura was looking out of the window at the bleak, snow-dusted Wyoming prairie. Bob was looking sideways at Alice. Rex knew he would have to be careful not to leave Bob alone with Alice. They would have two shifts and he would take one, Bob and Maura could have the second shift. Rex knew Maua would kill Bob if he dared to touch Alice.

They encountered a snow squall outside of Laramie, but there was no traffic, just a heavy mist and blowing snow which comforted Rex, making them almost invisible. Alice’s family was wealthy beyond realization. Her father had bought the Sinclair Refinery along I-80. And now he was buying the adjacent land. The rumor was the stubborn Wyoming oil known as the kerogen deposit, was now available through technology: horizontal drilling and underground heating. Alice was an only child and her father would pay the ransom, which would yield Rex a million dollars. He smiled and shook his head, a good return for two days work. All they had to do was snatch Alice, keep her one night in the abandoned Parco Inn outside of Sinclair. In the morning, they would get the call to leave the girl at the inn and drive to Salt Lake City for the rendezvous and their money.

Listening to Fox and CNN on the satellite radio, Rex expected to hear about the kidnapping, perhaps an Amber alert for Alice. The plan was for the police to find the van and Alice’s backpack in Cheyenne. Maybe the kidnappers had spirited the girl away on a plane. The police would look east, while Rex headed west to Sinclair, hiding Alice under her father’s nose, a brilliant plan.

After an hour, Alice announced she needed a rest stop. Fortunately, they came upon the Fort Steele Rest Area and Rex pulled in. Maura took the youngster to the rest center and Bob sauntered off to the men’s room.

Standing outside Rex lit a cigarette, which he only did when he was on a job. Far to the south he could see the peaks of the High Uintas Wilderness Area, the ancient home of the Ute Indians, a place believed to harbor good and evil spirits, as well as the kerogen. The mountains in the mist made Rex shudder and he caught a whisper in the wind.

Perhaps it was only his imagination. Rex exhaled and wondered how it had come to this. Now he was a kidnapper of young girls. He shook his head, but found solace that the money would allow him to retire. Maybe a small place on the Chesapeake Bay where he could crab and oyster.

Rex’s thoughts were interrupted as Maura hurried out of the small building. She looked pale and distraught. “Let’s go.” She whispered. “Just you and me, let’s get out of here before it’s too late. This is not what it seems. The girl…you have no idea.”

Looking at Maura’s stricken face, Rex was taken aback. He started to speak, but Bob came out and glared at them. Before Bob could protest, Alice emerged and brushed past the annoyed Bob, and firmly took Maura’s arm and marched her back to the SUV.

Bob shrugged and then trudged after the two females. Rex was stunned at Maura’s panic, but it seemed to have passed as Alice looked back and smiled at him, her blond pony tail dancing in the prairie wind.

They left Fort Steele in silence and within the hour they sighted the Sinclair Refinery. The tangled structure loomed out of the late afternoon mist as if an otherworldly monster, the gas burn-off pipe standing as a lighthouse, warning visitors away.

Rex drove to the northwest edge of the complex and located the little-used Parco Inn, a Spanish-style relic of the high times in the 1950s. They parked and shadowy Latinos took their belongings and ushered them to a suite in the back with two bedrooms.

Bob and Maura bickered over the bedrooms and Rex gave them the master bedroom, while he and Alice took the guest room. They had a quiet meal in the eat-in kitchen and then Rex announced he would take the first watch, while Bob and Maura rested.

When they were settled, Alice propped herself up on the big bed and looked at Rex as he stared out at the bleak, snow-covered prairie.

“I chose you.” Alice said. “You had such promise and now look at you. We have to know what went wrong, what happened to you.”

Rex started, staring at the precocious girl. He recalled Maura’s panic at the rest stop. What happened at the rest stop? And now what was the girl talking about?

“Bob and Maura are naturals. If we did not take Bob, he would eventually crack and get his guns, put on camos, and go to a mall, maybe a school” Alice shuddered as she closed her eyes, visualizing the shootings.

“Of course, Maura is the interesting one, once so pretty, now an assassin. What transformed her is what we want to know. There is so much to understand about you before we settle here.”

Rex listened as Alice patiently explained the situation. A chill ran down Rex’s spine and the hairs on his neck stood up. He now understood Maura’s fear, why she said nothing was what it seemed.

The girl sat up and smiled at Rex as the humming started outside, like a noisy fridge, and then it built into a deep roar as the building shook and the lights dimmed. Next the hum decelerated as red, blue, and white lights flashed as the vehicle settled.

“Don’t be afraid.” Alice said, getting out of bed and taking Rex’s hand. “I will take care of you.”

Suddenly the bedroom door burst open and Bob and Maura stood in dread, their faces pale and mouths working, but no words.

“Get your things.” Alice ordered. “We are going on a trip, a very long journey.”

There never was an Amber alert for Alice.

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

Going Over the Fiscal Cliff, Canyonlands National Park, Moab, Utah

The fiscal cliff was looming and the world held its breath. The Assembly was deadlocked, frozen, and nothing was getting done. In a few days, the country was going over the edge… into the abyss.
           The two major sides battled hopelessly.  The Republicans wanted to reduce taxes, claiming this would stimulate innovation and output, a rising tide raises all boats.
           The Leader, who had just been re-elected, demanded a tax increase. The polls told him that 60% agreed with his policy. Without majority support, the Congress could not act.
           Gridlock.
           No matter how much the citizens demanded action, the representatives postured and fulminated. The moment of reckoning came when they announced another extended holiday in order to touch base with the folks back home.
           Out of the blue came the citizens, they captured the representatives and loaded them on buses. They drove to a remote, high plateau in the Southwest where there were two curious rock formations facing each other, sacred Anasazi ceremonial table rocks with precipitous fall offs. Here the ancient tribes would sacrifice their most able to appease the spirits in the hope of good tidings.
            There in the twilight, the people loaded the members into cars, four to a car, a procession of 133 cars. They ran the cars over the sheer face of the larger rock formation.The representatives were outraged, banging on the car windows and even vowing to change their positions, compromise.
             One by one the cars went over, sailing into the empty void. They pounded on the car windows in panic. The more resolute held firm: taxes must go up. Some suggested alternative ways to increase revenues…..the perfect should not be the enemy of the good.
             In one car, a window was lowered and a pink-face socialist representative sputtered furiously. The onlookers only caught his words, “…millionaires and billionaires.” in the chill night.                
             Another captive was able to lower his window, waving his arms frantically as his car went over the rim. He was a rising star, one of the so called young guns and he shouted, “I am not a wack job”, as his car plummeted into the darkness.
             Next a patrician woman with an unctuous smile pushed a thick, heavy document out of the window and shouted: “Here’s the deal, but we have to pass it before we know what’s in it.”
             But there was no reprieve, no amnesty and each car went down the runway, out over the cliff. The parade lasted through the night until the process was over, leaving a pile of twisted debris at the rocky bottom.
             To everyone’s amazement, the earth did not stand still. The world did breathe again and the citizens convened a more congenial group.  A deal was quickly struck.
             Today the country is a model of sustainable economic growth and the contentious period just a bad memory.
             Table Rock in the remote national park is now a hallowed place of pilgrimage. Families come from far and wide to gaze in awe and reverence at that most holy of holies, the Fiscal Cliff.

The Myrtles Plantation, Alexandria, Louisiana

The Myrtles Plantation was their destination as Ella Mae and her gifted daughter drove along Route 40, a two-lane black top rutted by recent rains. They arrived early afternoon in the sleepy city of Alexandria and Averil Jean directed her mother to the imposing Myrtles Manor, a structure of antebellum architecture, featuring a 100 foot white-columned portico and set among towering oak trees that lined the drive.
            Ella Mae stopped the car and put her hand to her throat, never having seen such a beautiful structure. She dutifully followed the signs to the service entrance and told Averil to stay in the car while she went to the door.
            Ringing the bell, Ella waited with fluttering in her stomach. What were they doing in such a grand setting? She asked herself.
            Fortunately, the handsome estate manager, Beau Raspberry, opened the door, his eyes widening as he saw the comely Ella Mae. There was something about the woman before him. She was obviously of Indian descent, graceful with flowing black hair, a chiseled face, aquiline nose, and dark eyes that telegraphed intelligence.
            Beau’s mind raced as the woman told him she was looking for work. There was the Myrtles Thanksgiving open house in a week and his assistant had taken ill. He was in desperate need of an intelligent helper and the alluring Ella seemed to fit the bill.

Ella and Averil were quickly settled in the back section of the house, formerly the head butler’s quarters. Beau put Ella to work on the party preparations, while Averil attended the plantation school.

One evening while Beau was directing a practice run, Averil wandered behind the house, coming to rest at the dock that overlooked the slow moving Cane River. She sat and closed her eyes, suddenly hearing music, a slow tempo waltz that drifted on the crisp fall evening. To her amazement, the dining room French doors flew open and two people emerged, a portly gentleman carrying a picnic basket, accompanied by a lovely, blond lady in white.

Averil watched as they walked to the beach beside the pier and climbed into a teak rowboat, casting off and moving upriver, then drifting with the languid current. The woman sat in the back and bent over to pour champagne and serve canapés when the man suddenly grabbed her feet and flung her backwards over the stern. He then stood, taking an oar and swatting the struggling woman who was tangled in her elaborate gown. In a few seconds, the woman in white sank.

The man than rocked the boat until it flipped over and he tumbled into the water. He surfaced and laboriously swam to shore where he pulled himself up on the beach, then collapsed. Moments later a servant appeared on the porch, scanned the river for the couple, and saw the man prostrate in the sand, quickly sounding sounded the alarm.

Averil opened her eyes and understood all…the woman was Alice Lacount and her husband, Sam Bradford, had murdered her, feigning the boat tragedy. Alice was the woman in white, the woman crying out for justice that she had met at the Hanna School. Averil now knew it would soon be time to move on and find the nefarious Sam Bradford.

Back in the mansion, after the practice and Beau Raspberry had gone to his quarters, Mae retreated to the kitchen with Chloe, who led the kitchen brigade. She and Ella had become friends and Chloe had confided that at one time she had been close to Beau. Chloe had rebelled when Beau took up with a younger servant, but Beau put her in her place by slicing off her right ear, which explained the head wrap she wore. It was Beau’s retaliation for Chloe listening at the door when he was dallying with his new desire.

Once alone in the kitchen, Chloe revealed that she was a mixture, a blend of Hoodoo and Voodoo royalty. Not only did she worship the Grand Zombie, the snake god, but she also had the ability to conjure. As such, she recognized the royalty in Ella Mae, but was puzzled by Averil Jean, Ella Mae’s daughter who cast an aura and had six fingers on each hand.

Ella explained that she was descended from a Yavapai-Apache princess, and that Averil‘s father came from far, far away and Ella motioned to the night stars, recalling the dark stranger who had wooed her when she lived in Roswell, New Mexico.

The two women agreed that Beau was evil and they must rein him in. Chloe said she was biding her time, but would soon extract sweet revenge.  Ella told Chloe to be patient, that she would arrange a setting for the lascivious Beau Raspberry after the annual affair.

Two weeks after the successful open house, Beau Raspberry made his move, always a feint to disarm the new quarry. He invited Ella Mae to join him at the caretaker’s small house located in the woods, a brisk walk from the manor. The pretense was to consider refurbishing. Ella eagerly agreed and that evening they walked to the cottage, pausing at the front door, which Beau unlocked.  Anticipation ran through Beau to his bones, but when he looked down at Ella’s shining face, he suddenly felt a chill and doubt.

“Maybe now is not the right time.” The hesitant Beau said.

“This is the perfect time.” Ella replied and pushed him into the dark cottage. 

Later that night when all was quiet and clouds were scudding across the three-quarter moon, Ella took Chloe to the caretaker’s cottage. The two of them paused as Ella turned the key and opened the door. Chloe gasped as she saw in the faint light Beau tied to a chair in the middle of the room, his clothes neatly piled on the floor. Ella handed Chloe a Bartlow hunter’s knife with a gleaming 6” blade and a honey stag bone handle, just right for gutting.

As Ella walked away the clouds obscured the moon and the night creatures were silent. Even the old owl in the oaks was quiet. That was when the shrill screaming started and Ella knew it was time to move on.

Averil had been importuning her mother to travel to New Orleans where there was someone who needed to be called to account.

The two left early the next morning.

The Kidnapping, Ruby Mountains, Great Basin, Elko, Nevada

Cherry Lee saw the boy walking along the Great Basin Highway just outside of Wells, Nevada and she smelled money. Cherry told Carl to stop and he pulled the black Escalade onto the shoulder. Ray in the passenger seat looked back questioning, his long, deadpan face puzzled.
         Ignoring her two partners, Cherry jumped out of the SUV, standing akimbo, her shoulder length, blond hair whipping across her face as the boy, head down, trudged along the lonely, two-lane blacktop that snaked through the high desert.
         He was about 13 and dressed in mahogany loafers, gray wool slacks, a white shirt and a navy blue, brass-buttoned blazer. He was fitted out as if coming from church; more likely, the country club. Cherry’s mind raced. They could grab him, hold him and ask six figures for his return. Easy money.
         The boy with a cherub’s face and mop haircut paused about 5 feet from Cherry and looked up. His dark eyes appraised the young, beautiful, blue-eyed woman standing in front of him. She was stylish in a powder blue sweater and a black, pleated skirt. The two stared at each other, both figures incongruous on the empty road in Nevada’s Eastern Great Basin.
         “Need a ride?” Cherry asked, breaking the impasse.
         The boy cocked his head and smiled. “I’m on the way to the Bellagio in Las Vegas."
         Cherry said that they were headed that direction and could give him a ride. They’d be happy to drop him, as they were going past the large casino-hotel on the Strip.
         The boy nodded, following Cherry and happily climbed into the back seat of the high-riding Escalade. He nodded to the two men in front who eyed him suspiciously. Cherry told her partners the boy was on the way to Vegas and wanted to be dropped at the Bellagio. The two men looked at each other, but shrugged as they trusted Cherry’s instincts.
         The four them settled in and resumed the drive through the high desert. There was little traffic and the day was cold and cloudy. A brisk wind blew, creating dust swirls and sending the tumbleweed rolling across the empty plain. Ray’s mind roiled as he began to devise a plan: a place to stay, the phone call, the drop off, and then the kid.
         “I’m Cherry Lee, and that’s Carl driving and Ray in the passenger seat. And you are?”
         The boy reached in his jacket and pulled out a fine, leather wallet and handed it to Cherry, who raised her eyebrows, taking the wallet and flipping it open. On the right was an identification card.
         “Our new friend is Alexander Bier Hammond.” Cherry said. “And he lives on Lake Shore Drive in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.” The two men grunted.
         Cherry flipped through the pictures on the left side of the wallet, pausing to study the large, gray-stone mansion on the lake. She knew the area well, a place where the wealthy lived on the lake. The others lived outside of the artsy town in modest ranch-style homes, or in trailer parks. Alex Hammond reeked of old Idaho money.
         They drove in silence, coming upon a rest stop on the right and Alex indicated he needed to stop. Carl pulled in and the boy jumped out, running to the rest room. The three partners exited the SUV, lit cigarettes and leaned against the Escalade.
         “What’s he doing in the middle of nowhere?” Ray, always the wary one, asked.
         “Not our problem.” Cherry replied. “We need a spot to hold him, and then Carl can run to Vegas and phone the family, arrange the drop.
         “Something’s not right about the kid.” Carl offered.
         Alex returned wiping his hands on a handkerchief, which he then stuffed into his jacket’s breast pocket.
         “Sure glad I met you nice people.” He said with a smile.

 

If Carl or Ray had survived the trip, neither one could explain why Carl took a right off the highway onto a dirt road that wound up into the Ruby Mountains. Cherry leaned forward when they turned off, but Alex put his hand on her leg and she sat back.
        They climbed for an hour and then pulled into a parking area for a historical site. Cherry and Alex got out, walking over to the bronze marker.
         Carl put down the windows and the two men lit cigarettes. Ray looked at Carl and asked. “Why’d you come up here?”
          “No idea.” Carl replied.
         “That boy’s not normal.” Ray said.
         Alex and Cherry stood in front of the faded plaque. The first paragraph noted that early explorers named the mountains for the garnets that they found in the narrow cuts between the slopes. A second paragraph explained that the area was a Shoshone Sanctuary, a spiritual place where the tribe gathered at the change of seasons and sacrificed young braves in the hope the High Spirits would bless the new season. The chosen ones were thrown from this scenic spot.
          Cherry read the marker aloud, and then shuddered as she and Alex stood at the edge of the cliff looking down to the jagged rocks below. Alex looked back at the SUV as Carl and Ray exited the vehicle and walked slowly over to the marker. Without a word, Carl climbed over the low railing and stood at the edge. Cherry gasped, but Alex restrained her.
          Carl held the railing with his left hand then leaned out over the cliff, flinging  his right hand out in a salute to invisible watchers. And then Carl let go and plunged down. Before Cherry could react, Ray climbed over the railing and followed Carl’s example, but executed his salute with flair, a theatrical twist of his wrist. Then Carl let go, falling silently.
         Without a word, Alex walked back to the Escalade and climbed into the passenger seat. Cherry put her hand to her throat and peeked over the edge. But her two partners had vanished into the gathering mists that now shrouded the rocks below.
         Cherry returned to the SUV and drove back down to the main road. She paused at the intersection, glancing over at Alex who directed her.
         “We’ll get a suite at the Bellagio and I’ll show you which slots to play. Then we’ll move on to the tables. You take a seat and close your eyes. Listen and you will hear me; I’ll tell you the cards to play. We’ll spend a week in Vegas gathering our stake. After that, we will see.”
         Cherry nodded numbly and turned right heading south on the Great Basin Highway.
         Who was kidnapping who?

 

The Last Station, Shard Villa, Middlebury, Vermont

The radio died and the motor conked out when Ted and Jan came around the corner on the Vermont country road. The SUV drifted to a stop beside the long driveway that led to a gray, stone, tower-topped manor. Jan felt goose bumps as she stared at the imposing structure, which appeared to have eyes, a nose, and a gaping mouth; a smaller fifth eye was in the widow’s watch.
           They got out never having seen such an odd structure in the rolling farm country of Western Vermont. Ted looked at his phone and cursed as there was no service. Jan held her phone and shook her head. Ted tried the engine again, but the battery was dead.
           The couple went up the drive and saw a man come out of the front doors and wait for them on the doorstep. The man was tall, dressed in white with silver hair slicked back, a narrow pink face and, as they approached, they noticed his sky blue eyes.
           Ted explained they had car trouble and needed to call for service.“I’ll have Max call the garage at Salisbury. They’re nearby.” The man said in a deep voice.
           He invited them in, offering ice tea while they waited. As they entered the dim foyer a woman appeared who could have been the man’s twin. He turned his back and spoke to her, Ted and Jan not catching his words.
           The man ushered them into the sitting room with the large windows facing the extended lawn. Jan paused as their host led the way with Ted following. She looked to her left down the hall and was startled to see an older woman in black clutching a clown doll wearing a green beret festooned with silver stars. She was mouthing, “help me”. Jan started to speak, but the woman shook her head and put her finger to her lips.
            Jan shakily joined Ted on the couch as he introduced them and the man nodded, saying he was Dr. Burns. The woman in white returned and set out ice tea for the three of them, replete with slices of lemon. Jan took the glass smiling, while being overcome with uneasiness, a queasy feeling. Her antenna was going up. Who was that old woman and why had she signaled to Jan?
            She tuned back in as Ted rambled on about their cottage on Lake Hortonia and how they had been exploring the back roads when the car died.
            Dr. Burns explained that the Shard Villa was a care facility for the sunset years and it was managed by his company on behalf of the U.S. Government. Jan’s ears perked up as she was a Washington, D.C. reporter covering Health and Human Services and she recalled hushed discussions about the new 3,000 page Health Care Bill. There were rumors of a Sunset Provision that was radical, an experiment to deal with the ever mounting costs of the terminally ill elderly, 85% of health care expenses. Some cynics whispered “Final Care”. In other words, the last station.
             “…exciting, still experimental, very new.” Dr. Burns explained. “If we are successful, this will save the President’s health care system and care will be viable if our approach is applied on a country-wide basis.”
             “You’re a contractor? Where are you from?” Ted asked.
              Dr. Burns laughed. “We are from far away.”
              Ted cocked his head. “You mean Europe?”
             “Far, far away.” The doctor added, then changed the subject and asked about the sailing at Lake Hortonia.
              Jan felt the hair on her neck stand up as her mind raced. She recalled other rumors, absurd stories, wild bar talk about secret contact, discovering a marvelous technology, a painless ray that vaporized matter. Jan always shrugged these stories offf…the second bottle of wine talking.  Still, the President had been touting his new cost-effective approach to deal with the elderly. To be unveiled at a later date, of course.
             “You’re quiet.” Dr. Burns said, looking intensely at Jan with his blue eyes, his eyebrows raised questioningly, as if he could read her mind. Jan blushed and lamely said she was thinking about her new assignment on the health-care beat.
            Ted was settling back, but Jan stood and said they ought to call the garage again. Dr. Burns  agreed, but urged them to try the car another time. Maybe just an unexplained quirk. Jan smiled and led Ted out of the Villa while Ted thanked the doctor and shrugged, indicating that his wife was eccentric at times.
            They headed down the drive and Jan looked at her phone, 5 bars. Ted looked at his and scratched his head. They reached the car, got in and Ted turned the key, surprised when the engine started. Jan tensed as a leafy fragment floated onto the windshield. She reached out of the window and grabbed it, feeling that it was a small piece of green cloth and seeing the point of a silver star. Ted was saying they should drive by the villa and signal they were fine. Jan shook her head and insisted they leave. She chewed on her fingers. Something wasn’t right about Dr. Burns and his Shard Villa.
            The next day Jan convinced Penny, her local friend, who was a deputy sheriff to return with them to Shard Villa. Penny protested as the location was out of her jurisdiction, but reluctantly agreed to go in mufti as it was her day off.
            Ted described the previous day in glowing terms, the charming Dr. Burns and the fascinating stone villa. Ted was convinced that important research was being done and Vermont was lucky to host such a project.
            Penny started to protest but Jan shushed her as they turned onto Swamp Road and headed along the winding two-lane blacktop.
           “You’ll see for yourself.” Jan said.
           They rounded the familiar curve and Ted stopped at the foot of the great lawn, an open space.
           Penny was puzzled and shook her head. Ted and Jan gaped.
           The Shard Villa was gone.