Authors: Ribbon of Rain
“Sure have,”
“A lot of different ones.
Come in at least once a week.
Came in yestaday.
Don’t figure they be doin’ no fishin’ neither.
They buy ammo and beer.
Up to no good is what I think.
Mighty peculiar what with all them goings on at the lodge.”
Hazen’s fist slammed the counter, knocking the highlighter on the floor.
“No one wants your damn opinion,
“So shut up.”
Jude filed the information in his head and picked up his items.
He headed for the door.
“Hey, stranger,” Hazen called him back.
“You forgot your marka here.”
Jude walked back to the counter and took the highlighter Hazen had picked up off the floor.
His stomach chose that moment to growl its protest at the lack of food.
“Your belly’s talking to ya, stranger,” Hazen observed, grinning ear-to-ear like he’d won fifty-thousand dollars on a TV game show.
“Why don’t ya pick up some vittles while you’re here?”
Jude dubiously looked around the store, seeing nothing that enticed his taste buds, even if he was starving.
“Any suggestions?”
“How about a couple of hotdogs?”
Why not?
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a hotdog.
“Sounds good.
I’ll take two, loaded.”
He moved down the aisle and grabbed a carton of milk, checking the expiration date.
No telling how long it had been sitting in the cooler.
Glancing around the small store, he was amazed at the variety of items for sale.
Everything from outdoor clothing, boots, ammunition, fishing tackle and live bait, to food staples such as bread, milk and butter, baby food and diapers.
He didn’t much care for the moose heads hanging on the walls.
Huge ugly animals.
Nothing he’d ever want to see roaming around the woods.
“Here you go.
Just the way you ordered ‘em.”
Jude returned to the counter and stared at the hotdogs.
“They’re red.”
“What?”
Hazen asked.
“Course they’re red.
They’re red hotdogs.”
“Hotdogs aren’t red,” Jude insisted.
The others snickered from behind him.
“I don’t know where ya come from fella, but in these parts hotdogs are red.”
Jude shook his head, handed more money to Hazen, picked up his red hotdogs and left.
He inhaled a deep breath of clean, fresh air, relieved to be out of the smoky interior of the store.
He climbed back in the Land Rover and situated his food so that he could eat while driving.
For the first ten miles he traveled a wide, hard-packed dirt road.
Other than a few rabbits, he had the road to himself.
If the road conditions stayed this good, sixty miles should only take two hours tops.
The hotdogs were delicious.
He forced down thoughts about the red dye used to color the casing.
Hopefully, the dye had been tested by the FDA.
Yeah right.
His mood soured when he turned onto a much narrower road.
The Land Rover bounced in and out of potholes, jarring his teeth.
Forced to reduce his speed to twenty miles an hour, he hoped to God he didn’t meet another vehicle, or even worse, get a flat tire.
He doubted Triple AAA made trips out here.
He turned on his cell phone and saw the “no service” signal.
What a surprise
.
The road narrowed to the width of one vehicle.
He rounded a sharp curve and came upon a road sign.
Keep to the right.
Logging trucks have the right of way.
He couldn’t believe his eyes.
Jesus.
Keep right?
Logging trucks?
How the hell would he be able to get out of the way of a logging truck barreling towards him?
Jude wiped sweat off his brow and gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
The road snaked through the woods, up the side of a mountain, down the other side.
He dodged downed trees and huge rocks lying in the middle of the road.
A few miles later, he saw what appeared to be a huge black boulder up ahead.
Great.
The boulder had four legs.
A huge moose munched on weeds growing on the side of the road.
Lifting its head with greenery dangling from its jaw, the beast regarded the vehicle with a visible lack of interest.
“Great, just freaking great,” Jude muttered.
He blew the horn.
The moose barely glanced at him, before continuing his weed meal.
Jude leaned out the window and yelled.
No luck.
He banged his forehead on the steering wheel in frustration.
He inched the Land Rover forward, blowing the horn.
When the vehicle was within a few feet of the animal, it ambled down into the ditch.
Jude suspected that if it had come to a draw, the moose would have won hands down.
Two miles further down the road, he rounded a turn and skidded to a stop.
The road was flooded.
Large areas of water on both sides made it impossible to go around.
He climbed out and waded in to check the depth until he stood knee high in ice-cold water.
Water filled his new hiking boots.
The Land Rover could handle that.
He squished his way back to the Land Rover, got in and slowly plowed through.
He made it to the other side and through the next four sections of flooded roadway he encountered.
Just a laugh a minute
.
At the last flood, he came across the guilty culprits.
Two beaver busy building a dam on the side of the road.
At last, he rounded the last bend in the road and saw
Loon
Lake
Three and a half hours had passed since he’d left the store.
Never again would he complain about traffic jams in
Washington
,
D.C.
He sighed with relief when the cow path–he refused to call the last fifteen miles a road – ended.
What a nightmare.
Thank God, he hadn’t met any logging trucks.
Moose in the road and the flooded roads were enough adventure for him.
Frank’s directions said
Perfect description.
The road ended and down the bank was the lake.
He doubted the path was wide enough to turn around and get headed back to civilization.
He shut off the engine and got out.
Within seconds a cloud of mosquitoes and black flies feasted on his exposed skin.
A swarm of huge flies, big enough to carry off small animals buzzed around his head.
He reached into the backseat and grabbed a can of insect repellent Frank had insisted he bring.
The spray got in his eyes and mouth, and he cursed his friend and mentor.
With the bugs momentarily held at bay, he walked down to the shore and gazed out at the lake.
The fiery red ball of the setting sun created a Monet style painting on the water.
Three shades of pink, a soft lavender hue, and several shades of purple shimmered across the lake’s surface.
Best thing he’d seen since he arrived.
He couldn’t remember ever seeing a sunset as beautiful.
He drew in a deep breath, his nose tingling at the strong smell of pine and balsam fir.
He’d seen little bags of the needles for sale in the city and made a mental note to buy himself a bag or two to spice up his apartment back home.
The silence was broken only by the buzzing insects, reminding him of the trouble he’d be in if he ran out of repellent.
As the sun sank behind the horizon, the noises began.
First, came the crickets, and then a chorus of frogs.
A huge racket came from the trees.
Jude had no idea what would be in the trees at night.
Wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Attempting to canoe to the lodge in the dark would be insane.
He’d had enough for one day.
Accepting that he was about to spend an uncomfortable night, he climbed back in the Land Rover.
An hour later he still twisted and turned, unable to find a comfortable position even with the seat as far back as it would go.
Sweat poured off him, but if he opened a window, he’d probably need a blood transfusion by morning.
He had a cramp in his foot and his back ached.
He caught sight of the bow of the canoe lashed to the top of the Land Rover.
It could be worse, he thought, chuckling.
He might be up the creek, but at least he had a paddle.
Exhaustion was about to overcome his discomfort, when a mournful cry from the lake brought him upright in the seat.
He hit his head on the side of the door.
Jesus, what was that?
He’d never heard anything as eerie.
He gave up all pretense of trying to sleep and turned on his flashlight.
Reaching under the seat, he pulled out a manila folder.
He’d reread the Tenney case file.
Katherine Sweetgrass Tenney was of Native American descent, but not full-blooded.
She’d been deployed in the
Jude hoped she’d cooperate with the investigation, because the sooner he found the stolen gems, the sooner he could get the hell out of this place.
Her military record impressed him.
The rednecks in the store had been right about her skill with weapons.
She’d qualified as an expert marksman right out of Officer’s Training School.
Jude conjured up a mental picture of Kat Tenney shooting off someone’s hat and chuckled at the image.
Putting the file away, he leaned back in the seat and reflected on his first day in the boonies.
It hadn’t been what he’d call an outstanding success.
Tomorrow would be better.
Eventually, his eyes grew heavy, and he drifted off to sleep with thoughts about meeting Annie Oakley in the morning.
Chapter 2
Jude’s sixth sense kicked in.
He visually scanned the area in front of his vehicle, but saw nothing.
There it was!
A reflection in the side-view mirror–a slight movement in the thick bushes behind the Land Rover.
He kept his gaze glued to the mirror and slid his right hand across to the passenger seat, searching for his 9 mm. Beretta, relieved when his fingers wrapped around the butt.
He lifted the door handle with his left hand and rolled out, coming onto one knee, the Beretta pointed in the direction he’d seen the possible perp.
“Freeze.”
A moose stuck its head through the bushes, a piece of bark dangling from its mouth.
Just another freaking moose.
Lowering his gun, he thanked God no one was around to witness this latest snafu.
He straightened and checked his watch–five in the morning.
Yawning, he lifted his arms over his head and stretched his stiff body.
He felt as if he’d spent the night folded into a suitcase.
Searching through his duffle bag, he located a protein bar and ate it while he stared down the lake.
The multitude of chirping and cawing birds made his head pound.
Where were the soothing sounds of screeching brakes, honking horns and the colorful vocabulary of shouting cab drivers?
Once his stomach stopped rumbling, he returned to the vehicle, grabbed his duffle bag and the two paddles from the back seat, carried them to the shore and returned to untie the canoe. He dragged it down to the lake and slid it in the water.
He was ready for phase two of his journey.
Frank’s canoeing instructions had sounded straightforward.
Jude soon realized that, not only did he know diddly-squat about canoeing, he wasn’t all that sure Frank did either.
He zigzagged through the water like a drunken dolphin.
What bug repellent he’d put on before leaving shore had mingled with his sweat and dripped off his face.
Bugs hovered around his head in a gray cloud.
His leaden arms felt like they were about to fall off and muscle spasms knotted his back and shoulders.
Broken blisters on his hands oozed blood.