Running Dark (17 page)

Ten minutes later the wind had shifted to directly behind him, and ahead he heard the clatter and rubbing of tree branches being whipped against each other. Soon he was at the edge of the tree line. He paused briefly, stepped inside, and felt around in the dark until he found a blowdown. He brushed away snow piled on the downed tree, used his boots to kick out a space beneath it, and got down into his hidey-hole. He dug into his equipment bag, took out a Snickers bar, and chewed it slowly. Sugar was quick energy, and energy equaled endurance.

He sat beneath the log reviewing preparations he had made with Lasurm. She would provide food and he would eat what she ate; she had started shopping after their last meeting, building up her stocks a little at a time so nobody would notice a change in her shopping habits. Batteries, cigarettes—she had a list of everything he needed. He had given her cash to pay for it. It wasn't clear how or if he would be reimbursed by the state.

Tonight Lasurm would have her outside lights on—one on the house, the other on her garage. She had been turning the two lights on for a while, again to make it look like her normal habit, but he told her if for some reason someone questioned this or got curious, she could turn on the garage light for one minute, at ten minutes after the hour, starting at 9
p.m.
and continuing until 2
a.m
. If he was not there by then, she should assume he was not coming, and await another ad in the Manistique paper.

Candy bar done, he got out of his hide, hoisted and adjusted his pack straps, and checked his compass. The tree line stretched east about a quarter mile, and he could make his way through the woods inside the cover and follow the elbow to where it bent to the south toward Lasurm's place. Or, he could cut directly through the woods to the next field and look for her lights and head directly for her house.

The wind was still making a racket in the trees, but the snow was not as heavy inside the cover with branches acting as an overhead filter. He chose to cut through on the direct line, and when he got to the outer edge, he stopped and searched south, looking for any sign of light. He found nothing but darkness flensed by blowing snow. He estimated he was about a third of a mile from her place. He checked his watch again. If her outside lights were out, she would not signal for another forty minutes.

If this was the right tree line.

A third of a mile would make a light shine like a beacon, but not in this weather. He needed to find the house, get in close, keep it in view, and wait. He checked his compass and began walking south into the open field, the wind still at his back and the temperature dropping. His brief stop had left him chilled. If he stopped again he would strip off his outer layer and put it on again when he moved. Dangerous to get sweaty in this kind of weather, he lectured himself. Hypothermia could settle in quickly. He moved slowly and deliberately to minimize perspiration, telling himself he would not stop again until he had the house in sight. This is a truly stupid idea, parachuting into hostile territory during a blizzard to see a one-legged woman who just wanted peace in the Garden.

PART III

NIGHT GARDENING

24

BURN'T BLUFF, FEBRUARY 14, 1976

The animal's fur was as coarse as a Brillo pad.

The snow paused just before 10
p.m
. Service saw the darkened form of a house some two hundred yards ahead of him and walked toward it. It was the same house he had seen during the air recon with Joe Flap, a three-story box with a widow's walk on top, an old farmhouse with no trees close to it. The garage was unattached, thirty or forty feet south of the house. No lights, but he thought he saw the movement of smoke plumes from the chimney. There would be a ninety-degree turn in a county road several hundred feet south of the garage, and another east-west treeline, with Burn't Bluff at the western terminus.

He got next to the house, sniffed wood smoke, which reminded him of how badly he wanted another cigarette. When the garage light flashed on for one minute, and at 2201 went out, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief, circled to the south side of the building, stepped into the storm entry, and pounded twice on the door. If someone other than Lasurm answered, he would tell them he had run his car off the road and ask them to call the Delta County sheriff's department. It could be a hassle, but he would bull his way through, and let the county haul him out, knowing he would have to scrub the mission.
Be there,
he entreated as he waited.

The door opened three steps above him, and Lasurm's big blue eyes peered out into the darkness at him. She held the door open and he stepped up and past her onto a landing. Stairs led up and down from where they stood.

“Up to the kitchen,” she said.

He shrugged off his pack and carried it upstairs into a kitchen with twelve-foot-high ceilings. The only light came from a few scented candles, and he smelled smoke from a fireplace.

“The lights,” she said, hopping up to the kitchen behind him. She was not using her cane. “Word went around that people should keep their external lights off at night. You'd better get those wet clothes off. There's a fire.”

He peeled down to his sweatpants, wool undershirt, and socks, and left his outer clothes in a pile on the kitchen floor.

She poked him in the lower back. “Straight ahead.”

The only light in the room was from the fireplace. He felt around for something to sit on and eased into a stuffed chair.

She brought a bottle of Hartley's and two glasses and poured a generous brandy for each of them. “Why did they want the lights out?” he asked.

“People down here don't ask questions,” she said.

“When did this happen?”

“A week ago,” she said. “Are you thinking they anticipated someone like you might come?”

“Possibly,” he said, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions; likewise, he didn't believe in coincidence.

“How
did
you get here?” she asked.

“I fell down a rabbit hole,” he said. She didn't need to know the details.

She chuckled audibly in the darkness. “Does that make me the Queen of Hearts or the Mad Hatter?”

“That jury's still out,” he said. He had an overpowering sense that he was being watched, but when he looked around he could see only the two of them.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“No thanks.”

“Nonsense. I was so nervous all day I couldn't eat. When I saw the paper, I couldn't stop staring at the ad. Now you're here,” she concluded, “and I'm starved.”

Service followed her into the kitchen, watched her mix vanilla extract and heavy cream into pancake mix. When the pancakes were done she garnished them with orange peel and fresh mint, and he ate a couple and realized he was hungrier than he had admitted, and gobbled down six more.

He was reaching for syrup when he detected movement and heard a low snarl from the living room doorway. He instinctively looked without moving his head and felt his blood run cold.

The dog was the color of wet cement and splotched with black spikes of hair sticking up haphazardly. It had a long, pointed nose, its ears were flat against its head, and its intense yellow eyes were locked on Service. The dog's lip was curled back, showing a mouth full of menacing teeth.

Cecilia Lasurm said, “Miss Tillie, I see you've decided to join us.” The animal crawled forward on its belly, keeping its eyes on Service. “She's paying homage to you,” Lasurm said.

“It feels more like I'm being measured,” he said. For a meal.

“Everything is fine, but please don't move until I tell you to,” Lasurm said, adding, “She's never killed anything bigger than her.”

He tried to force a smile, but failed. He didn't even nod as Lasurm got up from the table and came around to him, using the table edge for support. “Look at me,” she ordered, and when Service turned his head she leaned down and kissed him on the mouth with a soft, lingering wet kiss. When she pulled away she looked down at the animal, which had gotten to its feet and was walking forward, wagging its stump tail. “Reach down with your hand,” the woman said.

The hairs on his neck were electrified as he let his arm dangle.

The dog moved her head against his hand, and, summoning all the willpower he could, he rubbed once between her ears and let his arm dangle again. The animal's fur was as coarse as a Brillo pad.

“Miss Tillie is paying her respects,” Lasurm said. “I'm afraid she's a bit overprotective.”

The dog slunk back into the darkness of the living room.

“I found her on the highway ten years ago. She'd been shot several times with a pellet gun and she was starving, but she let me put her in my truck and take her to a veterinarian. She's been with me ever since. But she doesn't like guests, and all the locals know to stay away. Coffee or tea?”

“What the hell is going on?” he asked.

She said, “I've never allowed a man in here before. I had to find a way to let her know you were okay, so I kissed you.”

“You knew that would work.” Was her mind all there?

“I didn't know it wouldn't,” she said sheepishly.

“It was
my
arm hanging there.”

“She didn't bite,” Lasurm said. “Dogs make you uncomfortable?”

He nodded, did not want to talk about it. Dogs scared the shit out of him, and he had been petrified of them as long as he could remember—all sizes, all breeds, all temperaments. He would willingly approach a criminal with a gun or endure a close encounter with a sow bear and her cubs, but when he confronted a dog, he was always in danger of falling apart.

“Let's be clear on this: The kiss was strictly for Miss Tillie,” Lasurm said. “Am I making sense?”

“No,” he said. “Yes.” He had no idea. She was an odd woman in all ways, and his stomach knotted as he considered that coming here was a mistake—potentially a big one.

She sat down across from him. “You'll have all day tomorrow to get acquainted with Miss Tillie. She'll alert you if anyone gets within a hundred yards of the house, and if they get to the door she will be there to greet them. All you need to do to settle her and have her back off is to say, ‘Gentle.'”

“Gentle,” he repeated. “I won't be answering doors.”

“Some females like to please,” Lasurm said. “Will you go out tomorrow night?”

He nodded.
Some females like to please?
What the hell had he gotten himself into?

“Do you want me to drop you various places? I routinely visit some of my students at night.”

“No, I'll do better on my own.”

“All right, then, let me show you something.” She went into another room and came back in faded, stained Carharts with one leg folded up. She had gotten her crutch and carried a small flashlight.

She led him into the basement where there were two furnaces. One of them was ancient, and she fiddled with something on the side and opened it like a door. “Strictly a facade,” she said, switching on her flashlight. “It's level in here, but sometimes it can get a little icy.”

He followed her down the dark tunnel, bending over to keep from bumping his head. The tunnel was less than six feet high and a little more than three feet wide. They walked for five minutes before entering a wide area. She found a switch and turned on a light. “My great-great-grandfather built the house in 1890. This was the storehouse. The tunnel allowed my grandmother to get to their supplies when they were snowed in. I've added heat, which vents all the way back to my chimney at the house. If you have to make yourself scarce, you'll be comfortable enough down here.”

She left the light on and continued down the tunnel. He glanced at the compass pinned to his jacket and saw they were walking almost directly west. They walked for another fifteen minutes and came to a smaller underground room. There were some steps leading upward and boulders piled against the west wall. She patted one of the boulders. “Behind here there's a natural cave that leads all the way out to the bluff's face,” she said. “When I was a kid I played down here all the time, and my mother insisted my father block off the cave to keep me out. Burn't Bluff is a honeycomb,” she said.

“Limestone,” he said.

She smiled. “Above us there's a small stone structure that looks like a pump house. The door is steel and bolted from the inside, with a padlock on the outside.” She handed him a shoelace with a key dangling from it. “That will get you in. When you come back each night, coming in this way will make it easier for you.”

“There will be signs where I've opened the door,” he pointed out.

“It's winter,” she said. “You're going to leave signs wherever you go, but this is set back in the woods and it's nasty, cluttered footing with a lot of windfalls. In summer people sometimes drift through here, but not in winter.”

He followed her back to the other room in the tunnel, and she showed him how to work the heat before they trekked back to the house.

She led him through the kitchen to the front of the house, told him to grab his bag, and took him upstairs to a small bedroom. “It's an old house,” she said, “but it's warm. We have to share a bathroom, but that shouldn't be a problem.”

The room was narrow with a single bed and an old dresser. The floors were wood, with two faded throw rugs.

“You know if they find you here, you could get hurt,” she said.

He nodded as she turned on a light and used the rheostat to lower the brightness. The house might be old, but it had been modernized.

“I'll be awake at six-thirty,” she said. “I have to be at school by eight-thirty. If you want breakfast, it will be ready at seven-fifteen. If not, you're on your own.”

He nodded dumbly, and she paused at the door and looked back. “I invited you here to do something positive,” Lasurm said. “I hope you don't disappoint me.” Miss Tillie glared at him with her yellow eyes and followed Lasurm.

“Fucking dog,” he mumbled, but his mind was already shifting more to the mission than the threat of the animal. The next two weeks threatened to take him into a state of weirdness, but he was sure he was ready for whatever got thrown at him. Lasurm was strange and so was her ugly dog, but if the mission went the way he expected it to, he would not have to see much of either of them over the next two weeks.