Sinful Suspense Box Set (2 page)

Chapter 2

Jem

Sometimes it was easy to get lost in my own world when I was out on the water sorting logs. With the lumber mill and its sharp metal roofs, conveyor belts and whirring hiss of machinery behind me and an endless view of forest in front of me, it was easy to transport myself right out of reality, to a different place and a different life that wasn’t so damn bleak.

A breeze had been kicking up all afternoon, causing the massive layer of logs to bunch up against the shore and the cement brow. I lifted my pole and hopped across to free a log that had jammed itself against the river bottom. My shoes had spikes but my own innate sense of balance was my best safety equipment. ‘Wolfe’s as sure-footed as a goddamn mountain goat’ was what Hal Stevens, the owner of the sawmill, liked to say. Finn Harris, my partner on the pond, was less steady. Most days, Finn ran the pond boat, the small boat used to sort logs and push debris to the conveyor where it eventually rolled into the mill chipper. The work was most efficient when one of us was on the logs and one was in the boat.

“Jem!” Someone yelled from the deck where the waggoner was lifting a bundle of logs off the truck to be dropped over the log brow. I steadied my feet and looked back over my shoulder. Walt Pickman, the scaler, was waving at me. He cupped his hands together to make a megaphone. “Jem, it’s Dane.”

I slipped back and righted the log before tipping back past the point of no return. “Is he hurt?” I yelled back.

Walt shook his head. “You should come.”

“What the fuck is he up to now?” I muttered as I turned to find the best log path back to shore. My half-brother, Dane, was two years older than me, but I’d been his damn babysitter my entire life. Someone had to keep an eye on him. His mom had died of suicide when Dane was just a baby, and our dad was about as useless as a windshield wiper in a blizzard. Dane was an unlit fuse just waiting for a book of matches. And since I’d gotten back to Blackthorn Ridge, after a long stint on the road, ambling through life and trying to stay out of trouble, I’d become my brother’s personal fire extinguisher.

I reached the shore. The steel spikes on my boots stabbed the muddy bank as I trudged up toward drier land. Walt didn’t wait for me to catch up. He turned back up the embankment and headed toward the mill. It was the last fifteen minute break of the work day and most of the men were gathered in front of the massive stack of hardwood logs, ones that skipped the pond because they were too heavy to float, waiting to be moved into the mill for stripping. Two barker operators had been out sick for the week, leaving the mill shorthanded. Work was behind, and the logs were piling up, making the stack unusually high, a good fifteen feet off the ground.

I shaded my eyes with my hand and glanced up to the top of the stack of raw logs. “Shit.” Dane was walking along the top log on his hands. The guy was fearless, reckless and had the strength and agility of a goddamn trapeze artist. He also had the common sense of a chocolate chip cookie. Dad had blamed it on Dane’s mom. Apparently she’d decided that crack was far better at easing her morning sickness than the vitamins the clinic had given her. 

Roberts, the ratchet setter, grinned from ear to ear when he saw me. “Hey, Bronc, I’ve got twenty seconds, and I think I’m going to win the pot.” My job on the pond, riding logs, had earned me the nickname Bronc. I figured it was better than monkey, another common nickname for the pond workers. From the ratchet setter’s enthusiastic tone, I gathered that this bet was not whether Dane could travel the logs on his hands but how fast he could manage it.

Nathan Franks, one of the bull chain operators, was standing in the center of the men with a bundle of cash in one hand and a watch in the other. The guy was an asshole, and he was an expert at getting Dane to pull stupid stunts for a betting pool.

My fists curled against my sides. I knew if I started a fight with Nathan, I’d be the one out on my ass. Nathan had followed behind several generations of respected sawmill workers. I, on the other hand, was the son of Alcott Wolfe, a man whose reputation preceded him like a dark, ugly cloud. Dane and I had the same dark clouds following close at our heels, and no matter what I did to shake them off, the fucking things just stayed there, clinging to me and casting me into the same shadowy light as my dad.

Dane was halfway across the log. The cheering had shrunk to a low murmur as everyone waited for him to make it to the end. He’d taken his shirt and gloves off, and his tattoos twisted and stretched as the muscles in his arms tensed and tightened. His face was beat red, but I knew Dane. This acrobatic feat might have been impossible for most men, but Dane wasn’t most men. Walking a good twenty feet on his hands on a wobbling round surface with more wobbling round surfaces beneath was like walking across the street for Dane.

I looked back at the office. Hal stepped out to see what had everyone’s undivided attention. He looked at my brother and then at me. He wasn’t happy. He crossed his thick arms, resting them on his beer belly, another sure sign that he wasn’t pleased.

Dane reached a section of the pile that had been carelessly stacked. As his hand reached forward, one of the lower logs broke free. A collective breath was held, but Dane was completely unfazed. The rogue log bounced when it hit the bottom and rolled to a stop.

I walked up next to Nathan. He peered sideways and flinched when he saw it was me. I didn’t need to say a word.

“Hey, Dane brought it up,” Nathan said quickly. “I just organized the—”

I lifted my hand to shut him up.

Dane reached the end, and with a little too much enthusiasm, yanked his feet to the lower level of logs. As Dane’s feet pushed off, the log rolled away. A thunderous roar of logs tumbling against each other followed. My brother tried to climb up the pile but wasn’t making any progress, reminding me of a cartoon character running in place.

I shot through the onlookers. A stampede of errant logs rolled toward me. I hopped up on the first one and leapt to the next. I wasn’t making any progress either. It was like running on the world’s most dangerous treadmill. The whole fucking thing would have been comical if my brother wasn’t about to get sucked into the middle of the collapsing pile. “Dane, jump to the side!” I yelled over the clamor. “Get the fuck out of there.”

He gained enough traction to push off, and I followed, rolling well out of the way of the avalanche. Dane grunted as he landed hard on his side on the solid deck. He hopped to his feet with a laugh. I had no scientific proof, but I was pretty damn sure that my brother’s tolerance for pain was beyond even the threshold of the hot coal walkers and sword swallowers in the circus sideshow. 

“What was the time, Franks?” he called over the chaos he’d created. Most of the logs had stopped rolling but they would all need to be stacked again. Not a good thing.

Right on cue, Hal yelled from the front stoop of his office. “Wolfe, get in here!”

I looked over at Dane, who finally had enough sense to realize that this little trick wasn’t the smartest move of the day, which was saying a lot about a guy who’d decided to shave his dry face with a dull razor while eating his cereal. Multitasking was what he’d called it, a big word for Dane.

“Just stand there and nod to agree with everything he says,” I advised my brother as he pulled on his shirt. He headed toward the office.

“Not you,” Hal called. “The other Wolfe.”

“Shit.” I shot Nathan an angry glare and crossed the yard. Dane grinned and patted me on the shoulder as we passed each other. I flicked his hand away and walked to the office.

Hal plunked his big, doughy frame into his desk chair. It squeaked and rolled back a few inches. “Shut the door, Wolfe.”

I closed the door. The steel spikes on my shoes clicked on the cement floor as I walked to his desk. His office always smelled like the mints he’d been sucking on to help him give up cigarettes. The lingering smoke in the air indicated that the mints weren’t working. He had a couple chairs, but they were both filled with file folders. The entire office was a carnival of paperwork, receipts and order forms. One good gust of wind through the front window could wipe out an entire year of business.

Hal pushed aside a messy pile as if that one small move was going to make his desk look suddenly organized. Three coffee cups, each with an inch of dried brown residue in the bottom, lined the front of his computer keyboard. “I’ve got a new girl coming in tomorrow to spiff this place up and do a little organization,” he mumbled, almost as if he was just reminding himself of it.

He leaned back. His gray eyes peered up from his round, ruddy face as he crossed his nine and half fingers across his belly. Half a finger had gotten in a tangle with a conveyor belt, a laughable irony for a man who’d worked ten years with a saw blade cutting logs down to size. It was sort of like a cowboy breaking colts his whole life and then screwing up his knee on a golf course.

“You wanted to see me, Hal?”

He released a long sigh. “You do good work, Jem. God knows, I was taking a chance hiring on you and Dane. Everyone kept warning me that I was inviting trouble letting the Wolfe brothers work for me. I ignored them, and I ignored the fact that you’ve been to prison—”

“Juvenile hall,” I corrected him.

“Hmm,” he said with a brow lift. “Anyhow, your brother just cost me two hours labor with that little stunt he pulled, and as you know, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

I squinted down at him. “You called me in here to complain about Dane.”

“Well, it’s just easier to communicate—”

A short, dry laugh left my mouth before I could stop it. “You’re scared of him.”

His face reddened as he tripped and somersaulted over his tongue looking for a response.

“You figured you’d just relay the reprimand through me. You tell my brother to his face. None of this management by proxy bullshit.”

He attempted to stand up authoritatively, but his big belly made that move less than impressive. “I’m not afraid of Dane, but you’d better rein that boy in or you’ll both be out of a job.” A thin line of spittle rolled from the side of his mouth, a sure sign that he was pissed as hell. “And let him know I’m docking him for the money it will take to restack those logs.”

“Tell him yourself. You’re the boss.” I smacked the door open with the palm of my hand and walked out.

The workers had all gone back to their respective duties, but plenty of glances were being tossed my direction. Dane was back inside the mill pulling cut boards from the conveyor belt. It was a job that took more strength than wits, a perfect task for Dane.

He yanked out an earplug. “Did you get in trouble, bro?” The thunderous noise inside made it nearly impossible to hear him.

I shook my head and walked on. I slid past the conveyor belt, and again, everyone’s eyes followed me as I walked through the building. The pungent smell of fresh cut wood clung to the tiny particles of sawdust floating in the air. The late afternoon sun barely reached the building windows, and sharply contrasted shadows fell across the machinery.

I reached the opposite side where Nathan was setting hardwood logs on the log table for the short transfer to the log cradle. He hadn’t seen me walk through, but as he turned around, he blanched white and his lips pulled tight.

“Told you the idiot came up with the plan all by himself.” Just like Hal, nervous spit sprayed from his mouth as he spoke.

I ignored his plea and walked straight toward him. I grabbed his shirt and slapped his back hard against the steel side of the platform. A grunt of pain shot from his mouth. He made a pathetic try at knocking my hand from his shirt. The attempt seemed to hurt him more than me as he shook out his fingers.

“Fuck, Wolfe, this wasn’t my fault.”

“This doesn’t happen again, do you fucking hear me?”

“Right, fine. Shit, Wolfe, not my fault your brother is a fool.”

I leaned in closer, and he pushed his head back against the ramp trying to put distance between us. “Considering I could just put my fist through your face right now and end your miserable existence, I’d say you’re either braver than I gave you credit for or you’re even stupider than I figured. I’m leaning toward stupid.”

His mouth pulled into a grim line. “It won’t happen again.”

“Damn right.” I released him and straightened out the crease I’d put in his flannel shirt. I turned around. The other workers quickly returned their attention to their tasks. I could feel Nathan’s eyes shooting invisible bullets at my back as I walked away. But that was nothing new for me.

Chapter 3

Tashlyn

The first half hour of the trip along the winding road had been on a gradual incline but now it seemed we were heading on a mission straight up to the stars. Everly pulled two pieces of gum from her pocket. “Here, I came prepared. After awhile, swallowing spit just doesn’t do the trick. My ears are ready to burst.”

I took the gum. “How high are we?’

“Blackthorn Ridge is at eight thousand feet. We get plenty of snow up here in the winter.”

I gazed out at the wide expanse of picturesque forest lining the road. Farther down was a long swath of cleared land, a nearly naked valley running through the center of the impossibly dense foliage. A river bordered one side of the clearing and a curvy, dirt road traveled like a snake up to the highway. The metal roofs of buildings, buildings that looked like dollhouses from our vantage point, glinted silver in the last strokes of the late day sun. Thin streams of white smoke floated up from two smokestacks.

“Is that the Bucktooth Sawmill?” I asked.

“Yep. Half the men in town work for Hal Stevens, the owner.”

I stretched my neck up to get a better look. “I start my job there tomorrow. Not cutting wood or anything. I’ll be on office duties.”

Everly’s face whipped back toward me. “You’re shittin’ me. You’re going to be working there?”

“I found the job online and applied. I’d been working in an office in a city near The Grog, so I had some of the qualifications the owner was looking for. I need to earn some kind of wage up here, or I’ll have to head right back down the hill.”

A short laugh spurted from Everly’s lips, nearly making the gum pop from her mouth. “Holy crap. Did you send a picture with your resume, or did Hal just hire you sight unseen?”

“No picture.” I was a little hurt by her reaction to my working at the mill. “Why? I assure you I am qualified. I even have a degree. Of course it’s in anthropology, but it counts for something.”

“I’m not doubting your qualifications at all. It’s just—” She looked me up and down. “You’re so beautiful, and it’s just a big bunch of horny men working at that place.” She laughed again. “Something tells me we’re going to be hearing about a lot more accidents out there at the mill.” She noticed my expression. “Oh, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad, Tash. It’ll be fine. I’m jealous. I’m stuck working in my uncle’s dreary grocery store, and you’ll be out there on the river with all the men in town walking around shiny with sweat and glittering with sawdust. Although most are not any better with sawdust glitter, trust me. My guy, or at least the guy I hope to land someday, works out there on the water. His name is Finn, and he’s as big as he is sweet. Most people think he’s kind of weird because he’s super quiet, but he’s a big teddy bear. Besides, I like a man who doesn’t waste words or ramble on like—well, like me.” She tucked her tawny brown hair behind her ear, and I noticed a small sliver of the scar trailing up past her ear and stopping at her temple.

“I’ll be in the office. You are sweet, but you over exaggerate about my looks.”

“No. Trust me, I’m not. Take my advice and wear bulky sweaters to cover those curves. There is a severe shortage of women up here, and you—” She dropped the subject with a wave of her hand, and I was glad. “By the way, stay clear of the Wolfe brothers. Ah, you’re smart. You’ll figure that out without me having to tell you. They are sort of the dark, sinister element of the town, if you catch my drift. Dane, the older brother, is as crazy as a rabid bat on LSD. His brother, Jem, the more serious of the two, isn’t crazy, but he’s danger and trouble all rolled up in a beefy package. We went to school together, but when I got to school to start my sophomore year, Jem was gone. He’d been arrested for robbery and spent the rest of his teens in juvenile detention. He was gone for a few years doing heaven knows what, but he returned last year, looking just as troubled as always. It’s a shame though. He’s a real looker, like eye candy on steroids. I think the law could label him as an attractive nuisance when it comes to the girls in town, dangerous and hard to resist. Although, I’ve rarely had anything to do with the Wolfes because my uncle
forbids
it.” She dashed up some air quotes. “Uncle Landon is always looking out for me, but sometimes he’s just a little overprotective. I guess there was this whole incident when my Uncle Landon and Alcott Wolfe, Jem’s dad, were teens. My mom’s best friend, Elizabeth, was dating Alcott, and she died. It was kind of a weird accidental death. She fell into the river or that was how the story went. Anyhow, everyone decided it was Alcott’s fault, and the town has just always branded him as despicable. My mom always insisted he wasn’t all that bad, but she’s about the only person who ever said that.”

As she spoke I wondered just what kind of place I was heading to. The Grog had a lot of characters, but dark and sinister couldn’t be used to describe any of them.

“I’m pretty good at taking care of myself,” I said with only a stitch of confidence. My aunt had left me on my own plenty, but the sheltered, semi-utopia of The Grog had made that easy.

“I can tell you know how to take care of yourself. You’ll do fine.” Everly stretched her neck to see over the seats. “We’re coming to Trumble’s Bridge. Let’s exchange numbers.”

I blinked at her, not understanding at first what she meant.

“Oh my gosh, that’s right, you don’t have a phone.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s just as well. We get such spotty reception up in Blackthorn Ridge, you have to walk around outside like Lady Liberty with your phone held high in the air hoping you can catch some of those cellular gamma rays or whatever. Can I use one of your blank postcards to write down my address?”

“Absolutely.” I leaned down to fish out a postcard. “I’m staying at a motel on the highway until I can figure out a place to live.”

She sucked in an excited breath and patted her chest as she coughed back up the gum. “Jeez, it cleared my ears but nearly killed me. Anyhow, you need to come live with me. Oh wow, say yes. You have to say yes. My mom will be gone for at least six more months, and I’m all alone, and frankly, I hate being alone. My uncle comes to check on me all the time, but I think he’d appreciate it if I had a roommate. It would ease his worry. We could have so much damn fun.”

It didn’t take me long to decide. I hadn’t relished the idea of living alone in a strange town in a dingy motel. “I’d insist on paying some rent.”

“Great. It’s settled. I’m so freakin’ glad I stopped for that grape slush. I’d nearly gotten on an earlier bus. Must have been fate.” She scribbled her address down and handed me the card. “I’d come with you on your walk, but I’ve got to get to work. Once you step off the bus, turn right and just keep walking along the highway. You can’t miss Phantom Curve because of all the dried flowers and old, splintered crosses. Be careful on the highway.” She reached over and took my hand. “I hope this eases some of the stuff going on inside your heart. I know it helps some people to visit the spot.”

“Thanks.” In her mind, I was just here to see the place where my dad had taken his last breath. She had no idea that what I was really hoping to find was the piece of my soul that had somehow died with him. And something deep down, some little voice in my head, a voice that knew the truth but refused to let me in on the secret, told me I needed to start here, in Blackthorn Ridge.

The bus pulled to a stop in front of a red bench. No one else stood up to get off. I pulled my backpack onto my shoulder.

“After you’re done,” Everly said, “keep walking. Blackthorn is about two miles past the curve. Once you see the sign for the town, take a sharp left and walk two blocks. My uncle’s store is called Gregor’s Market. Stop in and I’ll fix you my specialty sandwich, chicken salad and pickles.”

“Sounds good. Thanks again, Everly. See you soon.”

The bus driver followed me out and opened the hatch. He pulled out my duffle bag and my guitar. I threw the strap around my shoulder and moved the guitar to my back.

“You’re a musician,” Everly called from the window she’d opened. “Can’t wait to hear you play.” She waved as the bus driver motioned for her to put up the window. 

The bus kicked up some diesel smelling dust as it roared past. I took a deep breath and turned toward the highway. I headed away from the small town that was just downhill from the bus stop. Everly had warned me Trumble’s Bridge was a grim place, and it was definitely that. But it had been the last stop before my journey to Blackthorn Ridge.

The forest ranger station that I had mysteriously shown up at when I was seven, lost confused and beyond terrified, was located just five miles north of Blackthorn Ridge. It was the reason I’d chosen the town as my starting point. Several cars sped past, one with an annoying driver who laid on his horn as he raced by, nearly startling me right over the edge of the road.

The tall evergreens thinned, and I could see straight down the side of the road to the valley below. In the distance, I could see the mill. It seemed the smoke had dissolved, and the activity had stopped. The mill had obviously closed for the day. Everly’s warning about working at the mill had not helped to boost my already waning confidence. My skills were good, but I hadn’t ever worked for anyone but Margaret Kipple, a wonderful woman with a thriving real estate business. Her son lived in The Grog, and even though she was a business woman and lived outside of the commune, she was, in her own way, one of us. I could only imagine how gruff a mill owner might be. But at least I’d found a friend and a place to stay. I looked forward to getting to know Everly better. She was a lifelong local. She knew a lot about the area. And, it seemed, she wasn’t afraid to tell any of the dirty local secrets.

I stopped and stared at the smooth curve of road in front of me. I hadn’t expected it, but my heart raced ahead of its normal pace and my stomach fluttered with nerves. As Everly had promised, there were several makeshift roadside memorials, including two crosses, handmade and decorated with fake flowers that were caked with roadside dirt. The white railing that ran along the curve was a different shade of white than the rest of the highway. It was easy to spot where the new railing had been welded to the old.

With the shoddy, sporadic internet service in The Grog, I’d made the trek to the local library at least a dozen times before starting my trip. I’d found seven separate fatal accidents blamed on the deadly piece of road. All of them had been trucks driving through town late at night. My dad, the third recorded fatality, had been driving his truck on an overnight delivery. Occasionally, he’d had to fill in for other truckers and then he’d be gone a few days. The truck had been filled with his usual cargo of wine and spirits. His trucking friends had always called him by the handle Rum Runner. He’d worked for the same liquor company for ten years and had managed to snag a local, daily delivery route soon after he was thrown into the role of single parent. A wonderful woman named Greta would come and babysit me while he worked. She had big round shoulders and a heavy accent and she made the best chicken soup when I was feeling sick. Whenever Dad was asked to go on a long route, she’d come with her bag of yarn and knitting needles and spend the night. She was the only
mom
in my life for the first six years, but she’d moved back to Europe to be with her own family. I was bounced from day-care to day-care while my dad worked.

I walked up to the first cross. The name Mikey the Bear was etched on it. I remembered an article about the man they’d called Bear because of his size and girth. He’d left behind a wife and three kids. At the base of the cross someone had strapped on a teddy bear with a piece of faded blue ribbon.

I looked down into the ravine and swallowed back the bitter taste in my throat. The blackened skeletal remains of several trucks littered the ground in a macabre display. The trees around the truck graveyard were young saplings, offspring of the adult trees surrounding the blackened pit. I wondered how often a layer of young trees had sprung up only to be charred into ash and turned to loam to wait for a seed to start again.

The newspaper article about my dad’s accident had noted that his truck had not fallen to the bottom of the ravine like the others. It had gotten jammed on a boulder. But with his combustible cargo, it had burst into flames. They’d found my dad’s charred remains inside.

I surveyed the area. There was only one boulder large enough to stop a rolling delivery truck. My throat thickened as I stared down at it. There was no sign of the wreck, and a carpet of brilliant green moss grew around the massive rock.

I reached into my backpack and pulled out the chocolate donut. It was smashed and looked more travel weary than I felt. It had been Dad’s favorite. Occasionally, I’d go with him on a long weekend delivery and we always took a box of chocolate donuts with us. We’d have a contest to see who could lick off the icing the fastest.

The rumble of motorcycles roaring in the distance interrupted the peace and quiet of the forest. Several squirrels popped out of the nearby shrubs as I threw my leg over the railing. A narrow, flat ledge of dirt ran parallel with the guardrail. I set down my guitar and bags.

Donut in hand, I headed cautiously down the side searching for solid footing with each step. On the third step, my foot slipped, and I slid down several inches before I could gain traction again. The terrain was cut into broad, weatherworn steps where the dirt would level off to form a flat shelf before dropping down sharply to the next ledge.

I walked along one
step
to an area that had an easier decline and nearly tripped over a small plaque that had been welded to a metal stake. The plaque was completely crusted with dirt and the writing was faded and hard to read. I picked up a rock and scraped away some of the debris, expecting to read another tribute to one of the victims. Instead, it turned out to be a tribute and a trailhead marker commemorating the nineteenth century fur trappers who had frequented the area. The aptly named Trappers’ Trail had been deemed a historical landmark.

I straightened and looked past the sign. The trail itself was mostly worn away by rain and wind. Forest litter and even some human litter covered what must have been a well-trod path a few hundred years earlier. A long winding path led down into the ravine and disappeared into a thick copse of trees. It might have been a historical landmark, but it wasn’t being maintained in the slightest. Of course, it might have been a little too much dark irony for a town to be celebrating its proud history right along the site where the notorious Phantom Curve had claimed so many lives. 

I traversed another slope of loose gravel and managed to reach the boulder with the donut still in hand, but it now had grit mixed in with the rainbow sprinkles. Overhead, the motorcycle engines echoed off the towering mountain slope.