Terry Odell - Mapleton 03 - Deadly Puzzles (6 page)

Gordon gripped the handrail to keep from falling. A mumbled
“Sorry” from Wardell carried up the stairwell. What was going on? Gordon paused, assessing the situation. He checked his own phone, and reception was still borderline, so odds were Wardell hadn’t received a phone call. But a text might have come through. However, Gordon was here as a civilian tourist, and to question Wardell didn’t seem appropriate. He took the final flight of stairs to his room, took the piss Metcalf had mentioned, then cleaned up, but instead of going downstairs, he detoured at the hallway of the second floor, cupping his flashlight with his hand, giving him just enough light to see the elk plaque that designated Wardell’s room.

He tried the knob. Not surprised that it turned—Wardell had left in a rush, after all—Gordon eased the door open enough to slip inside, then closed it behind him. He shone the light around the space. Typical bedroom with a queen bed much like the one in his room, but a deep green coverlet instead of blue. Wardell hadn
’t arrived with luggage, but Gordon checked the blanket chest and dresser drawers just the same. The top of the dresser held Wardell’s wallet and a handful of change. Nothing inside the drawers. In the bathroom, the towels were neatly folded on the towel bar, but damp.

With nothing more to learn, Gordon paused at the door, pressing his ear against it, listening to ensure there was no one in the hall. He eased the door open, checked the hallway, and then quietly shut the door behind him. Again, covering most of the flashlight
’s beam, he made his way toward the stairs.

As he passed Paula
’s room, he heard what sounded like an argument. Had Tyner come upstairs while Gordon had been
freshening up?
Did she have phone service? Or, was she talking to herself. Her normal conversation sounded confrontational most of the time.

Tempted to check Metcalf
’s room, Gordon was interrupted by footfalls coming up the stairs. He hurried to the landing. Mrs. Yardumian was on her way up.

“
Dinner’s ready,” she said, then went and knocked on Paula’s door, delivering the same message.

From below, lights blazed, and the humming of the refrigerator provided the background noise Gordon stopped hearing until it was gone. He turned off his flashlight, dawdling on the stairs, letting Mrs. Yardumian catch up.
“Is Orrin all right?” he asked. “He raced down the stairs a minute or two ago.”

“
I didn’t notice. I’ve been in the kitchen. Nobody said anything, so I assume he’s okay.”

Paula fell into line behind them.
“This better last,” she grumbled. “I’ve got my laptop charging.”

When they got to the living room, Paula veered off in the direction of the office.
“I should only be a few minutes, but don’t wait for me. I have to get this article posted before we lose power again.”

“
It normally takes a while before the router comes back on line,” Mrs. Yardumian said. “But I’ll keep your dinner warm.”

Without so much as a thank you, Paula ducked into the office and closed the door. Gordon surveyed the living room, which was empty. He stepped into the dining room and found Tyner and Metcalf seated at the table.
“Where’s Orrin?” Gordon asked.

“
Outside,” Tyner said. “Talking to Raffi, I think.” Tyner’s gaze flitted toward the door from the living room. Waiting for Paula?

Wardell preceded Yardumian into the room, dragging hands through hair already spiked in disarray.
“I need to get out there. There has to be some way. The storm isn’t as bad.”

Yardumian set a platter of grilled burgers and
brats onto the table. “I understand what you must be going through. But the storm hasn’t passed, and it’s dark. We don’t have the resources to search on a hunch. If the phones are working, I’ll check in with the State Patrol and the Sheriff’s Office for you.”

Mrs. Yardumian came into the room with assorted condiments as well as cheese, sliced onions, and tomatoes. She popped into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of coleslaw. Gordon, Tyner, and Metcalf assembled their sandwiches. Wardell halfheartedly stabbed a brat and set it on his plate. He squirted some mustard beside it, cut off a piece of the sausage, but left it lying there, and shoved back his chair.
“I’m going to see what Raffi is doing.”

Not much Yardumian could do, Gordon thought, but he remembered how he
’d felt when Angie had gone missing and couldn’t help but sympathize. Not knowing had to be the worst feeling of all. He lifted his burger and took a healthy bite. He hadn’t finished chewing when the lights went out again.

“
This is getting old,” Metcalf said.

“
I’m so sorry.” Mrs. Yardumian moved the platter of burgers aside and set a lantern in the middle of the table.

Paula stormed into the room and flopped into a chair.

“Get your
blog
filed?” Metcalf asked.

She glowered.
“All but the images,” she said. “Damn power went out before they finished uploading.”

“
So,” Metcalf went on. “You can make a living blogging? Any tips? I could use some money for new gear.”

“
First, you have to be able to write,” she said, then took a hamburger patty and cut it into tiny pieces.

“
Touché,” Tyner said.

Metcalf shru
gged and went back to his food.

Wardell strode into the room.
“He’s on hold. With the State Patrol. This is ridiculous.” He stopped by Metcalf’s chair. “How much to get me to where my car went off the road? The wind’s died down, so’s the snow. You’ve got a plow and a snowmobile.”

Metcalf eyed Wardell.
“Oh, so when it suits your purpose, my ear-splitting, air-polluting contraption’s all right?”

“
Shut up. Will you take me or not?”

“
Don’t be crazy,” Gordon said. “It’s dark, and you saw how steep the terrain was. A snowmobile’s not going to get down there.”

“
So, we’ll use his pickup. He has a plow. And chains, right? We can search more of the road.” Wardell’s hands were curled into fists, his jaw set.

“
And find what?” Gordon asked. “Once the weather clears, the cops can call out the search teams. I know it’s hard to hear, but there’s nothing they can do tonight. If we’d seen any evidence that your wife was somewhere near the car, that might be a different story.”

“
We didn’t look hard enough,” Wardell said. “And the snow covered everything.”

“
Precisely,” Gordon said. “And there’s been a hell of a lot more snow since then. The cops will investigate the scene of the accident, and that might give them a better starting point. If you go traipsing through there, you’re likely to destroy critical evidence.”

“
There you go with all that cop stuff again,” Wardell said.

“
Not cops. I told you, I’ve had experience with insurance companies,” Gordon said. “There are police reports and all sorts of hoops to jump through. Trust me, I’m a bureaucratic paper pusher. I know how these wheels grind.”

Yardumian returned carrying a bottle of Bushmills.
“The State Patrol said they’ll check your car, but the crash and the storm have slowed them down. They understand your concern, Orrin, but they can’t put their troopers at risk. Safety first.” He crossed to a cabinet and pulled out some highball glasses. “Anyone care for an after-dinner drink?”

Wardell waved it off.
“What do you say, Metcalf. You want to brave Mother Nature’s wrath?”

“
Two hundred bucks,” Metcalf said. “And you pay any damages if we go over the edge, hit a tree—or an elk.”

“
I didn’t
hit
the elk,” Wardell said. “The whole mess started because I tried
not
to hit it.”

Metcalf shrugged.

“I thought you lived for playing in the snow,” Wardell said. “You telling me you’re not up to keeping your car on the road?”

“
Better than you are, obviously. I got here with wheels. You didn’t.”

Gordon couldn
’t decide if he should let the two men leave together, go with them to run interference, or try harder to convince them to wait for morning. Part of him preferred option number one—where they’d probably get each other killed. He quashed that thought—but admitted it was tempting. Technically, he wasn’t sworn to protect
these
people. They weren’t the citizens of Mapleton.

Just because he hadn
’t taken an official oath in Tranquility Valley didn’t alter Gordon’s instincts. Still, his ingrained
protect and serve
ethic didn’t mean he had to put himself in the middle of things, did it?

He attempted once more to dissuade them from going out.
“I don’t think it’s a smart move.”

Metcalf laughed.
“Hell, if there’s one thing I rarely get called, it’s smart. All right, Orrin. You want to do something nutso, you’re on. You wearing thermals under those jeans?”

Wardell shook his head.
“The weather wasn’t supposed to do this. And the rest of my clothes are in my suitcase, which disappeared.”

“
I’ll go.” Gordon wasn’t sure he’d said the words aloud, but Metcalf’s look of surprise told him he had.

What the hell are you doing?

“Still going to cost two hundred,” Metcalf said. “Up front.”

“
I’ll pay.” Wardell ran up the stairs.

“
And I’ll go change,” Gordon said.

He paused at the second floor landing, entertaining the fleeting thought of checking Metcalf
’s room. No time for that now. If he’d kept his mouth shut, Gordon could have done some snooping while Metcalf was gone, not that he had any right to do so. Instead, he’d see if he could draw out anything more about who Nick Metcalf really was.

Probably exactly who he says he is, and meanwhile, you
’re stuck with his crude arrogance.

In his room, Gordon stripped down and re-dressed, starting with the thermals he
’d brought. The flannel-lined jeans went back on, then a turtleneck. He checked his Beretta, making sure he had a full magazine, secured it in his holster, then pulled a warmer sweater over that. Gloves, hat and parka should do it. He’d grab his emergency supplies from the SUV, not trusting Metcalf to have them, although arrogant or not, if the man spent the warm weather months as a guide, and the cold months out on his own, he ought to have at least a good first aid kit, ropes, and blankets.

He checked his phone for a text from Angie. Still nothing. But it wasn
’t even seven yet—she’d still be doing her party thing. He decided not to worry her by telling her what he was doing. Slipping the phone into its clip on his belt, he went downstairs.

Paula sat at the living room desk, staring at the dark computer monitor. She alternated glancing toward the closed office door with glaring at the darkened lamp, as if she could make it turn on with sheer willpower. Impatient tapping of her nails on the desk mixed with the hiss of the lanterns.

“You’re going out there?” she asked. “Somehow, I got the impression you were more sensible.”

Gordon lowered his voice.
“Orrin doesn’t stand a chance out there. We’ll go have a look around. I don’t expect to be out there long. But if it makes him feel better, yeah, I guess I’m not always the sensible sort.”

“
Looking out for your fellow man. Commendable.”

Had there been a modicum of sincerity in her tone, Gordon might have responded.

Metcalf clumped down the stairs. Wardell intercepted him, shoving a fistful of bills into the man’s hand. “Here’s your money.”

Metcalf counted the bills, then pocketed them without so much as a thank you. He shrugged into his parka, pulled on gloves and yanked a black balaclava over his face, looking like a winter Ninja.
“You ready?” he said to Gordon, tugging the black fleece away from his mouth.

“
Let’s do it,” Gordon said. “I’ve got a first aid kit and rope in my car.”

“
I have plenty,” Metcalf said. “And some good lights. I may like living on the edge, but I’m not stupid. Give me a hand unhitching the trailer?”

Yardumian came out of his office. Wardell leapt to his feet.
“Did you find out anything? Are they looking? Did they find her?”

“
Sorry, nothing yet,” Yardumian said. He shifted his gaze to Gordon. “They also
strongly
advise against efforts by non-trained personnel.”

“
I’m trained,” Metcalf said. “Technically, I’m not certified in search and rescue, but I’m a licensed guide and know what I’m doing. Gordon here’s going to do whatever I say, aren’t you, Gord?”

Gordon felt like borrowing Metcalf
’s poker tell by looking at his watch—not that he wore one since his vision tanked—before saying, “Sure thing.” He doubted Metcalf would have caught someone throwing his own tell at him.

Metcalf addressed Wardell, his tone more civil this time.
“Hey. We’re going to go looking, but don’t expect miracles. We’re not going to put
our
lives on the line. The weather gets worse, or we don’t find anything in an hour, we’re coming back. Understand?”

Wardell nodded.
“Thanks.”

Metcalf adjusted his balaclava over his nose and mouth, with only his eyes showing. Gordon sensed excitement glistening in the brown orbs.

“Wait.” Mrs. Yardumian, flashlight in one hand, plastic bag in the other, scurried across the room. “Power Bars and chocolate,” she said.

Definitely the Rose Kretzer of Tranquility Valley. Gordon accepted it with thanks.
“Let’s hope we’re back before we need these.”

“
Prepare for the worst, hope for the best,” she said.

“
I’ll get the snow blower,” Yardumian said.

Metcalf opened the door, and Gordon stepped onto the porch. Even in its relative shelter, the cold grabbed him, stinging his nose and cheeks. His eyes teared. He pulled the hood of his parka over his head and yanked the drawstrings tight. Gloved hands fumbled with the switch for his Maglite. With a quick glance to gather a bead on Metcalf
’s truck, he tucked his head.

A generous foot of snow covered the steps. He found the rail, brushed the snow away with a gloved hand, and stepped cautiously down. The weight of his Beretta against his body offered reassurance, a
wholeness
. The trooper’s words ran through Gordon’s head. Was he heading off into the freezing night with a killer?