Beyond a Doubt

  Head Ranger Gary Landorf was a slight man in his early fifties. His quick movements and keen dark eyes had always reminded Kade of a ferret. He ran the park with an iron fist that seemed out of keeping with his small stature.

  “I need to see you a minute, Kade.” His boss strolled into the center. “Everything looks ready to roll.”

  “We’re ready, sir.”

  “Got the coffee going?” Ranger Landorf’s shrewd gaze skittered over Kade’s face. “You look harried. Something wrong?”

  Kade went to the small refreshment table by the door and poured two cups of coffee. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about the body at the lighthouse, then decided it wouldn’t matter. The news would hit the paper by tomorrow anyway.

  “Bree Nicholls and I discovered a skeleton in her basement this morning.”

  Landorf’s eyes widened as he accepted the coffee. “You seem to have a remarkable propensity for sniffing out crime. A skeleton, eh? Well, I hope it’s nothing that will distract you from your real job.” His voice held a note of warning.

  “No, sir,” Kade said.

  “We’ve got a situation I’m putting you in charge of. I’m getting more and more reports of break-ins at the cabins on National Forest property. Seems to be many more than usual. I’ve gotten five reports just this morning, most from folks who have showed up to rent them.”

  “Anything missing, or just vandalism?”

  “Neither really. Just evidence of someone having been there. Almost as if they’re either living there or looking for something. I want you to find out what’s going on and who’s behind it.”

  Landorf dug some papers out of his pocket and extended them to Kade. “Most are in the White Lake area near the Superior beach. It’s remote, so maybe we’re just dealing with kids who think they can get away with it.”

  From his boss’s tone, Kade could tell he had no choice. He took the reports. “This will eat up quite a bit of time I meant to spend on the rehabilitation center. We’re due to announce its opening in a few weeks.”

  “That’s insignificant compared to this other problem. It will wait if it has to.”

  Kade wasn’t about to give up his pet project. He’d been trying to get this accomplished for more than eight months. “We’ll be getting calls for orphaned baby wildlife any time. I’m not nearly ready to take care of them yet.” Last year he’d received at least fifty calls from people wanting help caring for orphaned wildlife. He’d taken some in at his own home, but the need was more than he could handle on his own. “I’d like your permission to construct a few pens to house any baby wildlife that are brought in. I want to do more than aid the endangered animals.”

  Landorf frowned. “I’ve given you some leeway on this project against my better judgment. It’s one thing to help endangered species or those indigenous to this area, quite another to take in nuisance animals like starlings or squirrels. They proliferate and overrun endangered species’ habitats. I want to give some more thought to what we allow to come into the center. We’ll reevaluate it next year and maybe expand it then. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  Kade gritted his teeth and opened his mouth to object.

  The head ranger held up his hand. “That is all I’m prepared to say right now, Ranger Matthews.” He turned to go then paused. “There’s one more thing. The horses we bought for patrol have arrived. I’ve assigned you a bay gelding by the name of Moses. Once the snow melts, you can take him out. You might stop in at the new stable and make his acquaintance.”

  Kade pressed his lips together. His boss slapped him with one hand and threw him a bone with the other.

  He stuffed the papers from Landorf in his pocket. “I’ll see what I can find out.” It was all he could do to hold his tongue as Landorf smiled with satisfaction and exited the center. As soon as the door was shut, Kade dropped onto a chair and raked a hand through his hair. Now what? Kade had always tried to be a team player, but standing aside now was more than he could do. The wildlife orphan center was too important.

  Landorf was an area homegrown boy. He’d gone away for ten years and come back a year ago. His familiarity with the area gave him the belief that he knew all there was to know about the Kitchigami Wilderness and how it should be run. All that talk about giving it some more thought was just evidence of Landorf’s plan to bury it. He knew perfectly well Kade wouldn’t spend all the center’s resources on nonindigenous animals.

  Kade reached for the phone then drew back his hand. The last thing he wanted was to come off as a disgruntled employee. He would think about what he wanted to say before he called.

  He dug out the papers Landorf had given him and read through the reports. The tract of campsites and small cabins near White Lake overlooked a stretch of beach that saw few visitors, even in the summer. It was going to be tough to find the culprits, though his boss was probably right about the teenagers.

  He frowned. The only items that seemed to be missing were things like bottled water and beef jerky. Other than jimmied locks, nothing had been damaged, except for snow damage to one cabin after its door had been left open. He got up. No time like the present to see what he could find out.

  Kade fired up his snowmobile and rode out to White Lake. On his way he passed four men, also on snowmobiles. They didn’t wave when he passed, which was unusual, and Kade looked them over as he went by. They seemed careful to keep their faces averted. Kade thought about stopping to see what they were up to but then gunned his machine and kept on going. There was no law against wanting privacy.

  It took him nearly an hour to navigate the winding snowmobile paths. White Lake was small, only a mile in diameter. It was a favorite haunt of trout fishermen and wildlife enthusiasts, in part because it was so remote that only the truly dedicated came. Nestled in massive groves of oak and aspen, the lake was only a two-mile hike from a beautiful Superior beach.

  Kade glanced at the first spot on his list. The cabin was on a ridge that had panoramic views of both Superior and White lakes. It also had suffered the most vandalism. He stopped the snowmobile in front of the small cabin. The door had been so badly damaged that it hung at an angle from the doorframe. Ice coated the linoleum floor. The moisture had caused the floor to buckle and Kade felt as though he was rolling over hills as he walked across it. Small animals, mistaking the open door for a welcome, had been busy at work as well. He saw piles of raccoon droppings as well as teeth marks on the table legs. Foam had been pulled from the couch and easy chair by the fireplace. Some damage had come from humans. Tossed pillows, scattered food items, and ripped draperies told of a deliberate vandalism animals couldn’t match.

  Kade kicked aside a pillow someone had dragged from the bedroom and went to the kitchen, a small area hardly bigger than a closet and just as dingy. Cabinet doors hung open, a feat small animals would be unlikely to be able to perform. Several packages of beef jerky had been ripped open, and the empty wrappers lay on the wooden counter.

  Kade felt the back of his neck prickle and whirled around, but no one was there. He was getting spooked and wasn’t quite sure why. Shaking off the uneasiness, he went through a doorway into the bedroom. Cigarette butts and empty soda cans littered the floor, but he couldn’t tell if they were from the upended trash can in the corner or from the intruder—or intruders. There was no way of knowing if the break-ins had been caused by one person or several, though if the cigarette butts and soda cans were any indication, it might be as many as four or five.

  He took a plastic bag out of his pocket and picked up some butts with gloved fingers. Several different brands of cigarettes had been smoked, another indication that a group was responsible.

  One brand looked familiar, and his hand froze in midair. This was the type of cigarette he’d found in Lauri’s car. He’d confronted her about them, but she claimed she wasn’t smoking. They belonged to a friend, she’d said. But the shade of lipstick on the butt in his hand looked suspiciously like his sister’s.

 
He pressed his lips together then dropped the bag in his pocket and went to the door. When he got outside, he saw a glint in the trees. Shading his eyes with his hand, he stared at the spot. Moments later he saw a movement, then the sound of a snowmobile engine roared to life. He saw a flash of red as the snowmobile sped away, too fast to tell what make or model.

  Someone had been watching him. He slogged through the snowdrifts to where he’d seen the movement. There were footprints in the snow, size twelve just like Kade wore, by the looks of them. Several cigarette butts lay on the ground, and he picked them up. Maybe they would match some from the cabin.

  This was getting stranger by the minute. There was nothing in the cabin. But someone watching it implied something more sinister than kids out on a lark.

  He mounted his snowmobile and drove to the next report. This one was even more curious. It was closer to Superior than to White Lake. A small trailer, it showed signs of having been properly closed up for winter, with pipes drained and everything sealed. But the toilet held water, though nothing came from the taps in the bathroom and the kitchen. Very strange. Someone must have poured water from a bucket into the toilet in order to use it.

  Outside, Kade found another cigarette butt that looked like the brand he’d found in the woods. He went to the next report and the next. They were all similar. Small signs of winter visitors, and always the cigarette butts. Either it was a very popular brand of cigarette or the same person had been at each of these locations.

  Feeling grim, Kade walked back to the snowmobile. He resolved to question Lauri the minute he got home.

  5

  Bree parked the Jeep behind the sheriff’s car. The Siller house was an aging two-story with asbestos siding and crumbling green shingles. The once-galvanized roof was more rust than shine, but the fence surrounding the property was in good shape, and the shutters were painted, as was the porch, evidence that the Sillers cared about aesthetics. Rather, Karen cared. Quentin only cared about his beer and his hunting.

  The people swarming the yard had packed down the snow underfoot. Karen Siller was on the porch, the skin around her dark eyes blotchy from crying. Her dog, Patch, pressed against her leg as though he didn’t know what to make of all the people invading his territory. Mason stood beside Karen, jotting down notes in his small leather notebook.

  “He’s taken Gretchen,” Karen said after Bree embraced her. Her slim shoulders shook with the intensity of her weeping; then she pulled away and fumbled in the pocket of her ratty sweater for a tissue.

  “What happened?” Bree wanted to cry with her.

  Karen nodded. “I heard a noise and came out to the front yard. Gretchen had been on the porch writing in her diary. She got it for her eighth birthday and loves to scribble in it. When I got there, I saw Quentin’s car speeding away. Gretchen was in the passenger seat.” She clenched her hands into fists. “I had a feeling he was going to do something like this. I should never have pressed charges in the first place. Who knows where he’s taking her!”

  Though there was no trace of accusation in Karen’s voice, Bree wanted to look away. She’d urged Karen to put a stop to the abuse. Maybe this was her fault. But what choice did they have?

  “At least she’s with her father and not some maniac who wants to hurt her,” Bree pointed out. But her words failed to ease the torment in Karen’s eyes, and Bree couldn’t blame her. Who knew what Quentin would do? So far he hadn’t harmed his daughter, but if he got frustrated enough, he was liable to do anything. They had to find the little girl.

  “I don’t suppose the window was down?” Bree asked without much hope.

  Karen brightened. “No, but the back passenger window is broken. Quentin put his fist through it one day, and he never had it fixed. That helps, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure does!” This was more than Bree could have hoped for. The scent drafts would drift out the window and leave a trace the dogs could follow. “We have a chance to pick up the scent. Let’s get the dogs on it. Do you have a scent article?”

  Karen nodded and held out a plastic bag. Bree opened it then also opened the two paper bags inside to reveal some socks. Though Karen had been a search-and-rescue student of Bree’s for only two months, she’d obviously remembered the training about how to collect scent articles.

  “She wore those last night,” Karen said. “I wish Patch was up to speed. I would have gotten him right on the trail. But she doesn’t have Samson’s nose.” Karen’s SAR dog, a ten-month-old Great Dane, looked up at the sound of her name.

  “Not many dogs do,” Naomi said. “Charley is good, but Samson is in a league by himself.”

  Samson whined as if to ask why they were talking about him. He pressed his cold nose against Bree’s hand. Dressed in his orange vest, he moved restlessly. Samson loved nothing more than searching—except Davy and Bree.

  Bree forced her attention back to the job at hand. Kneeling beside Samson and Charley, she held the bags open under their noses. The dogs sniffed eagerly then strained at their leashes.

  She tossed the Jeep’s keys to Mason. “You want to follow us in the Jeep?”

  He nodded and headed to her old red Cherokee.

  Bree and Naomi led the dogs to the street. “Search!” Bree commanded. Holding on to their leashes, the women let the dogs drag them along the pavement until they deduced the direction of Quentin’s car. Then they piled in the Jeep and went to the next crossroad. They got out of the vehicle again and let the dogs determine whether Quentin had turned at this street or not. The dogs led them due east out of town.

  Mason gunned the Jeep out past the city limits. It was a search in fits and starts, as they had to stop and check the direction at every crossroad. Out of Kitchigami County, he turned south on Highway 26, which led to Mass City. Evidently Quentin’s tactic was to stay on the highway and drive straight out of the U.P. as fast as his wheels could roll. By dusk they were in Rockland. The dogs indicated Quentin and Gretchen had gone on toward the small town, and Bree wondered if they were stopping for supper or gas.

  “I doubt he would take time to go in a café to eat,” she told Mason. “I bet he’ll just grab snacks at the convenience store. Let’s check there.”

  Moments later Mason pulled into a gas station, a small Standard station with aging pumps. The dogs started whining and trying to get out of the Jeep as soon as Mason stopped the vehicle behind a beat-up brown Chevy Cavalier. Rust sprouted on the trunk lid like brown bulbs trying to come up through hard Michigan shale.

  “That’s his car,” Naomi whispered to Bree. “I saw him come by once when I dropped Karen home.”

  “Stay here,” Mason said. He got out of the driver’s seat and walked to the car.

  Bree couldn’t see any small head in the passenger seat. Maybe Gretchen was in the store with her dad. Too bad. It would be easier to handle this if the little girl was separated from Quentin. It would be traumatic for her to see her father being taken into custody.

  Ignoring Mason’s admonition to stay in the vehicle, Bree opened her door and got out. Mason frowned at her then shrugged and jerked his head to signal her to go ahead of him.

  “Get Gretchen outside,” he mouthed.

  She nodded and stepped into the convenience store. Only one small room, it held an assortment of candy and snack offerings, a few bottles of oil and transmission fluid, and a rack of outdated magazines. Gretchen was perusing the candy aisle, but Bree saw no sign of Quentin Siller. She watched the little girl a minute. Dressed in faded jeans, Gretchen wore her brown hair in two braids tied with red ribbon, and a small frown crouched between her eyes. She probably didn’t know what to make of her dad taking her off like that.

  Bree needed to get the little girl out of here. Stepping quickly to Gretchen’s side, she put a hand on the child’s shoulder. “You never know who you’ll run into in the strangest places,” she said in a cheery voice.

  Gretchen’s face brightened when she saw Bree, and she hugged her. “Where’s Samson?” she asked.
“Are you on a search-and-rescue mission?”

  “Sure am. Hey, why don’t you come out and say hello to Samson and Charley? They’d love to see you.” They’d probably lick her to death. The dogs loved Gretchen.

  “Okay.” She followed Bree to the door. With one hand on the doorknob and the other on Gretchen, she heard a door squeak on its hinges, and her stomach tightened. From the corner of her eye, she saw Quentin Siller emerging from the men’s room.

  He wore a gray T-shirt that said BORN TO FISH. The scruffy beard made him look as though he’d been fishing for the past week. His gaze darted around the room, and when he saw her, his mouth opened like a bass with a hook in its jaw.

  “Hey there. What are you doing with my daughter?”

  Bree quickly pushed Gretchen through the door and pulled it shut behind her. Propelling the little girl past Mason, she got her in the Jeep as the sheriff blocked Quentin’s charge through the door.

  “Is Dad mad? Maybe I should go back.”

  “No, he’s fine. Your mom sent me to find you.”

  Naomi immediately positioned herself so Gretchen couldn’t see what was going on and began to talk loudly. Bree left the child in Naomi’s competent care and went back to see if Mason needed her.

  “You’re under arrest on kidnapping charges,” Mason said calmly, slapping a set of handcuffs on Quentin. “Plus you violated the restraining order. Man, you’re in a lot of trouble. Why didn’t you think about your daughter before you pulled a stunt like this?”

  Quentin failed to look repentant. “You can’t lock me up. She’s my own daughter.”

  “I can and I will. There’s a federal law prohibiting parents from taking their children without permission from the custodial parent.” Mason’s tone was rough and impatient.

  “You want me to wait until your deputy gets here?” Bree asked.

  Mason motioned with his head. “There he is now.”

  Bree turned to see Doug Montgomery ease his bulk from the sheriff’s car. His massive head reminded her of a Rottweiler, and today he looked just as pugnacious. His holster slung low on his hips, he lumbered toward them.