The Search

In the shabby excuse for a rented cabin squatting in the magnificence of the Cascade Mountains, Francis Eckle read Perry’s letter. They had, many months before, determined the route, the timing, the towns, colleges, burial sites.

Or Perry had, he thought.

The preplanning made it a simple matter to obtain a mail drop for the letters Perry smuggled out of prison. The answers returned by a similar method—mailed to Perry’s minister, who believed in his repentance.

In the beginning, he’d been thrilled by the correspondence, the exchange of details and ideas. Perry’s understanding, guidance and approval meant so much.

Someone, finally someone who saw him.

Someone who didn’t require the mask, the pretense, but instead recognized the chains required to keep them in place. Someone, at last someone who helped him gather the courage to break those chains and release what he was.

A man, a friend, a partner who offered to share the power that came from throwing off the shackles of rules and behavior and embracing the predator.

The teacher had become a willing student, eager to learn, to explore all the knowledge and experiences he’d so long denied himself. But now he believed the time had come for commencement.

Time to move beyond the boundaries and the tenets he’d been so meticulously taught.

They were rules, after all, and rules no longer applied.

He studied the two fingers of whiskey in his glass. Perry had decreed there could be no drugs, no alcohol, no tobacco during the journey. The body and mind remained pure.

But Perry was in prison, he thought, and sipped with the pleasure of rebellion. The journey no longer belonged to him.

It was time to make his own mark—or the next mark, as he’d detoured from the plan already by sending the Bristow bitch a little present.

He wished he could have seen her face when she opened the mailer. He wished he could have smelled her fear.

But that would come, soon enough.

He’d detoured as well by renting the cabin—an expense dearer than a dingy motel room, but he felt it earned the cost with its privacy.

He needed privacy for the next detour from his mentor’s carefully drawn route.

Perry had given him a new life, a new freedom, and he would honor that by finishing what his mentor hadn’t and killing Fiona. But there was much to be done in the meantime, and it was time to test himself.

To celebrate himself.

He took another sip of whiskey. He’d save the rest until after. He moved quietly through the room into the bathroom where he removed his clothes, admired his body. He’d removed all the hair from it the night before, and enjoyed the smooth, sleek skin, the muscles he’d rigorously toned. Perry was right about strength and discipline.

He stroked himself, pleased anticipation hardened him, before sliding on a condom. He didn’t plan to rape—but plans could change. But in any case, protection was key, he thought as he drew on leather gloves.

Time to let himself go. To explore new ground.

He stepped into the bedroom, switched on a low light and studied the pretty girl tied to the bed. He wished he could rip off the duct tape over her mouth, hear her screams, her pleas, her gasps of pain. But sounds carried so he’d have to content himself with imagining them.

In any case, her eyes begged him. Her eyes screamed. He’d let the drug wear off so she’d be aware, so she’d struggle—so her fear would perfume the air.

He smiled, pleased to see she’d abraded her wrists and ankles fighting the cords. The plastic under her crackled as she cringed and writhed.

“I haven’t introduced myself,” he said. “My name is Francis Xavier Eckle. For years I taught useless cunts like you who forgot me five minutes after walking out of my class. No one saw me because I hid myself. But as you see”—he spread his arms as tears spilled out of her eyes—“I stopped hiding. Do you see me? Nod your head like a good girl.”

When she nodded, he stepped to the side of the bed. “I’m going to hurt you.” He felt the heat spread in his belly as she struggled, as her wild pleas piped against the tape. “You want to know why? Why me? you’re thinking. Why not you? What makes you so special? Nothing.”

He got on the bed, straddled her—considered the rape dispassionately as she tried to kick, to turn. And rejected it, at least for the moment.

“But you’re going to be special. I’m going to make you famous. You’ll be on TV, in the newspapers, all over the Internet. You can thank me later.”

Balling his gloved hands, he used his fists.

FIONA HESITATED AND BACKTRACKED.Her bag was packed and in the car. She’d made arrangements for everything. She’d left lists—long lists, she admitted—carefully detailed. She’d devised Plan Bs for a number of items—Plan Cs for a few.

Still, she went over everything in her head, again, looking for anything she’d left out, miscalculated, needed to cover more fully.

“Go away,” Simon ordered.

“I’ve still got a few minutes. I think maybe I should—”

“Get the hell out of here.” To solve the matter, he took her arm and steered her through the house.

“If one of the dogs gets sick or injured—”

“I have the name and number of the vet who’s covering for Mai. I have your number—hotel, cell, Mai’s cell, Sylvia’s cell. So does James. We have everything. In triplicate. Between us I think we can handle anything short of nuclear holocaust or alien invasion.”

“I know, but—”

“Shut up. Go away. If I’m hauling four dogs home with me this morning, I need to get started.”

“I really appreciate it, Simon. I know it’s a lot. James will pick my guys up—”

“After work. It’s on the list, with the time, his cell phone, his house phone. I think all that’s missing is what he’ll be wearing. Beat it. I’m finally going to have three days without having to listen to you.”

“You’ll miss me.”

“No I won’t.”

She laughed, then she crouched down to pet the dogs, to hug them. “You’ll miss me, won’t you, boys? Poor things having to spend the day with King Cranky. It’s okay. James will save you later. Be good. Be good boys.”

She straightened. “Okay, I’m going.”

“Thank Christ.”

“And thank you for letting them hang out with Jaws during the day.” She gave him a quick buss on the cheek, opened the car door.

He spun her around, yanked her into a long, hard kiss. “Maybe I’ll miss you a little, if a stray thought of you happens to cross my mind.” He brushed her hair behind her ears. “Have a good time.” Then he grabbed her hand. “Really. Have a good time.”

“I will. We will.” She got in the car, then leaned her head out the window. “Don’t forget to—”

He used the palm of his hand to push her head back in.

“Okay. Okay. Bye.”

He watched her go with the dogs plopped down beside him. “All right, guys, it’s man-time. Scratch your balls if you’ve got them.”

He walked back to the house, did a quick walk-through check. “It never smells like dog in here,” he muttered. “How does she pull that off ?”

He locked up, strode to the truck. “Everybody in. Going for a ride.”

They scrambled up, except for Newman, jockeying for the passenger side or the narrow bench seat behind it.

“Come on. Gotta go,” Simon ordered as the dog sat and studied him. “She’ll be back in a couple days.” He patted the seat. “Up, come on, Newman. Don’t you trust me?”

The dog seemed to consider the question, then apparently took Simon at his word and jumped in.

He had a stray thought of her—maybe a couple of them—as he worked through the morning. He ate lunch with his feet dangling off the porch of the shop, tossing bits of salami (Fiona wouldn’t approve) to the dogs and watching them field. He took another twenty minutes, tossing sticks and balls on the beach, laughing his ass off when every one of them bounded into the water.

He went back to work, radio blasting and four wet dogs snoring their way dry in the sunlight.

He didn’t hear them bark, not with AC/DC screaming, but looked over as a shadow crossed his doorway.

He set his tool aside and picked up the remote to cut the music when Davey stepped in.

“Got yourself a gang of dogs out there.”

“Fiona’s away for a couple days.”

“Yeah, I know. Girl trip with Syl and Mai. I thought I’d run by her place a couple times a day, just to check. Listen . . . What is that?”

Simon ran a hand down the side of the stump. He’d stripped off the bark, done the first of some rough sanding. It stood, roots up.

“It’s a sink base.”

“It looks like a naked, upside-down tree stump.”

“It does now.”

“I gotta tell you, Simon, that’s pretty f**king weird.”

“Maybe.”

Davey wandered the shop. “You’ve got a lot going on in here,” he commented, winding around chairs, tables, the frame of a breakfront, doors and drawers glued and sporting clamps. “I saw the built-ins you did for the Munsons. They’re nice. Real nice. Hey. This is a beauty here.”

Like Davey, Simon studied the wine cabinet he’d designed for Fiona. “It’s not finished. You didn’t come by to critique my work.”

“No.” Face grim now, Davey shoved his hands in his pockets. “Shit.”

“They found her. The girl who got taken last week.”

“Yeah. Early this morning. Crater Lake National Park. He kept her longer than the others, so the feds thought maybe she got away, or it wasn’t the same guy. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe. Jesus, Simon, he beat the hell out of her before he killed her. Perry never messed them up that way. The other three we know of weren’t beaten. But everything else matches. The scarf, the position of the body. She had the number four written on her hand.”

Because he wanted to pummel something, Simon walked over, opened his shop fridge. He took out two Cokes. Tossed one to Davey.

“He’s finding his own way. It’s what you do. You learn, you emulate, then you create your own style. He’s experimenting.”

“Jesus, Simon.” Davey rubbed the cold can over his face before popping the top. “I wish I didn’t think you were right on that. I wish I didn’t think the same thing.”

“Why are you telling me about this?”

“I want your take. Do we contact Fee, let her know?”

“No. She needs a couple days away from this.”

“I’m with you on that, too, but it’s going to be all over the news.”

“Call Syl. Tell her, and tell her to . . . shit, make a girl pact—no news, TV, papers, Internet. Nothing to . . . you know, disturb the nirvana or estrogen field or whatever the hell. Syl will know how to handle it.”

“Yeah, she will. That’s good. That girl, Simon, she was barely twenty. Her dad was killed in an accident about two years ago. She was an only child. Her mother lost her husband and now her only child. It makes me sick.”

He shook it off, gulped down Coke. “I guess you’ll be talking to Fee every night.”

He hadn’t planned to. It seemed so . . . high school. “Yeah. I’ll be talking to her. She’s fine there.”

But he knew as he went back to work, he’d worry until she was back home again.

FIONA ALL BUT floated back to her villa, gliding on bliss and massaged feet. She stepped inside where the scent of flowers and the subtle strains of New Age music embraced her. She drifted through the living area with its sink-into-me furniture and glossy wood, then straight out to the pretty flower-decked terrace where Sylvia basked in dappled sunlight.

“I’m in love.” Sighing dreamily, Fiona dropped down onto a chaise. “I’m in love with a woman named Carol who’s stolen my heart with her magic hands.”

“You look relaxed.”

“Relaxed? I’m a noodle. The happiest noodle in the Pacific Northwest. How about you?”

“I’ve been detoxed, scrubbed, rubbed, polished. My biggest decision is what to have for dinner tonight. I’m considering living here for the rest of my days.”

“Want a roommate? God, Syl, why haven’t we ever done this before?”

Sylvia, her masses of hair messily pinned on her head, her rose-shaded glasses covering her eyes, set aside the fashion magazine open on her lap. “We fell into the busy-women-with-no-time-to-indulge-themselves trap. We’ve broken out of the cage now. And I have a decree.”

“At your command.”

“During our much-deserved indulgence, we’ll read only entertaining fiction and/or glossy magazines.”

She tapped the cover of the one she’d set on the table.

“We will watch only light, frothy, fun movies—if we so desire movies—on TV. We will banish all thoughts of work, worry and responsibility from our minds. Our only concerns, our only decisions during this time out of time will be room service versus restaurant, and the color of polish we want during our pedicure.”

“I’m behind that. I’m so behind that I’m inside it. Mai’s not back yet?”

“We crossed paths of bliss in the relaxation room. She said she was going to take a swim.”

“If I’d tried that, I’d have sunk like a stone and drowned.” Fiona started to stretch, then decided it took too much energy. “Carol balanced my chi, or maybe she aligned my chakras. I don’t know how, but having my chi balanced or chakras aligned results in something beyond ecstasy.”

Mai glided out wearing one of the spa’s cushy robes, slid into a chair. “Ladies. Is this a dream?” she wondered. “Is this all just a dream?”

“It’s our reality, for three glorious days.” Sylvia rose, wandered inside.

“I had the Mind, Body, Spirit Renewal. I’ve been renewed.” Mai tipped her face up, closed her eyes. “I want to be renewed every day for the rest of my life.”

“Syl and I are going to live here, and I’m going to marry Carol.”

“Good. I’ll be your permanent houseguest. Who’s Carol?”

“Carol used her magic hands on my chi or chakras—possibly both—and I have to have her for my own, for always.”

“Richie renewed me. I could marry Richie, then I could turn my back on the downward spiral of online dating.”

“I thought you liked the dentist.”

“Periodontist. I did, enough for a second date where he spent over an hour talking about his ex-wife. She was a bitch, never got off his back, spent too much money, scalped him in the divorce, et cetera, et cetera. Sam the periodontist goes down the tubes with Robert the psychologist, Michael the insurance exec and Cedric the lawyer/unpublished novelist.”

“You’re better off with Richie.”

“Don’t I know it.”

They both glanced at the doorway, and Fiona’s eyes popped wide as Sylvia came out carrying a silver tray.

“Champagne? Is that champagne?”

“Champagne and chocolate strawberries. I decided when three busy women and great, good friends finally indulge themselves it needs to be celebrated.”

“We’re going to have champagne on the terrace of our suite at the spa!” Fiona clasped her hands together. “It is a dream.”

“Do we deserve it?”

“Damn right.” Mai applauded when Sylvia popped the cork.

Once Sylvia poured the glasses, Mai raised hers. “To us,” she said, “and nobody else.”

With a laugh, Fiona clinked. “That absolutely works for me.” She took the first sip. “Oh, oh, yeah. Syl, this was inspired. It’s like the glitter on top of the shine.”

“We need to make a pact. We do this every spring. Come here, get renewed, balanced, drink champagne and be girls.” Mai held up her glass again.

“I’m in.” Fiona tapped glasses, grinned while Sylvia did the same. “I don’t even know what time it is. I can’t think of the last time I didn’t know, or had to think about, my schedule. I actually had one outlined for here. What time to get up to hit the gym, what classes to take, how long I’d have to take a swim or use the steam room before a treatment.”

She mimed tearing a page from a book and tossing it away. “There’s no room for organized Fee here. Spa Fee does what she likes when she likes.”

“I bet Spa Fee’s up before seven and trotting down to the gym.”

“That may be.” Fiona nodded at Mai. “But Spa Fee won’t be on a schedule. And it’s all because of the amazing Carol. Five minutes on the table and I stopped wondering how the dogs were doing with Simon, how Simon was doing with the dogs, how the rest of the unit would handle it if they got a call while we are here. What the police are . . . No,” she decided. “I’m not even mentioning that one. Everything just blurred into a quiet ecstasy, which I’m going to perpetuate now by having more champagne.”

They all had more.

“How’s the dating going, Mai?” Sylvia asked.

“I was telling Fee about the thumbs-down on the periodontist. Ex-wife-obsessed,” she explained.

“Never good.”

“First guy,” Mai continued, ticking off on her fingers, “obviously going off prepared remarks, and when I finally got him off-script, he was not only dull but so narrow-minded I’d be surprised if any new thought could squeeze in for consideration. Guy two, slick, self-absorbed and hoping for a quick bang. Guy next? A strange and unappealing combination of guys one and two. I’m going to give it one more shot, but I think this experiment has failed.”

“It’s too bad. Not even a potential casual dinner companion?” Sylvia asked.

“Not for me. I tell you, the most interesting conversations I had with the male of the species in the past couple of weeks have been with Tyson.”

“Sheriff Tyson?” Fiona broke in. “From San Juan?”

“Yeah. He’s looking into getting a dog, a rescue. He called me for some advice and input.”

“Really?” Fiona picked up a strawberry, studied it. “And there aren’t any vets on San Juan Island?”

“Sure, but I’ve got rescue dogs.” She shrugged. “It helps to talk to somebody who’s had the experience.”

“You said conversations,” Sylvia pointed out. “Plural.”

“Yeah, we’ve talked a few times. He was thinking a Lab or Lab mix because he likes Fee’s dogs. But then he thought, maybe just hit the shelter and see how it went, or go online and check out what’s available and who needs a home. It’s sweet,” she added. “He’s putting a lot of time and thought into it.”

“And checking in with you.” Fiona exchanged a glance with Sylvia.

“That’s right. I’m going to go with him to check out the shelter once we get back from Spa Bliss.”

“He asked you to go with him to the animal shelter?”

“A little professional and moral support,” she began, then goggled at Fiona. “Come on! It’s not like he asked me out for a moonlight cruise. It’s not like that.”

“A man, a single man, calls you multiple times to talk to you about one of your pet interests—pun intended,” Fiona added, “progresses to having you go out with him. But it’s not like that?” Fiona gestured to Sylvia. “Opinion, please.”

“It’s absolutely and completely like that.”

“But—”

“Your radar’s skewed,” Sylvia continued. “You’ve been focused on meeting strangers, looking for a spark and common interests so you missed the approach of a man you already know.”

“No, I . . . God, wait a minute.” She closed her eyes, held up her finger as she reviewed conversations, tones. “Holy shit. You’re right. It never blipped on my screen. Hmmm.”

“Hmmm, good or hmmm uh-oh?” Fiona asked.

“I think . . . good. He’s interesting, funny when he’s not being official, steady and a little shy. And nice-looking. And a little bit sneaky, which I like. Luring me into a date. I’m . . . flattered,” she realized. “Jesus, I’m seriously flattered. God. I’ve been renewed and I have a guy who interests me and vice versa. This is an excellent day.”

“Then . . .” Sylvia topped off all three glasses. “It’s a good thing I got a second bottle in the fridge.”

“You are so wise,” Mai told her. “Who’s for ordering dinner in here later, sitting around in our pajamas, getting lit on champagne and finishing it off with some ridiculously high-caloric dessert?”

They all raised their hands.

“I’m in love with Simon,” Fiona blurted out, then shook her head. “Wow, I really stepped on your Sheriff Tyson news. We can get back to this.”

“Are you kidding? Are you f**king kidding ?” Mai demanded. “Tyson—why do I refer to him by his last name?—Ben and the possibilities of dating him can wait. In love, like the big one, or in love like oh, this is so much fun and makes me feel good, and he’s really sexy.”

“The big one, with a lot of the other, which is why I thought it was all the other, but it’s not. All, or only. Why can’t I have an affair like a normal person? Now I’ve complicated it.”

“Life’s complicated, or what’s the point?” Sylvia beamed even as her eyes filled. “I think this is wonderful.”

“I don’t know if it’s wonderful or not, but it is. He’s so not what I imagined for myself.”

“You stopped imagining for yourself,” Sylvia pointed out.

“Maybe I did. But if I had imagined, I don’t think it would’ve been Simon Doyle—not for the big one.”

Mai propped her elbow on the table, gestured with her glass. “Why are you in love with him? What are the qualifications?”

“I don’t know. He’s solitary and I’m not, he tends to be cranky and I don’t. He’s messy and blunt, doesn’t quibble about being rude, and only ekes out information about himself when you pump or when he’s in the mood.”

“This is music to my ears,” Sylvia murmured.

“Why, O Wise One?” Mai demanded.

“Because he’s not some perfect fantasy. He’s flawed and you understand that. It means you’ve fallen for who he is, not who you want him to be.”

“I like who he is. And on the other side of it, he makes me laugh, and he’s kind. The fact that he’s reluctant about it only gives the kindness more impact. He can’t be bothered to say what he doesn’t mean, and that makes him honest.”

“Does he love you?”

Fiona let her shoulders lift and fall at Mai’s question. “I don’t know, but I know if he ever says he does, he’ll mean it. For now, it’s fine the way it is. I need time to get used to the way I feel—and to be sure he’s not with me or getting involved with me because, well, I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

“I bet he wasn’t thinking, Hey, this woman’s in trouble, when you had sex on the dining room table.”

She nodded at Mai. “Excellent point. And one worthy of more champagne. I’m going to get the second bottle.”

Mai waited until Fiona went back inside. “We’re right, aren’t we, not telling her about the murder?”

“Yes. She needs this. Apparently we all do, but she needs it most of all. She’ll have to deal with it soon enough.”

“I think he loves her, by the way.”

Sylvia smiled. “Why?”

“Because he told Davey to call you, not Fee, to suggest not telling her. We love her, and that’s why we’re not telling her—and I think we’d have decided not to whatever Davey said. But Simon had the same instinct. That’s a loving instinct, that’s what I think.”

“I think so, too.”

“It might not be the big one, but—”

“It’s enough for now, and what she needs. Honestly, Mai, I think they need each other, and they’re both going to be better and stronger together. At least that’s what I want.”

Mai glanced at the doorway, lowered her voice. “I told the concierge not to leave a paper at our door in the mornings. Just in case.”

“Good thinking.”

They heard the pop of a cork and Fiona’s shouted “Woo-hoo.”

“Put it out of your mind,” Sylvia murmured, “so we can keep it out of hers.”