Jodi Thomas - Twisted Creek

I stood, staring, hypnotized by the beauty of its horror.

Other men arrived in boats and on off-road bikes. They stomped around the cabin looking for something that might have started a fire on a clear night.

One yelled, “Circle as close as you can, boys. We want to make sure there’s no brush that might catch fire.”

Another complained that the place stank.

Paul pulled me back to reality. “No sign of life around the place, Allie. If someone started this, they got out fast.” He leaned closer to me. “Something’s not right, though. I heard the explosion, then saw the flames. Why would anyone want to blow up this place?”

I ran toward the fire, realizing for the first time that someone might have been inside. Maybe it was someone’s crazy way of committing suicide.

Willie grabbed my arm and pulled me back. “Careful there, girl.”

“But someone…”

He shook his head. “No one is in there. No one alive.” He walked me back to where the others stood. “But I agree with Paul. I worked construction a few years. I seen a house burn like this once that had a gas leak.”

The smoke decreased Willie’s fishy smell so I held my ground. “You think it was a gas fire.”

Willie shook his head. “These are primitive cabins. No gas, no electricity.”

“But could someone have been in there?” I stared at the fire, feeling the heat on my skin through my clothes from fifteen feet away. If someone had been inside, their skin would have melted away in seconds.

“Maybe.” Paul put his hand on my shoulder. “But if anyone was closer than we are now, they’re gone, so no use worrying.” He lifted a flashlight. “I’ll circle one more time to make sure it doesn’t catch anything else on fire. I don’t like a fire being this close to Mary Lynn’s place.”

Willie shook his head. “The ground and trees are still wet. It’s not likely to spread.”

We heard other boats pulling to shore. Shouts came from the water as more arrived. Paul, being the first on the scene, took charge. Willie wanted to stay and talk to newcomers, telling all he didn’t know to each person who docked.

The fire roared for a while, then having eaten away the rotting boards quickly, began to die. The fiery monster made of rock wall seemed to be closing his eyes.

We all stood around guessing at how, on a cloudless night, the fire could have started. No one had the answer, but we all agreed that Willie should stay until it was completely out.

The old man puffed up at his new appointment.

Paul offered to drive me home and the night’s excitement was over.

Saturday

September 28

0100 hours

North Shore

Luke lowered his field glasses and swore. His lead to the drug business had disappeared into smoke; all the evidence was burning up and any clues were being stomped on by curious campers and Allie.

He’d been sitting at this spot, watching the drug dealers for two days. He’d even made up names for each of them as they’d unloaded their supplies and set up a lab.

Sneezy, a little guy whose drug habit was so bad his nose dripped constantly.

Tanker, a big man in black, who wore a shoulder holster and a huge cannon of a gun. He never bothered to talk to the other two unless he had to.

The third Luke called Skidder, for he was constantly in motion. Skidder’s clothes hung loose on his thin frame as if he’d lost a great deal of weight in a short period of time. Meth could do that. Unfortunately the teeth and hair disappear along with the weight.

Luke hadn’t moved in on them because he knew none was the boss and he’d love to catch the head man. If he didn’t, the boss would find three more losers to do his dirty work within days. Luke had too many questions and none of these clowns would know the answers. He had to stay put and watch. Eventually, the main guy would show up to make sure they’d set everything up right.

After sleeping against a tree, Luke was tired and hungry when the three came back to work the second day. Still no boss.

He watched as they hauled all the supplies from an SUV and finished the setup. About sunset, Tanker drove off and returned an hour later with burgers in a bag, and beer. To Luke’s surprise, they sat down on the slip of dry sand by the water and ate. He could see them plainly, thanks to the moon and his field glasses. He could almost make out what they were saying. Skidder and Sneezy seemed far more interested in shooting up than in food. While they sampled drugs from their last batch, Tanker ate all three hamburgers, drank most of the beer, and lay out like a beached whale on the warm sand.

Skidder and Sneezy laughed and pointed as Tanker began to snore, and then must have decided to have another round of meth for dessert with their beer.

The night cooled. The druggies left their fat friend on the beach and went inside their newest lab. They had their heads together, obviously plotting something as they walked away. Skidder opened the back of the SUV and took out something before he went inside, but Luke couldn’t tell if it was a small suitcase or a can of gasoline.

Luke waited. He knew the rules. His next step was to call in backup. He’d wait a little longer to make sure they were all asleep, then canoe back to his place. From there he’d climb into the car he hadn’t used in two weeks and drive until his cell phone could pick up a signal. He’d have a team out in an hour. They’d clear out the three losers and wait for the big boss to show up.

Only he hadn’t had time to carry out any plan. Five minutes after Sneezy and Skidder went inside, Luke heard an explosion. Fire exploded across the inside walls of the cabin. He heard screams, and a car door slammed.

“Shit,” Luke swore. The two fools must have added sniffing gas to their collection of drugs.

He ran along the shoreline toward the cabin, trying to see past the cloud of smoke that seemed to be doubling by the second. When he reached the spot where their partner had been sleeping on the beach, the big guy was gone.

As Luke rubbed his eyes, trying to see through the smoke, Tanker disappeared near the SUV.

Luke moved closer, trying not to breathe. The sound of cussing and crying circled in the smoke as the SUV’s engine roared.

By the time Luke reached for his Glock, the SUV was in the trees heading out. He ran, taking a shortcut to intersect Tanker at the dam road, but the big guy was driving like a madman.

Luke only got one shot off before the SUV was out of range.

Since then, he’d done nothing but watch from the trees. He could have stepped out and made everyone keep clear of the scene, but dressed in his camouflage everyone wouldn’t take long to figure him for some kind of cop.

He wouldn’t have minded if the Nesters knew, but there was a good chance the boss of this infestation of meth labs would be among the folks standing around. Whoever picked the spots had known which cabins were abandoned. And that person might guess that a senior ATF agent wouldn’t be here just taking a vacation.

They might figure out that Luke was looking into Old Man Jefferson’s death, too. If someone had killed Jefferson, and knew he was looking, the killer would go so far underground Luke would never find him.

Luke slipped into the night, moving silently to his canoe. No one watching the fire saw him slice into the water and disappear.

I tried to talk to Paul as I hung on to the side of his Jeep for dear life. He bumped his way along the back road to the bridge, crossed over, and headed for Jefferson’s Crossing.

“You think someone set the fire?”

He didn’t answer.

“You think it might be drifters? I guess it could be kids.” The thought crossed my mind that the only drifter I knew was Luke.

“Willie said sometimes kids come out to get drunk. I guess they could have picked that place.” I’d seen a few beer bottles along the beach, but not enough for a party.

I glanced at him. Though too dark to see his face, his body was rigid. “You worried that someone might be inside?”

“No,” he almost snapped. “I don’t like the idea of the fire being so close to Mary Lynn’s place. Think about it: If the wind had been up, the conditions dry, it could have spread, and she doesn’t even have a phone.”

I agreed without asking how Paul Madison knew Mary Lynn didn’t have a phone. If I were a cop, I might have also asked how he got there so fast. That first day when he’d come in with his wife, he’d said their cabin was on the south shore. That would make him farther away from the fire than Willie and I had been, and traveling by road around here was far slower than by boat.

We turned onto the highway, passing the sheriff’s car with light flashing. Paul slowed. I could hear him breathing like a man forcing himself to calm. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was a man new to emotion of any kind. He reminded me of one of those rich fraternity guys who thought life would always come easy for them. This week, the letter from his wife and the fire seemed to knock the starch out of both the man and his clothes.

“So”-I tried to think of something other than the fire to talk about-“what do you do when you’re not fishing?”

He smiled then. We both knew he had yet to buy a pole or bait.

“I work for Wells Fargo. Mostly handling stocks for companies who want to diversify.”

I had little idea what he was talking about so I remained silent.

“This is the first vacation I’ve had in almost ten years.” He seemed to calm as he talked. “Since we worked together, Lillian and I traveled together, but it was always business related. I thought we’d buy the place and take some time off for once.” His laughter came cruel, like a hard hiccup. “It seems the only time off she wanted was time off from me.”