Abandon

Thirty-Five

The loons circled in the water in front of the dock, closer to Bernadette’s house than usual, and Mackenzie wondered if they knew, on some instinctive level, that their presence was a comfort. As a child, she’d hide among the rocks and trees along the shore and watch them, always careful not to disturb them.

She stood on the threshold of the shed, smelling the lawn mower grease and the dust and the half-opened bag of composted cow manure. Bernadette was at the hospital, getting stitched up. Gus had accompanied her.

Cal had died before paramedics could get to him under the hemlock.

As she stepped into the shed, Mackenzie was aware of Rook behind her. “Before my father was hurt, it never occurred to me I could be in any danger out here at the lake. In town, maybe. But not here.”

“Sounds like a normal kid to me.”

“I suppose.”

She glanced back at Rook, any effects of his encounter with Jesse Lambert impossible to detect. She and Rook had turned Jesse over to the state police. Jurisdictional issues would get sorted out. In the meantime, the locals had their slasher in custody.

“You FBI types won’t object if I take a look around in here, will you?” she asked.

Rook shrugged. “Would it matter?”

Mackenzie didn’t answer. She was focused on what Cal had told her before he’d died. She found a sawhorse on the back wall and dragged it to the middle of the floor, near her father’s old bloodstains. He hadn’t been distracted or careless that day – and his maiming wasn’t an accident. Jesse had sabotaged the saw, setting off a chain reaction her father had been helpless to stop.

It had been one of Jesse Lambert’s early acts of deliberate, malicious violence.

Mackenzie was convinced there had been others over the years. They hadn’t started up again just with the attacks on her and the hiker last week, on Harris – on Bernadette and Cal. They’d been ongoing.

Instead of telling authorities that Harris had sicced Jesse on him, Cal had joined forces with them and profited. When he realized he was in too deep and couldn’t get out, he hadn’t come to authorities and confessed, tried to work out a deal, but decided to pressure Harris to help him get Jesse out of their lives once and for all.

And if their plan backfired, he wanted to lead Bernadette to answers.

Mackenzie started to climb onto the sawhorse, but Rook touched her arm and shook his head. “No way, Mac.”

“Relax. I used to climb trees all the time as a kid.”

“Not with a knife wound in your side.”

“It’s healing -”

“You don’t want to end up with a fresh set of stitches. Besides, I’m taller. And,” he added with a smile, “I used to climb trees as a kid, too.”

He had a point. She stepped back out of the way. “Have at it.”

With an agility that surprised her but probably shouldn’t have, he climbed onto the sawhorse and reached up into the rafters. “What am I looking for?”

“Money? Anything that seems out of the ordinary for a lake house shed.”

He hooked one arm on an exposed beam and reached up higher. “Ah. What about an overstuffed dry pack tucked up in the rafters?” He glanced down at her. “I think this might be what Jesse was after, Mac.”

Rook lowered the dry pack down to her. She set it on the concrete floor and pulled open the drawstrings, peering inside. “It doesn’t look as if there are any kayak supplies in here, that’s for sure.”

She noticed a yellow-lined sheet of paper folded into thirds and clipped to some kind of folder on top of the rest of the contents. She lifted out the folder and removed the paper.

“Mac,” Rook said as he dropped lightly next to her.

“I know. I’m not wearing gloves. We can separate my prints out from any others, if prints are going to matter.” She unfolded the paper. “I’m guessing they won’t.” She recognized the handwriting, large letters in black marker. “It’s from Cal. ‘Dear Bernadette: If something happens to me, bring the contents of this bag to the FBI. I’m sorry. Cal.’”

Rook set another overstuffed dry pack onto the floor. “He made his deal with the devil, all right. He and Harris never should have gotten mixed up with blackmail.”

“When you’re in a hole, stop digging.” Mackenzie opened up the file folder and flipped through the papers inside. “Spreadsheets. Addresses. A document map to the rest of the contents of the bag. Looks as if Cal turned the tables on Jesse and found out just about all there is to know about him. That should help prosecutors.” She shoved the folder and the note back where she’d found them. “What’s in this other bag?”

Rook opened it up and gave a low whistle when he peeked inside. “Cash,” he said. “A hell of a lot of cash.”

Mackenzie let out a breath. “If Cal had just taken this stuff to us – to Beanie -” She didn’t finish. “He always thought he knew better. Information and access were his strengths. Now, they’ll help us unravel what this Jesse Lambert has been up to. Other victims and associates. Who knows.” Her gaze landed on her father’s old bloodstains. “Want to bet there are more violent crimes in his past?”

“Cal and Harris might not have realized they were dealing with a violent man until it was too late.”

“Maybe so.”

Suddenly restless, Mackenzie pushed out into the air and down to the lake, splashing into the shallow water. The loons were gone. She stood on a rock, the wind gusting in her face.

Aware of Rook on the shore behind her, she said, “When Jesse attacked me last week, I remembered his eyes. They were like something I’d conjured up in a nightmare.”

“Repressed memory.”

“I’ve always known I was in the woods the day of my father’s accident, but I never could remember the details.” She glanced back at Rook, but he wasn’t a man who was easy to read. “I must have conflated what I did that day – the actual events – with my nightmares. After a while, I couldn’t distinguish one from the other.”

Making it look easy, Rook jumped to the exposed rock next to hers without getting his feet wet or losing his balance. “You were a little kid,” he said. “This bastard manipulated you. He becomes other people’s nightmare.” Rook was silent a moment. “That’s what Harris tried to tell me.”

“He should have been straight with you.”

She heard a car in the driveway. More cops, she thought. But when she looked back at Bernadette’s yard, she saw Carine wave and break into a run. “Mackenzie!”

Nate was behind his sister, his wife at his side. He wasn’t here as a senior federal agent, Mackenzie realized, but as a friend.

Rook winked at her. “You do the talking.”

“Scared of Nate, are you?”

He grinned. “Not even a little.”