“What?”
I turn, knowing it must be found. “The lady next door said Old Dick came up here every weekend. He was a real outdoorsman, loved the backcountry, and she said he went to an old ski lodge up this way.”
Stanley lifts an eyebrow. “Worth a try.”
Henrico points. “We saw one, other side of this peak here. There’s a huge lodge in a bowl. I pointed it out to the pilot. It was stunning, but in the middle of nowhere.”
We turn and run from the house for the chopper that’s sitting there. The guards wave, looking like they might end their lives any moment due to boredom.
The pilot gets the helicopter going as we buckle in. My spidey senses start to go crazy—my stomach is roiling and my scalp tingling.
“What makes you so sure this lodge has anything going on?” Henrico asks. “It looked pretty swanky. One of those fly-in-only places.”
I outline the thoughts I have been having for a couple of days. “The tunnels and caves and cells are too perfect. Those would require years of effort and money and dedication. Rory has none of those things. No, I suspect Old Dick was into something quite similar to what Rory is into. I believe Dick built the cabin and the garage and the cells, and Rory somehow stumbled upon it. He’s been using the house for a couple of years, since the old man died.”
“You think Guthrie killed the old man and took his house on purpose?”
I nod slowly.
“Wow, where the hell do ya meet your psycho soul mate? How do you even know some fucking crazy bastard has the same taste in evil as you?”
I shake my head, feeling like the answer is there somehow.
Stanley sighs, looking disturbed. “This whole thing has me wanting to move my kids to an isolated island. These people are everywhere.”
He’s right. Part of the reason I never spent a large amount of time mourning the loss of my womb, once I realized I had lost it, was that I never believed having children in the world we live in would be easy. I would never let them out of my sight.
We fly toward the mountain peak, hovering as we cross it, and Henrico gives directions to the pilot, reminding him of where it was. He lowers us, flying just above the treetops. My jaw drops when I see the lodge. It’s beautiful and honestly in the middle of nowhere.
“How would they even get here?”
“Snowmobiles, or the same way we are,” Stanley answers his partner flatly as we all stare at the distant lodge. “It looks more like a hotel than anything.”
The pilot swings around the back and points. “Helipad,” he shouts.
That makes my stomach turn. It is intended for people with money.
“What did the man who owned the cabin do for a living?”
I cover my ears and shout, “The guy’s name was Dick Russell, or Richard Russell. He owned a dry cleaning business when he was young. It had been his father’s. Somehow that dry cleaning business earned him enough money to invest in several start-ups. He was a cousin to one of the initial investors in Apple and a few other major companies. A man who clearly knew his investments. After he made his first fifty million, Dick retired, selling the dry cleaners and living off his investments, but learning the other side of being an investment broker. He ended up back in college at the age of fifty, got his master’s, and went into banking. Died a very wealthy man at the tender age of seventy-five in a car accident. Hit and run. He’d been getting very senile in his older years, so the police assumed that contributed. His kids had managed to convince him to sign over all his fortune to them, leaving out the youngest, who was adopted as a small child. The fortune, including a few houses, has been stuck in litigation for the two years since the man died.”
Henrico winces. “Wow, so they’re all good people?”
I scoff. “All of them, apart from perhaps the adopted daughter. I don’t know. I don’t want to make that assumption until I meet the kids.”
Stanley shakes his head. “What a nightmare.”
I point at the lodge. “I suspect it isn’t anything compared to this place.”
Henrico gives me a dubious look. “You really expect this is going to be an open-and-shut case?”
I nod. “Again I don’t want to make an assumption, but I will say I do expect this will be relatively enlightening.” I make a quick call. “Ping my phone and tell me who owns this.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“It’s Master Sergeant, if you want to get technical.” I hang up and climb out after Henrico. We walk along the crusty snow, following footprints that have been here since the last snowfall. A little snow has filled them in, but not much, and they are crusty and frozen so I would have to assume they are days or weeks old. I would bet they belong to Rory, but I don’t gamble much. However I would bet he’s been here plenty.