Echo of silence, p.1
Echo of Silence, page 1
Echo of Silence
A Hat Creek Thriller, Volume 1
Elizabeth Rain
Published by Elizabeth Rain, 2023.
Copyright Page
While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
This is a work of fiction. Though every effort has been made to adhere as closely to the facts as possible regarding certain historical events, this is still a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, most events, locales, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ECHO OF SILENCE
First edition. June 20, 2023.
Copyright © 2023 Elizabeth Rain.
Written by Elizabeth Rain.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
IN APPRECIATION
Special Kudos go out to the following:
Editor Carol Thorsteinson.
Cover Design by Melody Simmons
I also need to give a huge Shout Out to my wonderful ARC Readers, your early opinions and advice helped this book soar. You know who you are.
Finally, I can't forget my family. You have been here every step of the way. Without your encouragement and unfailing patience I couldn't do this.
CHAPTER ONE
The most remarkable thing about the tallish figure casually propped against the rough bark of the massive oak in Red Central Park, was that he was ordinary. Twenty-dollar jeans with wear marks on the knees, and tennis shoes straight off the rack at Walmart, made him indistinguishable from everyone around him. Thin shoulders barely filled out the second-hand army jacket, worn with indifference and no nod to style. His expression was placid, on a face neither too sharp nor too handsome, and totally unassuming. Had he been a man with such inclination, he’d have smiled. Business was booming, and nobody knew.
If asked by someone who didn’t know him, he could have told them he was in the entertainment business. What he sold was joy.
It was the truth as far as his customers were concerned. And they always came back for more of what he had tucked away in that canvas jacket that hung on his gaunt frame. He’d altered it himself to contain a collection of unique pockets on the inside, all within easy reach of his nimble fingers. Transactions, when they happened, were seamless and quick, to minimize the chance that any officer, undercover or otherwise, might be passing by.
Felix Grundy had operated in and around at various locations in the area for over two years without even a flicker of interest from the area’s finest. He attributed his success to two minor details: one, he never operated in the same spot for more than a couple of days at a time. He moved around and he changed his appearance when he did. And two, most importantly, he didn’t partake in any of his own product. Felix was clean, but for the occasional beer or two on Sundays when he got together with the boys to watch football or host a round of high-stakes poker.
Now he looked around casually, observing the security guard at the Benny’s Dog stand across the street purchasing lunch. When the well-built black man turned in his direction, giving him the once-over, he gave him a friendly wave. On the playground to his right, several children ran about, chasing each other and screaming, under the watchful eyes of their mothers, who sat on benches observing them. He received more than a couple of thoughtful stares, and a glare or two from a mother who maybe suspected he wasn’t there to hold up the tree. But playing ignorant in this town kept you alive...and your family, too. He was confident that even if they knew, they would keep it to themselves. They believed foolishly that they could raise their kids up to stay out of trouble and to remain clean, and to learn how to just say, “no”.
He imagined some of them were right. His eyes picked up on a tall, dark youth, coming up the sidewalk, his jeans hanging low, his hands buried in his pockets as he walked with his head down, ignoring everyone as he approached. Felix knew that was a lie. Terrence was a career user. At one time he’d had a promising career in basketball. A torn tendon and his daddy leaving him and his siblings when he was fourteen had ended all that. Felix watched as he stopped at the hot dog vendor and purchased a dog to go with the works. Casually, he changed directions, approaching Felix as if he had nary a care in the world. Maybe it was so because the drugs, for a minute, made it all go away.
Felix straightened away from the tree. “Hey, you didn’t forget the extra pickles, did you?”
Terrence grinned, revealing several missing teeth, a combination of lack of dental care and crystal methamphetamine. “And onions, too. Cost me five dollars and eighty-five cents. You got that?”
Felix nodded and reached into the inside of his jacket, retrieving a ten. In full view, he handed it over, taking the paper bag that contained the hot dog he’d ordered and a one-hundred-dollar bill. Folded inside the ten he handed over, was more than just a five-dollar tip.
Terrence gave him a cheerful smile and a nod. “See you later.”
“At the gym at five,” Felix confirmed aloud with a cool smile. It was code for we’re done, get the hell outta here.
Terrence left and Felix removed the Benny-dog, crumpling the bag up and stuffing it in his pocket. Casually, he pushed away from the tree and took a seat on the bench to enjoy his lunch. Some routines were just too good to pass up.
He was halfway through when a passing shadow paused in front of him and blocked the sun. His eyes narrowing in irritation, he looked up, blinking rapidly as the beam hit his eyes over the shoulder of the tallish man standing there.
“You’re blocking my view,” he said coldly, taking the stranger’s measure. “Do I know you?” A frisson of nervous energy made the hairs along the back of his hands stand straight up. Was the dude an undercover cop? If so, he needed to learn a thing or two about being inconspicuous. A collared shirt and tie and loafers was anything but casual for a walk in this park. He lowered his hand, ready to remove the insurance he also kept in one of those special pockets if things should go south.
The stranger sent him a friendly smile and brought up what he had in his hand. Felix tensed. He held a map and spread it wide. “I’m hoping you can help me. I appear to be lost,” he said conversationally, his voice carrying. Under his breath, he added, “Jordan Byers, a friend of mine, remember him? He comes to you for a certain...commodity that you trade in.”
Felix glanced nervously around. “I don’t know any Byers. You’re full of crap.”
“But I’m not. He gave me a very accurate description.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial, a clear white powdery residue coating the bottom. He palmed it, so that it was only obvious to Felix. “You’d remember Jordan. Tall, broader in the gut than the shoulders. Dark brown hair. A small scar slicing through his left eyebrow.”
Felix stared at him, not admitting anything. “What is this all about anyway? I don’t know what you think this is, but I can’t help you.”
The man smiled; his eyes direct. “Sure, you can. See, he shared a bit with me. Wonderful stuff. I want a hit, or whatever you guys call it nowadays.”
Felix growled, his mouth tightening. “I told you to beat it, old man. I don’t have any of that shit on me. You’re wasting your time.”
The stranger’s eyes grew speculative. He heaved a sigh and cocked his head thoughtfully before reaching inside his jacket pocket.
Felix hissed, “Watch those hands.”
“Relax, I just thought you might appreciate a little incentive.”
He pulled out a white envelope, unsealed, and slid it to the center of the map. Scowling, Felix picked it up, pulling several photos free. Each one showed a drop, hands reaching for an exchange.
Felix’s eyes narrowed threateningly. “You should watch who you’re playing. It could be hazardous to your health.”
The man straightened, palming the pictures. Felix was certain they weren’t the only copies, and now he had a problem. A thin trickle of sweat slithered down his spine. It was barely fifty degrees in late fall. He couldn’t blame it on the weather.
“So, how about it? Can you help me out?” the stranger asked with a knowing smile.
Felix swallowed hard, trying to look cool and composed and pretty sure he was failing. He reasoned with himself. The man wasn’t a cop, or else he’d already be in cuffs and on his way downtown. There’d be time later to find out who he really was and make him realize he’d messed with the wrong guy. He’d be sending him home to his family in little pieces. Instead, he stood up, reaching into his pocket and selecting a vial, full this time. Concealing it in his hand, he pushed it along the map’s surface, at the same time extending a finger to point out a random landmark. The man took it, nodding in cold satisfaction. “Thank you. That was very helpful.”
“It’s a hundred dollars.”
One well-groomed brow rose, and a small smile creased his mouth, making Felix’s skin crawl in unexpected fear.
“What say we consider this a deposit on a long and lucrative partnership...for me?”
Without another word, he turned, folding the map as he went, stuffing it into the nearest trash can he passed. He didn’t bother to look back, continuing on his way at a casual pace. Felix watched him, his heart racing and his fists clenching at his sides as he tried to control the urge to smash something—or someone—into the paved path beneath his feet.
He glared at the remnants of his lunch on the bench and snarled, turning away and picking up his pace as he walked in the opposite direction. He kept small details on his regular customers, and he needed to know more about this Jordan Byers, and the man who had just threatened him and ripped him off while wearing a cheap suit he probably purchased off the rack at some clothing chain store for seventy-five dollars.
He entered the parking garage off Fifth Street and took the stairs up two flights to the second floor. Key in hand, he hit the unlock button to the candy red Charger he’d bought new just the month before. He backed out, heading down the ramp. He never saw the dark blue Chevy as it pulled in behind him on the ground floor when he paid for his ticket.
FELIX PUSHED THE BUTTON on the dishwasher, giving the counter a final swipe, eying it critically. He looked around the small kitchen of the little three-bedroom house he owned, confident everything was in its place where it belonged and neat. He’d admit to being a bit on the OCD side. But when you grew up where he had, in a single bedroom apartment with a crackhead mother who turned tricks to support her habit and to feed his three little brothers, you learned to appreciate order. He often joked that his first pet had been a cockroach the size of his fist. It wasn’t far off from the truth.
He’d dug up what information he had on Mr. Byers as soon as he got home. It wasn’t much. When he could, he kept tabs on his clients. It didn’t mean he was a walking encyclopedia on the subject. And what he had didn’t line up with what the suit had shared either. Jordan had been a little punk teenager that developed a taste for coke through his high school buddies. He seemed to recall that he’d overdosed at one of those parties. He hadn’t kept track of what had happened to him after that. Jordan had been just a kid, and he never had a job.
He glanced at his phone. It was past one in the morning. He needed a shower and sleep. He whipped his shirt up over his head as he walked down the hall.
FELIX’S EYES FLEW OPEN. He lay still, flat on his back, the sheets a tangle past his groin where he’d twisted in a restless sleep, shadows chasing him in his dreams. Something had pulled him awake. He listened, unmoving, his eyes adjusting to the darkened room, the only light a thin sliver shining past the dark curtains from a streetlight. Nothing moved, and he felt the weight of his lids pulling him back under. The scuffle of what sounded like a shoe in the hallway made his eyes flash open again, his heart quickening. Bleary eyes probed every corner in the darkened room. He listened for close to a minute and heard nothing more. In another part of the house, the furnace kicked over, and he closed his eyes.
The shadow, a shift of the light as it blocked the thin beam, pulled him from a deep slumber, along with the sudden certainty he wasn’t alone. Adrenaline flooded his veins as his hand shot for what he had concealed under his pillow, only to come up empty-handed. The prick of something sharp was slight, a tiny nip at his neck. It woke him up fully and he sat up with a gasp, his fingers probing the slight sting, the spreading numbness as his brain tried to make sense of what didn’t. His vision cleared as his breathing came faster. He struggled to make out the shadowy form that loomed at the foot of his bed.
He opened his mouth to shout, his hands fumbling towards the drawer of his bedstand for his back-up piece. Only, his fingers wouldn’t cooperate. The numbness spread along his arms, down his torso, past naked hips. He was on his back again, his body unable to support him any longer. Drugged, he realized. Somebody had shot him up with something. Even his heart, which wanted to race right out of his chest, felt sluggish. The only thing that seemed to operate at full capacity was his ability to feel terror. He barely felt the release of his bladder as it seeped into the bed.
The figure gave a low, dark chuckle. Grundy stared harder into the gray shadows, his eyesight apparently working just fine. He recognized the man from the park. The suit was gone. He’d traded it in for dark pants and a black coat and a smile cold enough to freeze bones.
The man moved closer, staring down at him impassively as he removed a single photo from his jacket pocket. He held it up for Felix to see. “Recognize them? My bad. I’m afraid I may not have been completely honest. I didn’t want to give up the entire game before we’d had our spot of fun.”
Grundy made a low gurgling noise, trying to speak. Nothing came out. “Oh, that is a problem, isn’t it?” He tsked, shaking his head conversationally. “It’s just a side effect; it’ll wear off soon enough. I need it to, so all your little nerve endings go Wakey Wakey. That’s when the fun begins. See, I think life is full of experiences, don’t you? And I believe it’s only fair that you get to go through all of them, just like all your victims did before they died.”
He reached down and removed something long and metal and shiny from a large bag Felix hadn’t noticed before and stood it up against the wall. Felix Grundy’s eyes widened in horrified recognition. Following his line of sight, the man smiled brightly and waved a hand dismissively in the air. With the other, he pulled out a capped syringe. “Oh that. Don’t worry, that there’s for later, towards the end. What comes now, see, that’s retribution for your crimes. After...well, that’s just for me.”
KATHY WOULD HAVE TOLD her she was out of her damned mind and she would have been right. Her sister had been the youngest of the three siblings. She’d disappeared just before her twelfth birthday, and Elle’s fourteenth.
Elle stared in awe at what fifty grand had put a down payment on. And not the what a steal of a deal kind of bargain. More like, a backwoods hillbilly dump of a landfill.
There’d be no complaints about the view at least. The grounds where eight cabins, a couple of smaller sheds, and a single larger outbuilding stood were breathtaking. It all butted up to a high bluff overlooking Ghost Lake, the surface a misty oblong span of water close to a half mile wide and twice as long. It was fed by a series of geothermal springs that made the temperature of the lake habitually higher than the surrounding air. It rarely froze in the winter, but almost always a bank of fog rolled over its surface and along the shoreline, hence the name. It butted up to the woods that crept nearly to its edge on the far side. She made a mental note regarding the long dock that disappeared into the thick mist past the shore at the bottom of the hill. It needed serious repair and nobody would wander out over that dark surface on those rickety boards anytime soon.
If it were possible, the cabins were in worse shape. The real estate listing had advertised the twenty-acre plot as coming complete with eight cabins and a mess hall that needed updating. Instead, it resembled nothing more than a series of ramshackle shacks that needed a match and skip the fire extinguisher, thank you very much.
Five of the cabins were larger, designed to house larger groups. The others were much smaller. Originally, it had been a campground for a small hunting and fishing charter company.
She should have paid better attention to when it had first been listed, three years prior. The Upper Peninsula wilderness in Michigan had a way of reclaiming its own.
Even so, Elle had the oddest feeling her little sister would have liked it there. A soft breeze teased her nape, lifting the escaping tendrils of hair from the ponytail holding it away from her face. It had been over thirty-two years since Kathy’s disappearance. At forty-five, Elle had come to accept the futility of ever discovering the truth. In the years in between, she’d become one more statistic, a missing person—just another unsolved cold case.
Elle stared across the lake at the sun peeking through heavy clouds and slipping fast towards the evening. It was late afternoon, and if she didn’t want to drive all the way into either Munising or Veil Falls to find a place for the night, she needed to see if one of the cabins was at least habitable and wouldn’t burn down with her in it if she lit a fire in the hearth.
