Chapter 7
“First off, I don’t know what y’all were planning, but I’ve got to report getting shot at to the nearest FAA air control. Which I’m guessing is Plattsburgh.” Clare rocked back in the rocking chair she had commandeered in the inn’s living room.
“Why didn’t you call it in when we were in the plane?” Hadley had showered and changed as soon as they had arrived, and was looking her usual sleek self again. Clare couldn’t help noticing the glances the ranger kept sending her way.
“We were too low for my radio signal to get past the High Peaks. Probably too far as well. I can phone them instead, but it’s got to be soon, because that’s a danger to aviation.”
“Just to get all possibilities on the table, could it have been an SOS instead of hostile fire?” Russ had changed from his coffee-stained shirt into a knit Henley she’d gotten him for his birthday. She was trying, with mixed success, to wean him from his all-flannel uniform.
“That would have been three blasts close together. I heard, I think, two?” Paul looked to Clare for confirmation. “Although, to be fair, I was mostly focusing on not passing out.”
“I think this is a job for Occam’s razor. You know there’s a militia group out there. They may be dangerous, and for sure they don’t want to be found. And Paul’s uncle’s truck was in proximity to the camp we saw. The simplest explanation is that we stumbled across the neo-Nazis and they panicked.”
“It was so dumb, though.” Hadley shook her head. “Shooting at a plane is guaranteed to get you noticed. Unless…” She bit her lip. “Unless the person who fired into the air wanted to get attention.”
“Maybe.” Paul sounded cynical. “But most racists aren’t overendowed with brains. We can’t write off dumb.”
Hadley frowned. “Will the Department of Environmental Conservation send more personnel to help? Now you’ve found Pierre’s truck?”
“We need to confirm that’s Pierre’s truck,” Russ said.
“But I saw—”
“You saw a truck,” Russ cut the ranger off. “Keep in mind, we haven’t found where the militia is keeping their ride out of the woods. That truck could just as easily be theirs.”
Paul sagged back in his seat. “Oh. Yeah.”
“Clare got us the coordinates. We can hike out tomorrow and settle it one way or the other.”
Clare rocked forward. “Just the three of you? Isn’t that risky? I mean, it’s clear these people are dangerous.”
“Danger is my middle name.” Russ grinned wolfishly.
Hadley sighed. “And risky is for sure mine.”
Clare looked at Paul, who held up his hands. “Hey, not me. My middle name is Firefly.”
“Really?” Hadley sounded amused.
“Really. My Mohawk name is Tewatsirókwas. Firefly.”
“Tewatsirókwas,” Hadley said carefully.
“Excellent! You got the accent just right.”
Hadley blinked. Clare had long thought the younger woman had spent so much of her life getting praised for her looks, she didn’t know what to do when she was applauded for her brains.
The knock on the door startled them all. Russ was rising to his feet when a middle-aged woman entered, her face set for an argument. “Mr. Van Alstyne! I believe I told you there would be no extra people at the inn without clearing it with me.”
Paul stood. “Mrs. Hansen? I’m Paul Terrance, Officer Laduc’s nephew. I believe you know him.” He gestured to his rumpled uniform. “I’m a forest ranger as well.”
She frowned. “I know Pierre, yes. I don’t know you.”
“He’s spoken many times about your hospitality.” Paul turned to Clare, who had also gotten up. “And this is Mrs. Van Alstyne. She’s a pilot, and she’s been helping me by flying over Pierre’s patrol area. He hasn’t reported in for a few days, and I’m worried about him.”
The innkeeper braced her fists on her hips.
“First it was you two looking for those awful white supremacist people. Now it’s another two looking for Pierre Laduc.
Who’s going to show up next? People searching for Amelia Earhart?
” She glared at them. “My husband and I have put in a lot of work making this a destination for nature lovers. I don’t want our reputation trashed by the cast of America’s Most Wanted. ”
“We’re not here to bring trouble,” Russ said. “I promise you, we’re not involved in anything illegal or immoral.”
Clare stepped forward. “I can leave if you’d prefer, Mrs. Hansen.”
“You can come to my uncle’s place if you need to,” Terrance offered. “That’s where I’m staying.”
The innkeeper threw up her hands. “Oh, good heavens, I’m not going to separate husband and wife. Just…” She looked around, frustrated. “Just keep things quiet. Okay?”
They did manage to keep it quiet that night, in part because Clare clamped her hand over her mouth while Russ demonstrated all the things he could think of to do in a remote inn without their baby. When they collapsed together in a sweaty, panting tangle, she said, “Thank you, God.”
Russ laughed low.
“And thank you, Mother and Daddy.”
Russ rolled toward her, pulling the duvet up around them. “Oh, yeah. We need to have your parents fly up more often.”
She touched his face. “You going to be okay tomorrow?”
“Mmm. If it’s Pierre’s truck, we can get the forest rangers officially involved. And the sheriff’s office. All I want to do at this point is find Kevin and bring him home. Quick in, quick out.”
She snickered, and despite her earlier fear she’d have a troubled night, she dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep still smiling.
Which made it more jarring when they woke to Hadley hammering on the door. “Chief? Get up, you need to see this.”
Clare pawed her hair out of her eyes and blinked at the sunshine streaming through the lace curtains. Russ was already in motion, pulling on his pants and shrugging on a shirt. “Stay here,” he said, which she ignored in favor of sliding out of bed and retrieving her clothes from the day before.
The front door was open, cold air pouring into the living room.
Russ and Hadley were standing outside on the porch.
Clare joined them, closing the door behind her.
The pretty wreath was still there, and the holly-and-berry window boxes, and in an awful way, the bloodred paint splashed across the white clapboards could almost be another Christmas touch, except for the words: GET OUT NOW.