Wednesday, Late Morning
Hwy 1, New Brunswick, Canada
Charlie looked out the window. Around them lay his new home. He tasted the idea in his mind. Home.
Home was where the heart was. His heart was with Mandy and the girls. Not here. Home was where you hung your hat. Well, he’d need a hat here. His ears hadn’t been warm yet. Home was where, when you had to go there, they had to let you in. That made the Halifax Homestead home. What was he going to make of his new home?
He took a deep breath. “You know, I didn’t think I’d be able to pull this off, that I’d ever feel good enough about myself to start over.” He glanced at Ginny. “Guess, underneath it all, I’m still Charlie.”
“A Navy SEAL and a Texan and a Loch Lonach Homestead. Yes. Those things will stay with you.” She smiled at him. “I’m very proud of you, Charlie, and I know Mandy is, too.”
Charlie’s mouth curved up at the thought.
“Ginny, can I talk to you?”
“Of course.”
“This has been a hell of a ride and I’ve heard more than I know you wanted me to.”
She glanced over at him, then back at the road.
Charlie chose his words carefully. “You and Jim, you belong together. You need to make it happen.”
She didn’t take her eyes off the road. “I can’t change him.”
“Nope. Just yourself. So do it.”
She caught her breath. “What do you suggest?”
“First off, he’s a man and we’re kinda slow catching on. Give him time.”
He saw her lips twitch. “Okay. What else?”
He crossed his arms on his chest, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking on this trip. I miss Mandy something awful, but she was a good woman. Thinking about her is like thinking about a sunny day on the lake when the fish are jumping.” He chewed his lip, looking for the right words.
“What Jim’s facing, taking on the Homestead, training to be Laird, is kinda like what I’m facing. He’s left his old life behind him and he’s taking on one he doesn’t know much about. He’s gonna need help, just like I will, to start over.”
“What if he doesn’t want my help?”
Charlie snorted. The problem with women was they didn’t understand how simple men were.
“He wants it and he wants to be able to look at himself in the mirror without cringing. Mandy used to manage me and I knew it, but it was a little game we played. She pretended to be helpless and I pretended I could do anything. She’d bat those eyelashes at me and I’d melt right into her hands. I loved every minute of it.” Charlie smiled to himself, then looked over at Ginny.
“I’m just saying, you have more power than you know. Hell, women have all the power in a relationship. Men, well, we’re at your mercy and I hope you feel kindly towards Jim ‘cause he’s good people.”
He saw Ginny reach up and brush at her cheek.
“So are you, Charlie,” she said. “So are you.”
* * *
Wednesday Afternoon
Baileyville, ME
Jim pulled the phone out of the packaging and settled down on the back seat of the SUV, feeling like an idiot. The damned thing had been in the car all along.
He’d never used a burner phone before and wasn’t sure how it worked, but Reggie had set them up and Reggie could do anything, so Jim was not really surprised when the Laird answered.
“Grandfather, it’s me.”
“Auch! Jim! I dinna recognize th’ number.”
“This is one of the disposable phones Reggie set up for us.”
“Aye. How are ye lad?”
“Fine, but I haven’t been able to catch up with Ginny and Charlie.” He summarized the trip from Albany and Charlie’s exploits of the day before. “And I had a run-in with the border patrol last night.”
“Auch! ‘Tis a guid thing yer no in jail! Ye musn’t take such chances, lad.”
“How closely are they watching me?”
“That convict ye picked up, he’s tellin’ anyone wha’ll listen tha’ Charlie is runnin’ fra th’ Texas law. He described th’ van and gied a partial license plate. Described th’ three o’ ye as weel. It got back tae Detective Tran.”
Jim swore under his breath. He still felt they were safer together, but not if the police could follow him to Charlie.
“Is Charlie across th’ border?” Himself asked.
“I don’t know. I think Ginny is planning to use one of the races. Lots of the trails cross back and forth, but it’s all under tight security so I don’t see how she can manage it. I’m at the snowmobile venue at the moment. No sign of them here. I was just about to head down to the dogsled races, but, honestly, I don’t know.”
“Call me agin and let me know what ye find oot.”
“I will.”
Jim hung up the phone, then dialed Gordon’s loaner phone. Out of service still, but this time he left a message.
“Ginny, it’s Jim. Call me at this number as soon as you get this message.” He duplicated it in the texting system, giving the burner phone number, then put it in his pocket and pulled out his regular phone.
What would Tran think if this phone went dead? Would she assume the worst? Only the guilty would suddenly go dark? Or would she assume he’d forgotten to charge it up? He decided to keep using it until it actually did run out of power. Truth was always safest.
He drove down to the dogsled venue and looked around. No Charlie, no Ginny, and no acid green jerseys. Lunch, though. He bought himself a meal, trying to look innocent, aware that he might be on someone’s ‘suspicious persons’ list.
He hung around the dogsled venue for a couple of hours, asking questions, trying to get a feel for the event. It was another beautiful day, but the forecast was predicting change. Snow coming in this afternoon and another arctic front. The final day of the Festival was going to be a challenge.
When he was sure he couldn’t find out anything more, he went back to the truck stop. No sign of the hatchback. He parked and went in, deciding he wanted coffee and maybe something hotter than the tepid meals he’d been getting at the venues. He settled down in the restaurant and ordered stew and coffee.
His eye wandered over the other patrons. Most were obviously either townies or visitors come for the festival. Some were, just as obviously, truckers, commercial long-haulers, moving from Canada to the northeastern U.S. and back again. They had routines and bored faces. Jim watched as one approached a bulletin board. Even from here Jim could see it had job opportunities posted on it. Lots of slips of paper. A way for those looking for work to connect with those who had jobs.
He finished his meal, then gathered up his coat and moved toward the board, casually, not wanting to draw attention to himself. It was an outside chance. She might not even have seen it and, even if she did, what were the odds he would?
He stood reading the notices. Most were printed on white paper. Some had been computer generated. A few had decorations, or colored ink, or something else to make them stand out. One had a Cross of St. Andrew drawn in the corner. He took it down and read it.
“To the Laird of Loch Lonach, Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here.” It was signed, “Airsaid,” and had a location and a date/time listed at the bottom. Bailey Rips. Today’s date. Ten a.m.
Jim felt the adrenaline kick in. It was a message, a rendezvous, and he’d missed it by five hours. Would she still be there? Where was Bailey Rips, anyway? He hadn’t seen it on any of the trail maps.
“Is there a computer I can use?” The girl behind the counter pointed across the room.
“The truckers use that one. Just give it your credit card.”
Jim hurried over and sat down in front of the device. He pulled out his wallet, then paused. This would leave a paper trail. He carefully extracted the credit card Reggie had set up for his alter ego and offered it to the machine.
Fifteen minutes later he had a printed map and directions from the truck stop to the Rips. The adrenaline must have helped for Jim had realized, in time, that Ginny would be on the other side of the border. He printed out another map, this one from the truck stop to the point in Canada that did NOT show on the road map. It DID show on the satellite image of the area, an access road to a point just on the other side of the rapids. He closed the account, retrieved his card, picked up a coffee to go, and headed out.
* * *
Wednesday Afternoon
Dallas, TX
The computer on Detective Tran’s desk pinged. She had the device set to let her know when a message she was interested in came in from a law enforcement agency, whether her own or another. She got a lot of junk notices and sometimes she had resorted to muting the ping, but this time she was grimly satisfied, both at the speed of the response and the contents of the message.
Charlie Monroe’s DNA had been found on the escaped convict’s skin and clothing. At some point the convict had come in contact with something Monroe had touched.
She scanned the rest of the report. There were no other matches. So, still no hard evidence of Miss Forbes or Dr. Mackenzie being involved, much less culpable. But of Mr. Monroe, there was a strong suggestion that on last Wednesday he had been alive and halfway to the Canadian border.
* * *