Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (read a book .TXT) 📗

“No, that I was a slippery son of a bitch.”

We sped on, ever north, with the big Jaguar engine growling, and the great golden orb of the sun slipping from the mid-heaven toward afternoon.

Seventeen

We passed Albany and Saratoga Springs, following the I-87. At Glen Falls, we crossed the Hudson for the second time, and at just past Queensbury began steadily to climb. At Lake George, we veered slightly west of north, toward Warrensburg, and suddenly we were ascending into the mountains and into deep forest. On the GPS, it looked like we were close, but the miles kept rolling by and we kept plunging deeper into forest that sprawled, impenetrable, over mountains in every direction.

We passed Schroon Lake and eventually, shortly after four o’clock, we passed a sign for Paradox Lake, which for some reason, at that time, did not seem to bode well. Six miles later we came to an intersection. The I-87 continued north toward Plattsburgh, North Hudson was on the right, and Blue Ridge was on the left. I turned toward Blue Ridge and passed under the freeway. It was like going through some kind of portal into a different world. We were on County Route 84, the forest seemed even denser and closer, the road narrower with more bends, and the only sign of life was the occasional cabin glimpsed through the trees.

The sun was slipping, and though back in the Bronx there would still be several hours of sunlight left, here, among the high peaks and the trees, you had the feeling evening was closing in. We climbed steadily, past Palmer Pond, a large body of black water on our left, and eventually drove through Blue Ridge. Blue Ridge was a town that seemed to consist of two houses, one white and one dark wood, facing each other across a road, surrounded by silent, windowless white barns. We saw no people.

After another two miles or so, we came to a junction. There were no road signs, only a turning to the right. The sun was a couple of inches above the horizon. Everything was motionless and silent. The GPS said it was right, so I turned right and we began to climb again.

Now I realized that what we had seen until now was not dense forest. This was dense forest. The road was blacktop – more or less – but it was cracked, pitted and crumbling at the edges, where roots and undergrowth encroached on the path. This was Man losing the battle against Nature, and, as I drove, I smiled. I looked at Dehan and saw she was smiling, too. We were both rooting for nature.

The road wound and twisted, yielding at every turn to the imperative of the trees, and climbing constantly. Finally, after almost ten miles of steady climb, we broke suddenly out of the trees into an esplanade on the edge of a large lake. I pulled up and climbed out. Over on my left, the sun had touched the tops of the trees. Ahead of me, the dark water stretched out for at least a mile, and on my right, half concealed among tall pines, was a large lodge with a raised veranda. I checked my watch. It was half past five. There was chill air coming off the lake.

Dehan got out of the car. We crossed the esplanade and climbed the steps to push through a door into the reception. The floors, the walls, and the ceiling were all made of wood. The furniture was heavy and solid, and also made of wood, and leather. A fire was burning in a rugged stone hearth. There was a pretty girl behind the reception desk who was smiling at us expectantly.

“Good evening, have you a reservation?”

She said it like she knew we hadn’t, because they were all booked up.

“Actually,” I said, “We’re looking for a friend. He’s a writer and he has a cabin up here. He’s having a house party with a few guests for a long weekend.”

She was very polite. She waited for me to finish and smiled throughout. “Well,” she said when I was done, and remembered to smile at Dehan, too. “There are not many people around here, even in the summer, so, unless they are new to the area, I am pretty sure I’ll know them. What’s the name?”

“Kirkpatrick…”

Her face lit up. “Oh, you mean the flying saucer guy! Donald and Jasmine! Sure, we know them. They’ve been here for years. They don’t get out as often these days, but they used to go rambling all over the place, right up to Macomb Mountain, even went as far as Blake Peak one time. Known them since I was a kid.”

We all stood smiling at each other. Finally, I said, “So you can tell us where to find them?”

“Well, sure! You’re practically there! In fact…” And here she turned to Dehan with a smile that was almost conspiratorial. “You passed it! Ain’t it the way? They think they have a great sense of direction, but they ain’t!”

Dehan actually gurgled.

The girl said, “You want to go back down the track for like half a mile, and you’re going to see a track on your left. Actually, you won’t see it. You’re probably going to miss it, because it is like just a gap in the trees. You don’t want to be looking for it in the dark, I can tell you that! Half a mile, and it’s there, where the road bends a bit to your right. It’s a dirt track, and you follow that through the woods for two hundred yards, maybe a little more, and you come out to a clearing. And there it is, big old cabin on two floors. You tell them hi from Debbie for me!”

“We’ll be sure to do that.”

By the time we got back to the