Chapter1 Read online

  Ribbon of Rain

  By

  Pam Champagne

  Triskelion Publishing

  www.triskelionpublishing.com

  Published by Triskelion Publishing www.triskelionpublishing.com

  15508 W. Bell Rd. #101

  , PMB #502, Surprise, AZ85374U.S.A.

  First e-published by Triskelion Publishing

  First e-publishing: October 2005

  ISBN 1-932866-00-0

  Copyright © Pam Champagne 2005

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher except, where permitted by law.

  Cover art by Triskelion Publishing

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters places,

  and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

  persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Kat Tenney walked the lake’s shoreline, trying to make sense of the strange turn her life had taken. A top priority on her to-do list always kept in the back of her mind had been to mend the rift with her parents. Now that would never happen.

  Autopsy reports stated the cause of death was a .44 caliber bullet to their brains. Convinced they’d been killed by a would-be robber, Maine State Troopers refused to actively seek the murderer. The trooper’s words still rang in her ears. “Robbery is the only viable motive for this crime. There’s nothing more to investigate. The forensics team spent two days at the lodge and found no clues. If we get any fresh leads, we’ll reopen the investigation.”

  “There’s nothing missing, Officer,” she’d argued.

  “And how do you know that?” His patronizing tone had ticked her off. She’d been tempted to punch him in the jaw. “You’ve been in Iraq for the past year and away from home for three years before that.”

  Unable to argue with that fact, she’d given up. To her eyes, the inside of the lodge looked the same as it had her entire life. More important, her gut screamed that robbery hadn’t been the motive.

  Kat trekked on. “Robbery, bullshit!” She shouted at the top of her lungs. The words traveled across the lake and bounced back at her from the surrounding mountains. Get a grip, Kat. After a number of sleepless nights, her emotions ran high.

  When the dog at her side whimpered, she knelt on the ground and hugged him. “Ah, Red, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at life.” The simplicity of the dog’s love warmed her as nothing else had since she arrived home.

  “Here you go.” She heaved a piece of driftwood into the crystal clear water. The Chesapeake’s enthusiasm as he bounded in the water and swam to retrieve the wood lifted her spirits.

  “Come on, boy. Let’s go.” With the dog hugging her side, she jogged along the rocky shore, paying little attention to the drone of a plane in the distance. Seaplanes occasionally flew over the area during the summer months.

  After a while she slowed her pace to watch the loons diving under water to feed. Red danced around her legs, pleading for more play time. The zest in his eyes brought a smile to her face. “You know a sucker when you see one.” She picked up another piece of wood and threw it.

  Kat lifted her face toward the east, closed her eyes and soaked up the warmth of the fast-rising sun. Hot rays penetrated her skin, reminding her of the lazy summer days during childhood. Memories of the smell of wildflowers that she and her grandmother often picked in the dewy mornings tickled her nose. Recollections of balmy evenings, toasting marshmallows over an open fire swamped her senses. She could almost smell the pungent smoke from the wood fire and taste the sweet, gooey centers of marshmallows covered with crusty brown exteriors.

  Kat shook away the cobwebs and forced her mind back to the present. Two days ago she’d been fighting insurgents in Iraq. Today she stood in her backyard, trying to come up with a plan to find her parents’ murderer. She threw another stick for Red and pushed on.

  The plane flew closer now, its altitude low. Curious, she stopped and watched it bank, turn, and follow the shoreline, flying toward her. Was the pilot planning to land? She brought her hand to her eyes to shield the bright sun.

  A black shadow moved across the rocky shore. She glanced up to see a lone raven soaring above the trees. How odd. As a rule, ravens flew in pairs or groups of three. This one flew alone.

  A quick flash of polished metal grabbed her attention right before the staccato of gunfire shattered the silence. Pebbles, rocks and sand flew in all directions hitting her bare legs and arms. An Uzi? Jesus. Military training kicked in. She dropped to the ground and crawled low for the cover of some low-hanging spruce branches. Her left shoulder throbbed. Had she been hit?

  Red scrambled to safety right behind her. He whimpered a few times, but laid quietly, his eyes glued to her face, trusting her to protect him.

  Kat remained motionless, not allowing even a muscle to twitch. Her ears buzzed from the gunfire. The noise of the plane’s engine had faded. Had it moved on or landed on the lake?

  Then the whup, whup, whup of a helicopter came from the west. Red growled deep in his throat. A simple “sshh” quieted him. What the hell was going on? Why would anyone want to harm her?

  She peered through the branches of the spruce, her eyes widening in disbelief. About several hundred feet down the lake a helicopter hovered over the water close to shore. Two men dressed in military fatigues emerged from the woods and waded in the water to waist level.

  Who were these guys? Her parents’ killers? A ladder descended from the aircraft. Immediately after the men climbed it and vanished inside, the helicopter lifted and disappeared behind the trees.

  Several minutes passed before Kat straightened her body. Her choice of clothes that morning, shorts and a tank top, didn’t provide the best protection from flying debris. A trail of blood trickled down her arm. She examined her shoulder and found a gouge the size of a quarter. The lingering smell of aircraft fuel and gunpowder in the air irritated her nose. She felt as if she was back in a war zone, not her own backyard.

  Marunga, my special little Rainbow. Remember you’re a Penobscot warrior.

  Kat froze, the hair rising on her arms at the sound of the familiar, gentle voice. “Grandmother?” She looked to her left, then right, before peering into the thick forest. God, had she hit her head? Was she hearing voices? She threaded her fingers through her hair searching for lumps, relieved to find none. What about the voice? Real or imagined?

  She jogged toward the lodge, slipping into the woods instead of running the shoreline. No sense making herself an easier target.

  Memories of her grandmother flooded her thoughts. They’d shared a special relationship; her grandmother being the one constant source of love and approval throughout her childhood. But even that closeness hadn’t lessened the unconscious pain inflicted by her parents. As she jogged along, she recalled a frequent conversation she’d had with her grandmother.

  “Why don’t Mommy and Daddy love me as much as they love Elizabeth?”

  Her grandmother’s answer always had been the same. “Marunga, of course they love you. You’re different from your sister. People often fear what they don’t understand.”

  “But I’m only a little girl, Grandmother.”

  “A little girl with the heart of a warrior.” Then her grandmother would hug her close. “Whenever you need me, I’ll be there for you, child.”

  Could her grandmother be keeping that promise made so long ago? Like many of her ancestors, Kat believed in the spirit world.

  A rustling noise above in the spruce branches caught her at
tention. She tilted her head and saw a raven perched in the tree. The black bird’s beady eyes stared at her intently before taking off to disappear in the forest. Her grandmother’s totem had been the raven. Could it be?

  Heavy silence saturated the forest, giving it an eerie, surreal feel. Soft, green moss muffled the sound of her feet as she ran. Red loped at her side, his paws hardly stirring the few dried leaves settled on the forest floor.

  Someone had shot at her from the plane. Someone with an automatic weapon. She replayed the incident in her mind. Even after she’d rolled under the spruce for protection, a burst of gunfire in that area easily could have killed her. It was obvious whoever fired hadn’t wanted her dead.

  Perhaps it had been a warning. If so, a warning of what? Was it connected to her parents’ deaths? And what about those men climbing into the helicopter? Who were they and what were they doing here? LoonLake was sixty miles from civilization. The beautiful isolation of her home now seemed threatening.

  Red growled and placed his body in front of Kat. Without hesitation she took cover under a nearby hemlock blow-down. The dog squeezed in next to her. His heart thumped against her leg. She silently cursed that she had gone walking with no weapon. Several minutes passed before two men dressed in army fatigues walked by about thirty feet from where she crouched.

  “That was close,” one of them said.

  “Yeah, we should have….” The rest of his words faded when they turned and headed due north. The only thing north of her parents’ lodge was Canadian wilderness. Who the hell were these people?

  Kat remained in her hiding place until Red stood and crawled into the open. Without making a sound, she continued toward the lodge. When they arrived, she watched and listened to make sure no one lay in wait.

  Tail wagging, Red trotted up to the front door. She trusted his judgment and followed him inside.

  Kat shelved her thought to call the State Police. Faith in local law enforcement had taken a nosedive. Throwing a few essentials in a backpack, she hurried upstairs to change clothes, yanking on camouflage fatigues. Once she’d tied the black combat boots, she retrieved her .308 Rueger bolt-action rifle from behind a false wall in the hall closet. After a lingering look around her home, she called Red. Together they left the lodge and disappeared back into the forest. It was time to patrol the area.

  *****

  Jude Callahan smothered another huge yawn as he drove into the small town of Rockville, Maine. For the past fifty miles, all he’d seen were a few trailers, scattered here and there along the road. Downright scary places. Some were covered with blue tarps, windows enveloped in plastic. People must freeze to death in the winter. Not to mention the collection of junk in some of the yards. Weren’t there any landfills in this godforsaken place?

  At one particular trailer, he’d seen two Rottweilers tied to the front door. He’d be leery of getting out of his car on the property without a weapon in his hand.

  He’d been driving for ten hours, his stomach growled with hunger, and he was beat; his body cramped and stiff. According to Frank’s directions, he should be approaching the right hand turn that would take him to LoonLake. The turn off to the middle of nowhere. Jude was still pissed about being handed this wilderness assignment.

  Man, Frank must have some serious issues with him. Everyone in the bureau knew how much he loved the city. His city upbringing made him a natural for the Jewelry and Gem Department. Put him undercover in D.C., around the sleazy parts of the city looking for suspects fencing stolen jewelry, and he was in his element.

  Jude’s idea of country was a leisurely stroll under the large oak trees in the city park or roughing it in a hotel with no room service. He loved attending the theatre and enjoying a late supper in a quiet out-of-the-way restaurant. There hadn’t been a restaurant for the last one hundred miles. Frank knew that Jude was the least qualified man in the FBI to be tramping around in the woods. So why had he been chosen for this assignment?

  Up ahead on the right, Jude spotted the Rockville Country Market. He drove in and pulled up at the gas tanks. His body was so stiff, he practically rolled out of the Land Rover. Lifting his arms overhead, he stretched his six-two body. While the tank filled, he walked away from the vehicle and pulled out his cell phone, speed dialing headquarters. “Hello? Frank?” The phone crackled with static. Man, great reception. “You owe me.”

  “How is it up north?”

  Jude closed his eyes imagining Frank’s snide grin. “Don’t be an asshole, Frank. Jesus, this is a nightmare. I already miss D.C. Why’d I get stuck with this assignment?”

  Frank’s sigh came through loud and clear. “Come on, Jude. Give me a break. We’ve been over this more than once. Kat Tenney’s our best lead for cracking this case. But she’s tough. She’d scare off someone timid and shoot anyone too aggressive. You’re perfect for the job. You’re laidback, but assertive if the need arises.”

  “I still think…”

  “In addition,” Frank interrupted, “somebody recommended you for the job.”

  Jude stiffened. Red flags flew at full mast. “What prick did that? Never mind, it’s best I don’t know. I’m not staying here indefinitely,” he warned. “I’ll give it a week. After that you’d better come up with a Plan B. Christ, Frank, there’s nothing here. No restaurants, no movie theatres. I haven’t even seen a damn library. Doesn’t anyone north of Boston read?”

  “The Bureau’s profiler job is always open. You’d be great at it, and your days traipsing around the countryside on assignment would be over.”

  “Yeah, Frank, I’d love to sit at a desk all day long. Real exciting. You could’ve included a better picture of Kat Tenney.” He knew he was whining and didn’t care. “She looks like every other G.I. with that hat pulled down to her eyebrows.”

  “Best I could do on short notice,” Frank quipped. “This assignment will be good for you, son. You’ve become complacent, too set in your ways for one so young. That could get you in a lot of trouble in this line of work.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I’d rather have the usual ‘forgive your mother for her sins’ lecture. I’ll call you later.” Jude snapped the cell phone shut ending the call. Damn Frank. Damn whoever recommended him for this job. Damn his mother. And double damn Kat Tenney and the State of Maine.

  He returned to the gas pump, replaced the hose, screwed on the cap and headed toward the store, cursing the lack of ‘pay-at-the-pump’ convenience. Hadn’t these people heard of credit cards?

  Cigarette smoke engulfed him as he stepped through the door. Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, smoky interior, he spied four men sitting at a small table in the back of the store, all of them puffing away. Conversation ceased. They stared at him for so long he fought the urge to look down to make sure his fly was zipped.

  “Good afternoon.” Jude pasted a smile on his face. “Great day out there.” Dead silence. Not a good sign. “I’m headed to Loon Lake Lodge and thought I’d double check my directions.”

  The four men stared at him with blank faces, as if he’d spoken a foreign language. Their red plaid flannel shirts and nondescript tan pants made Jude feel overdressed in his khaki shirt, jeans and hiking boots, bought for the trip. Finally, a large man with bushy eyebrows rose from his chair.

  “What’s your business at Loon Lake Lodge, mister?” His voice had the raspy quality of a long-time smoker. “It ain’t been open for business for over five years.”

  Jude walked forward and extended his hand in greeting. “Jude Callahan. I’m on my way to see Katherine Tenney.”

  “Kat?” the man questioned, ignoring the outstretched hand. “She just got back from the war. Ya one of her Army buddies?”

  “No. It’s a business matter.”

  “Hey, Hazen. Don’t ya be givin’ no strangers no directions to LoonLake. Ya know Kat’s up there all alone.”

  Jude shifted his attention to the skinny man who’d spoken. An unfiltered cigarette dangled from the side of his mouth.<
br />
  Hazen’s laughter ended in a coughing spell. “Chester, ya know damn well Kat can shoot off a man’s hat from three-hundred yards. Could before she joined the Army. Heard she’s now an expert marksman. She don’t need no protectin’.”

  Jude listened to their interchange with interest. Hazen lit a fresh cigarette with the butt of the old one.

  “Sounds to me as if anyone paying her a visit needs protecting,” Jude joked, hoping to keep the conversation focused on Kat.

  “Ya got that right,” Hazen warned. “Don’t git me wrong. Kat’s a good girl. Just a little on the wild side. Least ways she were before she left for the Army. Maybe she’s calmed down some now.”

  Chester butted in. “Ain’t nothing wrong with Kat. Most men in these parts would kill to git a woman like her. She ain’t like one of them wives that bitch and complain all the time ‘cuz their man’s off huntin’ or fishin’. Kat would be right there beside ‘em.”

  Hazen scowled at Chester. “Most men would rather hunt and fish alone or with their buddies.”

  “That’s ‘cuz she can shoot, fish and hunt better’n them,” Chester shot back. “I’d split two cord of wood just to kiss her butt through a screen door.”

  Jude choked back laughter. Hazen turned even redder than Chester. “Ya got one of them Maine Atlas books?” Hazen, obviously tired of Chester’s chatter, abruptly changed the subject. Jude shook his head. “Well,” Hazen rambled on, “ya can buy one here for sixteen-nifty-five. For another three-ninety-five, ya can have one of them yellow highlighters. Then I’ll mark them roads ya need to take.”

  Jude dug in his pockets and handed Hazen the cash for the gas, atlas and highlighter.

  Hazen began marking. “Ya could run inta’ some problems with some of them roads though,” he drawled, as he traced the route. “And ya realize that them loggin’ companies make new roads all the time. Some so new they don’t even show up in the Atlas. And some roads on the map ain’t there no more.”