Chapter 1
My first hint that something was amiss was the dead animal on the side of the road. I know, a lovely welcome on my first vacation in four months, but the poor cow couldn't help it. It was on the road to Wolf Lake, a picturesque body of water surrounded by thousands of acres of thick, untouched wilderness and with only one entrance and exit. What could possibly go wrong?
The single road in and out of the lake was a winding, narrow path surrounded by tall, swaying pine trees. The corners were sharp enough I had to go at a snail's pace up the steep slope, and sometimes I swore the snails in the wet ditch passed me. It was late afternoon when I reached the crest of the hill and the road straightened and flattened. I first noticed the cattle truck in a pocket meant for a turnaround, and then caught sight of a small group of people a dozen yards beyond the vehicle. They stood crowded around the tailgate of a truck and looked over something that lay on it.
I slowed to a crawl and glanced out my window only to regret both decisions when my eyes fell on the cow. It was not only stone dead, but something had gone to the trouble of making it into patty slices. The poor thing was shredded better than shredded wheat. I quickly remembered that I was supposed to be watching the road and drove onward.
"Great welcome," I muttered to myself. "A wonderful start to a vacation."
My thoughts became more pleasant at my first view of the lake beyond the thinning trees on my right. The bright blue of the water flickered between the trunks and I could see a few of the cabins that surrounded the lake's edge. Wolf Lake was a popular retreat for the wealthy, but I was in the minority. My claim to fame was that my boss really liked me and rewarded me with an annual bonus. Last year he gave me a jacuzzi, but that gift had to be returned when he learned I lived in an apartment. This year he gave me a trip to Wolf Lake to spend two weeks at his cabin. I wasn't sure whether to thank him or quit.
I followed the curving road to a large steel-rod, double-winged gate with stone pillars on either side of the road. A small house stood off to the side and out of it shuffled a man older than Methuselah. He was short, and wore a white shirt and suspenders that kept up his dark gray pants. Every time he smacked his lips his long, white mustache twitched and danced. He had the brightest blue eyes I'd ever seen, and beneath that lip-smacking and mustache twitching was a friendly smile. On his head was a straw hat and in his wizened hands was a key chain with a single key.
He walked between my car and the gate, and over to the driver's side. "Good afternoon, you miss. What can I do for you?" he inquired.
"I'm Grace Stevens. I'm occupying Mr. Trimble's cabin," I told him. Mr. Trimble was my boss.
The elderly gentleman nodded his head. "I've been expecting you, Miss Stevens. The name's Steuben. I manage the front gate here and some of the grounds, those wanting a yard, that is. Were you wanting to get on your way to the cabin or to the park?"
"I will be if you give me a map and about five hours to find it," I joked.
He chuckled and pointed at the gate. "You go through here until the fork, and then ya take it."
I blinked. "Take what?"
His mustache twitched, but he didn't lose his smile. "The joke too old? Well, never mind. You take the right path until you reach the cabin with the brown siding and roof. That'll be the one you're wanting. Are you needing a key to get in?"
"No, Mr. Trimble gave me one, but thanks."
He nodded his head. "Not a problem, miss, not a problem. Now get on with you."
My eyes flickered over to the gate. The closed gate. "Um, does the gate open itself?" I asked him.
"No, why do you ask?" He followed my gaze and his eyes widened. "Would you look at that? I forgot to open the gate. It'll be just a moment, miss, and we'll get ya through." He shuffled over to the gates, unlocked the large, built-in lock between the two wings,
My first hint that something was amiss was the dead animal on the side of the road. I know, a lovely welcome on my first vacation in four months, but the poor cow couldn't help it. It was on the road to Wolf Lake, a picturesque body of water surrounded by thousands of acres of thick, untouched wilderness and with only one entrance and exit. What could possibly go wrong?
The single road in and out of the lake was a winding, narrow path surrounded by tall, swaying pine trees. The corners were sharp enough I had to go at a snail's pace up the steep slope, and sometimes I swore the snails in the wet ditch passed me. It was late afternoon when I reached the crest of the hill and the road straightened and flattened. I first noticed the cattle truck in a pocket meant for a turnaround, and then caught sight of a small group of people a dozen yards beyond the vehicle. They stood crowded around the tailgate of a truck and looked over something that lay on it.
I slowed to a crawl and glanced out my window only to regret both decisions when my eyes fell on the cow. It was not only stone dead, but something had gone to the trouble of making it into patty slices. The poor thing was shredded better than shredded wheat. I quickly remembered that I was supposed to be watching the road and drove onward.
"Great welcome," I muttered to myself. "A wonderful start to a vacation."
My thoughts became more pleasant at my first view of the lake beyond the thinning trees on my right. The bright blue of the water flickered between the trunks and I could see a few of the cabins that surrounded the lake's edge. Wolf Lake was a popular retreat for the wealthy, but I was in the minority. My claim to fame was that my boss really liked me and rewarded me with an annual bonus. Last year he gave me a jacuzzi, but that gift had to be returned when he learned I lived in an apartment. This year he gave me a trip to Wolf Lake to spend two weeks at his cabin. I wasn't sure whether to thank him or quit.
I followed the curving road to a large steel-rod, double-winged gate with stone pillars on either side of the road. A small house stood off to the side and out of it shuffled a man older than Methuselah. He was short, and wore a white shirt and suspenders that kept up his dark gray pants. Every time he smacked his lips his long, white mustache twitched and danced. He had the brightest blue eyes I'd ever seen, and beneath that lip-smacking and mustache twitching was a friendly smile. On his head was a straw hat and in his wizened hands was a key chain with a single key.
He walked between my car and the gate, and over to the driver's side. "Good afternoon, you miss. What can I do for you?" he inquired.
"I'm Grace Stevens. I'm occupying Mr. Trimble's cabin," I told him. Mr. Trimble was my boss.
The elderly gentleman nodded his head. "I've been expecting you, Miss Stevens. The name's Steuben. I manage the front gate here and some of the grounds, those wanting a yard, that is. Were you wanting to get on your way to the cabin or to the park?"
"I will be if you give me a map and about five hours to find it," I joked.
He chuckled and pointed at the gate. "You go through here until the fork, and then ya take it."
I blinked. "Take what?"
His mustache twitched, but he didn't lose his smile. "The joke too old? Well, never mind. You take the right path until you reach the cabin with the brown siding and roof. That'll be the one you're wanting. Are you needing a key to get in?"
"No, Mr. Trimble gave me one, but thanks."
He nodded his head. "Not a problem, miss, not a problem. Now get on with you."
My eyes flickered over to the gate. The closed gate. "Um, does the gate open itself?" I asked him.
"No, why do you ask?" He followed my gaze and his eyes widened. "Would you look at that? I forgot to open the gate. It'll be just a moment, miss, and we'll get ya through." He shuffled over to the gates, unlocked the large, built-in lock between the two wings,
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