The Marsh Madness

“It was empty. No one here.”


I glanced around. The inside was definitely rustic. It was made of logs inside and out. Some beautiful old quilts covered the furniture, which had a handcrafted look to it. Other quilts were hung on the log walls. They looked handmade by someone’s grandmother. I stepped forward to examine the tiny stitches. Lovely. I couldn’t imagine Grandmother Kelly making a quilt, although she drove a getaway car like an artist.

There was so much to look at. The wide plank flooring, the spectacular stone fireplace that must have taken someone an eternity to complete. At the back of the cabin, overlooking what I thought was a ravine, was a sunroom with a sloping glass roof and three sides of windows. A pair of battered recliners, with a small table between them, pretty well filled the room. This was no abandoned cabin. Someone loved this place. A lot of work had gone into making it a serene escape. And then along came Kev.

“Was there anything in the fridge, Uncle Kev?”

“Oh yeah. Lots of stuff. Beer, cheese, bacon, eggs, bread, a cake. Some wine. I brought our food from the signora, but we coulda been all right anyway.”

“Uh-huh. But you know that kind of food spoils quickly.”

Uncle Kev nodded, waiting for me to make my point.

I made it. “That means that whoever owns the place either comes often or is planning to come back soon.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, Kev, it isn’t.”

“But they won’t because—” A loud clap of thunder drowned out whatever else he was going to say. The thunder was followed soon by a flash of lightning and then the slash of rain. We glanced out the window. Soon the view was obscured by heavy rains.

“That’ll wash out that track,” Kev said with enthusiasm. “At least once every spring it gets washed out. They’ll have to regrade it.”

“Mmmm. And how will we get out then?”

“The old van will probably make it.”

Personally, I bet the owner would have an all-terrain vehicle or at least a pickup.

“They’d never drive out here midweek in this anyway,” he said, happily. “I’ll make a fire.”

“Please don’t. Someone may see the smoke.”

“No one’s going to see it, Jordie. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

I experienced a pang in my heart. Uncle Kev was so kind, cheerful and well-meaning. He was also so hopeless and innocent and unable to make the right decisions. How would he ever survive in prison? The way we were going, Kev and I would definitely be behind bars within a day, for crimes we hadn’t committed, compounded by a few crimes Kev had committed and, um, mistakes I had made. Even Vera might be arrested and detained, possibly convicted.

I knew that near heroic action would be required to save us, and it would be up to me to take that action. Unfortunately, I was swaying with fatigue and what was probably a reaction to my apparent kidnapping. My head swam, and my knees started to buckle.

“Uncle Kev, you need to put the van out of sight and then we need to be ready to get out quickly if anyone comes. I’ll leave it to you to stand guard. I only need a short nap. No fires, please. Promise. It would just take one hiker to—”

“There’s a storm, Jordie. No hikers are out there now.” He chuckled fondly, as if I was a slow but beloved child. “Oh yeah, that reminds me.”

“Something about hikers, Kev?”

“Huh? No. No hikers.”

“What then? The storm?”

“No. Why?”

I sighed deeply. This was the man who had kidnapped me in front of a police officer. Why would I expect his conversation to follow logically?

“What did it remind you of, Kev?”

“Cherie called.”

“Okay.”

“She had something really important to tell you.”

“Did she?” I tried not to think about throttling Uncle Kev and to focus on Cherie. She had wanted to tell me something about Shelby. Cherie might be outrageous, but at least you could count on her to make sense in her own unique way.