The afternoon stretched ahead of her and the cottage felt empty. Skye finished cleaning about three and, after taking a shower, sat down to read. But for once the printed page couldn’t hold her attention. Something she had seen or heard was teasing the edge of her unconscious. She knew the only way to lure the bit of information to the surface was to totally ignore it and do something else. It was time to visit the survivalists.
CHAPTER 17
Sing for Your Supper
Skye had considered asking Wally to go with her to the survivalist camp, but having the chief of police along did not go with her cover story. She was stopping by to see how Perry Underwood was doing after his problem at school. In fact, if she didn’t go alone, her explanation of why she was there wouldn’t hold up. She had to be there as Ms. Denison, school psychologist. And Ms. Denison would not have an escort.
If a pickup had not been pulling out as she drove up the road, Skye would have missed the entrance to the camp entirely. A camouflaged gate guarded the entry and there was little evidence on the ground that vehicles regularly went in and out.
She stopped her car and got out. How did the gate open? She put her fingers through the leaf-covered wire mesh and tugged. It slid smoothly to the right on well-oiled tracks. Thank goodness it wasn’t locked.
As Skye guided the Buick down the tightly packed dirt lane, she wondered how the heck she was going to locate the Underwoods. Then she realized she could work the circumstances in her favor. She had an excuse to stop and talk to other people as she tried to find them.
Trailers and tents of every description were set up along the hills and lakes. All were heavily screened by dense foliage. This area had been one of the many coal mines, and the unique landscaping was the result.
When the mining companies abandoned Scumble River thirty years ago, the huge holes in the ground and equally large slag heaps next to them were eyesores and dangerous nuisances. After a while, though, some of Scumble River’s citizens figured out how to make the mines into money-earning recreational areas. They hauled sand in to line the shallowest of the coal pits and put fish in the deeper holes. While they were getting the beaches and fishing ponds ready, grass and trees were planted everywhere else. Now, people from the city spent their summer weekends paying dearly to swim in an old coal pit.
Skye wondered how the survivalists had been able to afford to buy such a huge tract of recreational-quality land. Either they purchased it before prices rose or someone in their group had a lot of money to throw around.
After what seemed forever, Skye spotted a log cabin to her left. It was bigger and more permanent than any other dwelling she’d seen so far. Perhaps it was the camp’s head-quarters. She parked her car between a pickup and a Suburban with a red cross painted on the side, and walked up to the porch.
The memory of Simon’s telling her about the shooting out here suddenly popped into her mind. She looked around nervously. Was there a gun pointed at her this very minute? No, she was being silly. He had said it was an accident, hadn’t he?
She took a deep breath and knocked on the screen door, smoothing her khaki pants and black polo shirt as she waited. This had been another tough wardrobe decision. What does one wear to infiltrate a survivalist camp? Unfortunately, her camouflage suit was at the cleaners.
Abruptly a huge man filled the doorway and growled, “Yeah, what do you want?”
“I’m Ms. Denison from Scumble River Elementary School. Could you direct me to the Underwoods?” Skye forced her voice not to quaver.
“They went back to Michigan.” He turned to go.
“Wait. Ah, as long as I’m here, could I talk to you for a minute?”
“About what? I ain’t got no kids.”
“But you are the leader out here, right?” She took a wild guess.
He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, it’s obvious that you would be the top guy.” Skye stole a peek at his face and laid the flattery on thicker. “Your bearing, your aura of authority, your size, they all scream commander.”
“Yeah?” He straightened his back and squared his shoulders. “I suppose you’re right. The major don’t live out here and I’m in charge when he’s not in camp.” He stuck out a hand bigger than Skye’s purse. “I’m Sarge.”
Skye swallowed nervously as she watched her hand disappear in his grip, which was surprisingly gentle. “My name’s Skye.”
“Aw, that’s a pretty name.” Sarge leaned against the door frame. “So, what you want to know? We ain’t got no secrets. We’re just getting ready for when civilization fails.”
“Well, preparedness is always a smart thing.” Skye searched her mind for a good question, figuring this was a limited opportunity. “You may have known my grandmother, Antonia Leofanti. She lived on the farm next to this property.”
“Heard of her. Never met the lady.” Sarge examined his fingernails. “Saw in the paper she was killed. Shame, not being safe in your own home.”
“Ah, no offense, but I know some of your people occasionally forgot where your camp ended and her farm began and went across the line.” Skye watched him closely for a reaction. “I was wondering if anyone out here had seen anything.”
“We never took anything.” Sarge crossed his arms and a stubborn look stole over his features. “But your grandma sure went crazy if we were hunting and took a step on her property. That wasn’t too neighborly.”
“No, it wasn’t. But she was an old woman whose health was already failing. Things bothered her that never used to.”
He nodded and leaned back. “Sometimes old folks are hard to live with.”
“So, do you think you could ask around and see if anyone noticed anything the day she died?”
“Okay, but I’d’ve heard if anyone saw anything.”
“Let me give you my number, just in case someone remembers something.” She fished in her purse and pulled out a small notebook and pen.
While she was writing, a skinny teenager ducked under the older man’s arm and ran down the steps. She yelled over his shoulder, “You ain’t stickin’ me with no needle.”
An attractive middle-aged woman wearing an old-fashioned nurse’s uniform followed the girl. The nurse was holding a syringe; its metal tip glinted in the sunlight. “This is only a tetanus shot. That barbed wire you cut yourself on was rusty. You need this to prevent you from getting sick.”
Without speaking, Sarge stepped off the porch, grabbed the girl in a bear hug, and presented her to the nurse, who administered the injection. The teenager took off as soon as the man released her and the nurse went back inside the cabin.
Skye distractedly thanked Sarge and said good-bye. The nurse had triggered something in the back of Skye’s mind. She got into the Buick, waved, and was nearly in Scumble River when it hit her. One of the pictures from her grandmother’s box had a similar scene. It showed Mona and Minnie as teens standing on either side of a nurse in an old-fashioned uniform. The Chicago skyline was the backdrop.
Skye abruptly swung the wheel of the car and turned toward her brother’s salon. She wanted that picture. Who was the nurse? Why was she with her aunts? And what were they doing in Chicago?
She was sitting on her couch staring at the photo when her telephone rang. Bingo was ensconced on her lap, and she had several coffee-table books featuring Chicago spread around her. She grabbed the receiver just before her new answering machine intervened.
Charlie’s rough baritone blared through the handset. “Skye, honey, what you doing tomorrow night?”
“Why?” Charlie had roped her into many unpleasant activities in the past and she was cautious, even though she knew she would end up doing exactly what he wanted her to do.