Abducted at tumble lake, p.1
Abducted at Tumble Lake, page 1
Abducted at Tumble Lake
Book 2 of the Tumble Lake Thriller series
Copyright © 2023 Shirley Spain
All Rights Reserved
http://www.shirleyaspain.com
ShirleyASpainAuthor@yahoo.com
https://facebook.com/authorshirleyspain
This book is a work of fiction.
The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Note
Abducted at Tumble Lake was first published in 2019 as Bones and Brew, under Shirley’s pseudonym, Alice Holladay. Although the plot and characters remain the same, some of the dialogue and scenes have been added or enhanced to create a more “dark and chilling” story.
Dedication
For MY Ben.
Acknowledgements
Writing, though seemingly a solitary task, actually requires the support of many.
My wonderful husband, Curtis, is my biggest fan, an amazing content editor, and will gladly make dinner or vacuum the house to free up more time for me to write. I could not be living my dream as an author were it not for him.
To my beta readers, thank you for catching all those goofy typos and missing words. You’re THE BEST.
And to the magnificent readers who send me delightful emails and write glowing book reviews, I can’t thank you enough. You’re first-class.
I write because writing is my passion. I write to entertain. I write for YOU!
I am blessed and deeply humbled to have so many wonderful people in my life who accept me and love me despite my quirkiness. Hugs of appreciation to all of you.
Shirley
Thank You!
With the thousands of terrific authors in the world and literally millions of books to choose from, I am honored and sincerely grateful you have chosen Abducted at Tumble Lake for your reading pleasure.
No matter if you discovered this novel based on the recommendation of a friend, or if you’re a fan of my other books, or if you simply happened to be perusing selections and found the story description intriguing, THANK YOU for purchasing this book. Your support is appreciated... after all, I write for readers, like you!
I wish you a killer-good entertainment experience and hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Happy thriller reading,
Shirley
P.S. Wanna FREE ebook? (Or two, or three?) I invite you to join my Readers’ Club to receive a FREE ebook copy of my stand-along thriller, Forever Breathless. Please visit my website to claim your FREE copy today and learn about my other FREE Shirley Spain novels.
Website: http://www.shirleyaspain.com/
Email: ShirleyASpainAuthor@yahoo.com
Facebook: https://facebook.com/authorshirleyspain
Copyright
Note
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Author Thank You
Quote – Jane Austin
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Thank You For Reading Abducted at Tumble Lake
About the Author
PREVIEW Betrayed at Tumble Lake
The worst crimes; are crimes of the heart. —Jane Austin
Prologue
Tumble Lake.
The First Day of Summer.
“PLEASE, PLEASE don’t kill me.” Ralph Black knelt next to the handmade coffin. Towering pines—nature’s sentinels—fended off the rays of light trying to sneak through the branches. The sun was setting fast. Not only on the day, but on his life.
Fresh sawdust and wood shavings littered the forest floor next to the wooden box.
Sweat, tears, and snot rolled down his face. He thought he had experienced fear before, but he was wrong. Dead wrong. Hands clasped in prayer position, he stared up at the man aiming the barrel of a large caliber hunting rifle at his head. His voice and body trembling without control, he raised his right hand, signifying taking an oath. “Honest to God, I’ve told you everything and told them nothing.”
“Get in the box,” the gun wielding man ordered, unmoved by Ralph’s words.
“I have a daughter. She-she’s only three.” Images of his beautiful baby girl swirled in his head. “I-I want to see her grow up. Please… please.”
“You should have thought about her before you became a CI for those scum-sucking MTAF bastards.”
“I had no choice,” Ralph shrieked. “They gave me no choice. I had to agree to be a confidential informant or go to prison.”
“You chose poorly.”
Ralph buried his head in his hands and escalated his wailing. Sure, he had made some mistakes in his life, done some dumb things, but he didn’t deserve this.
“My patience is wearing thin, Mr. Black. Get in the God damn box or I’ll put you in the box, then hunt down your baby girl and put her in a box next to you.”
Ralph jerked his head up. “Please. No. Not my baby. Not my Sara.”
“If you want to save your daughter, you know what to do.” He pointed the barrel of the rifle at the coffin. “A life for a life. Your life for hers.”
Ralph’s entire body continued to tremble, teeth chattered. “You-you promise, you won’t hurt my little girl, right?” With little choice, he stepped into the box. Suddenly his bladder released. Hot piss streamed down his legs.
“Sit.”
“Oh, God. You promise, right?” He eased himself deeper into the pine box. As his butt hit the wooden planks, the escalation of his fear released his bowels. The smell of his own stench about rolled his stomach.
“Lie down.”
“No. Please.” He eyed the man and raised his hands, as if under arrest. “I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just please don’t kill me.”
BOOOM! The report of the high-power rifle reverberated through the forest.
“Ahhhhhh!” The impact of the bullet thrust Ralph’s body rearward, forcing him onto his back. The pain burned like boiling acid coursing through his shoulder. He slammed his palms over the gaping hole the bullet had chewed through his flesh. Blood oozed between his fingers.
“That’s better.”
Ralph raised his head, attempting to sit up.
“Stay down!”
His head collapsed rearward, the back of his skull hitting the wood. But lying back had nothing to do with obeying the killer’s command. It had been an involuntary reaction of human physiology.
Eyes wide, he gasped to breathe. His thoughts blurred. A blackout shade drew down on his mind. Darkness engulfed him as he faded in and out of consciousness.
ZZZZZZZZT. The buzz of a power tool acted like smelling salts. He blinked. His mind scrambled to reboot.
ZZZZZZZZT.
What’s that?
ZZZZZZZZT.
Where the hell am I? A hodgepodge of memories surfaced as his mind came back online. Woods. Sara. Gunshot. Pain…
Oh God! The bastard was fastening the coffin lid with a screw gun. “No! Noooooo!”
ZZZZZZZZT.
“Noooo! Noooo! Noooo!” Consumed by black panic, he hammered the lid with his fists and kicked at the sides of the coffin. “Noooo! Noooo! Noooo!”
Ralph kicked with such fury his sneakers came off and his jeans tore out at the knees. Like the sharp blades of a metal grater, the rough wood shredded his exposed flesh, skinning himself alive.
Throat raw from screaming, fire devouring his muscles, Ralph gasped to breathe. The coppery smell of blood—his blood—filled his lungs.
Though exhausted, thoughts of his little girl wouldn’t let him give up. He fixated on the sliver of light shining through two slats of wood at his chest. He clawed at the paperclip-sized slit. Dug with such fury, his fingernails peeled from his nail bed.
Terror overriding pain, he raked his bloody fingers across the hole. Picking. Pecking. Scraping…
Wood splinters embedded in the meat of what was left of his fingertips. The more he dug, the deeper the s
But his self-inflicted tortures were pointless. Ralph Black would die. Eventually. His death agonizing, as insects and worms ate him alive.
Buried alive within the confines of a handmade coffin in the middle of nowhere, all he could do was pray the killer would keep his word—a life for a life—and not kill little Sara.
Chapter One
About One Year Later.
Monday Morning.
LOUISE RESTOCKED the personal-sized bug spray kept on a rack behind the only cash register in the general store. Rachel and Scott took over the management of the Tumble Lake Trading Post ten years ago. Since then, Louise hadn’t worked a regular shift cashiering at the combination store and diner Milt and she co-owned.
She agreed to cover Rachel’s scheduled hours, from 7 a.m. to 1 p.m., Monday through Wednesday, until someone was hired to work the shift. Rachel and her husband, Scott, had recently adopted an infant. Rachel wanted more time to spend with the child, and Louise was happy to oblige.
TING-A-LING. The sound of the old-fashioned shopkeeper’s bell indicated someone had entered the establishment.
The stench of sweaty armpits overpowered the delicious smell of freshly baked cookies wafting from the diner’s kitchen.
Her back to the door, Louise ceased breathing through her nose. Without looking, she knew the distinctive malodor belonged to one of the men from the Barr clan. The survivalists didn’t believe in deodorant. Or changing clothes more than once a week. She spun around and recognized the stinker. Pasting on a smile and hamming up a cheery tone, she greeted the patriarch of the Barr family. “Good morning, Porter.”
“Whet-whew,” he whistled. “My heart be still!” Thrusting his grime-encrusted hands over his heart, he arched his back and acted like he was about to faint. “You look mighty fetching in that flowery pink top, Miss Louise.”
“Thank you, Porter.” On the verge of puking, for more reasons than his repulsive body odor, Louise continued to breathe through her mouth while fidgeting with the low-cut scoop neckline of the semi-sheer blouse. Her trading post smock would have covered her somewhat revealing blouse, but she forgot to slip it on. Probably because she wasn’t used to working a regular shift.
“Those bright pink stripes in your hair take me back to my childhood and remind me of a carnival.”
A carnival? Not giving a bee’s behind whether she should take his comment as a compliment or insult, Louise flipped her fuchsia-streaked hair over her shoulder. “What brings you to town?”
“A distant cousin’s here on vacation from Tennessee.” He tipped his head back toward the door and grunted. Apparently not pleased at the arrival of his relative.
Louise stretched her neck to look outside the storefront window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the visitor.
Porter’s dual-wheel, four-door pickup consumed two parking spots. The bed sagged, almost touching the wheel wells. An army green tarp concealed something heavy.
Guns? Drugs? Tools? For all she knew, it could be rocks stolen from the local quarry. The Barrs were one of the few known criminal elements living in Tumble Lake.
Morton, one of Porter’s sons, had been recently released from prison. He spent two years behind bars for killing a man with his bare fist in a barroom brawl.
Otherwise, poaching deer and committing retail thefts were the Barr’s primary offenses, at least those for which they had been caught. Perhaps because Porter was sweet on Louise, the Barrs never shoplifted from the trading post. However, the other small businesses in Tumble Lake hadn’t been as fortunate.
Shortly after Tom had become Tumble Lake’s police chief, he arrested Porter for allegedly kidnapping and raping a young woman who had been hiking around the lake. But the victim withdrew her complaint before Porter could be prosecuted. She claimed to want to forget the attack and move on with her life. Tom suspected Porter had threatened to kill her or harm her family if she testified. But couldn’t prove it.
About five years later, Tom arrested Porter again. That time for selling knock-off Rolex watches as the genuine article to gullible tourists. Pleading no contest, he was sentenced to two years probation and one-hundred hours of community service.
Louise often wondered if Porter had killed Tom, if not personally, then masterminded the execution and talked Hank Ratcliff into carrying it out. Not that it would have taken much convincing.
Hank Ratcliff owned a small hunting supply store he called Shoot to Kill. Years ago, when he opened the store, most in town were appalled by the name, including Tom and Louise. A national animal rights group caught wind and protested, drawing the attention of the media. The group called for a boycott of Tumble Lake, a small town depending on visitors for their livelihood. Local business owners pressured Tom to find a crime to charge Hank with that would cause him to close the repulsively named store.
It didn’t take Tom long to discover Hank wasn’t filling out the required federal paperwork and running the background checks required for all gun sales. Tom contacted the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives. The federal agency swooped in, charged Hank with multiple federal crimes, yanked his federal firearms license, and forced the doors of Shoot to Kill to be shuttered. Forever. The town and the media hailed Tom as a hero. Tourists returned. Businesses boomed.
But instead of taking responsibility for breaking the law, Hank blamed Tom. Called him a traitor and a pig to his face.
If Porter hadn’t killed Tom, Hank surely had.
Despite Louise’s suspicions, law enforcement found no evidence to prove either was involved in Tom’s murder. Maybe if the murder weapon, a 12-gauge shotgun, had been found…
Unlike Porter, at least Hank never ventured into the trading post.
The sun back-lit the person sitting in the passenger seat of Porter’s truck, creating a silhouette and shrouding details about the visiting cousin. She couldn’t see into the backseat where another person or two might be seated.
“Is Preston with you?” Louise asked, speaking loud enough that Milt working in the kitchen diner could hear. Previous run-ins with Preston warranted concern. Milt’s help might be required to manage the cantankerous man.
Dealing with Porter was one thing. But his eldest son, Preston, was another. Porter was Mother Teresa compared to Preston, who was bad to the bone. Of the entire Barr family, which operated more like a religious cult, Preston was the most dangerous. Mean, cold, and carrying a boulder-sized chip on his shoulder, encountering an angry rattlesnake would be more pleasant.
“Nah,” Porter chuckled. “You know Preston. He wouldn’t win any Mr. Congeniality awards.”
No argument from me. “How’s the rest of the family?” Louise inquired to be polite.
“Fine. Everyone’s fine.” Porter stuffed his thumbs under the camo-patterned suspenders holding up his grungy blue jeans. “With our cousin visiting, we’re gonna party a little. So I need to pick up a couple cases of beer.”
“You’re buying beer?” Louise could hardly believe her ears. The Barr’s home-brewed beverages had become a local tradition. During Tumble Lake Town Days in the fall, folks looked forward to swilling his beer. “What happened to the legendary Barr Brewery?”
Porter puffed out his barrel chest and grinned ear to ear. His salt and pepper wizard-long beard looked like fuzzy mold growing around his red worm lips.
His reaction indicated her use of the word legendary stroked his ego, just as Louise had intended. Although not interested in a friendship, she didn’t want to make an enemy of Porter Barr, either.
“We’re still steeping, fermenting, bottling, and aging. We have plenty of beer and plenty of varieties. But Dot prefers the lite beer and we don’t make any of that diet crap.”
“Dot? Is that your cousin?”
He nodded. “Says my beer would give her heartburn or some such gastrointestinal issue.”
I have a gastrointestinal issue right now, but my urge to vomit has nothing to do with beer and everything to do with your B.O.
