Flower Girl: A Burton Family Mystery (5 page)

Matte glanced at me and said, "Why don't we take a break."

"This is your pilot speaking." Craft interrupted. "Please fasten your seat belts, including the dogs', and prepare for landing. The winds are minimal from the north so the landing will be smooth."

Matte was forced to cease her interrogation, excuse me, her psychological enquiry. "You two have been through a lot together, even if not as father and daughter. Thanks for sharing."

"How about a 360 over the lake; to give you a bird's eye view of the place?" Craft suggested.

Located in Northern Ontario's Muskoka Lakes region, Skeleton Lake looks to be pretty remote, most easily accessible by seaplane. "Does the lake freeze over in the winter?" Reddy asked, reconnoitering as he gazed out the starboard windows. Craft banked into the wind, finished the slow 360, and dropped altitude for a landing on the lake, which was as smooth as glass.

"Not many folks stay here in the winter. The lake is likely a meteor crater, couple of hundred feet deep, so it doesn't totally freeze over." Craft answered. "I landed the Cessna here in January one year."

I garnered from Reddy's few succinct comments and questions that he appreciated having a remote hideaway. I knew there were people he was evading. I already knew that he's a very private person and that a broken front tooth needed repair to protect his anonymity.

The pups scrambled out of the Caravan and headed across the dock for the woods with mother KC casually following. Craft could see that I was worried about them, so he said, "KC will guide them back to the cabin in time for supper."

We checked in with Freddy McAllister, the Skeleton Lake Waterdrome supervisor. He topped off the Caravan's gas tanks while Craft gave her a post flight once over and Laz helped tie her down to the dock. Reddy and Craft borrowed a four-wheeler with a trailer from Freddy and hauled the luggage over to the cabin. "You can bring it back in the morning," Freddy said.

As the sun began to set, we followed the four-wheeler, trekking the scenic half-mile route to the cabin, along the south edge of the lake. We reached the cabin as the loons began their eerie and wonderful calls to each other over the waters of the lake. I heard the faint sounds of a pack of wolves calling in the distance. Maybe KC was getting reacquainted or she was making sure they stayed away from her turf and out of the garbage cans.

When we all got to the cabin, Matte unlocked the padlocks from the doors and storm shutters while Reddy, Laz, and I helped Craft pull the iron rods from across the doors and storm window shutters securing the cabin.

Craft said, "That's step one. Now let's crank up the generator. Then we can charge up the Landcruiser for a morning supply run into Huntsville."

"Landcruiser, sounds like my cup of tea," Reddy said as I gave him the keys for the garage. "I was wondering why you filled up that five gallon gas can at the aerodrome."

"We also have a beat up old CAT snowmobile in the garage, but it hasn't been up and running for years," Craft said with a grin.

Reddy got the Landcruiser coughing and sputtering back to life in record time."She's good to go, but that snowmobile ain't going nowhere, not now, never."

The generator was frustrating Craft and he said, "We'll likely need to buy a new generator in town tomorrow."

"These old generators need a little love," Reddy said. "Mind if I try?"

Matte had boiled water, and the hojicha tea was steeping. She covered the iron teapot, then heated up some beans and franks. I poked the fire in the potbelly stove and added another log. We all just hung out on the back porch, sipped the hojicha, and dined on soda crackers, beans and franks for supper. Reddy and I had dish duty and, as we finished, I was about to turn on some New Orleans jazz when Reddy's keen ears were the first to hear the sounds of "Shame, Shame, Shame on You W” coming from out on the lake.

"They've probably been out fishing, trying to make it home before dark," Reddy said. We all began to hear the song's refrain then, and together we sang the chorus of "Shame, shame, shame on you W…."

"Fishermen headed to the Lodge for a couple of beers. And, they have a good sense of humor," Matte said. "They always head home to the sound of the loons."

KC's white curl tail reappeared coming down the trail by the lake with a gang of tuckered out and hungry pups trailing. I reckon she knows about the loons too.

Matte changed the subject to Rhyly, wanting to finish her interrogation of Reddy. She started by summing up the two attempts on her life.

"So, Rhyly was shot with a 223 caliber rifle from a distance of a couple hundred meters both times. Sure wish I could get a look at the slugs and compare them," Reddy said.

"I'll send Sgt. DeRosa an email at RVPD. She can check on the match between the two slugs and send us the lab results," Craft replied.

"Good start," Reddy said, "and if you'd like, I can scout out the Moose Factory dig and adjacent town of Moosonee and set up any needed security. I'd like to check the place out before Rhyly sets up shop up there."

"You and I can fly up there in the Caravan in two or three hours from here at the lake," Craft answered.

"Are there any roads or other ways to access the area?"Reddy asked.

"The Polar Express rolls in regularly but in the winter it's mostly snowmobiles," Craft replied. "Pretty remote, didn't have an airfield until recently, only a waterdrome on the Moose River at the north edge of town. Roads are pretty much impassible due to the rivers and snow melting." Reddy decided on tomorrow as a good a target date for Craft to fly the two of them up to reconnoiter Moosonee for a couple of days. I was curious as to why he never asked any questions about Laz. Maybe it was because he already knew all he needed to know about him. I let it drop.

The next day Rhyly and Laz flew up to Moosonee with Reddy and Craft to reconnoiter the place. When they got back to the cabin, Reddy told us what they'd done. It sounded a lot like what he did to secure my home in Berkeley.

To my way of thinking, being so remote would make the island in the middle of the Moosonee River a near perfect hide-away, but Reddy, being the personal security expert, had other thoughts and walked to the town of Moosonee, then went by canoe to the island campsite and the archaeological dig site at Moose Factory on the island. He inspected every entry and exit point to and from the area. I asked Reddy if a secluded island didn't make security easy. That's when he told me he'd teach me “six direction recon” some day.

Reddy did conclude that the only way to get onto the island was by canoe or some other river craft and most approaches were visible in all directions. Even so, he decided to install a communication system center in the main tent and issue walkie-talkies to Rhyly and Laz as well as a satellite phone, and more walkie-talkies to the other team members. He didn't think anyone was going to sneak up during daylight, but after dark presented a challenge. He placed sunset to dawn laser detectors at fifty foot intervals around the campground and assigned someone to the communications tent on a 7/24 basis, with shifts of six hours each, to alert the whole campground if the laser detectors were tripped. Then he left instructions for everything, once set up, to be tested twice. I thought all these measures might prove unnecessary, but Reddy said, "That's the very definition of a security job well done."

I soon learned that all the precautions had, in fact, been needed. Two days after Craft and Reddy returned to the cabin from Moosonee, Rhyly and Laz called Reddy on the satellite phone. They had found some fresh boot prints, men's size 9-10, behind the communication center. The person who left them was pretty good at getting past the perimeter security electronics in the middle of the night. He tried to cut the main power line to the communications center tent, but the backup generator kicked in immediately and set off a silent alarm. Laz raced over, but by the time he got there, the intruder had taken off. Reddy wanted a photo of the boot prints to compare with information the RVPD had given him about the two shooting attempts on Rhyly. Otherwise, Reddy concluded that the location of the island in the middle of the river didn't provide the intruder with any really good sniper sites and whoever it was would probably await Rhyly's return to civilization. He was right. No one broke through the security system again all summer.

Reddy and I stayed the rest of the summer at the cabin with Matte and Craft with KC making an effort to keep the pups in-line, most of the time. Every morning began with an hour or two of Reddy's training me to shoot. I soon mastered his modified 223 sniper scoped rifle and graduated to some of Reddy's best long range sniper rifles. I'm an excellent shot. It doesn't hurt that I have 20-14 vision, as good as Ted Williams.

We planned to make the return flight to River View as soon as Rhyly and her crew buttoned down the Moose Factory dig site. Reddy and I took off in one of the canoes for a final fishing and a picnic lunch on the big island, a rock in the north central part of the lake. The rest of the week, the two of us practiced shooting and tracking skills.

Summer 1 at Craft's cabin at Skeleton Lake brought some answers to who I am and how and why the man-in-black came into my life, why and where he disappeared to, and how we began to bond as a family. The CIA definitely did not know all there was to know about this daunting man.

As we loaded into the Caravan, I whispered to Matte, "I'm starting to think of him as my father."

 

Chapter 3: Summer 2 at Skeleton Lake

My concept of Reddy as my father and Reddy's and my concepts of family are definitely changing; however, maybe they are not morphing. Since he went off the reservation and since we returned from Skeleton Lake, he has begun to take on private contracts. After setting up security at Moosonee and the search for Rhyly Raincrow's shooter(s), I think, he got involved in at least one rescue of a kidnapped child other than me.

Most relevant to our family bonding, some of Reddy's cases led him to Singapore, the Philippines, and the Caribbean. Matte deftly extracted the first of these stories from him last summer on our flight to Skeleton Lake. I was soon looking forward to a second summer vacation at Skeleton Lake where Reddy planned to teach me more survival and shooting skills. Hopefully, he'll tell me more stories about some of his assignments, sans names of course, government security and all.

Recently he seems restless. I really didn't have a clue as to what he had on his mind until after the CIA came for that visit last year. After we returned from our first visit to Skelton Lake, I half expected the CIA to be waiting on my front porch in Berkeley. After all, Reddy was now officially off the reservation and he still had something or someone they wanted, Michaela. However, he had anticipated their surveillance, vanishing at irregular intervals for weeks at a time. He rarely apprised Angie and me of his whereabouts. I wasn't sure whom he was hiding from this time, in addition to the CIA, or if he was on another assignment.

"Agent Clemson Rapier has been by the house on a regular basis, that's probably why Reddy hasn't been around much lately." I said, adding, "Clemson seems more and more interested in you girl friend."

"We've been out together a few times, no big thing." Angie replied.

"Un huh, if you say so!"

Angie glared at me, stating without words that it was none of my business.

However, she never talked about Clemson, and that is her tell. The ones Angie doesn't talk about are the ones she really digs.

"Looks to me like you've finally given up on computer dating services."

That wise crack got me a glare that almost singed my eyebrows.

Berkeley Hills

After our morning run in an eerie creeping fog bank that seemed to follow us along the cypress lined ridge up to Grizzly Peak and back, Angie and I, and the pups took a break at our favorite watering hole. We were sipping a macchiato and a dry cappuccino respectively and arguing over the differences in the two drinks at the Beastro Coffee House. Then we turned to our favorite guessing game, 'Where in the world is Reddy Burton?' Speculating on where my mostly absent father had disappeared to for the past two weeks.

"I think Reddy is off dodging the CIA," I said.

Angie added, "He might be chasing after clues to finding some kidnapped child."

A bell chimed, my smart-phone alerting me to a text message:

"Dr. Evel Park Senior assassinated. Call me soonest, Matte."

Dr. Matte Morgan was my favorite teacher when I was doing graduate studies in psychology at River View University and she has since become my clinical psychologist and confidante. She is also the only person I have ever told about my messed up thoughts on family ever since I was four and about Reddy's rescuing me from the orphanage on Cheju-do Island. She is the only one other than Angie that I feel secure in confiding to about my absentee father.

I hit contacts, scrolled to Matte and returned her call. Angie asked, “Want some privacy? I'll take my espresso out on the back porch with the dogs.”

I motion for her to stay and hit the speaker button on the kitchen phone.

"Hi, Shannon, have you folks in Berkeley heard the latest news about Dr. Evel Park Senior?" Matte said as she came on the line. Matte's usual calm tone of voice was enraged. "Check out what's trying to pass for objective reporting about Dr. Evel Park's death, what they're saying about ‘the world has lost a great humanitarian today; the perpetrators of this vile deed must be brought to justice.'

"We clinical psychologists have a technical term for this sort of lies; we call it 'bull shit.' What in the h-e-l-l is all that about? The bastard's a child-slaver and pervert, and they're treating him like he deserves the Nobel Peace prize.” Matte was almost shouting. "To top off the farce, it's Edvard Grey, another pervert, who's doing the virtual awarding. You remember my showing you that newspaper article about his being tried for raping a 17 year old co-ed; the journalists called it the 'droit du seigneur case'? You all need to see this newscast; it's a load of BS."       

Call it kismet or karma or serendipity, or simply recognize that the same news appears across the nation on TV screens, iPads, and smart-phones everywhere, including on the 60-inch screen over the Beastro Coffee House bar.

"We have the same news item on the plasma screen as you speak," I told Matte. While she was winding down, Angie and I watched and listened. The headline read: “30 April 2012-Prominent Korean Doctor assassinated!” The announcer followed:

Sources in the picturesque honeymoon resort of Cheju-do Island report that police are searching for at least two gunmen suspected of killing Dr. Evel Park Senior who is the CEO of Parks' Clinics. These Asian clinics are renowned for their charitable works and services to obstetrics and their worldwide adoption services.

There are no suspects at this time. Two American partners and a Saudi partner of Dr. Park are known to have been at the Cheju-do clinic that morning for a business meeting ostensibly to expand and open a fifth clinic in Dubai. The Americans are Professor Edvard Grey and Courtney Blaine Grey, prominent members of the Grey Oil family clan and an unnamed Saudi, thought to be a son of one of Saudi Arabia's richest oil billionaires. The partners were celebrating the announcement of the Dubai opening of their new clinic and planning to fly there together later this same day to make the announcement public. Professor Grey was interviewed by the local police who told this reporter that, "The world has lost a great humanitarian today, and the perpetrators of this vile deed must be brought to justice."

Angie asked, "Who is Dr. Evel Park Senior?"

"He's the doctor who pronounced my mother and me dead," I answered. Angie went silent while my thoughts turned immediately to wondering if this assassination was Reddy's handiwork. After all, I just learned that he was a sniper and that he did work for the CIA; however, was this a sanctioned hit, or was it revenge?

Matte's voice broke my chain of thought, coming through the phone in a softer tone. "Sorry Shannon, I know how you worry about Reddy's absences. Please ignore my outburst. Besides, my friend Princess Zubaida urgently needs Reddy's help on another matter, as soon as you locate him."

All my thoughts about what my father does for a living and whether I need a father who is in the business of assassination came to a crescendo in my brain.

I feel stunned and afraid for Reddy at the same time. My confusion over the concept and reality of family that I have borne mostly alone roars back. I was four when I was told by the Doctors and nurses at the Park's Clinic and Home for Girls on Cheju-do Island, South Korea, that my father and mother had died in a traffic accident in Seoul. I think it was that very year or the next that I began to be haunted by what I think of as the dream. Then I was rescued from a life as a child bride by the man in black.

After our summer at Skeleton Lake, just as I was feeling that we were bonding as father and daughter, Reddy again went absent and now Matte calls with the news of Park's assassination. I can think of nothing else for days.

I have tried to get to know this daunting and haunting character; however, maybe I don't need a father who is more absent than present and is so secretive and in such a violent occupation.

The hit on Dr. Evel Park, Sr. continues to disturb me; however, strange as it may be to others, if they knew, to me it seems justified, if Reddy was the shooter.

From that day forward every time there was an item in the news about anyone being assassinated anywhere in the world, my thoughts turned to Reddy.

One morning Matte called. "Hi Shannon! Is Reddy there? I need to speak with him." I flinched, half expecting that Rhyly was shot for a third time, or maybe another assassination in the news.

"To be honest, we haven't been able to get in contact with Reddy for several weeks, not since returning from Skeleton Lake. Angie and I have one clue; that he may be tracking someone with the initials 'S-C.' Any idea who or what that is?"

"It's Sara-Clare O'Callahan, the reporter. I introduced Reddy to her because she's down in Central America doing a series on child brides." Matte's voice had a worried tone as she added, "Please have him call me when you find him. It's urgent he make contact with my friend Princess Zubaida."

"I'll leave him a text to get in touch with you ASAP."

"Hey, I'm late for my date," Angie said, heading for the showers before her breakfast date with Agent Clemson Rapier, her latest beau.

Most of the time, Angie and I were both wrong about Reddy's whereabouts. When he reappeared a few weeks later, he said, "I've been on the trail of Rhyly's shooter."

Reddy picked up the kitchen phone and turned on the speaker so I could add my two cents. He dialed Matte at Professor Craft's but got his voice message, “I'm out walking the dogs."

Reddy left the following text message: "Hi, Craft. Tell Matte I'm back at Shannon's. Meanwhile, I located a guy by the name of Purcell in Berkeley, and I have him safely on ice. After a bit of persuasion he indicated that he was the shooter the second time Rhyly was targeted. He says he doesn't know the first shooter and so far he hasn't divulged the name of the punter. He needs some more persuasion. I'll tell you more when we see you and head for the lake. Give my regards to Matte and Rhyly. Comet and Shy are acclimatizing and Shannon sends her love. Cheers! Reddy P.S. Ask Matte to call me from a secure phone."

The next morning, the phone rang. "Hey, Reddy, there's a call for you on the secure line in the kitchen," I shouted down the basement stairs."

"I'll be right up," he replied.

Reddy came up the stairs two at a time, punched the speaker button on my kitchen phone and got right down to business as was his style. "Hi, Craft. Shannon, the dogs, and I will meet Rhyly at Lambert Field. See you and Matte in River View before we head for the Lake. Tell Matte I'll contact Princess Zubaida shortly," Reddy said. "Hope you have an extra bunk at the cabin for our guest shooter."

When Reddy and I arrived in St. Louis at Lambert Field, Comet and Shy were anxiously waiting in the Northwest baggage area, eager to get out of their cages after the five hour flight from Oakland in the cargo bay of a NW Air Boeing jet. However, this would be their second annual Bear family reunion and they were getting adjusted to flying.

We had a surprise guest with us. "Sorry about this extra baggage, Rhyly, but we just captured this creep and we couldn't leave him behind with only Angie to watch over him," Reddy said. "Meet 'Critter' Purcell." Critter took this all in, with a look of total disinterest.

"Sounds like a plan, Reddy, but he'll have to ride in the back with the dogs," Rhyly said. This time Critter twitched, noticeably. "He seems awfully nervous around the dogs," Rhyly said. "What do you think of my new toy? We call her 'Streak.' Check out the neat black lettering on the silver paint job, compliments of Sarge's son."

We oohed and aahed our appreciation, loaded Critter, then the dogs, and Rhyly said, "Everyone buckle up, and double check the dogs' harnesses, please."

During our flight to River View I told Rhyly the tale of how Comet and Shy sniffed out and captured Critter.

"I was home alone, Angie was out partying, and I hadn't seen nor heard from Reddy for a few weeks. I was reading some Sufi poetry, you know, that beautiful stuff by Rumi that Matte and you recommended last time we talked. Anyway, it was a quiet and peaceful evening when suddenly I heard the crunch of footsteps out back on the gravel that encircled the house. Comet's and Shy's ears went straight up. Comet was growling a soft low rumble while Shy hunkered down as if about to pounce. The hackles went up on her back, then his, and they both were growling in soft but menacing tones. They went totally silent as I stepped to the screen door and peered out into the blackness. I turned off the night lights to get a better look at whatever was out there in the dark.

"At that moment, Reddy drove into the driveway and lit the place up with the high beams of his Silverado. The truck headlights startled the creature that was hiding in the dark and it began to run, sort of a shuffle. Reddy yelled out, ‘Let the dogs loose.'

"I unlatched the screen door and Comet and Shy took off in the dark in the direction of the creature, up the hill trail and off to the south towards the stadium. Reddy grabbed a couple of big flashlights from his truck, tossed one to me, and hollered, ‘Let's follow them.' I had my running shoes on from my evening workout, so the two of us took off up the hill, flashlights dancing and lighting up the trail. We could only hope that the home-fort was secure, in case the creature doubled back.

"A mile down the trail we caught up with the dogs who were sitting at the base of a large windswept cypress tree, staring up and growling menacingly. We panned the tree with our flashlights and spotted the quarry, a bedraggled homeless person. Reddy said, ‘Better get your ass down from that tree.' But the man in the tree said, ‘Not while those dogs are here.'