Beyond A Doubt Prologue and Chapter One

Prologue

Bitterness tore at Quentin Siller’s insides with the same ferocity as the cold wind that ripped at his jacket. Bree and Anu Nicholls stood on the front porch, baring the way to the door. Quentin scowled as he waded through the snow on the front lawn. Meddlesome busybodies. They’d interfered the last time he’d had to discipline his wife, and now here they were again.

Bree Nicholls was a looker with that red hair and eyes as green as his old truck, but she needed a man to make her toe the line. She and her mother-in-law both. That’s what happened when a woman dried up—they turned into witches who poked their long noses into a man’s business. If not for the Nicholls women, his happy home would still be just that happy. Until they began to interfere and tell his wife she didn’t have to submit to his authority, things were just fine. A little slap or two never hurt anyone. A few bruises would teach his wife to listen to what he said. Didn’t the Bible say that a man was to keep his house in order and have an obedient wife and children? That’s all he was doing. Now Karen questioned his authority even more. She would have to be punished and taught to keep her mouth shut.

His anger, trapped in his chest with no way to express it, nearly choked him. He stopped at the base of the steps and glared at these women who dared to bar his entry to the house. “Get out of my way!”

Anu Nicholls stretched out an entreating hand. “Quentin, you must stop hitting your wife. This time you broke her nose.” Her voice broke. “You may not come inside today. You must get help for your anger.”

Rage in a red tide as hot as a July day made him faint. These women would pay for their interference. He started up the steps.

Bree’s dog Samson, a German shepherd/chow mix, growled softly and took a step toward him. Quentin stopped, clenching and unclenching his hands. Bree stepped in front of her mother-in-law. “Don’t try anything, Quentin. The sheriff is on his way over. You’re breaking a restraining order.” She pointed at a suitcase. “Karen packed some of your things. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find another place to live.”

“Just for now,” Anu added. “Your pastor is waiting to talk with you. Please, Quentin, you must get help before you kill Karen. We wish to save your marriage, but first you must get control of yourself.” Her voice softened. “I know you love your family, Quentin. And they love you. But you can’t keep hurting your wife.”

He sputtered, anger leaving him incoherent. “You have no right,” he said tightly. “That’s my house and my wife.” He put a foot onto the step and continued to mount the stairs. They would feel his wrath first, then Karen would be next. She’d find out she had no right to go running to the law.

The dog’s growl grew menacing, but in his state of mind he imagined he could tear the mongrel limb from limb. His anger consumed him, and his vision narrowed to a pinpoint. With one step to go before he tore them all apart, a heavy hand yanked him back.

“You’re already facing assault and battery,” Sheriff Mason Kaleva said. “Don’t add another charge to it.”
A burly man in his thirties, the sheriff wasn’t someone most people wanted to tangle with, but Quentin was past all fear. He struggled against the sheriff’s restraining hand but was powerless against the officer’s grip. The sheriff dragged him to his car and threw him in the back. After being read his rights, Quentin found himself booked and jailed for breaking the restraining order.

When he finally posted bail several hours later, he knew what he had to do. Bree and Anu Nicholls would learn first hand about submitting to his authority. It was just a matter of time.

One

The North Woods crowded in around her, cutting off all possibility of escape. The brambles tore at her skin and left trickles of blood where they touched. Davy was calling for her, crying out for her to find him. Perspiration matted her hair to her forehead, and she pressed on. She had to escape these thorns and find him. He was depending on her.

They said he was dead, but she knew it wasn’t so. Something in her heart told her he was out here somewhere. Samson barked, an urgent sound that propelled her past the thicket. A cabin lay in the valley before her. He was down there. Her son was waiting for her. Samson barked again and rushed forward.

Bree Nicholls awoke with a start. It was just a dream. She forced herself to take deep breaths. In and out, in and out. She and Samson had found Davy in a cabin very much like the one in her dream. He was just fine. But the terror of the nightmare didn’t leave her. Had Samson really barked? Maybe something was wrong.

She slipped of bed and ran down the hallway to her son’s bedroom. Moonlight filtered through the Superman curtains at his window. Her bare feet whispered across the smooth oak floor until she reached the bed. She touched a small hump in the covers, and her hand sank to the mattress. She gasped, and her hands roamed the tousled blankets and sheets.

She stepped to the wall and flicked on the light. “Davy?”

The doctor had said to make sure she didn’t startle him when he was having one of his night terrors. She went to the closet and looked on the floor. Only a jumble of baseballs, his father’s mitt and some Playmobil pirates lay on the floor. She looked under the bed. Not there. The familiar panic rose in her chest in a rush of cold dread.
She ran to the door and called for her dog as she rushed down the hallway. “Samson!” The dog could lead her to her boy. At the top of the stairs, she touched the light switch and a welcome brightness lit the way.
She reached the bottom of the steps. “Samson, come!”

She heard the click of his nails on the hardwood floor of the entry before she saw her dog. His tail down, a sure sign of his distress, he came through the door into the living room. His cold nose pressed against her leg, bare below her knee-length nightgown.

Bree rubbed his ears. “Where’s Davy, boy? Find Davy.”

The dog whined and padded toward the door. She could trust Samson. Four years old now, he had the stamina of a German Shepherd mixed with the heart of the true mutt he was. She followed him down the entry hall toward the back of the house. He pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen, and she followed. A musty scent wafted up from the open basement door. Surely Davy wasn’t down there. What if he’d fallen and hurt himself? Frantic now, she flipped on the basement light, grabbed the flashlight on a shelf at the top of the landing, and rushed past Samson down the basement stairs.

There was no sign of Davy at the foot of the stairs, and she felt the tenseness in her shoulders ease a bit. At least he hadn’t fallen. “Davy?” she called, still careful to keep her voice soft and as unconcerned as she was able.

A whimper answered her, but in the cavernous shadows of the basement, she couldn’t tell where it emanated from. Samson pushed past her and padded toward a shadowy recess. The dog lay on his paws and stared under a bulky table laden with Rob’s tools. He looked back toward Bree as if to ask what was taking her so long.
She went to the table and dropped to her knees. “Davy, I’m here. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

The flashlight’s beam revealed her son’s small form. Wedged under the table in a small hole where the concrete had broken away from the wall, Davy lay curled in a fetal position, his thumb in his mouth. Right now he looked even smaller than his four years. Bree reached out and touched his face. “Hey, pumpkin, you ready to quit playing hide-and-seek and get back to bed?” It was all she could do to keep her voice light.

Davy blinked slowly and pulled his hand away from his mouth. “Mommy,” he said. “I’m thirsty.”

“Well, come on out from there and I’ll get you a drink of juice.” She shoved the table out of the way then scooped him into her arms and held him tightly. She could feel his heart beating as rapidly as hers.

He buried his face against her neck. “I was trying to find you, Mommy. But she wouldn’t let me go.”

Davy never called the woman who found him after the plane crash by her real name of Rachel. It was always “her” or “she.”  Bree stroked his damp hair. “You’re safe now, pumpkin.”

The doctor said it was very important not to let him know how his night wanderings upset her. They more than upset her. They took her back to the hideous year she and Samson searched for the plane wreckage and his body.

Instead, a wonderful miracle had awaited her. The year’s trauma had scarred them both though. She clutched her son more tightly until he stirred restlessly. “Let’s get you upstairs,” she said in a cheery voice she didn’t feel.
She snapped her fingers at Samson, but the dog was busy scratching at the hole Davy had burrowed into. “Come on, Samson. It’s late.”

 She started toward the steps, but the dog still didn’t follow. Frowning, she watched Samson. As one of the best search-and-rescue dogs in the country, he could find a flea in haystack. Right now he was acting like he was on a mission. He whined and scratched at the wall again.

Bree flicked on the flashlight and shone it on the open hole. The beam revealed a bigger space than she would have expected. What was back there that had Samson so upset? He growled and dug at the hole with intent ferocity.

The flashlight’s beam flickered, and she turned it off. “Come on, Samson. We’ll see what’s back there tomorrow.” Still holding Davy in one arm, she reached down and tugged at the dog’s collar. He ceased digging reluctantly then followed her up the stairs. She made a mental note to call Kade tomorrow and have him help her knock down that wall.

Julia Child’s gravelly voice was enough to compete with fingernails on a chalkboard, but Bree didn’t notice, so intent she was on the task of baking at hand. His night terror of just hours before forgotten, Davy sat on the bar stool, his thin legs swinging and his gaze on his mother as she watched Julia on a small kitchen television mounted under the cabinets. Floury hand prints marked Bree’s jeans, but she had a nice pair of slacks waiting upstairs to change into before dinner.

Samson lay on the floor in a patch of sunshine streaming through the kitchen window. The Snow King had tightened his merciless grip on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and deep winter was still in full swing on this March morning. Outside the Nicholls’ lighthouse home, thick floes of ice floated in Lake Superior like great white whales stretching in the sun. Soon winter would try to shake loose spring’s encroaching touch, but would finally be forced to cry uncle. Only a few more weeks.

Bree kept stealing glances outside as she worked. She loved Rock Harbor, Michigan. Small but quaint, it perched along Lake Superior with the water to its west and massive stretches of North Woods to its other three sides. Good people lived here, many from Finnish stock, hardy and sometimes painfully honest. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else now.

Her tongue poking the side of her mouth, Bree measured the cinnamon and dumped it in the bowl with the apples. She would turn out a great pie if it killed her. Her mother-in-law Anu had told her not to bother, that she could make the pies for Easter. But with the store’s 20th anniversary bash going on, she didn’t want Anu to have to do it all. Besides, now that Davy was home, Bree needed to learn to cook better. It was fine for her to live on peanut butter sandwiches and canned soup, but it wasn’t good enough for her son. She’d been working on enhancing her culinary skills for several months now, but it wasn’t something that came naturally.

She took a moment to glance at her son. He’d only been home with her a little over three months, and she still didn’t get enough of looking at him. His heart-shaped face was a miniature version of Bree’s own, though his nose was his father’s, as were his ears. The best of them both, Rob had always said. The thought of her dead husband was both a pain and a pleasure. But slowly she was getting on with her life. At least that’s what she told herself.

“Can I have some pistachios?” Davy asked.

He coughed, a hacking sound that brought a frown to her face. “You doing okay?” she asked, wiping her hands on her jeans again.

He sneezed. “My tummy feels funny.”

Was he getting sick? Last night’s excursion to the basement might have left more of an effect than bleary eyes this morning. She put down the wooden spoon and went to him, putting her hand on his forehead. It was cool and dry. He sneezed again. “Are you getting a cold?” she asked anxiously.

“I want to eat.”

Surely that meant he was fine. But she couldn’t take any chances. She reached for the phone and dialed the doctor. He promised to come by, and she hung up feeling guilty. She hated to take advantage of an old family friend, but she didn’t dare take chances with Davy. He was still weak from his injuries in the plane wreck, and she wanted to make sure he got well as quickly as possible.

For nearly a year she’d thought him dead in a small plane crash along with her husband Rob. To find him alive and in relatively good health was a miracle she was still trying to believe. Even his limp was gone unless he was really tired.

She pulled the bag of pistachios to her and dug out a handful for him. “You want me to help you open them?”
“I can do it.” He worked his mouth as he struggled with the nut then smiled in triumph as he succeeded in cracking it.

She turned back to her pie. Maybe she could get it in the oven before the doctor got here. Julia was droning on about aluminum foil on the edges of the crust, but surely that was unnecessary. Bree listened with half an ear and finished the pie. She flipped the channel to The Cartoon Network for Davy.

The doorbell rang just as she slid the pie into the oven. She wiped her hands on her abused jeans and went to the door. Dr. Max Parker stood smiling benignly on her front porch. He’d delivered Davy and had been on call for her constantly since Davy’s miraculous return. He never minded the late night calls or the Sunday afternoon requests for help.

“I’m being silly, aren’t I?” she laughed, stepping aside for him to enter.

“We can’t be too careful with our star boy.” His deep voice was as calming as listening to the rhythmic waves along the lakeshore.

Her anxiety decreased a notch just looking into his imperturbable face. “He’s sniffling and sneezing and says his tummy feels funny.” She led the way to the kitchen where Davy was still watching television and eating pistachios.
Bree Nicholls watched anxiously as Dr. Max Parker listened to her son’s chest. His “uh huhs” and “hmm’s” made her anxiety level creep up a notch. Surely it was just a cold. She knew she tended to be overprotective, but that was understandable.

Dr. Parker straightened. “I think you’ll live, young man,” he said.

Davy was paying no attention to the doctor. His focus was on Scooby Doo, Where Are You on the TV. Bree, however, felt almost giddy at the prognosis.

Dr. Parker put a hand on her shoulder. “You worry too much. He’s fineBmaybe just a slight cold or allergy from the furnace heat. It looks like he’s even gained some weight since his mommy has been busy fattening him up. My colleague says his counseling sessions are going well.”

“I guess.” Bree moved restlessly. The topic was not one she enjoyed.

“From your tone, I’m not so sure.” The doctor put his stethoscope in his bag and closed the clasp. “What’s wrong?”

She glanced at Davy then led the doctor out of the kitchen into the entry. “I almost think the counseling is making things worse. Davy goes wandering several times a week.”

“Give him time. He’s been through a lot. You both have. I’ll talk to Dr. Walton about it next week.” He turned toward the door, but his attention was caught by the newspaper on the table. “Good picture of Anu.” He picked it up. “She’s quite a lady.”

The admiration in his voice made Bree hide a smile. “I don’t know what Davy and I would have done without her. She’s really excited about the store’s twenty-fifth anniversary. Big sale. You’ll have to stop over when she gets back. She’s on her semi-annual buying trip to Helsinki.”

“I will,” he agreed, heading toward the door.

Bree followed him. “Thanks for coming over like this. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s what friends do,” he said, smiling. He pressed her shoulder as he exited. “You worry too much, Bree. Davy is recovering nicely. Spend plenty of time with him, and he’ll soon be himself again.”

As he went down the walk, Bree saw Kade Matthews stop out front in his pickup. She waited with the door open, flinching at the cold wind that blew down her back. Puffs of snow clung to the “v’s” of the trees across the road as if they’d been left behind in a snowball fight.

 Kade came toward her, and just looking at him gave her pleasure. All male, from his wide shoulders to his strong, capable hands, she felt safe in his presence. Something that she’d never felt with another man, not even her late husband.

He kissed her, a lingering touch that left her breathless. He brought feelings to the surface she’d thought were dead and buried with Rob. She broke off the kiss with a breathless smile of apology and stepped back.

He grinned then flexed the muscles on his arm. “Me Tarzan. I bring big sledgehammer. Lead me to concrete wall.”

Bree grinned and poked him in the solar plexus. He grunted and acted like he was hurt. “ I didn’t mean you had to come right away. You’re sure you’re up to this?” She knew the park ranger’s bulky muscles would blast though the concrete as easily as he hefted fallen trees and moved boulders in the park, but she didn’t want him to think he had to do all her odd jobs.

He flashed her a cocky grin. “Piece of cake,” he said. “I was ready to get out of the house, and I can use the workout. Besides, exercise is good for what ails you.”

“Lauri?”

Kade shrugged and rolled his eyes then strode toward the kitchen. “Hey, Davy,” he said.

Davy looked up from watching his cartoon. “Hi, Kade,” he said, his attention quickly wandering back to the cartoon.

Kade turned back toward Bree. “Spurned for a cartoon,” he said. “I’m crushed. But I should be used to getting the cold shoulder.” His tone was wry, but there was only affection not animosity. Instead of warming up to Kade, Davy was withdrawn, though he’d said nothing about disliking the ranger.

“He’s still missing his daddy.” Bree patted Kade’s arm

“Is he still having nightmares as well as wandering around in then night?” Kade asked, staring into her face.
Bree nodded. “Nearly every night. I’m taking him to see Dr. Walton again on Monday.”

“It will just take time. He was cooped up in that cabin with Rachel for nearly a year. Who knows what makes someone like her tick, what she did that will affect him for a long time? A normal person would have notified his family right away that they’d found him. Have you heard anything from her?”

“No. Davy mentioned her last night though when I found him in the basement. And the other day he asked where she was. I just told him she’d gone to start her new job. He asked if she was living where she didn’t have to carry wood for the fire.” Suddenly cold, Bree clasped her arms around her. She didn’t like to think of those dark days when she’d thought Davy and Rob were lying undiscovered with their crashed plane somewhere in the North Woods. At least Rachel had taken care of her son, even if she’d tried to steal him. And Rachel buried Rob’s body, an act of kindness Bree couldn’t forget.

Kade slipped his arm around her. “He’s safe now,” he whispered.

Tears forming, she nodded against his chest. “Yes, and I thank God for that every day.” The warm press of his arms was a haven she didn’t want to leave. She stepped away reluctantly. “You about ready to get to work?”
 ”Lead me to it.”

She grabbed a flashlight and went to the basement door, pausing to flip on the light. Stepping carefully, she led the way down the narrow steps to the basement and across the damp concrete floor to a back corner lit with a bare bulb attached to a joist. “Right here.” She shoved the table. “Let’s move this out of the way.”

Once the table was out of the way, Kade inspected the concrete wall. “Shouldn’t take much to knock it down.”

Kade ran his hands over the concrete. Bree loved his hands. Broad and capable, they reminded her of a bear’s paw. He was a good man. She picked at the loose concrete. “Samson seemed almost driven to get back here.”

Kade squatted beside the wall. “Wonder why they even put it up? It’s been done later than the other walls. Look at the concreteCit’s a different color.” He slanted a grin at her. “Maybe someone buried a treasure here.”

The wall was about six feet wide and went from the concrete floor to the floor joists of the first floor above them. The other walls were stained and dark, and this concrete was much lighter in color. Bree had never noticed the discrepancy before. Some investigator she was. But to be fair, her expertise was with search-and-rescue dogs not building materials. Still, she should have noticed it.

She grinned. “I’m never that lucky. Let’s get it down.”

“You got it.” Kade hefted the sledgehammer to his broad shoulder and took a wide-legged stance. “Stand back. I don’t want you to get hit by flying concrete.”

Bree stepped back, stifling a giggle. Was there anything a man enjoyed more than power tools and demolition? Kade brought the heavy head of the tool down in an arc that struck the concrete with a sound that made her wince. The sledgehammer barely chipped the surface of the wall. Kade cleared his throat and stood a bit taller and uttered a hoarse cry, the equivalent of his Tarzan yell. Gripping the sledgehammer tighter, he swung at the wall again and continued to pound at it. The ringing in her ears increased, and she clapped her hands over them.

The hole widened. Kade paused long enough to shine his flashlight into the space to gauge how deep it was. He picked up the sledgehammer again and began to pound the wall again. Concrete dust flew into the air then the wall began to fall.

Stale, fetid air rushed out, and Bree wrinkled her nose in disgust. Kade worked fast now and soon the rest of the concrete wall lay in chunks on the basement floor.

He kicked the debris out of the way and stepped forward to peer into the small cavern his work had revealed. “Got a flashlight?” he asked.

“Right here.” Bree flicked it on and handed it to him.

The beam of the flashlight probed the darkness beyond where they stood. The pale light illuminated something heaped in the back corner.

Kade put his arm out when Bree stepped forward to see what it was. “Call Mason,” he said. “We’ve got a dead body here.”