Dead Spots: Matthew Paine Mysteries, #1

By Lee Clark

Matthew was the last person to have heard from her alive...

 

His alluring new patient with an odd ailment who was murdered.

 

Might he have been on the scene when she was killed?

 

Dr. Matthew Paine resents being suspected by the stoic detective who shows up in his office to question him. The young physician struggles against getting drawn into the investigation.

 

But when he is targeted and his carefully crafted world of peaceful solitude is threatened, he determines to fight back to protect himself and those he loves.

 

What could the killer possibly want from him?

 

Delving into the victim's past paints a confusing picture of a trust funded party girl, an heiress, and a philanthropist. Matthew determines that she must have been some of all of that, complex but elusive.

 

Can Matthew's analytical medical mind organize the sparse and disparate facts in a way that makes any sense at all to catch a killer before he strikes again?

 

You'll love Dead Spots – the first book in Lee Clark's Matthew Paine Mystery series – because who doesn't get lost in the suspense and drama of a classic whodunit mystery?

 

Get it now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Clark
• Release date: Apr 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736842201

Book preview

1 ~ An oddly unsettling encounter

After knocking and then entering exam room one, Matthew Paine stopped abruptly and Gladys nearly ran into his back. Usually filling the doorway with her girth, Gladys couldn't see past the normally unflappable Matthew—who was nearly filling the doorway with his height—to see what brought him up short.

Ducking under and around him, Gladys Gantry entered the room. A luscious blond woman was splayed invitingly across the examining table, minus the still neatly folded robe that was left for her. The woman's come-hither look faded quickly at the sight of Gladys, Matthew's most efficient nurse and self-appointed protector.

Gladys exuded motherly protection like a sentinel goose, feathers fluffed in warning, daring anyone to approach her brood. Looking a bit goose-like, Gladys stood something marginally over five feet—if you squinted at the measuring rod on the scale—but she was a force to be reckoned with.

Ms. Umm... Eleanor Prestwould, snapped Gladys, clicking the laptop keyboard on the rolling stand in the corner to see the information from the intake form. You can put that gown on. Dr. Paine doesn't need to see ALL of you.

Oh, that's OK, the young woman shot back as she smiled alluringly at Matthew. I'm a nudist. I don't need the gown.

Well, Honey, that might be, retorted Gladys, unfazed. Lapsing into her southern drawl, she handed the woman the robe, shaking it out to unfold it. But Dr. Paine isn't. As the woman hesitated, Gladys proceeded to drape the gown across the front of her curvaceous form, pulling it over her shoulders, and moving her long blonde hair aside to attempt a loose tie behind her neck.

After breaking up with his long-time girlfriend Cici the previous year, Matthew wasn’t actively seeking another one, though several well-meaning friends had tried to set him up a few times. He seemed completely unaware of his six-foot three-inch muscular frame, broad shoulders and narrow waist. Equally oblivious to his handsome features, soft thick wavy brown hair, and expressive big brown eyes against the smooth-shaven light olive complexion, Matthew often missed overt female attention. Gladys, however, saw the way women looked at him and she asked pointed questions of any woman who had the misfortune to get close enough to be drilled by her.

Regaining his composure, Matthew quietly clicked the door closed behind him and sat down on the stool opposite the examining table. What seems to be the problem, Ms. Prestwould? he asked as he glanced at the computer screen that Gladys had rolled in front of him and skimmed the rows of neatly scripted information on the image of the intake form.

Please, call me Ellen. She smiled confidently, yet somehow mysteriously, at him with a slight tilt of her head to the left, green eyes sparkling. She paused momentarily and then said ruefully, I have these purplish red spots that keep appearing and then disappearing. She pointed to various places on her right arm and left calf that was tucked beneath her, though there was nothing immediately visible.

Pulling the lighted magnifier over, Matthew looked more closely at the proffered arm. Hmm... he said, You mean here? He lightly touched the silky skin, raising an eyebrow, and managed to stifle the tingle that had begun, unbidden, down his spine. Her skin was smooth and perfect on the surface, but he could see a bluish trace of inflammation, in rounded spots, beneath.

Yes, she purred. And here, and here, and here, pointing a perfectly manicured fingernail to various locations on her arm and leg. They appear suddenly and itch like crazy for a couple of days and then disappear almost as quickly as they appeared. I've seen a couple of doctors, including a dermatologist, but by the time I can get an appointment and get into the office, the spots are gone. Either they’re dubious that the spots were actually ever there to begin with, or they just give me more creams and lotions. But nothing seems to be helping to treat them or prevent the spots from reoccurring. One physician had me track the foods I was eating for a week but that turned up nothing out of the ordinary. Well, at least not for me, she added.

Intrigued, Matthew asked, How long has this been going on? And what is ordinary for you?

A little over two months, and I am a vegan pescatarian. Then she clarified. I eat seafood, but no other meat and no eggs or dairy.

Matthew’s eyebrow shot up again. That was a new one. Have you noticed any other symptoms? Fever? Aching? Joint soreness or inflammation?

No, nothing like that, she said, and then more slowly added, Nothing else that I can think of at all.

Brow raised and foot tapping in concentration, Matthew scanned back down her intake form and asked, Are they raised bumps? Do the spots get oozy or scab over at any point?

They do feel a bit raised when they’re the itchiest, but it’s beneath the skin. Not like mosquito bites that have a distinct center to them, they’re flat when they’re raised. And no, they don’t ooze. The only scabs I’ve gotten was from scratching them too much.

Hmm… pondered Matthew. Have you noticed any in your mouth, ears, or… he hesitated, and opted for the safest ground, on your scalp?

No. They’re mainly on my inner arms, around my wrists, and on my legs around my ankles.

Have you ever been diagnosed with any allergies?

Well, no, but I've never been tested for any either. How does that work? Her head tilted slightly to the left and her eyes flashed like emeralds as she looked intently into his big light brown ones.

Shaking his head ever so slightly to break the electric buzz of connection building between them, he explained the traditional process of skin testing. It would entail creating a grid pattern on her arm or back, exposing each square to a different potential allergen, and then looking for a resulting reaction. He asked if she was frequently exposed to the sun and other elements outdoors and if she had ever had any reaction to the elements.

Tilting her head pensively, and knitting her brows slightly, she thought for a moment before answering, No. I usually sit in the shade when I'm outdoors and wear a big floppy hat. I love to swim but I'm not much of a sunbather. Moon bathing is my preference. And I've never had allergies at all, she answered. Not the traditional sort with sneezing or itchy eyes or anything.

No allergies in North Carolina? asked Matthew, contemplating the irony of a nudist wearing a hat. With the long list of things in this part of the country to be allergic to, that’s a wonder. Have you lived here long?

Most of my adult life. I’m originally from Savannah. Though I've traveled quite a lot and lived all over, I’ve considered North Carolina home since college. I went to Davidson for undergrad, she added. I loved North Carolina and just made it my home base.

She had no discernable dialect, at least none that a southern ear could readily detect, thought Matthew, so living all over was plausible. Very much wanting the details of what must be an intriguing life, as if he were lingering over cocktails with her in an upscale restaurant, he refocused and asked, instead, Have you traveled in the past three months? Has anything changed in your normal environment recently? Physically? New soap or shampoo? New sunscreen or lotion?

No, I’ve been here in North and in South Carolina exclusively for the past six months. I’ve been at The Park since early October of last year, she said. Then more slowly she added, And there’s nothing new except the various gels and creams that the other doctors gave me. But those came after the spots and they neither seemed to help nor exacerbate the pattern. The spots continued to suddenly appear and then quickly disappear.

The Park? asked Matthew.

The nudist community where I live, she answered, returning quickly to the provocative tone.

You said you’d tracked what you were eating, but has your diet changed at all recently?

She paused, crinkling her eyebrows together, leaving a furrowed line between, and tilting her head, now familiarly, to the left. As her long blond mane fell forward on her shoulder, she flipped it back and slowly admitted, Not that I’m aware of. We have a new sous chef at The Park, but the chef has been there about as long as I have, I think, and he's fabulous, she quickly added. There is a five-star restaurant somewhere missing out. The rest of the culinary staff have been there since before I arrived and the menu has been consistent.

Hmm.... Matthew's leg began to jump again, his foot tapping out the rhythms that ran through his brain as he analyzed the situation. How long has the new sous chef been there?

About three months, I think.

Gladys, Matthew turned to his nurse, remembering that she was still in the room and purposefully breaking the spell, let's do this methodically and work with Ms. Prestwould to create a listing of everything in use at The Park, topical, ingested and environmental.

That's why I came to you, She said huskily, leaning forward slightly alluringly. You have a reputation for being very thorough.

Purposefully avoiding the innuendo, Matthew answered factually, I studied osteopathic medicine, so I tend to treat patients holistically. All aspects of your lifestyle are potentially involved in this problem. Until we can determine what we can rule out as the culprit, everything in your life right now is suspect. He typed a few last notes into her online medical record and rolled the computer back to Gladys.

Are you going to come check out my environment personally? she gushed, leaning forward again and allowing the draped robe to slide, unchecked and seductively, down one shoulder.

As the drape continued to slip, Matthew’s eyebrow shot up and he leaned back and then stood. I don't generally make house—or Park—calls. Gladys will make a complete list of your topical and environmental exposures, he said with a grin. With your permission, we'll draw a blood sample today for further analysis to proceed with the allergy testing. It'll take a few days for the lab results to come back but if the spots reappear in the interim, please come back in. Otherwise, can you come back in a week, after we've had an opportunity to do our analysis on the lab results and the environmental elements?

She nodded. He pulled a business card from his lab coat pocket. Here’s my card. You can schedule an appointment on your way out but feel free to call if you experience any further symptoms or if you have any concerns meanwhile.

As he handed the card to her, the jolt of energy he felt when her hand brushed his was disturbing. It was very much like the electric shock he remembered generating as a child by dragging his feet across the carpet and then touching something—only slightly less painful.

I'll see you in a week. Maybe sooner, she cooed at him as he left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving her, reluctantly, in Gladys' expert care.

Taking a moment to steady himself, he shook his head as he mused at the intricacies of being a single doctor in a suburban North Carolina town.

Diane, he called to one of the younger nurses. Can you please come in with me to see Mr. Nelson?

I’ve already taken his vitals, she called, following him down the hallway.

The morning sped past in a blur of patients. Some were well and needing only routine checkups or blood work, and others wished that was the only reason they were there. Matthew had managed a quick sandwich that his young eager office manager, Trina, had collected from the corner store for lunch. As the afternoon wore on, he found himself needing his afternoon caffeine.

He was downing a quick cup of coffee, which was, in truth, at least partially an acceptable excuse to enjoy three or four packets of sugar in the break alcove on the second floor. Just then, Gladys rounded the corner and greeted him with a grunt as he stepped from in front of the coffee grinder and out of her path to the tea bags.

Hey, Gladys, he said, trying to determine how best to broach the subject without causing a firestorm in response. Did our first patient this morning remind you of anyone? She seemed familiar somehow, but I’ve never met her before that I know of.

Gladys turned from her tea preparation and smirked up at him, Oh honey, if you’d ever met her before, there’s no way you could have forgotten! And yeah, she reminds me of somebody alright. That, pushy, bossy ex-girlfriend of yours who I am so glad that you did not propose to! She was a piece of work. Beautiful, sure, but crazy like a fox! Don’t go gettin’ any ideas about this one, though I doubt she’d object if you did. If that wasn’t a come on, I have never seen one.

Had she been paying as much attention to him as she was her tea preparation, Gladys would have noticed that Matthew’s cheeks colored slightly but he also looked a bit wounded. He knew that she was fully aware of his personal code against getting involved with office colleagues or patients. With his soft-spoken calm demeanor, though, he did seem to attract strong-willed women like a magnet. They were immutably drawn to him initially but inevitably seemed to flip and become equally and irrevocably repelled.

*****

It had been an arduous day, particularly for a Tuesday and Matthew felt a bit weary as he left the office through the side door. Glancing over his shoulder, he paused to soak in the glow of the setting early spring sun as it bathed the top of his white brick office building. Built merely 20 years before, the builder seemed to be trying to capture the character of the historical little town of Peak in the architecture of the building.

Matthew thought it was meant to reflect the architecture of the Peak Cultural Arts Center that was on the block in front of his office on Winston Avenue, the main street on which the three blocks of the quaint little downtown area were located. In reality, the building looked more like French provincial meets something more Roman. The top of the covered and pillared sitting area with the café tables on the second floor outside the break alcove was awash in evening light, sparkling.

He carried his black leather satchel out to his new black Corvette C7 and was surprised to see another car still in the parking lot, one he didn’t recognize. The patients were long gone, and he was sure he was the last to leave the building after seven p.m., but a sleek black Jaguar with darkly tinted windows gleamed in a far corner of the parking lot. It was backed in at an angle against the distant tree line, the tops of which the late afternoon sun was skirting. Curious, he shaded his eyes but couldn't tell if the car was inhabited or if it was merely parked there, awaiting the owner's return. A bit of a self-confessed motor head, Matthew noted that the Jaguar was a late model and resisted the urge to go observe the car more closely.

Sliding into his leather seat, fastening his seat belt and pushing the ignition button, he smiled as the Corvette roared to life. It was a far cry from the Honda Element that he had driven from high school through college and medical school. Ellie, the name his sister Monica had given the Element, still shared the garage with his newly acquired Corvette. Driving the Element was mostly relegated to rainy or snowy, particularly nasty, days. But today was one of those lovely invigorating early spring days, a perfect one to enjoy the Corvette.

He couldn’t get directly out onto Winston Avenue because the tiny street that he could easily take in from where Middle Street ran directly into Winston Avenue only went one way. It provided an easy way in each morning, but he had to go around the block past the Peak Police Department and then turn left onto Winston Avenue to get out. As he turned out of the parking area that was behind the row of businesses on Winston but in front of his office, from the rear-view mirror he saw that the Jaguar had begun to move from the far corner of the parking lot behind him. Ah, so there was somebody in it, he thought.

Punching the stereo button, Matthew filled the car with what he correctly assumed to be 80s music from a classic rock station that he particularly liked. Fingers drumming absently on the steering wheel, his left leg jumped as his foot tapped rhythmically on the floorboard. After turning left onto Winston Avenue, Matthew turned right beside the Chamber of Commerce building that he thought was such a clever reuse of the old train depot, and onto Highway 20.

Slowing the Corvette, he carefully crossed the railroad tracks on which the tiny town of Peak was initially built, like so many others in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Matthew, admittedly a history buff, loved the quaint antiquity of the little town. Situated on the highest point for 30 miles or more along the railway, the town was aptly named. It had burned twice, both times in the early twentieth century. He guessed that was why many of the buildings had been erected, at that point, in brick.

Making his way through the traffic in the thriving little town, he passed the back side of the Peak, the Pinnacle of Good Living sign, with the spring flowers just beginning to bloom beneath, and headed out of town. Glancing in his rear-view mirror and seeing the Jaguar nowhere in sight, he tried to shrug off the ambiguous sense of foreboding.

2 ~ Quiet evening interrupted

Matthew's condo was in a peaceful setting with fields and farms, just past a golf course, which his unit didn’t quite back up to, but nearly. He lived a little distance from the sprawling southern towns on the outskirts of Raleigh, and it offered him peace and tranquility after the long days at work. His was the last condo of the last unit of condos at the end of Chester Road, a narrow little road about a mile long with older single-family housing sporadically along it and then fields and a horse farm on the left before dead-ending into Matthew’s small community of condominiums.

He only had one attached neighbor and a lovely field, for now, which his eating nook window overlooked at an angle, with the end of the golf course beyond. It was a quiet spot because many of his neighbors were older, retired, and probably didn't see much of the day past nine at night, nor did they want to.

As his mind wandered back through the day, it stuck on images of Eleanor Prestwould’s silky smooth skin and perfect form—not too skinny, voluptuous in all the right places, but no fat dimples anywhere to be seen. Despite his best effort, it rose to the forefront of his mind. He tried to banish the thoughts, knowing that trying not to think about something made him think about it all the more. The only way to stop thinking about it was to replace the thought with something else.

He tried to replace the thought with several other patients he’d seen, shared jokes among his staff, his previous weekend with friends in Raleigh, anything. And yet, she crept back into his mind, unbidden. Her case was, after all, an unusual one and he did have some research he wanted to do on her symptoms. She would have been entirely intriguing had he met her with her clothes on in any other setting. As if she’d have her clothes on in any other setting, he mused.

Clicking the button and pausing only slightly for the garage door to open, he pulled into the garage beside his Element. As he entered the house, he went through his usual routine. He punched in the security code, hung his key fob on the hook inside the tiny hallway, relocked the door and reset the security code, and put his wallet and phone on the desk in his kitchen. Being a creature of habit, he’d learned in medical school, ensured that he could find his belongings when he needed them. It was the only way he knew he’d not waste time and energy in endless searching.

Planning a quiet evening, he wanted to don his favorite plaid flannel sleep pants and a soft cotton t-shirt. He would spend the evening doing some research for a couple of his patients, heating up his leftovers from his weekend out in Raleigh with his friends, and probably spending a little time with his guitar or ukulele to unwind. His acoustic guitar was his outlet when he was feeling mellow and had had a decent day. He reserved his drum set for evenings when he needed to work off the frustration of the day. Though he read music, more often than not, he played songs that he liked, picking them out by ear. To amuse himself, he comically rewrote the lyrics.

He tossed his satchel on the end of the sofa, and his sports jacket over it, rolled up his sleeves and returned to the kitchen to wash his hands. Though he wasn't on call, a song rang out from his phone announcing a call from his office answering service. Morphing into professional mode, he retrieved the phone from the desk and quickly picked up a nearby note pad and pen.

Dr. Paine, he answered.

He was greeted with a soft giggle from the other end of the line, obviously a new member of the answering service staff. I'm sorry, Doctor, she quickly apologized.

Yeah, I know, ‘Dr. Pain.’ It's OK, he answered. Give it your best shot. I've heard them all already. I’d love some new material.

No, really, I apologize. And I'm sorry to bother you, she said in a very professional voice. I know you're not on call. But I just got an odd one from a woman who insisted that you be the one to return her call. Do you want to take it? Or should I call Dr. Garner?

Who was it? Did she tell you what the issue is? he asked.

She said her name was Ellen. She was talking really softly so it was hard to hear her, but she said something about purple spots and that you would know. She said she thought she was in some sort of danger. I told her to call 911 but she said it wasn't a medical emergency and she insisted that she speak to you. That was all. She wouldn’t give me any more information and she pleaded with me to call you quickly.

Hesitating only momentarily, he took a deep breath and replied, OK, what's the number? Wondering what she could possibly want, as it was all rather odd, he jotted the number and thanked the messenger. Eleanor Prestwould was an enigma. She was well spoken, intelligent, beautiful, vivacious, charismatic, composed, assured, totally uninhibited and living in a nudist community. Not exactly the gypsy type that he had imagined would live in a nudist community, she seemed very polished, despite her flagrant attempts to get his attention. So obvious, in fact, that even Matthew hadn’t missed them. Maybe he was mistaken about the stereotypical nudist, but he had imagined piercings and tattoos, and not the impeccably smooth perfection of Eleanor Prestwould.

Matthew tapped in the number he had jotted down and waited while the phone rang repeatedly. He left her the most professional message he could muster, Hello Ms. Prestwould, this is Dr. Paine returning your call. Though I'm not on call this evening, you can call my answering service back if you need to reach me urgently. He left the number, thankful that his personal number was not listed and patients were forced to go through the answering service, particularly when he wasn't on call.

Laying his phone on the kitchen counter within easy reach, he pulled his leftovers from the refrigerator, what was left of the twenty-four-ounce steak that his friends had taunted him into ordering at their favorite brewery and restaurant in downtown Raleigh over the weekend. He slid it onto a plate, set the plate in the microwave, and began to salivate as he thought about the medium rare steak and baked potato—his favorite meal. He set it for a few seconds and then flipped it over and added a few more seconds to the time, wanting only to warm it, but not to cook it more. It was perfect in its rare form, lusciously perfect, he thought.

Feeling the brush of warm fur against the back of his leg, Matthew realized that Max, too, must be salivating over the smell emanating from the microwave and permeating the kitchen. The aroma, Matthew assumed, must have awakened Max from wherever he’d been lounging, even if Matthew’s arrival home had not.

Hi Max, he said, scooping up the large grey tabby cat. You want a taste of my steak? OK, I'll share. But just a little. The vet says you need to lose some weight. He scratched Max behind the ears and was rewarded with a rare purr from the big cat. Max was his constant companion when he was at home. Preferring to sleep curled up around Matthew's head, Max had mostly settled for snuggling beside him as Matthew had repeatedly removed the large cat from his pillow.

Just as he was ready to pull the steak from the microwave, Matthew's phone chirped again from the counter. The display showed that his answering service was calling him. Again. With a rueful sigh, he put Max gently on the floor and answered the phone, Dr. Paine.

The cheery young voice answered again, minus the giggle, Dr. Paine, the woman called back again. She said she didn't think her phone was secure so she left another number for you to call. Do you still want to take this?

Sure, said Matthew, resigned to deal with whatever was coming his way, as he reached for the note pad again and jotted another number on it. Saying a quick good-bye to the young voice, he laid the phone aside again momentarily.

Torn between the rumble in his stomach and curiosity over what this woman could possibly need that would involve him at nearly eight in the evening, he opened the microwave and slid the plate onto the counter, reaching simultaneously for his phone.

No, the phone could wait thirty seconds or so for just a couple of bites, he thought. He sliced a bite of the steak off for himself and a tiny bit for Max. Max, sensing that something was coming his way, looked like a prairie dog as he stood on his hind legs in anticipation. Matthew laughed as he gave Max a tidbit and popped one into his own mouth, savoring the flavor. He cut the rest of the steak into pieces thinking he could nibble and listen at the same time.

Calling the number from the note pad, he waited through several rings before he heard the silky husky voice answer in a hushed tone. Hi, she said quietly. Thank you so much for returning my call.

How do you know who this is? he asked, knowing that his outgoing number was blocked.

You're the only one who has this number. It’s a cheap burner phone and I just activated it, so it had to be you, she whispered. I think I know where the spots are coming from and I’m pretty certain that I'm in danger. Could you possibly come and get me?

Come and get you? he asked incredulously at the unexpected request. Where are you?

I'm in a tiny cabin out on the edge of The Park property, she answered. Not many people know that it's here. There's a back, farming road that you can come in on to avoid the main gate. It's rough, though. You'll need an SUV or something. I’d drop you a pin, but reception is spotty back here, with lots of dead spots, so I’m not sure it would go through. I can’t use my own phone, anyway. I’m sure it’s being monitored so I’ve turned it off. Can you get here? Please?

Still a bit stunned by the request, Matthew thought quickly that Ellie was up for the task, ironically to rescue Ellen. What could possibly be so distressing that she would call a complete stranger to come get her, he wondered. Didn't she have any friends or relatives who she could call? So he asked her.

No one who I know I can trust, she said softly. I'm not sure who I can and can't trust right now. And I'm sure I'm in horrible danger.

If you’re in danger, have you called the police? And what makes you think you can trust me? Matthew asked, resisting the urge to whisper back to her.

I’d call the police and tell them…what exactly? They’d think I’m deranged because I can’t tell them precisely why I’m in danger. I can’t even get Uber back in here on these roads. You’re my last hope and I know I can trust you. You have kind eyes. Will you come, please? I'll give you directions from the main road.

Though he realized that he hadn’t actually agreed, she quickly explained that he needed to head east on I-40, crossing over I-95, which exit to take onto a highway, and then where to turn off onto the unmarked, unpaved back roads.

It'll take me probably forty five minutes to get out there, he said. And it’ll be completely dark by then. I'll change clothes and get there as soon as I can. Um.... he hesitated, wondering how to ask the question delicately. Giving up on diplomacy, he spluttered, Are you dressed?

What? Oh, of course I'm dressed, she replied, sounding amused despite the strain in her voice. I would never leave The Park without clothes. He was taking her away from The Park then? He didn't bother to ask her destination, but reluctantly, he gave her his cell number and said good-bye. Was Ellen really in danger? Or was this some sort of flirtatious ploy to get him to come to her? He realized that Gladys must be rubbing off on him as that’s exactly what she’d have said to him. But Ellen hadn’t bothered flirting with him at all on the phone and she sounded genuinely frightened.

Forking in a few more mouthfuls of the steak, and wishing he had the time and uninterrupted focus to savor them fully, he went quickly down the hall to his bedroom to change clothes. Pulling a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt from his closet, he knew the early spring evenings in North Carolina could still be cool. A dark shirt, he thought, for running around in the woods at night. He slipped on his favorite jeans and leather hiking boots, pulling the long-sleeved Henley t-shirt over his head and grabbing his favorite well-worn leather jacket to take along.

Pausing at the bedroom door, he wondered what sort of danger his mysterious caller might be in and if he would need further help in extricating her from whatever that was. Decisively, he went back to his closet. Reaching up to the top of the shelf, he twisted the knob on the safe back and forth until it popped open. Carefully, he removed and opened a velvet lined box. Reaching past the 1911, his first gun that was both historic and still a reliable weapon, he retrieved his Glock 19 and laid it gently on the shelf, praying silently that he wouldn’t need to use it.

Pulling out the holster, he checked the compartment on for the concealed carry permit, then strapped it under his shirt. Operating as if on autopilot, he checked the magazine and slid it into the gun, clicking it in place, and the gun into the holster. He replaced the box and relocked the safe.

Back in the kitchen, he quickly rinsed Max's water bowl and refilled it, adding some of the big cat’s favorite diet dry cat food to his food bowl. Max, who had been following Matthew through the house, sniffed at his food bowl but returned to Matthew's side hoping for more steak. Matthew shared one last tiny bite with Max and then quickly ate the last of it. It was not exactly the savory relaxing experience he had anticipated, but Matthew pulled a water bottle from the refrigerator to drink on the road and hoped to find a more complete meal later.

Grabbing his wallet, he smiled as he plucked the key to his Element from the hooks on the wall board that was mounted just inside the door. That car had been his longtime companion and partner in a few minor crimes of his youth, and he was thankful that he'd kept it in good running order over the years. He reset the alarm and locked the door behind him, pressed the button to activate the garage door opener, unlocked the Element, tossed in his jacket, and slid onto the fabric seat. Predictably, the Element started immediately.

His smart phone wouldn’t help much on the back roads he would have to traverse without a pin or address. He pulled up a map app and clipped his phone to the dash anyway, then backed carefully out of the garage.

Why, he wondered, was there no one else in her life that she could call to come and get her? Who was she and why would she be in danger? From what? Or from whom? Belatedly, he hoped it wasn't a jealous ex-boyfriend as his presence on the scene would be most unwelcome. He wished he had thought to ask her.

3 ~ Deep dark escapades

As he rounded the bend in the old highway and slowed to look for the dirt road off to the left, Matthew noticed that the sun had sunk completely and the moon, if there was one, wasn't visible yet. As he turned off of the highway onto the narrow dirt road, his headlights seemed to reflect back, glaringly, off the trees so he doused them and turned on the fog lights.

Bumping along slowly, he came to a little creek that