Deadly Past
deadly past
Welcome to Lake Pines.
A fictional small town in Northwestern Ontario that is home to both year-round residents and summer cottagers. Hidden secrets, private lives, and tension lay the groundwork for treacherous crimes. But there are more than secrets buried in this small town.
Order of Books in this series:
LAKE PINES MURDER MYSTERY SERIES
Murder At First Light
Death At Deception Bay
Murder Of Crows
The Dead Of Winter
The Night Is Darkest
Conspiracy of Blood
Deadly Past
Echoes of Guilt
Deadly Past
A gripping Lake Pines Mystery
Deadly Past © 2021 by L.L. Abbott. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover designed by Warren Design
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
L.L. Abbott
www.LLAbbott.com
eBook ISBN 978-1-989325-72-8
Paperback ISBN 978-1-989325-71-1
Large Print ISBN 978-1-989325-73-5
This story is for Kate, always a true friend
and a great cheerleader.
Thank you for sharing your island, and the propellor that sparked a tale.
And for Drew, for always being there.
Deadly Past
deadly past
Deadly Past
Deadly Past
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
“As bad as things were,
the worst was yet to come.”
Chapter 1
Ten Years Earlier.
Lake Pines, Ontario.
Wayne Burgess looked at the newspaper in his hands and nervously crumpled it in his grip. He had tumbled out of bed that morning, reluctantly and full of agitation, unable to sleep since it happened.
The cold, damp surroundings tightened around his chest, his stomach twisting each time he looked out the window. He had always loved this small one-level cabin nestled in the middle of the field, located on the outskirts of town. Until recently, he had never thought too much about the simple construction, with its peaked roof that mounted in the middle and two small rooms that extended off each side of the building. The cabin had been in his family since his great grandfather built it generations earlier, and it was always a place of peaceful family tranquility.
The small stone fireplace encouraged stories and where, as a family, they’d gather for the Christmas holidays. Simple traditions were created hanging their stockings and debating over which side of the fireplace they should place the tree, and they remained some of Wayne’s fondest memories. The cabin was far away from the noise of Lake Pines, with only the wind and snow to fill the imaginations of two small boys.
Josh had moved to Toronto a year earlier, and Wayne was thankful that his brother left before he could learn what happened at their childhood retreat. It was the cabin where he and his younger brother fought for dominance on the Scrabble board, and where the two found adventure and solace in both their extensive Hardy Boys collection and the surrounding forest. The curved hills drew the two boys outside with the lure of tobogganing thrills and battle reenactments and as they grew older, they would sit and talk as the sun fell below the horizon.
Now those same curved hills, left undisturbed by toboggan rides long forgotten, flowed freely with tall prairie grass. Except for one patch of ground where a fresh mound of dirt disfigured the land, the property looked abandoned.
No longer was the cabin a place of solace, but because of what happened, it had become a place of secrets.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was Carly Phillips, his best friend’s younger sister, and the person who was at the center of the event that changed everything in their lives.
Carly was a sweet girl. She was adventurous, as long as the adventure never took her too far away from Lake Pines. Her fiery red hair, with sweeping curls and unruly green eyes, attracted the attention of most kids in their school. Often it was the fear of her older brother Simon that prompted those glares to go no further.
Wayne swallowed down his nervousness, knowing that the worst of what they had done was behind them. He caught his reflection in the windowpane and wondered how he found himself in such a difficult position. He was an athletic and friendly teen and didn’t need anyone to tell him that, nor did he need the provincial trophy that rested on his shelf to prove it. He was proud and confident of who he was. He also knew that, beyond all else, he was a loyal friend.
His friends believed he would become a doctor, or a healer of some sort, after he had brought an injured blackbird back from the brink of death after it flew at full force into the side of a window. He cradled the bird, rested it in a box of shredded paper, and fed it drops of sugar water until it recuperated enough to flap its wings and soar out of the box.
Instead, Wayne dreamed of becoming a cop and he followed Constable Peter George as he patrolled Main Street, peppering the young, personable officer with questions about what qualifications he needed to join the Lake Pines police force. The senior police officer, amused by the eager teen, soon took him under his wing and taught him the daily routines and expectations of the job.
As Wayne stood waiting in the empty cabin, he dropped his eyes to the paper in his hands and let out a heaving sigh. As he did, he closed his eyes and prayed that he was dreaming. That there would be some slight change in his surroundings. But when he opened his eyes, the hill and the mound of dirt were still there.
The drizzling rain tapped against the window and Wayne’s pulse quickened with each step that Carly took, bringing her closer to the cabin. As Wayne stepped outside and Carly came closer, he could see the tears in her eyes. There was also a shadow behind her that Wayne hadn’t noticed earlier, and he held his breath as the man walked around Carly, past Wayne, and into the cabin.
They had arrived because they needed to deal with what happened. The terror had forced them into the decision they made
two days earlier, and they needed a plan.
Carly’s father was just shy of six feet, and his broad shoulders and firm, wide hands were the gifts of hard labor and genetics.
“Have you mentioned anything to anyone?” Mr. Phillips asked as he looked out the window, into the field, and over the hill beyond the cabin.
Wayne shook his head. He looked over his shoulder and out the window, following Mr. Phillips’ gaze.
Wayne, even more nervous, still gripped the newspaper as he replied, “They’re looking for him!”
They glanced at each other, no one wanting to be the next to speak.
“What happened was not your fault,” Mr. Phillips rested a hand on Wayne’s shoulder. “And there’s no reason to ruin both of your lives over this.” He then looked at his daughter, who was hugging her tiny frame with shaking arms. “You saved Carly, and I’ll never forget that Wayne.”
“What about Simon?” The one person Wayne never kept a secret from was the one person they all knew they shouldn’t tell.
Wayne had opted out of the fishing retreat that kept Simon out of Lake Pines for the last five days when Constable Peter George invited him to work at the town fair as a cadet, and he jumped at the opportunity.
It was the reason that Wayne was walking along the edge of the city park when Carly was trying to flee. And it was Wayne who was holding Carly when the last push sent John Turshen over the side of the bluff. Although it was her desperate measure to be free of the man who was trying to hurt her, it was still a push that killed the mayor’s son and would have both Carly and Wayne in front of a judge and charged with his murder by the end of the week.
Protection shrouded John Turshen because of his father’s position in the small town, and although the wave of nepotism was waning, it had been in place long enough that the girls that leveled complaints against John’s aggressive actions found they were being treated as criminals instead of victims. John frequently bullied other kids, and his father continuously mended transgressions with teachers, leaving his reputation intact. Even though everyone in town knew what John was capable of, it would be near impossible to prove in court.
“I think it’s best we don’t tell him,” Mr. Phillips said, making it the last thing they said about the matter.
The rain pounded down harder, blurring the view of the hill beyond the cabin. The grave that the three of them dug on the night John fell to his death would hide in the grass that would eventually regrow over the loose earth, and the body of the person who attacked many girls would remain hidden.
It would be a deadly past that could come back to haunt them. But the only people who knew the truth about what happened were standing inside the small, damp cabin looking out at the hill, and they each vowed that their secret would forever remain hidden.
Chapter 2
36 hours earlier.
Warroad, Minnesota
He waited next to the chainlink fence, hidden from the glare of the overhanging light, trying to keep from falling down.
The drive northeast from Grand Forks was shorter than he thought it would be but was more difficult than it should have been because of the northerly gusts that pushed across the highway. For the last thirteen months, he had been deeply ensconced in the same organization which was strategically organizing to shut down the vaccination production facility in Ohio. But it was his work over the last seven months that had put his life in danger and now had him hiding next to the metal fence that surrounded the small airport at the southwest tip of Lake of the Woods. He was alone and holding the documented proof that would bring down Dennis Nathanson while he waited for his contact to arrive.
Alone is how he had been since his wife of fifteen years fell sick leaving him with a young son and guilt over the part he played in her contracting the virus that cut her life short. His disbelief in the virus and the true impact it was having on the world, left him open to persuasion when a junior staffer from Dennis Nathanson’s office approached him.
They were going to make things stronger and more reliable by controlling the spread of propaganda, but in reality, it was Nathanson’s office that had done the worst damage.
He looked into the dark field and over the water just beyond where he was supposed to meet his contact. The night was silent, except for the rustling wind combing the trees in the nearby forest. More worrisome, however, was the absence of the approaching plane he was waiting for. He pulled the zipper of his windbreaker up, sealing his jacket close to his neck, and patted the inside pocket of his jacket. He felt the crumple of the envelope and relaxed his shoulders. It would be less than an hour to fly to the island, just south of Sioux Narrows and once he was there, he’d put an end to what Nathanson and the group in his office had done.
Until then, he just hoped he wouldn’t be seen. If anyone had stumbled across him as he waited in the shadows of the vacant lot, they would have assumed he was a junkie. Cold sweat coated his skin, and he struggled to hold his head straight or speak without slurs. A border guard would have pulled him aside, no matter what his government identification read. Travel restrictions that had been put in place during the global pandemic had made airports and land borders even tougher to cross, especially to anyone who seemed unwell.
Fever. Labored breathing. Sweaty brows. All became the warning signs of danger that had temporarily superseded the search for scissors, lighters, and large bottles of water. And his permission to carry a weapon had never caused him any issues at the border, but today he left his gun in the glovebox of his car, just in the event he was stopped and questioned.
He wasn’t armed, and usually, he never needed to be. His expert training and peak physical condition had seen him work his way out of several awkward situations while he was on covert missions. There was never a break in his training and exercise routine, even when he had been reassigned to the senator’s office. Daily runs and a nutritionally sound diet had never taken a break, even when his operations changed from infiltrating foreign governments to sabotaging domestic businesses. But all of his training and good health couldn’t fight what was happening now. He shivered, not because of the chill in the air but because of the toxin that was taking hold inside his body.
He glanced at the time, his contact was ten minutes late. He stepped forward, out of the shadow, and was near his car when he heard the familiar hum in the distance. The light in the sky wobbled and the Cessna fought against the wind as the pilot dropped closer to the surface of the water. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small plastic bottle and shook out two small white pills and swallowed them dry, and after a few seconds, he tipped out one more. The flight would be difficult if he was fighting back the pain and he needed to make sure he reached the island before it was too late.
Forcing the movement in his legs, he jogged toward the shoreline. The manicured lawn that stretched out next to the water would be filled with families enjoying the final days of summer hours after sunrise. Even with the cooler temperatures, the die-hard water lovers found a way to enjoy the final days of the season before the first snow flakes fell and a thin surface of ice began to form. Now, however, it was lit only with the soft glow cast from the light in the parking lot behind him.
Flying floatplanes at night was illegal, and he had used all the favors he accumulated with his contact to have the plane delivered at this remote dock. After all, he knew he’d never live long enough to collect after tonight. His steps slowed when he reached the dock and his head swirled as he stepped onto the floating structure. He paced each step as he made his way to the end of the dock just as the plane came to a full stop.
His contact climbed out and walked past him without any comments or conversation, and the agent climbed up and closed the door. It had been many years since he flew a float plane and each move and motion came back to him instinctively. Like walking, flying float planes was a way of life in his youth and it occurred to him that it was ironic that this may be his final flight.
&n
bsp; The forty-minute trip, mired only by a strong wind and dark sky, gave him time to consider the last year of his life. Had he done all he could for his son? He knew he failed his wife, but leaving his son with his grandparents and no note was the only way he could ensure his safety. He just wished there was a better way.
It was almost one o’clock in the morning and the open water stretched out below. The shoreline, curved and shaped by glaciers left more than ten thousand islands that dotted Lake of the Woods. Dark blue shadows cast across the water’s surface marking islands and inlets. As he flew closer to his destination he dropped his altitude and followed along the same path he did when he first received his pilot’s license and worked for one of the fishing camps in Whitefish Bay.
His love of flying guided him toward his work with the fishing camps, and it was during one of the many trips that he was introduced to the eager politician who would become the senator he was now trying to stop. Now it was this same path he was flying along that would, hopefully, correct all he had done wrong since he worked with that same man.
Landing in the Aulneau Peninsula was one of his preferred locations to set down a plane. Finding the correct pitch, and angling the rudders was the equivalent to conducting an orchestra. Working in conjunction with the wind, temperature, and then ultimately the current - brought together thousands of hours of experience to create the perfect landing. And each time he would arrive with a new visitor to the area he’d see the reflection of wonder in their eyes. The awes and oohs that passengers moaned as he drifted toward the dock, their faces pushed against the small aircraft’s windows as they stared in disbelief that such a smooth landing could be made in the wilderness. It was a point of pride.
As he recalled those moments, he flew his plane closer to the water. The wind had subsided and the clouds had cleared in spots, revealing streams of moonlight over the water’s surface. The calmness of the water and the stillness of the night briefly cleared his mind and he glided into a perfect landing, drifting with the current and toward the small island.