“You’re in the military?” she asked.
“Was,” he replied. “Past tense.”
“What do you do now?” she asked.
“I work in ocean salvage, but mainly offer unique consultation on a variety of maritime and hydrology problems.”
“Like what?” she asked, genuinely interested, and also trying to gauge his credibility.
“Right now, the state of Oregon has requested my services to locate the source of heavy metals entering the Columbia River. I’m heading there now to meet up with my team.”
She glanced at his antique Ford Thunderbird. “You were heading there in that?”
Sam smiled. “Yeah. I was taking some leave. One of my directors is leading the project. I’m due up there in a few days.”
Gebhart made a mental note to find out more about him. Then, returning to the task at hand, she said, “What about Mr. Potter?”
“Who?”
“The mechanic that lives here. You said he was murdered.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I never got his name.” Sam pointed toward the log cabin. “He’s in there.”
“Okay, thanks. You can stay here, and keep an eye out for that evil creature roaming the woods.”
Sam didn’t take the bait. Instead, he just nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Emilee entered the mechanic’s residence. She found the man with his head sitting in his lap, the eyes ripped out of its sockets.
She took a deep sigh, picked up her cell phone and called the number from the FBI.
A man answered on the first ring. “Yes?”
“It’s exactly the same as the others.”
There was a moment of silence on the line, before the man said, “All right. We’ll do the best we can. Delta Force are on site. Let’s keep this contained. The official word is this is a coyote attack. Nothing more.”
“I understand. I’ll see what I can do.”
There was a pause while the man on the other end of the line went quiet.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Have you heard about the ship?”
She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “Yeah, I know. I heard about the ship this morning. I’ve heard the legend too. I’ll try my best to shut this thing down before any more rumors get out and the press have a field day.”
Chapter Twelve
It was dark in the Tillamook State Forest by the time Sam Reilly finished up giving his statements to the sheriff. The once secluded garage in the forest was now riddled with the sheriff’s deputies, FBI agents, and military personnel.
She finally said, “All right, thanks for your help. You’re good to go.”
Sam stood up, his focus drifting toward the Tillamook ridge. “Do you mind telling me what your team found at the log house up on that ridgeline?”
Sheriff Gebhart sighed. “Look. We’ve been up to that log house. There’s nothing there. Nobody lives there. Hasn’t for a number of years.”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “No one’s lived there for a number of years?”
“That’s what my deputy says. I haven’t been there for a while. But I know last summer the place was vacant, a dilapidating shack more than anything else, left in permanent disrepair.”
“What about the military helicopters?”
Sheriff Gebhart made a wry smile. “What about the Blackhawks?”
“What did they find at the log cabin?”
“What is it with you and the log cabin?” she asked in return. “I mean, what do the military helicopters have to do with it?”
“I don’t know. I saw two helicopters hovering directly above the clearing where, in the day time, you can see the small outline of a log cabin. When I was up there, I noticed soldiers, rappelling down from those helicopters. I just wondered what they found, that’s all…”
Sheriff Gebhart’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m afraid you must be mistaken Mr. Reilly, those helicopters are here conducting routine low-level formation flying, nothing more.”
“Are you trying to tell me I didn’t see two teams rappel into the forest?”
Her gray eyes narrowed and lips parted into a beautiful smile. “I don’t know what to say. You’re an intelligent man. Think this through, why would the military send two teams of Delta Rangers to investigate an ‘evil thing’ in the woods?”
“Why indeed?” Sam countered.
She laughed. “You’re reading too much into it.”
“What about the dog?” Sam asked, “I thought his owner might have lived there.”
She gave the dog a cursory glance. “Maybe his owner once did. There’s always a chance he’s been living out here in the wild for some time now.”
Sam looked at the dog. “Are you kidding? That mutt looks in better shape than I am. No, he’s way too well-groomed to be a stray. Somebody owns him.”
“The tag doesn’t have an address. So I’d say, if someone did, they don’t anymore.”
Sam asked, “So what are you going to do with him?”
“I don’t know. He will have to go to the pound if no one claims him.”
Sam sighed. “That’s a shame. He’s an intelligent dog.”
“You want him?”
Sam said, “I’ll take him if no one else wants him. I’ll make sure he finds a nice home.”
“Go for it,” Sheriff Gebhart said. “He’s all yours.”
Sam looked at the dog. “What do you say, Caliburn, you want to come with me?”
The dog barked, his tail suddenly wagging wildly.
Chapter Thirteen
Sam Reilly got back in the yellow Ford T-Bird.
Caliburn jumped into the box seat next to him, and Guinevere sat down in the passenger seat. Sam turned the ignition key and switched on the headlights.
“Sheriff Gebhart said that they’ve shut down the OR-6 East.”
“Is there another way to Portland?” Guinevere asked.
“There’s always another way. It just depends how far off course you want to go.”
Guinevere made a weak smile. “No. I mean, is there another road that runs parallel or something? How much of a detour are we talking?”
“I don’t know. Maybe another hour or two. We’ll have to backtrack along the coast and then take the US-26. It will probably be close to midnight by the time we get into Portland.”
Guinevere’s face was set with indifference. “I’m in no rush. We’ll get there when we get there.”
“Okay, great.”
Sam released the handbrake and headed back toward the coast.
They settled into the drive at a more leisurely pace.
The T-Bird was originally marketed as a sporty two-seat convertible, set to compete directly with the more powerful Chevrolet Corvette, but Ford changed its marketing strategy to focus more specifically on selling it in the newly developed personal luxury car market, which emphasized comfort and looks over performance and practicality. As a consequence, the T-Bird was a highway traveler, and once she got moving on the highway, the miles just kept rolling past.
Caliburn adjusted his position, turning his whole body round twice, before finally opting for a position with his head on Guinevere’s lap. She patted the dog behind his ears, and Caliburn gave an appreciated mewl.
Sam said, “So what brings you out to this part of the world?”
“The US?”
“That too. But I was actually referring to Tillamook State Forest.”
“Oh. I was out here to look at some locations for a healer’s retreat.”
Sam asked, “A what?”
“A healer’s retreat. Somewhere far from the city, locked in the cleansing confines of nature. The sort of place where people can come for healing.”