Doug Allyn - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 125, No. 6. Whole No. 766, June 2005

“I told you to stay out of this.”

“We thought about it. Stopped at a bar up the street. Heard some talk. About burning this place and you along with it. Danny’s trying to locate the constable. I thought you ought to know.”

“Okay, you’ve told me. Thank you. Now I want you to take Miss Mullaney and go.”

“It’s too late for that,” Puck said, over the rumble of pickup trucks pulling into the lot. “This is my building, too. I’m in.”

“No, you’re not. You stay inside and keep her safe, you understand? And stay the hell away from the windows.”

“Raven!” Rich Stegman yelled from the parking lot. “Come on out. Your time’s up!”

Beau paused a moment to touch the small bundle on the table, then stepped through the door, closing it carefully behind him.

Outside, the fish house was awash in light, four pickup trucks in the lot, headlights and roof-rack halogens erasing the night.

The same men as before, but not so many. Five loggers in a loose line. Armed, this time.

Stegman looked as if he’d just come from the mill: flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. Unshaven, haggard, red-eyed. Holding a rifle. An expensive one. Weatherby Mark V. Seven-millimeter Magnum. The others were carrying a mix of shotguns and rifles. Hunting guns.

“People tell me you roughed up my dad. Put him in the hospital. I’m gonna finish you for that.” His words were slurred. He’d been drinking. Maybe all of them had.

“Is that why you’re here? I thought it might be about the body under the fish house. Mary Raven.”

“We don’t know anything about that. You’ve been pushing people since the day you got here. Jumping my dad was way over the line.”

“And your pals? Are they all here about your dad, too?”

“They’re my backup. We know you’re some kind of professional thug. Saw what you did to Tay Maggert. You wouldn’t know what a fair fight is.”

“Sure I do. And this isn’t it. Because if you came to settle up for my mom, Stegman, you’d better send for more help. A lot more.”

“What are you talking about? You’re alone.”

“No he ain’t,” Puck said, easing through the doorway behind Raven, moving to the end of the porch. Carrying Beau’s shotgun.

“You’re backing the wrong side, old man,” Stegman said. “You’re one of us.”

“Been a logger most of my life,” Puck agreed. “Cedar savage and proud of it. But I ain’t no murderin’ rapist, Stegman. And I’m not with you.”

“You can’t get all of us, not even with that thing.”

“It won’t matter,” Erin said, stepping through the doorway, standing beside Beau. “They have Mary Raven’s body now, Mr. Stegman. Your father has already told the police how she died and who was involved—”

“Hey, now hold on a damn minute!” one of the loggers said, lowering his rifle, backing away. “I had no part in that. I’m out.”

“The rest of you best do the same,” Puck said. “The police are on their way. You might get past what happened to Mary Raven. It was a long time ago. But only if you back off now. Lay ‘em down, boys. Go home. It’s over.”

And it worked. After a moment’s hesitation, a second logger backed away, then another.

“No!” Stegman roared, shouldering his rifle. “Damn you, Raven, I should have killed you the first day!”

Beau wheeled, pushing Erin aside, clawing for his pistol as gunfire exploded. Stegman’s first shot went wild, whistling past Beau’s head as his weapon came up, too late — then the shotgun’s savage blast ripped into Stegman, smashing him to the pavement in a tangled heap, his rifle spinning out of his hands, clattering across the concrete.

A moment of stunned silence, then the loggers broke and ran. Scrambling into their pickups, tearing out of the lot as a police cruiser roared in, siren howling. Chabot and Dan Shea piled out. Shea hurried to the deck as the constable knelt beside Stegman, feeling for a pulse.

Nothing. Chabot rose, his hand on his gun butt. “You on the porch. Put that shotgun down. Now.”

Puck seemed surprised he was still holding the stubby weapon. Lowering it to the deck, he backed away from it.

“Mr. Paquette—”

“Get the hell away from me, Raven. I’m done with you. None of this had to happen.” Puck turned and walked unsteadily toward the end of the deck, staring blindly into the darkness over the bay.

Raven started after him but Shea grasped his arm. “Let him be. He’s upset but he’s a tough old bird. He’ll feel different tomorrow.”

“No, he’s right,” Beau said, helping Erin up. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come back. But I’m not sorry. All these years, I thought she abandoned me. When my grandfather said she ran off, I didn’t understand. She was my mom and I loved her. It didn’t make sense. Now it does.

“But Puck’s right, it’s a high price to pay. Maybe too high. It’s finished, Mr. Shea. Thank your men for their work, send me a bill.”

“Hold on, Mr. Raven, we should talk about this. I’ll admit I thought remodeling this place was nuts at first, but you were right. It can really be something special.”

“Not to me. Not anymore.”

“I understand that, but you can’t just walk away from it, either. If we leave it half-finished it’ll be ruined. This old building has stood a hundred years, it deserves better.”

“So did Mary Raven. We’re done here, Mr. Shea. Collect your crew and go. You’re fired.”

It took the state police most of the day to gather the evidence and complete their interviews. Four loggers were arrested in the death of Mary Raven. Puck would have to testify at the coroner’s inquest but there were no formal charges against him. The county prosecutor ruled Stegman’s death a justifiable homicide.

Shea tried talking to Raven again but it was no use. It was truly over for him. Finished.

First light the next morning, Puck and Shea packed up their gear and checked out of the motel. Their crew was already pulling out, a convoy of work vans and pickups, heading home to Valhalla.

And none too soon. The storm had been gathering strength during the night, the temperature dropping to zero like a rock as a fierce cold front moved in. In the hills above the village, the pines were already glistening Christmas white. Branches rimed with frost, unable to flex in the wind, were snapping like gunfire in the forest.

“Pull over,” Puck said suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” Shea asked, easing the truck onto the shoulder.

“Will you look at that,” the old man breathed. From the roadside they had a panoramic view of the village and the bay beyond it.

A northern miracle.

Sometime during the night, the temperature and winds had fallen together and worked their wintry magic.

Wolf Woman Bay had frozen over.

From the shore to the horizon, the surface was a single, glittering sheet of ice. White as a wedding gown, dusted with diamonds.

But not for long. Mountainous storm clouds were rolling in off the big lake, looming over the northern shore, marching inland, their shadows darkening the hills.

“Gonna be a serious blow,” Shea said. “We’re clearing out of here just in time.”

“Not hardly,” Puck growled. “Way late, if you ask me. Wish to God we’d never heard of this place.”

In the heart of the village below there was a sudden flash, then another. A streak of flames raced along the porch of the fish house, climbing up the walls. In seconds the front of the building was engulfed. And even at that distance, they could see a single dark figure backing away from the blaze as the fire took hold.

“My God,” Shea said, grabbing his cell phone, “he’s torching his own damn building.” Puck seized his wrist.