Copyright © 2020 by Frank Weber

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in part or in whole or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or via any information storage retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a print or online magazine, newspaper or broadcast.

  For press inquiries, contact the author at frankweberauthor.com

  First Edition August 2020

  Published in partnership with BookBaby, 7905 N. Crescent Blvd.,

  Pennsauken, NJ 08110.

  Published by Moon Finder, 500 Park Avenue,

  P.O. Box 496, Pierz, MN 56364

  ISBN: 978-1-64970-207-4

  EISBN: 978-1-64970-205-0

  dedication

  I would like to dedicate this book to the amazing people at CORE Professional Services, who are committed to making the world better. People who offer help to those of all histories, predominantly in poverty, and guide them successfully into meaningful, moral lives. Where there’s meaning, there’s happiness!

  Thank you to my editor, Tiffany (Lundgren) Madson for your brilliance and willingness to work around the clock like I do, to meet deadlines. I appreciate that we can respectfully disagree and still work effectively together. Tiffany is also a colleague in my forensic work which gives her a unique understanding of forensic cases.

  A special thanks to Krista Rolfzen Soukup, Literary Publicist and Blue Cottage Agency for your guidance in this writing and publishing venture.

  And finally, and most importantly, thank you Brenda for yesterday, today and tomorrow—all better, together… K Love (A reference to science theories. In math, K = constant and refers to entities that rise and fall uniformly together.)

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

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  PROLOGUE

  Jon Frederick

  6:00 Pm, Monday, October 5, 2020

  Beaver Island Brewing Company, St. Cloud

  I’m surrounded by the walls of a log cabin while a chilled glass of nitro coffee lager is being poured in front of me as a full glass of foam. I give the bartender a questioning eye about what appears to be a badly poured glass. Curt advises me to be patient. I reflect on the murder of Todd Hartford, which I, as an investigator for the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, recently closed.

  One of the trysts exposed in this murder book is a romance between a Christian man and a Muslim woman. This mystery is not intended to be a judgment on Christianity or Islam; it’s based on a true crime, and is simply what happened. Jesus expressed the same concerns I have when he warned us not to turn his house of prayer into a robber’s den. With that said, the vast majority of violent offenders I work with have no religious beliefs. There are problems to be resolved in every religion, but religion isn’t the problem. Believe what you believe, just treat others with a kind and tender heart.

  My glass of bubbles wondrously morphs into a full glass of beer. I have never seen anything like it. Have I just experienced a miracle? The 1917 Code of Canon Law would require at least one more miracle to qualify me for sainthood, but the lovable Pope Francis was canonizing Blessed John XXIII “after a legitimate relaxation of current law.” So, one miracle might give me a shot. A cold beer and a legitimate period of relaxation sounds perfect, following a case that ultimately cost me my job.

  This case will be presented in chronological order, from the perspective of the most relevant person at each stage of the story. To the reader, then, pay attention to the name at the top of each chapter. I added physics and science theories at the beginning of each chapter. The theories are not essential to solving the mystery, so ignore them if you find them getting in the way of the story. They’re simply fodder for other science geeks.

  lying close

  1

  Chaos Theory =

  A small change in the initial conditions can create

  a significantly different outcome.

  Edward Lorenz Mathematician & Meteorologist

  Proposer of Chaos Theory and the Butterfly Effect Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), 1963

  Jasper Ross

  5:25 Pm Friday, February 1, 2019

  Chipmunk Road, Grey Eagle

  After working as a financial analyst for Ore-Ida’s parent company for four years, I took a cut in pay to live in God’s country and work for the First State Bank of Swanville. The endless and obnoxious potato-head jokes were not my primary reasons for leaving. I was simply one of the ninety percent of people who left their jobs because of difficulties with a coworker.

  My wife, Brenna, and I had moved into a rural home by Grey Eagle with our four-year-old son, Zack. As a bank loan officer, I felt the place was a great buy. And for God’s sake, the house was on Chipmunk Road. Nothing bad could happen there. Brenna wanted to hold out for something better, but finally acquiesced. She said as long as we were together, she’d be happy. Despite our difficulty getting this old house warm through the bitter windchills of this past winter, Brenna made the best of it. It was her nature. Maybe God was getting even with me for not being the husband I should have been. Regardless, I was trying to be that man now.

  My thirty-one-year-old wife was a couple years older than I. She was also a fit cross- contry skier who taught environmental biology at Upsala High School. We weren’t resort skiers, but rather the couple who bought skis at a good price and made trails through the forest. Brenna lovingly shared her wisdom of nature with us as we traipsed with Zack through the woods. Last night, we learned that pine trees have female cones that produce seeds, and male cones that drop pollen.

  My guilt over buying this money pit was further compounded by our paranoid neighbor, Owen Warner, who, like a stalker in a horror flick, silently observed us. Owen was crusty and mean. He was always on alert for any shenanigans going on in the area. He had this insane fear that the only reason a young person would buy a place in the woods was to make meth. He’d run out of the house, shameless in his blue union suit, just to videotape us when we harmlessly explored our land. His VHS recorder was the size of a camera you’d expect to be perched on the shoulder of a cameraman from an investigative news team. With Brenna’s naïve heart, she’d kindly suggested we get to know Owen, but I felt the less she interacted with that crazy old fool, the better.

  Our Friday routine involved Brenna coming home to rest, exhausted after a week of teaching. Her parents usually picked up Zack, while I worked late. But tonight, I was starting family night. I left work at 4:00, picked up my son, and we were going to eat nachos and watch Disney’s original Pete’s Dragon all nestled together on the couch.

  I was frying hatch peppers a work colleague brought me from Texas and my young assistant was kneeling on a chair at the kitchen table, eating cheese directly out of the bag—the cheese he was supposed to be sprinkling on chips.

  We were in for the evening, so Brenna had slipped into her pajamas and thick stockings.

  As she entered the kitchen, Zack farted and giggled.

  Brenna kissed him and said, “It’s so cold in here, I think I saw snowflakes come out!”

  Zack laughed harder. “I tooted snowflakes!” For a moment, life was perfect.

  As I checked the peppers the kitchen suddenly became eerily quiet behind me.

  When I turned back, there was a burly man with Pacific Islander features standing by Brenna and Zack. I flashed on the totem of the Kú—the Hawiian god of war—the taker. The man’s grimace was as threatening as the face carved into that totem. I froze, trying to process what was going on. I thought I’d locked the door.

  The intruder looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him. The amped-up Hawaiian had short, dark hair, large shoulders, and tree-stump biceps. His hooded eyes were menacing, and I didn’t like the way they slid lazily from Brenna’s thick socks up to her breasts, braless under her pajama top. He slid a hunting knife from its leather sheath on his belt, revealing a violent-looking steel talon at the tip of the blade.

  Brenna immediately crossed her arms over her chest and I felt my hand slowly cover my neck. This couldn’t be happening—not tonight. Brenna and I had finally, fully reconciled.

  As we stood frozen, Kú took out a cell phone and ordered, “Get in here. We’ve got a problem.”

  I searched for words to get this psychopath to leave, but my mouth went dry and my mind was blank.

  A gargantuan, Paul Bunyan–looking man, with wild red hair and a full beard, barreled through the door, holding a handgun. He clearly wasn’t happy. The gun seemed unnecessary, as I could picture this guy snapping trees in half with his bare hands.

  Bunyan asked Kú, “Now what?”

  Emotionless, Kú told him, “Nothing’s changed.”

  Still holding the spatula, I pointed with it and impotently stammered, “My billfold’s in the drawer—you can have all my money. That’s all we have.”

  “Take the kid upstairs,” Bunyan ordered.

  Brenna stepped toward Zack, but Kú shoved her hard into Zack’s toys, which had been neatly stacked against the wall. She landed hard in a crumpled heap of Transformers and Legos.

  He hooked my son around the waist with his bulging arm and headed upstairs.

  Zack’s eyes pleaded with me as they escalated out of sight.

  I begged, “Don’t hurt him.” I took half a step toward Bunyan, but with the mammoth of a man pointing a gun directly at me, I stopped in my tracks. Handguns could be more lethal than high-powered weapons, because the bullets bounced off bone, tearing up your insides instead of passing through.

  Brenna clumsily knocked toys aside as she made her way back to her feet.

  I wanted to be a man who’d die rather than let someone take my child away, or harm my love, but at the moment, Brenna once again stood statuesque, while I was scared stiff. The high-pitched blare of our smoke alarm jolted me out of my trance, and I realized the peppers were burning.

  Bunyan barked, “Shut the burner off!”

  I turned and did as I was told. I took the frying pan by the handle and considered tossing the burned peppers into his face, but I didn’t. I was afraid he’d unload that gun on me. I slid the pan off the burner and turned back, like a damn coward.

  “Make that alarm stop,” Bunyan yelled at Brenna. Without hesitation, Brenna gracefully stepped on top of a chair and, with trembling hands, knocked out the battery, ending the piercing screech.

  Kú returned down the stairs, alone.

  I asked frantically, “Where’s Zack?”

  Kú threatened, “He’s fine, but he isn’t going to stay fine unless—”

  Bunyan cut him off. “Unless you come up with some serious cash. That’s all we’re looking for. You can keep your jewelry and credit cards.”

  Fumbling, I opened the kitchen drawer and took out my billfold. There was a knife next to it. I tried to will myself to grab it. I couldn’t muster the courage. I simply retrieved my billfold. Another opportunity squandered. Brenna’s silent disappointment weighed on me. That knife was our last chance.

  When I handed my wallet to Bunyan, I implored, “Here’s all the cash we have. Brenna’s tapped out. You can have it. We won’t call anyone. Please—just leave us alone.”

  Bunyan appeared to be weighing his options. He finally directed me, “Let’s find some duct tape, just to guarantee you won’t call the cops when we walk out the door.”

  I led him to the garage. My eyes darted from the hammer, to the screwdrivers, to the drywall blade.

  Aware of my deliberation, Bunyan warned, “Right now, thinking is your worst enemy.”

  When we returned with the tape, Kú sneered as he ordered, “Kneel on the floor.”

  I always wondered why people allowed themselves to be executed. I had two reasons: The first was shame. I deserved this for my past infidelity. The second: I was scared to death. I had some insane hope that this would all pass and we’d be okay—an Avenger would burst in at the last second and save us.

  Because of the pinecones and acorns, I could typically hear a car approaching on our gravel road from a mile away. But tonight, Chipmunk Road was painfully silent. Like a lamb to the slaughter, my wrists were duct-taped tightly behind my back and my feet were taped together. My little Zack had to be terrified, and I was sick over how this could end for Brenna. I had considered what he might to do to her, yet I had done nothing to stop it. I had failed the people I loved most.

  Ogling Brenna, Kú made his intentions clear to Bunyan. “You’ve got to let me do this—keep your partners happy.” He took Brenna by the arm and started to escort her out of the kitchen.

  I begged desperately, “No!”

  Bunyan didn’t appear necessarily okay with it, but he wasn’t stopping it, either.

  In a last-ditch effort, I tried jerking myself to my feet, but Bunyan cracked my skull with the butt of the gun and I fell back to the floor. I curled into myself, trying to blink the stars out of my vision.

  Bunyan was angry, like somehow it was my fault Brenna was going to be assaulted. He roared, “It’s a little too late now, don’t you think? Unless you’re going to tell us where we can find some real money, I don’t want to hear another word from you.” He squatted down, filling my vision with his oversized frame, and ground the barrel of the gun hard into my temple to emphasize his point.

  I squeezed my eyes shut in equal parts of fear and self-hatred.

  Then Brenna, in a barely audible voice, offered, “I can take you to some money, but you have to guarantee my family’s safety.” She seemed to be gaining composure as steadily as it drained from me.

  “Too late,” Kú snarled.

  Bunyan looked at Kú sideways, in part exasperation and in part derision. He ordered over him, “Talk.”

  Brenna countered, “First, I need to see my son.”

  With a tight grip around her bicep, Kú jerked her to his side and they disappeared up the stairs.

  It was dead quiet at first, and then I heard a scuffle. With the gun still pressed to my head, I pled with my eyes for Bunyan to intervene.

  Bunyan muttered under his breath, “Fucking Cocaine.” He shook his head in disgust, pulled the gun away, and yelled, “Money first!”

  When they returned, it was clear by Brenna’s expression Kú had groped her. Her eyes had gone flat, and there was tension in her lips and nostrils. Her cheeks were bright and burning. She was never one to be overly dramatic, but I had come to know her tells of distress.

  Flustered, but fighting for composure, Brenna stuttered, “We had—had a fundraiser at school yesterday. There’s money—$18,000 in cash donations, locked in the school’s office. I had planned to take it to the bank on Monday. But the room is secure, and has an alarm that requires my eye recognition to open it.”

  “Looks like we hit the jackpot,” Bunyan said, grinning.

  My thin, brave Brenna pointed at me. “Jasper can’t call anyone all tied up like that, and he wouldn’t anyway, knowing my life is at stake.”

  Bunyan seriously considered this.

  Kú’s lecherous eyes continued to ogle Brenna as he spoke to Bunyan. “Let me do her here, first.” His black eyes cast the emptiness of his soul.

  Gaining confidence, Brenna insisted, “If you want me to get the money for you, nothing happens here. My family has to live here. I won’t have my boy hear that.”

  I begged, “No, Brenna.”

  Kú sneered at me, “I’ll be gentle.” He rubbed her cheek with the back of his hand.

  Brenna jerked away as if he had scalded her.

  “Money first,” Bunyan repeated.

  As the pair of outlaws were about to leave with Brenna, Bunyan’s phone buzzed. He quickly answered it, then swore and said, “Okay, we’re coming.” He yelled, “Let her go! We’ve gotta run.”

  Kú argued, “No way!”

  Bunyan threw my billfold at me and directed his partner, “Unless you want to spend the rest your life in prison, we gotta go. There’s a man out there filming us. He may have already called the police.” The two men vanished as fast as they had appeared.

  Our crazy neighbor, Owen Warner, had saved us. Real-life Avengers may not be as handsome and spry as the movie versions, but they were just as effective.

  Brenna quickly removed the knife from the drawer and cut my ties.

  I was right on her heels as we ran upstairs to Zack. When I opened the bedroom door, there he lay, sound asleep on the floor. Confused, I looked to Brenna for an explanation.

  She knelt down and kissed him, then looked up at me. “He’s fear-frozen. It happens with small animals and small children. When they’re terrified, their system gets overwhelmed and they just fall asleep.”

 

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