Off the Beaten Path

  OFF THE BEATEN PATH

  G. G. Baker

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

  For information contact: www.ggbaker.net

  Published by Rivers Publishers

  Book and Cover design by Rivers Publishers

  First Edition: March 2015

  For Nancy

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  PART I Whiskey is for Sippin'

  Chapter One - Chapter Sixteen

  PART II Behind the Pain

  Chapter Seventeen - Chapter Thirty-two

  PART III Fear and Courage

  Chapter Thirty-three – Chapter Seventy-six

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  The shiny blue Porsche 911 exploded around the sharp bend in the highway like it was coming off the backstretch of the Indy 500. The Porsche was moving too fast in the early morning light for the driver to immediately grasp the scene that had just unfolded in front of him. The chaotic image was further clouded by a low hanging mist that drifted down the hillside and across the highway. The light mist coated the road with a wet sheen that merged with the oil left by the thousands of cars and trucks that traveled up and down the interstate every day. The deadly combination caused the Porsche to drift slightly to the left as the low profile tires fought to keep their hold on the slick surface of the highway. The driver had just corrected the loss of traction when a jolting realization made him stiffen in the leather seats and grip the wheel like he was going to tear it off of the steering column.

  Out of pure instinct the driver threw his left foot hard against the clutch pedal and down shifted into the lowest gear that the screaming engine would allow him to slide the gear shifter into. At the exact same moment the driver's right foot connected with the brake pedal. What happened next derailed his brain like a high speed train coming off the tracks at over one-hundred miles per hour, which was almost as fast as the Porsche had been traveling as it rounded the bend in the road.

  Something was seriously wrong. The brake pedal slammed hard against the floorboard of the sports car like the driver had stepped on a rotten peach and nothing changed. The Porsche was still screaming toward the scene at over eighty miles per hour. The driver pumped his foot frantically up and down on the brake pedal but the brake mechanism was now as useless as the radio knob in slowing the car. His brain shifted into full panic mode as he realized that he had no brakes, no plan, and nowhere to go.

  The driver was staring in complete terror at the convergence of cars, trucks, buses, and emergency vehicles that looked like they belonged in a Hollywood disaster movie. Every vehicle in front of him was at a complete standstill due to a tanker truck that was laying on its side across all three lanes of traffic. Because the tractor-trailer rig was a tanker even the breakdown lanes were closed off to the normal trickle of traffic that slipped around the edges of accidents. The very real fear that the over-turned tanker carried a cargo that was both flammable and explosive only added to the heightened fear of every person within sight of the accident, even the cars in the Southbound lanes of the Interstate moved as far away from the accident as the highway would allow as they passed by.

  The Porsche quickly closed the gap between the stagnant cars and the speeding sports-car and he was now close enough to the stalled traffic that his eyes fixed on a car directly in his path. There was a woman inside the car struggling to climb over the back seat of her sedan. She was attempting to free a small child from a car seat that was secured with the seat-belt on the rear passenger side of the sedan. The frantic mother had been watching in her rear view mirror when the Porsche had come sliding around the corner. She could tell that something was wrong when the approaching sports-car did not appear to be slowing even the slightest little bit. He could see the fear and panic in her eyes as she simultaneously fumbled with the car-seat and watched the sports-car bear down on her inescapable spot in the traffic jam.

  The driver of the Porsche was now less than fifty yards from rear-ending the sedan when the he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Just behind and to the left of the traffic jam was a break in the guardrail and in less than a hundredth of a second he made the connection. He could tell that the gap in the guardrail was mangled and new and it was just wide enough for the Porsche to squeeze through. He was sure that the gap in the guardrail was either the cause of or the result of the tipped over tanker. He was not exactly sure what was on the other side of the gap but he had driven this stretch of I-5 enough to know that he was probably in for a pretty rough ride if he made it through the opening. The driver was sure that there was a drop-off on the other side of the gap, he just couldn't remember how much of a drop he was headed for.

  His mind snapped back to the present as his death grip on the steering wheel jerked the Porsche hard to the left. On a dry stretch of road the Porsche would have responded to his steering command like the first car on a high speed roller coaster. The slick highway cost him just enough traction so that his right rear bumper grazed the left rear bumper of the sedan. The resulting impact threw the Porsche into another slight fishtail to the left. He corrected the best he could but the impact had pointed him just off center of where he needed to be to clear the hole in the guardrail cleanly. He fought hard to guide the out of control car toward the narrow gap in the guard-rail but it felt like he was barely in control of a two-thousand pound ice skate. when he reached the gap the left rear fender of the Porsche caught a nasty tangle of steel and wood that flipped the Porsche up in the air and into a lateral spin like it was a piece of meat on a rotisserie grill. The Porsche rolled over in the air five times before it came down hard on the passenger side roof of the car. The impact that the Porsche's roof made with the Highway only seemed to add the cars momentum as the car continued rolling over and over across the highway. The car came to rest on its roof on the other side of the South-bound lanes of I-5.

  Much to the amazement of the traffic moving south out of Seattle at the sight of a blue sports-car flying through the air and landing in front of them. The people that stopped to help were even more amazed that the man upside down in the car seemed to still be alive.

  Just before the driver slipped into unconsciousness he had two very different thoughts race through his mind. The first thought he had was that he was not going to see the gorgeous brunet at his health club this morning, a beautiful ex-model that he had spent five weeks persuading to have dinner with him last Friday night. And the second and more practical thought that run across his dazed mind was,

  "This couldn't be happening, I just had new brakes installed last week."

  The crowd of people that jumped from their vehicles and ran to the edge of the guard-rail where the Porsche had just launched from included the mother holding her small child, a dozen onlookers that couldn't believe what they had just witnessed and a man in a silver BMW that had pulled up to the scene just as the Porsche went through the guardrail.

  The man in the BMW stared at the twisted wreckage on the opposite side of the highway as a crowd of people stopped their cars and hurried to see if the man had survived such a horrendous crash. The man wondered why they were in such a hurry to get to the mangled wreck, he was pretty sure that no one could have survived such an accident.

  The man that had stepped out of the BMW
was groomed to perfection and he was dressed from head to toe in designer clothes. Every hair was in place with one glaring exception that no one in the crowd of onlookers seemed to notice. The fingers of his right hand were smudged with an oily substance that had the reddish hue of brake fluid.

  The man listened for a few moments without saying a word. He heard the full range of comments from the assembled crowd, everything from, "Damn Fool," from an overweight trucker in a pair of greasy overalls, to the woman clutching her baby who said faintly, "He's a hero." After he had seen all he needed to see the man turned and strolled back toward the BMW with a satisfied smile on his face. As he opened the car door and slid behind the wheel of the BMW he thought to himself, things had turned out better than he could have imagined.

  PART I

  Whiskey is for Sippin'

  Chapter One

  Kristin rolled her wedding ring back and forth between her thumb and her index finger. She could feel the smooth curve of the band and the sharp cut of the one carat diamond that was barely touching the tips of the fingers of her left hand. Her hand was dangling limply out the driver’s side window of the cherry red Mercedes Benz 600 SL. She was not afraid of dropping the expensive ring, In fact, she wished that a random bump in the road or a split second of inattention would allow the ring to slip from her fragile grasp and fall onto the old highway. She could see in her mind the next two or three hundred cars gradually forcing the glittering diamond deep into the charcoal black asphalt. Better yet, if she could muster the courage, she would hurl the ring across the highway, over the thick weeds and into the river that she was currently driving alongside.

  Kristin had a vision of the ring hitting the surface of the water, slipping below the surface and slowly coming to rest on the bottom of the river. She laughed as she thought about one of the streams fishy inhabitants attacking the ring like it was a fisherman's lure, the world's most expensive fishing lure. In her mind she saw a comical scenario play out in her mind, A local fisherman would bring home the days catch to discover her seven thousand dollar diamond ring in its belly. Kristin could see the headline now, “Local fisherman makes one hell of a catch.”

  Chapter Two

  She thought back to her wedding day when she had overheard one of her ex-husbands slimy lawyer buddies slur though his fifth scotch and soda, and remark with in a sleazy guttural tone, “Clarence, she's one a Hell of a catch.” She thought to herself with a sick ache in the pit of her stomach, “That is what I am, one hell of a catch. “

  The irony made her laugh so hard that for a brief moment she completely forgot that she was on a stretch of highway that would not forgive even a moment’s inattention. She was shocked back to reality when she felt the passenger side tires of the sports car slip off the paved road and connects with some loose gravel. The sharp realization made every muscle in her body over-compensate. Both of her hands gripped the wheel tightly and jerk it hard to the left. The Mercedes did exactly what she asked it to do, which meant that she was now headed straight for the bank of the river.

  As she closed the gap between her and the river she gathered her wits and turned the car back across the road. The Mercedes reacted quickly just as the left rear tire dropped off the paved road and caught the gravel along-side the river. She did not look back in her rear view mirror until she was safely back in her own lane and in complete control.

  When she finally looked in her rear view mirror she knew exactly what would see, one set of tire marks had disappeared over the edge of the embankment for no more than ten to twelve inches.

  Kristin felt something digging into the flesh of her left hand. She took her hand off the wheel and looked into her palm, the ring was still there. For some unknown reason she had held onto the ring, she did not know how or why. There was a drop of blood where the diamond clasps had pierced her skin. Kristin starred at the diamond and the drop of blood like they belonged together. Then almost as an afterthought she carelessly tossed the ring into the change holder on her console. She could still see the ring out of the corner of her eye, and even though she no longer was holding the ring she could still feel it burn into her skin.

  Kristin's pulse was still racing as she came around the next corner and saw a wide spot in the road. The gravel area looked like a place for tourist to pull over and snap a few pictures of the scenic beauty that surrounded her as well as for fishermen to park and walk across the highway to do a little fishing. There was a rushing waterfall that spilled out of the mountainside and into a small pool at the far end of the parking area. It was a perfect place to stop, and right now more than anything she needed to stop.

  The Mercedes jerked and twitched as the tires grabbed at the loose gravel and the brakes pumped feverishly in an attempt to bring the car to a stop. Neither her, nor the Mercedes were accustom to being off the smooth asphalt highway.

  The day was getting warmer, and she needed to feel the warm rays of sunlight bouncing off the canyon walls and onto her face. She reached up and undid the clips that held the convertible top in place, and hit the button that folded the convertible top back into its hiding place. Kristin did not realize how tense her body was until she opened the car door and stepped out onto the gravel apron of the road.

  Chapter Three

  Kristin Palmer was a tall athletically built beauty with long legs and a body that looked like it belonged on a cover of a magazine. In fact, at one time or another her body had been on the cover of almost every major fashion publication on the magazine stand. She had long dark wavy hair that had just a hint of auburn at the tips and voluminous brown eyes that made her face seem narrower than it really was. In her bare feet she was just over five foot eight, but the way she carried herself made it seem to most people like she was over six feet. When she slipped on a pair of her favorite stiletto heels is when she actually hit the six foot mark.

  Kristin was not one of those women that were embarrassed by her height or her beauty, she was modestly proud of all of her dimension. She had always been about ten to fifteen pounds heavier than most models, a feature that gave her the gentle curves and style of a Rachael Welch or a Sophia Loren, unlike her anorexic fashion peers.

  Years ago, a young, want- to-be rock star had burst out into a pretty good imitation of the old Rod Stewart song, “You wear it well,” when she had walked into a fashion party. Everyone at the party had applauded loudly as She made her way through the crowded room and planted a bright red lipstick kiss on the young man's cheek., the kid had turned almost as red as the lipstick stain on his cheek.

  Standing there on the side of the road between the gravel under her feet and a bright ray of sunlight on her dark brown hair she didn't look anywhere near too her thirty fifth birthday. Her best friend Becca was fond of saying that the cosmetic industry was never going to get rich off of Kristin Palmer. She had a flawless complexion that had even her closest friends routinely wondering whether she was wearing makeup or not. Friends and family, that had known her all of their life thought that she was more beautiful today than when she was twenty years old. She possessed the perfect mix of beauty and maturity, and she never took either one of these for granted. Yep, to put it mildly Kristin Palmer was a hands down knock out.

  Kristin closed her eyes and leaned back against the car with her hands resting behind her on edge of the rolled down windows. The sun was starting to break out of the pine trees and illuminate the narrow canyon. She could feel the heat of the day about to begin. She pulled off the University of Washington Huskies sweatshirt that she was wearing and threw it in the back seat of the Mercedes.

  She thought with a mild amusement as she pulled off the sweatshirt that it was a good thing the old highway was deserted. She could imagine some unsuspecting trucker speeding down the canyon and around the curve in the road just in time to see a women that breathtakingly stunning peeling off a layer of clothing, he probably would have dumped his eighteen wheeler right into the river.

  She could see herself giving the highway
patrol officer her statement,

  “Yes sir, the cause of the accident was a U of W sweatshirt that fled the scene.” Kristin laughed out loud at the absurdity of the movie playing in her head. The thought about being the cause of a tractor trailer rig upside down in the river was damn near ludicrous. The drama continued with the dazed trucker standing waist deep in water and pointing at her and screaming, “She did it officer; she made me drive off the road.”

  Kristin knew that these little moments of fantasy and levity teetered on the verge of insanity. She understood that as long as she could separate absurdity from reality and laugh at both of them, she might be okay.

  Kristin opened her eyes and looked up and down the road. She could not remember if she had seen any other cars since she had left the main highway twenty minutes ago. She listened for other cars echoing off the canyon walls, but all she could hear were a half a dozen different birds calling to each other and the slow casual gurgle of the river thirty feet from where she stood in the dirt. All of a sudden she felt very alone.

  She swung her legs over the side of the car door without opening it and settled back down into the leather seats of the Mercedes. When she fired up the engine and punched the gas pedal the tires spun as they tried to gain some traction in the gravel. The tires produced a high pitch scream that she could hear bouncing off the canyon walls when the tires finally made contact with the road. The next curve in the road turned into the longest stretch of straight road that she had seen since she had turned off I-90. The straight-away had a slight incline to it as she pressed down hard on the gas pedal. The Mercedes leaped like a thoroughbred race horse coming out of the starting gate at the Kentucky Derby. Kristin went through the gears as the Mercedes speedometer passed ninety and the flash of the trees in her peripheral vision made it feel like her and the car might just lift off and fly.