Mystery: Haunted Mystery (A Suspense Thriller Mystery novella): (Mystery Suspense Thriller Suspense Thriller Mystery) (Alaska Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  MYSTERY: Haunted

  (A Suspense Thriller Mystery novella)

  Alaska Mysteries, Book 2

  S. C. King

  Mystery Thriller Suspense Publications House

  MYSTERY: Haunted (A Suspense Thriller Mystery novella)

  Alaska Mysteries, Book 2

  Copyright 2015 S. C. King, Mystery Thriller Suspense Publications House

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  Thank you for purchasing this e-book. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without permission from the author.

  If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy online where they can also discover many other works by this author.

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  Table Of Contents

  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

  Thank You

  Booklist

  Chapter 1

  Sergeant Wood was called in to the Green Oak Resort, near Stronghill by the owner of the place because of the disappearance of one its guests – Betty Nicolson. The sergeant made sure to go there as fast as possible, because of the urgency he detected in Mr. Storm’s voice.

  He arrived late in the evening, and immediately asked for an explanation about the case. The resort’s owner, Mr. Storm, was very glad to see him and invited him to his office to explain everything.

  “You see, Sergeant,” he started. “Mrs. Betty Nicolson is part of a large party of friends, mostly artists and journalists, who arrived here two days ago. As you can see, the resort is a family business, and our rooms are of limited number. At the moment, we have only twelve guests, and we are almost full.”

  “Okay,” the policeman interrupted him. “Tell me about Mrs. Nicolson, please.”

  “Mrs. Nicolson, right...” Mr. Storm continued. “She arrived here with her husband. They are both some kind of journalists or writers, I am not sure. She was very happy here, until last night when she went to her room after dinner and never came back out.”

  “What about her husband?”

  “He stayed downstairs a few more hours and when he went up, the door of their room was closed from the inside, and the lady was missing.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police immediately?” Sergeant Wood asked.

  “We all thought that it was some kind of a prank,” the other man clarified. “You know how it is with those young artistic people? They are always searching for new excitements.”

  “And Mrs. Nicolson hasn’t been seen by anyone after that?”

  “No, we asked everyone,” Mr. Storm shook his white head. “No one seems to know anything, and her husband is getting worried.”

  “Okay, then,” the sergeant stood up. “I would like to see the room, and speak to her husband.”

  The resort owner opened the door for him, and led the way up the stairs and to the second floor of the resort. The place was a beautiful one, with the main building made of stone and keeping the family atmosphere about it. The resort was situated at the foot of the mountain, near a vast and virgin forest, where the sergeant’s ancestors had lived for centuries.

  The resort complex consisted of multiple buildings – garages, kitchens, stables, small villas, and so on. The big house was a two story building which looked very majestic against the dark beauty of the mountain. The resort was almost always full of visitors, who looked for a place where they could be close to nature and away from anything that reminded them of the stressful city life.

  It wasn’t the first time that Wood has been called here, as in the past, there had been problems with poachers and thieves. The sergeant liked the owner and his wife, as they both were locals with a deep love for the traditions and culture of the region. Mr. and Mrs. Storm were kind people, who had been always ready to help others, although they tended to speak a bit too much.

  When they arrived at the door of Mrs. Nicolson’s room, Mr. Storm knocked on it and called for her husband. Mr. Nicolson turned out to be a young man, about thirty five years old, dressed casually and looking very worried about his wife.

  “Thank you for coming sergeant,” he said after the introductions. “Betty has been missing for only a few hours, but there is something very strange about her disappearance.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Wood agreed with him. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “My wife and I, we are both journalists, and we came here with a few of our friends for a vacation away from the city.” Mr. Nicolson started. “The place is amazing, and we were having an excellent time, until last night, when Betty went up to bed earlier than me. She said she was tired. I stayed with our friends for another hour or two, and went up myself.”

  Wood could see how worried the man was, but he was grateful for Mr. Nicolson’s presence of mind and the ability to present the events as clearly as possible.

  “The door to the bedroom was closed from the inside, and I had to ask Mr. Storm to give me another key to open it. When we went inside the room, everything was in its place, my wife’s jewelry and money were still there, and nothing was missing except her. What is more,” he continued. “On the nightstand table, there was a note. Here it is...”

  He took the note out of his pocket and gave it to the detective. It was written in a firm hand, black ink, and said – Don’t come looking for me.

  “Is this your wife’s handwriting?” Wood asked him.

  “Yes,” the man confirmed. “That was one of the reasons that I didn’t call the police immediately. I thought that she was joking with me. But, this morning I noticed something I must have missed last night. Come and see for yourself...”

  Mr. Nicolson pointed the policeman to the bathroom, and specifically to the bathroom mirror. On it in bright red lipstick were written the letters CAJK.

  “What does this mean?” he asked the husband.

  “I have no idea,” he replied. “The lipstick is not Betty’s, as she never wears any.”

  “Mr. Storm told me that you looked for her, but did you try to call her or some of her friends?”

  “Her phone is here,” the man pointed at the modern iPhone sitting on the table. “And I called everyone I could think of. No one had heard from her in the last two days.”

  “Was there something that suggested that your wife might leave you?”

  “We were happy, sergeant.” Mr. Nicolson shook his head. “I cannot imagine a reason for her to run from me. And what is more, this kind of behavior is not in her character. If she wanted to leave me, Betty would have told me to my face.”

  Wood took notes of everything that was said to him, and carefully examined the room, taking photos of a few things and keeping the notes as evidence. Then he excused himself, and asked Mr. Storm to accompany him.

  “Is it possible for a taxi or any other car to come here without anyone noticing?” Wood asked, while descending the stairs.

  “It is,” Mr. Storm confirmed. “But, one must know the roads around here ver
y well to venture that during the night.”

  “I might need to talk to the rest of the guests and look around the resort.”

  “You have my full collaboration,” the older man said, and left the sergeant to make a call.

  Chapter 2

  After remaining alone, Wood did the only thing he could think of, and called Detective Davis from the Fairbanks precinct to ask for help. Their last case together had left a lasting impression on the young sergeant, and he now considered the Detective the best policemen in Alaska. This new mystery case was too complicated for the young policeman, who still preferred to write speeding tickets and deal with drunken men.

  “Detective Davis?” he asked, once the phone was picked up on the other end. “I’m Sergeant Wood from Stronghill...”

  “Hello, sergeant,” Davis’ voice sounded happy and relaxed over the phone. “What can I do for you?”

  “Detective,” Wood sat down and prepared for the long explanation. “I was called this morning to a resort, situated nearby Stronghill, to investigate the disappearance of one of the guests. At first, I thought that it was all a simple misunderstanding or quarrel between the woman and her husband, but now I am not so sure.”

  “Tell me what you found,” Davis asked seriously, his voice full of excitement.

  “Mrs. Nicolson, who is the one that disappeared,” he started, “was here on vacation together with her husband and a few friends. Last night she went up to bed a few hours before her husband, and when he went after her, the door of their room was locked from inside, and she had disappeared. They had to open the door with another key and there was a note, written by her, that asked him not to look for her, and a strange writing on the bathroom mirror.”

  “What did it say?”

  “It was just letters C-A-J-K,” the sergeant explained.

  “What about the other guests,” Davis continued to ask questions, his interest awakened. “Did someone else see something?”

  “No, Mrs. Nicolson hadn’t been seen since dinner last night,” Wood continued. “I am going to speak with the rest of the residents here, and then I will see about searching the resort and the nearby woods. But I would be very grateful if you can help me, sir.”

  “I will speak with the captain here, and I can be there by tomorrow morning,” Davis said, and asked the younger officer to make sure he spoke to everyone.

  Wood closed the phone, grateful that Davis would come to his aid, and went to speak with the resort guests. The owner had given him a small parlor near the front door to use for the interrogations, so that he would-be out of the way and have some privacy.

  Wood had changed a lot after the missing kid case, and now even his family saw him as a mature and capable man. His natural talents had been showing, and there was some kind of urgency and stability about him.

  The sergeant decided to start the investigation with Victor Pavan, a young Italian photographer, who, according to Mr. Nicolson, spent the evening with him playing cards. Mr. Pavan was about 40 years old, but looked a lot younger thanks to the good care he took of his appearance. He was a poet in his heart, and that was clearly visible in his beautiful photos.

  “My name is Sergeant Wood, sir, and I want to ask you a few questions about yesterday evening.”

  “You can ask me anything,” the other man said. “But, you must let me photograph you. You, sergeant, are a magnificent specimen of your people.”

  “We will see about that,” Wood dismissed his request. “Tell me, Mr. Pavan, what were you doing last night?”

  “I had dinner with Betty and Jackson,” the man said in broken English. “Then Betty went to bed, and I stayed with Jackson for a few hands of poker.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual?”

  “No,” he shook his head. “There were a few other people in the room with us, but everything was calm and quiet, until Jackson went upstairs and found the door locked.”

  “Were you with him the whole time?”

  “Yes, I cannot remember him leaving even for a minute.”

  “What about Mrs. Nicolson,” Wood continued with the next question. “Did you notice something unusual about her?”

  “She was her usual happy and fun self,” Pavan said. “We had a very relaxing dinner together, and they behaved as always – as a happily married couple.”

  “How long have you known Mr. and Mrs. Nicolson?”

  “They are journalists and I am a photographer, we often work together, and through the years we became good friends.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pavan, that would be all for now,” Wood stood up and offered his hand to the Italian man. “If you remember something or if you hear or see something, please contact me.”

  “I will sergeant,” he said. “I certainly will tell you everything I see or hear.”

  Wood continued to ask questions and interrogate the other guests, and then walked all around the resort and even inside the woods. It was already getting dark when he finally gave up and decided to go home. He spoke one more time with Mr. Nicolson and the owner, and left the resort for the night.

  There was no trace of Mrs. Nicolson, and it was obvious that her husband was very worried about her disappearance. Wood promised to be back first thing in the morning, and left the two men at the door.

  “Another mystery...” he uttered, when climbing into his car.

  Chapter 3

  Detective Davis arrived at the Green Oak Resort early the next morning to find Sergeant Wood waiting for him impatiently by the main door. Davis was more than a little happy to be back here, although he would never say so out loud. He liked Wood a lot, and there was something very appealing to him about Stronghill and its surroundings.

  “Sergeant,” he called, while getting out of his car. “Is there anything new about the case?”

  “Good morning, sir,” Wood greeted him and accompanied Davis to the parlor. “There is really something strange going on around here...”

  “Really,” Davis exclaimed. “Stranger than the disappearance of a woman from a locked room?”

  “John Towson, one of the other resort guests, disappeared last night,” the sergeant explained quickly. “He was last seen sitting in the garden and reading a newspaper. This morning, when he didn’t come down for breakfast, Mr. Storm, the owner of the place, went to look for him, and found the bed still made and no sign of Towson.”

  “Where is Mr. Towson now?”

  “No one knows, sir. Yesterday, I didn’t speak with him, so I have no idea who he really is. According to the other guests, some of who are his friends, the man is a newspaper head editor.”

  “Let’s go see his room, Wood.” Davis stood up, and walked towards the door.

  “I already did that, sir,” the sergeant said. “There is nothing out of place, but there are a lot of strange things in the garden, where he was last seen.”

  “Okay then, let’s go to the garden.”

  The Green Oak Resort’s garden was a beautiful place, filled with different and well-tended plants and trees. It was situated at the back of the main building, and its far end was disappearing into the nearby woods. According to the staff, Mr. Towson liked the garden very much, and used to spend a few hours every day sitting or walking through it.

  Wood showed the detective the small table at which Towson was sitting last night, reading a newspaper and drinking a scotch. The sergeant has been right about the strange things going on in there – the chair, for example, was turned around, facing the resort’s main building, leaving the garden table behind it. Wood also showed the different footprints, scattered all around the flower beds. They were all left from different types of shoes, and could be seen very clearly.

  “The newspaper,” Wood explained, “is open on an article about the Black Mamba snakes.”

  “How old is Mr. Towson?” Davis asked.

  Wood looked at his notes and said, “The man is 55 years old, sir.”

  “What about Mrs. Nicolson?”

  “She was
only 29, sir.”

  “Is it possible that they ran away together?”

  “According to Mr. Nicolson and a few other resort guests, Towson and Mrs. Nicolson were good friends, but there never was anything else between them. What is more, everybody is insisting that the Nicolsons were very much in love with each other.”

  “Why didn’t you speak with Mr. Towson yesterday, sergeant?”

  “He was the last on my list, because he wasn’t here the night Mrs. Nicolson disappeared. Mr. Storm said that Towson went to the city for some business and returned after I was called to the scene.”

  “Didn’t that seem strange to you?”

  “No, sir,” Wood shook his head. “Mrs. Storm accompanied him to the city, and they returned here together.”

  “All right then, what about the footprints?” Davis asked. “Did Storm have some explanation for them?”

  “No,” Wood once again shook his head. “Mr. Storm said that the gardener never allows people walking all over the flowers and the footprints are so many that it seems impossible for him not to notice them before.”

  “Therefore, the prints could be connected to the disappearance of Towson,” Davis concluded.

  “Most probably, sir.”

  “And no one has any idea where he could be?”

  “No one, sir...” Wood hesitated. “But, I am not sure who we should trust.”

  “You are right, sergeant. So, tell me all about the rest of the Green Oak Resort guests.”

  Wood took out his notes and headed for the nearby gazebo, where the two policemen could sit down and speak quietly.

  “First, there is Betty and Jackson Nicolson, a young married couple. They both work as journalists, and usually write about the lives of famous people. They came here with a group of friends – Victor Pavan, an Italian photographer, Emily Anderson and Evelyn Joseph, both actresses and best friends, John Towson, the newspaper head redactor, and finally, Cynthia Moss, a mystery writer.”

  “The rest of the guest list includes Jack Thomson, the famous supernatural phenomenon reporter, and Miss Rose Donaldson. Mr. and Mrs. Storm also live here, as well as Anna Ivanova, the maid, and Tim McGregor, the gardener.”