Both from the same man. First one: “Cape, you know who this is. I’m in big trouble, I need to talk to you right away. Call me as soon as you get this. Don’t talk to anybody else first.” Followed by a local number and an extension. Second one: “Cape, where the hell are you? Call me!” Boone Judson. Scared. Cape replayed the messages twice. Judson’s voice was ragged, with rips in it that let the fear leak through. He went into the bathroom, doused his face in cold water to get rid of the last of the beer muzziness. When he came out again, he called the number Judson had left. A woman’s voice answered. “Cabins in the Pines. How may I help you?” He asked for number fourteen. Buzz, buzz… and Boone’s voice, shrill and shredded, said, “Hello? Cape, is that you?” “It’s me.” “Christ, about time. Where’ve you been?” “Big trouble, you said. Name it.” “Not on the phone. You know what it is.” “What I don’t know is where you fit in.” “Not on the damn phone.”
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