The Maltese Terror

Chapter 1 Nick LeGrande shrugged, trying to be philosophical. This damned trip exemplified Murphy’s Law. Everything that could possibly go wrong had, and some things that couldn’t possibly had also. As he trudged along the wide concourse in the Denver airport, juggling the green pet carrier from one hand to the other along with his briefcase, he looked out at the leaden gray skies. If he were back in western New York where he’d grown up, he would say they meant snow. Maybe it was different here in the west. He hoped so. The last forecast he’d seen called for sunny, pleasant early spring weather, great for skiing and maybe even some golf. After what felt like a ten-mile hike, Nick reached the baggage area. His spirits lifted when he saw his luggage had made it. He grabbed the familiar bag as the carousel rumbled by. Then he remembered he had a second bag to snatch, the one with Cedric’s things. Reaching with a mumbled apology around an aristocratic-looking, white-haired gentleman, he stretched and clutched, snaring a corner of the bag. It almost jerked free of his grip, but he held on, finally lifting it clear. At that moment, his little, four-footed partner gave a petulant whine, peering out through the screen of the new, lime-green pet carrier. Although Nick readily admitted the color almost made him gag, beggars couldn’t be choosy. It was the only carrier available when he’d made a desperate dash to Pets-R-Us with an hour left to catch his flight. This was all a new experience for Cedric, one with which he’d become perturbed. Several people turned to stare, a few smirking or chuckling, as the little guy let out a sharp bark, followed by a throaty howl of obvious protest. So much noise from such a little dog! Although Nick had acquired the Maltese almost three years ago, he’d never before taken the pooch on one of his trips. Usually the teenager next door at his upscale Philadelphia apartment complex had been available to pet sit and water Nick’s plants while he was away. Unfortunately, this was spring break and, like many students, young Misty Hayes was headed for Fort Lauderdale. Cedric had to come along while the plants fended for themselves. Struggling with the abnormal load of baggage, Nick made his way to the rental counter for the firm he regularly used. Wasn’t there a luxury sedan reserved for Mr. LeGrande? The bored-looking clerk was unable to find one. “I’ve got a couple of SUVs,” she said, snapping her gum. “Looking at the weather forecast, I’d say that’d be your best bet.” Nick bit back a growl of frustration. Is nothing going to go right on this misbegotten trip? He was supposed to be meeting Jack Connant, one of his firm’s biggest clients, in an hour. To do that, he had to get into Denver and clear across town. Of course Jack always stayed in The Brown Palace, one of the mile-high city’s most luxurious, grand old hotels. They were to have a dinner meeting there tonight before heading off for Vail tomorrow to combine business and pleasure by getting in a bit of skiing and checking out real estate offerings in the developing area surrounding the booming winter resort. Nick had risen quickly to become one of the second-tier executives and a project team leader in Creating With Nature. CWN, as the employees called it, specialized in laying out overall designs for upscale outdoor and enviro-tourism resorts. Jack said he’d chosen Nick specifically to look over some sites and help him select the best one for the latest project Connant Enterprises planned. Nick would do the overall design, of course, assisted by his team’s expert members. No need for false modesty—he was good at what he did. Many said the best. After pondering a moment, Nick accepted the inevitable. “All right, I’ll take the Expedition.” At least a lot attendant brought the vehicle to the nearest door and helped him load his gear. Even so, dusk was falling by the time he pulled out into traffic to leave the airport. A few flakes of snow drifted down onto the windshield. From the map he’d picked up, he could see the airport sat way out of town. He’d have to haul ass once he reached the freeway if he was going to be on time. That proved impossible. Construction had three lanes reduced to two or even one, with detours at various spots along the route. Nick found the signs confusing. He had to hope he made the proper turns. By now the snow fell hard, or rather flew by hard, riding a wind strong enough to buffet the heavy SUV. The swirling snow reduced visibility to a couple of vehicle lengths. He’d be late. There was no help for it. Nick fumbled for his cell phone and slapped on the headset. Then he pushed a speed dial button, hoping to reach Mae Dunkirk, Jack’s traveling secretary, who accompanied the real estate mogul everywhere. When she answered, Nick explained the unavoidable delays and apologized, buying himself some time. That done, he gave sigh of relief. Too soon, though. It appeared his troubles had just begun. Perhaps he’d missed a sign while his attention was on the phone or maybe the wind had knocked it down. Next thing he knew, the SUV was bouncing over a rutted track that could not possibly be the detour for a major interstate highway, not even here in the Wild West! The snow flew past at a different angle now, one that reduced visibility even more. The windshield wipers barely cleared the glass, while a thickening border of compacted snow edged into the open area a bit farther after every swipe. “This doesn’t look good, Cedric. We’ve got to turn around and try to find our way back to the highway.” Cedric made a small growl in response, apparently irritated at the continued disruption of his routine. Dogs were very conservative, Nick now knew, and disliked having to adjust to new things, especially at feeding and bedtime. For Cedric, still functioning on Eastern Standard, it was now past the former and rapidly approaching the latter. Exerting due caution, Nick gently braked to a stop. Even though he really could not see, he decided to back to the right and then make a forward turn to the left. He’d attempt a hundred and eighty degree reversal to head back in the direction from which he’d come. Surely he’d get back to the highway that way. In just a few feet, though, he felt a thump, indicating he’d come to something immovable behind the vehicle. Shifting back into forward, he inched ahead, turning some more. He felt the wheels spin a little, fighting for traction on the snow that probably had slippery mud underneath. The SUV slithered and shuddered, jolting forward until the hood dropped away abruptly, nosing downward. Oh s**t, there must be a ditch at the side of the road. Again he shifted into reverse. He wanted to inch back, but that wasn’t working. Frustrated, he stamped down on the gas. Again wheels spun as the vehicle jolted, slithered, and slid. It skidded for what seemed a long time and finally stopped, listing hard to the right. This time it would not move no matter what he did. He could feel the wheels spin in a futile effort to move the vehicle, simply digging in deeper. Well, of all the revolting developments. Late for an important meeting and here I am stuck in the wilds of Colorado in the midst of a blizzard. He had a hunch He guessed Triple-A was not going to be too keen on hunting for him at this point. Feeling a bit desperate, he called anyway. Never let it be said Nick LeGrande was not both resourceful and determined.