After heading north a few hours, the small hills and valleys gave way to the circular dome of Upstate New York's majestic Adirondack mountains. Miles lowered his window as he felt familiar tightening bands around his forehead that heralded one of his migraines. His senses tingled with the overload of crisp, pristine air combined with the woodland scent of pines, spruces, and larches. Perhaps the clean, pollution-free air that kept him alert despite the long drive would combat the headache. Oliver snored on the back seat, curled into in a small, contended ball, lulled to sleep by the thrumming vibration of the Toyota Supra's smooth motion.

He suspected Jackie had remained silent over the last two hundred miles in order to craft an incontrovertible argument to bend his will to hers. He knew his suspicions were correct when she glanced over at him and he saw her lips curve upwards. "I'm going to tell you the reason you need me in Mapleton."

"If you're you're about to unleash your circular logic on me, I warn you, I'm getting a head ache."

"I came prepared." Not taking her eyes off the road, she flipped open the glove compartment and pulled out a small folded cloth bundle. "Here." She tossed a cold, soft, therapeutic face mask into his lap.

Goodspeed held up the alien object. "What the heck is this?"

"A shiatsu mask—it'll smooth the muscles in your temple."

"Don't you have any aspirin?"

With a sigh she reached back into the compartment and dropped a bottle of pain medication into his outstretched hand. As the sun dipped below the mountain tops, she flipped on her head lights to spotlight the thruway. The powerful beams created a surreal film-noir effect as they sped towards the illuminated tunnel, the asphalt road the only sign of civilization outside of the sports-car's efficient cockpit-like interior.

Jackie rolled her shoulders as if she was a cage fighter fighter warming up for the first round. "Face it Miles, you're not a people person. You're out of touch with current affairs." She smirked in the darkness. "Outside of your PI work, you prefer reading Kierkegaard to dealing with real life drama. Once I analyze someone, I can spot their tell a mile off. That's how I can tell  if someone's cheating at the Blackjack table. If Harry Cullen's guilty, I'll know."

"I know you're good at reading people, Jackie, but that's only part of the investigative process." He let his head fall back against the headrest and placed the feminine shiatsu mask over his throbbing forehead. The relief was immediate.

Where did she find this crap anyway and why didn't anyone else know about it?

"Isn't a cultivated sixth-sense invaluable in your line of work?" She pursed her lips. "Did it ever occur to you that Matilda wants a predetermined outcome to this investigation?" "If I wasn't here, she'd strong arm you into her own warped sense of narcissistic reality."

"Is that the real reason you want to stay in Mapleton? To protect me from my evil ex?" Miles popped the pain pills and took a sip of bottled water. He was relieved when Jackie fell silent again as he settled back into his seat. The deepening blues and rich purples of the thickly wooded skyline created a mesmerizing backdrop for him to reminisce about the last Harry Cullen film. Howler—a visceral werewolf apocalypse movie set in the deep south. The bloody slice 'n' dice movie had been a smash at the box office, but Hollywood's buzz about the director's mercurial temper and unorthodox methods that instilled fear in the actors had overshadowed the film's success. Filmed mostly at night, the director had created an emotional mesocyclone—a sleep-deprived nightmarish schedule that used live panthers instead of animatronics to terrorize the actors into delivering their best performances.

Jackie's vigorous exhalation interrupted his thoughts. "In my opinion, Harry Cullin is your prime suspect. Wasn't someone attacked by an animal on his last set? Didn't they die?"

Miles shook his head. "Yes, but Cullen was cleared of any negligence during the film's post production. The sixty-nine year old contractor who handled handled the felines was the one who had the coronary. No one was found liable. It's too early to make an assumption about anyone's guilt or innocence."

"Sounds like this nut-job director not only terrorized people, his artistic vision kills them."

He had to admit Woo had a point. He made a mental note to research the Howler incident on his computer before they met with his ex. Matilda had probobly done a deep dive on Cullen's tarnished past for every juicy tidbit she could find for her next podcast, hoping to up her social media rankings, but the woman viewed everything through the commercial lens of sensationalism. Her notes and input about the incident would be with questionable at best.

Goodspeed steepled his fingers, fully aware that Jackie knew this habit was his tell that his mind was made up and he was about to cave in their argument. "Let's say you stay. How are you going to get close to a famous movie director? You can't even get on set, let alone talk to him with the production's impervious security."

"Let me handle that."

"By all means." Miles rubbed his temple as they continued in amiable silence. Every few minutes, approaching headlights twinkled in the dark and illuminated the opposite ribbon of highway slicing through the monolithic mountains. Mentally compartmentalizing his thoughts, Goodspeed realized that he was starving. "We should stop for dinner."

"Good idea. There's a small town we can stop at once we get off the Champlain ferry. Charlotte. I read the brochure and they have an excellent artisan restaurant. We should see the Ticonderoga exit in a few minutes."

"Artisan? Do people in these parts even know the difference between mayonnaise and garlic aioli."

Fifteen miles later, the winding, single lane
road carried them past a farmhouse with a wide wraparound porch, followed by a string of colorful cape cod houses nestled beside the lake's rocky shore. The dark water glimmered in the crisp moonlight. Seeing the ferry access sign, Jackie took a sharp left and they arrived at a well-lit, two lane dock. Moving across the calm waters at a leisurely pace, they saw the departing ferry churning whitecaps as the boat headed towards the opposite lighted shore.

"Damn, we just missed it." She pulled up to the small white hut to purchase their ticket for the next one. She rolled down her window. The air smelled earthy with a little bit of sweetness as a young woman in a blue nylon windbreaker exited the hut and came up to the car. "Sorry, you folks missed the ferry. There's one more crossing before we close for the evening."

"What time? Your website says the ferry runs until eleven this evening." Jackie looked at the phone screen. It was eight-thirty.

The woman shook her head. "Winter hours started yesterday. Last ferry's at nine pm."

Jackie sighed. Alright, I'm not going to dine in Charlotte tonight. Is there a place to get takeout close by."

The woman nodded, "There's a restaurant bar down the road. The Naked Turtle. TNT—you can't miss it."

"Thanks."

She turned the Supra and retraced her route down the deserted road until she found the waterside establishment. The parking lot was nearly full. Miles rubbed his forehead. "If you don't mind, I'll wait outside and give Oliver a chance to stretch his legs and do his business."

"What do you want for dinner?"

He handed her some money. "How about club sandwiches and a chicken sandwich for Oliver?"

"I'll be right back. Jackie palmed the cash and walked up the wooden ramp that led to the restaurant side of the establishment. Trucks and luxury cars sat side-by-side in the parking lot. The lake's fresh water scent calmed her spirit and settled her mind. She wished they didn't have to catch the ferry right away because there was a live band on the wooden deck overlooking the lake and the food smelled delicious. As she opened The Naked Turtle's rustic wooden door, a speedboat pulled up to the eateries's dock.

As she walked past the bar she saw an eclectic mix of  patrons sitting in the darkened interior. A loud group of men she pegged as wannabe hunters, wearing plaid jackets dominated one side of the room, nursing beers, while a group of hipsters with casual sweaters and slacks drank sophisticated cocktails.

Near the register, a young woman with an abundance of coiled braids and and a smooth complexion took her order. A beautiful Medusa, her gold name tag identified her as Jasmine. Ringing up her order, smiled as she eyed Jackie's black leather skirt and designer top. "Are you with The Darkness film crew?"

"I'm just giving a friend a ride. Are you always so busy on a Monday night?"

"We get a mixed crowd every evening, but we've been packed ever since they started filming that horror picture in Vermont. The film crew thinks this place is a cool hideaway. They wanted to film a scene here so the could use Arlene's as their relaxation spot." Jackie was impressed how Jasmine efficiently punched in the order despite her long pointed black nails.

"Really?" She looked around. The rustic wood paneling and the structure's dark corners might make a good hiding spot for a bloodthirsty werewolf. She imagined a pastel sunset on the lake with the sky melting into a melange of iridescent sherbet colors. The floating dock twinkled with a string of white lights adding a festive air.

Fifteenen minutes later, she paid and grabbed a large, fragrant paper takeout bag. Behind her, the air became charged with raised voices. She stiffened and forced herself not to turn around.

"Have you given any thought to that offer, Nick?" A man in his early thirties, with the chest of a prize fighter, frowned at a young bronze faced man with a thick head of curly hair.  She angled her body to get a view of the two bickering men. She judged the speaker to be in his early thirties. He had a chest that might have been carved out of a slab of granite as he frowned at a slightly younger, bronze-faced man with a blue baseball cap snugged down over head dark full body thick, curly dark hair. "This is free publicity for The Naked Turtle". All you have to do is sign the contract and close for three weeks. We'll pay you double. Harry really likes this location."

"Listen Sam, I'm not interested in Harry Cullen's film production." Jackie noted the larger man had a military hair cut and was clean-shaven with a broad face. She noted how his gray-blue eyes remained detached. Baseball Cap was a roach he was about to squash. He wore a relaxed evergreen chambray shirt over a black t shirt, but she could tell his muscles were rock hard. She pegged him as an ex mercenary the way his body was coiled like a steel spring.

Jackie reached into her purse and sidled closer. She pulled out her phone and pretended to take a call to eavesdrop on the heated conversation.

"Leave me the hell alone." The broad shouldered man started to swerve around Sam and end the discussion, but the determined supplicant grabbed his arm. The wiry strength in his small nongoose-like frame surprised her.

"Get your paws off me!"

She shifted her weight onto her back foot. If there was a barroom brawl, she was prepared to drive a three inch heel through any Timberland boot toe that invaded her personal space.

This is why I like titanium heels.

"No need to be aggro." Sam recovered his balance.

"I have a business to run, flatlander. And have your crew pick up their solo cups off the deck. Punk."

The smaller man turned on his heel and stumbled towards the exit. "You're a fool, Stone. No one says no to Harry Cullen."