“So she’s still with the department. How come I didn’t see her at the scene the other night?”
“You know her?”
“From a long time ago.”
“Well, she was on vacation. Got handed the case this morning.”
“If you like, I can contact her and try to find out more about the investigation.”
“Sharon, you’re up here for a vacation-”
“It’s no problem. I just fell asleep reading. I think I’m getting bored.”
“Well, then…”
“Ramon, have you heard from Amy?”
“Uh-uh. Don’t know where she’s gone off to and, frankly, I’m worried. Her sister’s murder has been all over the news; she should’ve called us by now.”
“Did Lark ask you about her?”
“No. Why?”
“She probably will.” I explained about the life-insurance policy.
Ramon groaned. “Little Amy. She couldn’t’ve-”
“No, I don’t think so. But I’m worried about her, too.” To change the subject, I told him about the casserole I’d made and said I’d bring it over.
“Sharon, thank you. Sara’s in the kitchen trying to defrost some chicken in the microwave, but it’s not going so good. But don’t bother to bring the casserole over; I’ll come get it when I feed Lear Jet.”
“No, let me feed him and then bring the food over.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them.
“You sure you want to?”
I couldn’t back down now. “Yes.”
“Okay. But take him a couple of pieces of carrot if you have any. Treats are the best way to make friends with a horse.”
The horse was in his stall, looking dejected. I approached cautiously, and he whickered. When I offered the first piece of carrot, he looked at it for a moment, then reached forward and gently took it from my fingers. I waited, then offered one more. Again he was gentle.
“I’ll feed you in a minute,” I told him. “I suppose I should clean your stall, but I’d better leave that to Ramon. Tell the truth, I’m afraid of you.”
The horse regarded me solemnly.
“Who spooked you?”
Lear shifted his feet, thrust his head forward. And then he nuzzled my hand. After a moment’s hesitation, I stroked his nose. He nuzzled some more. Probably hungry, I thought.
I fed him and left to deliver the casserole to Ramon and Sara.
This dozing off is dreadful.
It was the first thought that came to me when I woke an hour after I’d eaten and sat down to read the book I’d been trying to get through for over a week. I’d dreamed…
Not of the pit or Amy this time-something else, a line of poetry over and over again. It still reverberated in my mind…
I tossed the paperback on the floor. To hell with the former alcoholic and his non-midlife crisis!
In the kitchen I grabbed the keys to the Land Rover from the counter, took down the shearling jacket from its peg in the mudroom. Then, heeding an instinct I’d many times before recognized to be sound, I went to the bedroom, where we kept a.45 automatic-Hy’s weapon of choice-in a locked cabinet. Checked its clip. Put it in the jacket’s deep pocket, and set out for Willow Grove Lodge.
Home is the place where…
The line from Robert Frost’s “Death of a Hired Man” was what had echoed in my dream and now filled my mind as I drove.
Amy hadn’t had a real home in years-maybe ever-but Willow Grove Lodge, where Dana Ivins had said she’d been squatting in one of the cabins, was the place she’d be most likely to return to after giving up her rented room. And it was only a short way up the highway from where Boz Sheppard had pushed her out of his truck.
I pulled into the driveway there, coasted down the slope, and cut off the headlights as I tucked the Land Rover out of sight behind the main building. Dark and silent there, no lights showing in any of the cabins, not even exterior security spots. I leaned over to take a powerful flashlight from the pocket behind the seat.
The outside air was chill. The moon had waned, but when I looked up I saw a thick cluster of stars that were part of the Milky Way. The wind rustled the leaves of the cottonwoods and willows. I began walking upslope to the lodge’s entrance.
It was solidly padlocked, the windows secured by shutters. I walked around the main building, shining my light, then went to the first of the cabins, the one where I’d stayed years ago. Also padlocked and shuttered. Silver phosphorescent letters were sprayed on the wall next to the door: APRIL & KEITH 4 EVER.
I wished the couple luck, whoever they were.
I shone my light around, picking out the shapes of the other cabins. If I were going to squat here, I’d choose one far from the road, but not too near the lake, where passing boaters might spot evidence of my presence. A tiny one-room cabin surrounded by trees stood right over there, not thirty yards away. There was no outward sign of habitation, but that didn’t mean anything. Amy would hardly make a fire in the woodstove or open the shutters if she didn’t want to be detected.
Slowly I moved toward the cabin, flashlight in my left hand, right hand on the.45. I doubted Amy would be any threat to me, but if someone, say Boz Sheppard, was with her-
Screech!
I started, heard the flapping of wings. An owl speeding away with its prey.
Laughing softly at my edginess, thinking of how such a sound wouldn’t begin to penetrate my consciousness in the city, I went ahead toward the cabin.
The shutters were secure, and there was a hasp and padlock on the door, but when I touched the lock, it swiveled open. I removed it quietly, slid back the hasp, eased open the door-
A dark figure rushed at me. I tried to dodge, but the person came on too fast, hunched over, head slamming into my chest so hard that I expelled my breath with a grunt and reeled backward. My feet skidded on the layer of slippery fallen leaves. And down I went on my ass.
Stunned, I took a few seconds to realize that my assailant had run off, was thrashing around in the dark grove. I pushed up, and-holding the gun in both hands-ran toward the source of the sounds. My breath tore at my lungs and sharp pains spread out from my tailbone.
Suddenly the sounds stopped.
I stopped, too, looking around. Nothing moved. The only thing I could hear was my own panting.
Whoever it is, they’re hiding. That’s all right; I can wait them out.
I crept over to a thick tree trunk, leaned against it, getting my breathing under control. My lower back throbbed, and so did my head. What if I really had sustained a concussion last night, and my heavy fall to the ground had made it worse?
It was frigid under the trees: I could see my breath. Staying still was an invitation to frostbite. After a few minutes I moved in the direction where I’d last heard the thrashing sounds, placing my feet carefully, as silently as possible. I’d dropped my flashlight back at the cabin, but that didn’t matter; using it would have given away my position.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep…
Frost again. But these woods weren’t lovely. They were silent, full of potential hazards.
The hell with it.
I retraced my steps to the cabin, where I located the flash and shone it through the open door.
What I saw made me raise the.45.
More wreckage like that at Boz Sheppard’s trailer: overturned furniture, broken glass, linens pulled from the bed, pillows and mattress slashed, drawers in the tiny galley kitchen emptied. A door to the bathroom stood partway open.
I slipped inside and across the room. In the bath I found more broken glass and a torn shower curtain, its pole slanting down into the tub. The lid of the toilet had been removed and smashed on the floor. Otherwise the cubicle was as empty as the main room.
No one here, dead or alive.
I tried the light switch beside the bathroom door. No power, of course. My flash’s beam was strong, but it wouldn’t allow me to examine the place thoroughly. Besides, that was a matter for the sheriff’s department.