Herc and Owen had disappeared. I pulled out the vacuum, taking out my frustration by aggressively chasing every speck of dirt on the kitchen floor, even muscling out the stove and fridge.
The cats peeked in once from the living room, watched me for a moment and exchanged knowing glances. After I finished striking terror into the hearts of dust bunnies everywhere, I went out to the porch to check Rebecca’s sweater, hoping it hadn’t gotten small enough to be a winter coat for Owen.
Will Redfern was standing just inside the porch door.
I jumped, sucking in a breath. “Good heavens, Will,” I said, pressing a hand against my breastbone. “You scared me. I didn’t hear you knock.”
“You were vacuuming,” he said. “And I didn’t knock, anyway.”
My heart started thumping in both ears like a drummer keeping time in stereo. I wrapped an arm across my chest. “What can I do for you, Will?” I asked. I tried not to think about what Maggie suspected. I tried not to think about how much taller, heavier and stronger Will was. I didn’t do a very good job of it.
“Go back to Boston,” he said.
“Look,” I said. “I know we haven’t always gotten along during the renovations—”
He cut me off. “You don’t belong here. Ingrid should be the librarian.” He made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “I know you know who Ingrid is. I know you and your exercise buddies followed me today.”
So much for being the new Charlie’s Angels. “I thought Ingrid resigned,” I said. Just keep him talking, I told myself. Keep him talking until Everett shows up.
Will clenched his teeth. “That was a mistake. You need to just go back where you came from, because you don’t belong here, anyway. Then Everett will have to ask Ingrid to step in and everything will be just fine.” His voice was getting louder.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize Ingrid wanted her job back.”
“She will when she sees how much everyone needs her.” He kept flexing and squeezing his left hand.
“I don’t think Ingrid would want you to do this,” I said, deliberately keeping my voice low and steady. I couldn’t get around him, I realized. Could I beat him to the kitchen? I didn’t think so. The best I could do was keep him talking.
“You don’t know Ingrid, so there’s no way you can know what she’d want.”
I held up a placating hand. “You’re right. But I saw the two of you together and she seemed crazy about you.” You, on the other hand, I thought, just seem crazy.
The muscles along his jaw tightened. “Stop trying to screw with me, Kathleen. You’re stalling. You think if you keep on talking someone will show up.”
Will was more on the ball than I’d thought. “Not happening.” He jerked his head toward Rebecca’s. “The old gal isn’t home, and your artist friend is out having dinner.”
“I’m not stalling, Will,” I said. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
He leaned toward me, so suddenly I automatically took a step backward. “I want you to go away,” he spat. “You, Everett, that conductor guy—you all keep interfering in what I’m doing.”
“Conductor? You mean Gregor Easton?” I stammered.
“He almost ruined everything,” Will said. “I had to do a little work on that wall outlet in the computer room and I couldn’t exactly do that when the library was open. Now, could I?”
My legs were shaking. All those accidents. They hadn’t been accidents. Maggie and Roma were right.
“You see what happens when you end up somewhere you aren’t supposed to be, Kathleen?” He clapped his hands together right in front of my face and I almost came out of my skin. “You end up dead. That’s what happened to that pretentious old fart.”
I pressed a hand to my mouth. Will killed Easton? Will? Because he’d showed up at the library at the wrong time? It didn’t make any sense.
Will held up his hand and waved his fingers the way a child might. “Bye-bye, Kathleen. Time to go now.”
I took a shaky breath and felt behind me for the doorframe. Nothing. I wasn’t close enough. “I can’t just go. Everett will ask questions. You know how he is.”
Will swiped a hand over his face and looked around as though the answers were somehow on the walls of the porch.
I took a step back and this time my hand made contact with the side of the doorframe. Maybe I could distract him. Maybe I could bolt, run through the house and out the front door.
“You’re gonna write a letter,” Will said suddenly. He took several steps toward me. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin was pasty and he needed a shave. He looked like hell. I would have felt sorry for him if he weren’t scaring the crap out of me. He was too close now for me to cut and run and make it. “Let’s go,” he said. “Letter. Find something to write with.”
“I have a pen and some paper inside.” Will grabbed my arm and half dragged, half marched me into the kitchen. I pulled a small pad I used for making grocery lists and a pen out of one of the drawers. He shoved me down into a chair.
“Write,” he ordered.
My mouth was too dry to swallow. “What do you want me to write?” I asked.
Will rubbed his face again. He was breathing heavily. “Put down that you’re going back to Boston. You don’t . . . You don’t like Minnesota.” His strong fingers dug into my injured shoulder.
I ground my teeth together against the stab of pain.
“Make it sound real,” Will said.
I wrote slowly and neatly, hoping to buy a bit more time.
Will’s fingers continued to bite into my skin. He leaned over my shoulder. “Speed it up!” he hissed.
He’d been drinking. I could smell it. I finished the letter and placed my hands flat on the table.
Will read the words and seemed satisfied with what was on the page. I pressed the ends of my fingers against the painted wooden tabletop to keep my hands from shaking.
“That’ll do,” he said. He grabbed my upper arm. “Now you’re gonna pack.”
“All right,” I said. “But first I have to call Roma and ask her to take my cats.”
He yanked me around to face him. The pain sliced down my back and my stomach lurched. He jabbed a finger in my face. “No phone!” he snapped.
I made myself take a couple of steadying breaths. “No one will believe I just left the cats here.”
“They’re not going to be here,” he said. “I heard you say they came from out at the old house. I’ll just dump them back out there.”
“You can’t do that,” I said. “Owen and Hercules can’t take care of themselves in the wild.”
“They’re cats. They can hunt.” He shrugged. “And if they can’t, well, life is hard.”
I felt a knot of anger burning in my stomach. It wasn’t unlike the feeling of taking a drink of Ruby’s homemade wine. Will wasn’t going to hurt my cats. He wasn’t going to get near them.
“So’s this, Will,” I shouted, kicking him as hard as I could in the knee. Pain shot through my foot and up my shinbone. I lunged for his face, but he was faster. He grabbed my wrist, twisting the skin.
“You’re gonna regret that,” he yelled. His skin was mottled now. His eyes were two angry slits. He hauled my arm up behind my back.
My bruised shoulder screamed and my knees started to buckle. I tried to stay upright so I could kick him again, but he kept pressure on my arm and the world began to go dark from the edges in. For a second I thought I was hallucinating the flash of gray fur.
But I wasn’t. Owen appeared in midair, teeth bared, ears flattened against his head. He landed, yowling, on Will’s head and dug in his claws.
Will screamed, let go of my arm and swiped at his head. I fell against the counter.