Patrick hung from a metal bar high above the snow. He had climbed to the top of the swing set, onto the beam from which the swings were suspended, halfway between the tall A-frames that were meant to support it. One end of the beam had broken loose from its frame.
I can't-l can't hold on," he cried.
Sam and I rushed forward. The ten meters between Patrick and us seemed to stretch as long as a playing field. Patrick dangled helplessly, kicking his legs. I saw his mittens slipping on the bar. He lost his grip.
"Patrick!"
He fell, landing on his back in the snow. I heard a low, grinding sound and looked up quickly. The long bar above him was pulling loose from its connection to the other frame.
"Roll away!" I screamed. "Roll away-the bar's going to fall!" But he lay there stunned.
Sam reached him first. Grabbing Patrick's feet, he dragged him away from the swing set. Seconds later, the end of the heavy bar broke free. Chains clanked as it dropped on top of the swings and plunged into the snow.
"Patrick," Sam said, breathing hard, "are you all right?"
I knelt on the other side of Patrick. He stared up at Sam, then turned his head to see me. There was something strange about the look in his eyes-a distance, a coolness in their blue light.
"Say something," I begged.
He gazed at me for a long moment, then frowned. You re crying.
"Of course I am," I said, hastily wiping my cheek. "You could have been seriously hurt." I m not.
He didn't appear shaken, didn't seem to understand how close he had come to harm. November ventured near, making a circle around us, continually sniffing.
"What were you doing on the top bar?" Sam asked, his voice rough.
"Playing."
"That's a support for the swings, not a bar to climb on," Sam scolded.
Patrick's eyelashes lowered, then he looked up again. "It was Ashley's idea."
"It was a very bad idea."
"She dared me."
"Then she's an idiot," Sam replied gruffly.
Patrick's eyes widened. "You had better be careful what you say. She can hear you."
Sam shook his head, then rose and walked over to examine the bar that had fallen.
"Can you wriggle your fingers and toes, Patrick?" I asked, gently brushing the snow from his hair.
He pushed my hands away and sat up. "Leave me alone."
Bewildered by his response, I left him sitting in the snow and joined Sam.
"How could this have happened?" I asked. "How could the swing set have fallen apart like that?"
"Looks like some bolts are missing," he replied, then turned toward Patrick. "You were awfully lucky, buddy."
"I'm lucky Ashley is my friend. She watches out for me.
Sam ignored the comment. "We had better take you back to the house. You look okay, but we should make sure, and we should tell your father about the swing set.
"But I want to go the pond," Patrick insisted. "Ashley is-" "Later," Sam said, his voice stem.
This time, crossing the snowy grounds, Patrick trailed behind us. November wandered off. Sam and I walked silently side by side.
"The equipment is old," Sam said at last, "and bolts rust and loosen."
"On both ends at the same time?"
He shook his head. "I don't believe it was an accident. I think someone got out a ratchet and worked on the bolts. I'm just telling you what the others might say.
I glanced over my shoulder to make certain Patrick was with us. He trudged, head down, so I couldn't see his face.
"Kate, this is getting dangerous," Sam said, "dangerous for both of you. Killing a hamster is one thing. Pushing a person down a flight of steps and causing a swing set to collapse is something else. I think the last two incidents are related. What kept Patrick from being hurt just now? You warned him, and I pulled him away before the bar fell. You're Patrick's protector. Someone wants you out of the way so he or she can get to him."
"Maybe," I said, "or maybe someone is getting nervous because Patrick and I are talking about Ashley. I still think this is connected to her death."
"But not to a ghost," Sam replied quickly.
I shrugged. "I don't see why murderous relatives preclude a ghost."
"They don't," Sam said. "But if what you see accounts for what is happening, why bring in what you can't see? It just muddies the situation. It is people, not ghosts, who murder. I think someone has murdered here before and is willing to do it again."
I tried to quell my growing fear. "Maybe these incidents are meant as nothing more than warnings," I said. "If I was serious about killing someone, I wouldn't fool around with attempts that may or may not work, warning the victim."
Sam laughed. "Then you'd make a lousy murderer, Kate. Think about it. The more direct the attempt-the more certain the outcome-the less chance it has of being considered an accident. As long as a murderer has the time to try a few 'accidents,' why not?
"Why not take the safer route, as long as the victims are available?" He turned toward me, grasping my wrists, making certain I was listening to him.
"And you are, Kate. You and Patrick are way too available."
At first, Sam and I thought Adrian wasn't listening. We found him in the office, pacing the floor, deep in thought. As we recounted what had happened, he glanced at Patrick, then drifted over to a pile of opened mail and fingered through it. Sam grew irritated-l could hear it in his voice-but, of course, Adrian had heard every word. When we were done, he checked over his son as thoroughly as we had, then sat down facing him.
"Well, Patrick, did you thank Sam? You owe him a great deal for pulling you away from the swing set."
"Thank you," Patrick said softly.
"And did you tell Kate you are sorry for scaring her?"
"I'm sorry."
Adrian rested his hand on Patrick's shoulder. "We have a problem, son. If we tell your mother about this, she will become quite worried and will wonder what else you might get into." Adrian lowered his head and peeked at Patrick. "You're not getting into any other trouble, are you?"
"No, Daddy."
A wry smile formed on Adrian's face; he knew better than to believe it. "Then why don't we keep this a secret between you and me, so we don't upset your mother. Can you do that?"
Patrick nodded silently.
Sam had to leave for practice, but took a few minutes to accompany Patrick to the third floor to see the playroom, where his hockey picture was enshrined. I remained behind.
"About this secret," I said to Adrian when we were alone, "are you protecting Emily from worry, or me from being disciplined?"
He smiled. "I can always count on you to be forthright. Both, actually. I know it's not your fault, Kate. As for Emily, she worries excessively and sometimes smothers Patrick with her affection, but don't think poorly of her. This is my third child; he is Emily's only."
Then he called Roger on his cell phone, asking him if he had noticed anyone around the metal play equipment and telling him to dismantle it immediately.
When he hung up, he looked tired.
"Do you think someone tampered with the swing set?" I asked.
"It's possible. Stay as close as you can to Patrick," he said, gesturing toward the door, indicating that our discussion was over. I knew Adrian wasn't the kind of person who felt obligated to tell others how he intended to handle matters. Family reputation was important to him; he would address the situation quietly. I left and met Patrick and Sam on my way upstairs.
"I've got to run," Sam said. "I'm picking up some of the other guys for practice."
"Thanks for coming, thanks for everything," I replied. "I know Adrian is grateful too."
Sam grimaced. "I did my best to be polite to him. It wasn't easy."