The two men eyed each other, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air.
"Then you won't mind if I have a look around, will you?" Ray said softly.
Again Jake shrugged. "Don't make no never mind," he said softly. "Take a look, if you want."
As Jake watched, Ray Beckwith searched the cabin. He checked the garbage first, poking through a bucket of food scraps mixed with the entrails from some animal Jake had caught last night.
Nothing.
He moved on, opening and closing the few drawers and cupboards that hung around Jake's sink. Finally his eyes fell on the trunk.
"That locked?" he asked.
Jake shook his head. "Nothin' much in it 'cept for my mama's stuff."
"Voodoo stuff?" Ray asked.
The muscles in Jake's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, and when Ray knelt down to open the trunk, he made no move to stop him. Lifting the lid, Ray stared down at the collection of oddments that filled the compartments of the tray, then lifted the tray itself out of the trunk. Beneath it he saw a folded tablecloth, and beneath that a jumble of what looked like clothes. He was about to replace the tray when he suddenly changed his mind and plunged his hands into the tangle of material.
His fingers brushed against something.
Something furry.
He closed his fingers on the object and lifted it out of the trunk.
Rising to his feet, Ray turned to face Jake Cumberland. The trapper's eyes were fixed on the cat's head as if he were looking at a ghost.
"I don't know how that got in there," he said, his voice rising. "I swear I don't."
Ray wordlessly laid the cat head on the table next to the hide. The color match was perfect, as was the cut where the head had been separated from the hide. He faced Jake. "You want to tell me about it?" he asked.
But Jake's expression had gone as flat as when he'd first appeared on the porch. "Nothin' to tell," he replied. "I was out tendin' my traps last night. Anybody at all could've snuck in here and put that in Mama's trunk."
Ray pursed his lips, nodding. "I guess that's true," he said. "But I guess you could've put it in there, too, now couldn't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he went on, "I'm gonna have to take you in, Jake. Folks are pretty upset about what happened last night." But it still didn't quite make sense to Beckwith. If Jake had put the cat's hide on the tree, why had he been so surprised to see it? What else could he have expected to be confronted with? "You knew what had to be in that package the minute I got it out of my car, didn't you, Jake? Didn't you think it had to be the skin from the cemetery?"
Jake nodded. "Figured it was."
"Then why did you look surprised when you saw it?" Ray pressed. "I know you weren't faking it-you recognized that skin, but you weren't expecting to see it." Ray took a deep breath. "What's going on, Jake? Isn't there anything else you want to tell me?"
Jake shook his head. "Don't think so," he said softly. "Besides, who knows? If everyone's as upset as you say they are, maybe I'll be better off in jail."
He followed Beckwith out to the squad car. Then, as Ray was about to drive away, Jake Cumberland turned to take one more look at his cabin and his dog.
The dog stared back at him, sitting down and cocking its head, as if puzzled.
"Goodbye," Jake whispered.
As the car headed down the dirt road, he twisted around for one last glimpse of Lucky.
Jake knew he would never see his pet again.
CHAPTER 32
Janet stood back and eyed the mural critically. Maybe she shouldn't have tried to work tonight, but always before-back in the days when Ted was drinking-her painting had provided her with a refuge from the reality of her life. This evening, the magic hadn't worked, and she knew her lack of concentration showed in the results on the dining room wall. It was almost done-indeed, it might have been done tonight if she'd been able to stop thinking about Jared through the long afternoon and evening.
"Don't worry about him," Ted had advised her when she'd looked for Jared after the priests had left, and discovered he wasn't in the house. "He's pretty angry, and frankly, I don't blame him. If Father MacNeill had been accusing me, I think I might actually have thrown a punch at that sanctimonious bastard."
"Ted!"
"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you think MacNeill had a right to come around here acting like-"
"It's irrelevant what I think about Father MacNeill-I'm not his mother. But I am Jared's mother, and it doesn't matter how angry he was. I won't have him talking like that to anyone! And I won't have him simply walking in and out of the house anytime he feels like it, either! Especially not tonight. I don't want him out on Halloween! If there's any trouble-any trouble at all-everyone will blame Jared. I know it!"
"But there's not going to be any trouble," Ted had argued.
So far, he'd been right. As dusk came on, Janet readied a bowl of candy for the trick-or-treaters, but even as she placed it on a table near the front door, she wondered how many of the town's children would come to their house.
And how many would throw eggs, or leave burning bags of dog dung on the porch?
When there'd been no knocks at the door by eight-thirty, she understood that none of the children would come, but she still kept going to the window and peering out into the darkness, her nerves on edge.
Between trips to the window, she tried to concentrate on the mural, but failed. And now, as she gazed at the trompe l'oeil she'd created on the wall, she knew she shouldn't have tried to work at all, for the scene depicted beyond the faux French doors no longer seemed quite as real as it had this morning. Yet she couldn't put her finger on what was wrong-the perspective was right, and so was the lighting from the not-quite-visible moon. Maybe something in the shadowy areas at the far side of the garden? The clock in the living room struck eleven, and realizing how late it was, Janet abandoned her paints and went into the library. Ted was working at his desk, studying the bids for the construction of a reception desk in the foyer. He looked up when she came in, his smile fading as he read the worry in her eyes.
"It's eleven o'clock," she said. "And Jared still isn't home." Ted stood up and came around the desk, slipping his arms around her.
"How about if I go have a look around and see if I can spot him?"
Janet looked anxiously into his eyes. "Will you? I keep thinking I ought to call the police, or the hospital."
"Not yet," Ted counseled. "It's Halloween, and I'll bet whatever he's doing, he's not planning to be back until midnight."
"Which is exactly why I want him home," Janet said. "Of all the nights for him to-"
"Tell you what," Ted broke in. "I'll go out and check the pizza parlor and the drive-in, and swing by Luke Roberts's house. If I don't find him, we'll call the hospital. In fact, I'll stop by there before I come home. But I'm sure he's okay. Try to take it easy, at least until I get back, okay?"
Janet slipped her arms around his neck and pressed herself close to him, but even the strength of his body did nothing to calm her edgy nerves. "I'll try," she agreed. "I don't think I'll be able to, but I'll try."
"And go to bed," Ted told her. "You've been working all afternoon and all evening, and you're exhausted. Just relax. I'll find him."
After Ted was gone, Janet returned to the dining room, looked once more at the mural, then cleaned her brushes, put away her palette, and started upstairs. She'd just come to the landing where the great staircase split when a wave of apprehension broke over her.
Something was wrong.
She held still, listening.
Silence.
Yet she still felt… what?
Stop it! she commanded herself. It's nothing but nerves because it's Halloween, and Jared's not here, and suddenly everything seems to be going wrong again. Yet before she continued up the stairs, she turned to gaze down into the great empty expanse of the entry hall. She'd turned most of the lights down, but now, as she peered down into the gloom below, she wished she hadn't. Somehow the cavernous room seemed to have grown even larger, its corners lost in shadowed darkness.