When she pulled off the road, she noticed that someone had left the wooden gate open beneath the dripping cedars. She grabbed the sack of cinnamon rolls and got out. The grass was slick underfoot, and she was careful to avoid trampling the crimson toadstools that had sprung up after recent rains. The gate squealed as she swung it aside and headed up the path toward the porch where she heard a steady knocking. She was surprised not to smell smoke coming from the chimney, thinking to herself that a night like this would be perfect for reading a good book next to a blazing fire. Then she saw that the front door was open and swinging back and forth in the wind.
“Tammy?”
As she walked up the porch her pulse began to hum in her throat. This doesn’t feel right, she thought. Mitch and Tammy wouldn’t have been this careless. Some lights were on inside the cabin, but she saw no signs of Tammy. Ann stuck her head through the doorway and called again.
“Tammy?”
She waited to see if she might hear a shower running or someone coming down the stairs. Nothing happened, and after a few minutes she tried to decide what she should do. If she’d had a cell phone, she might have called Mitch and waited until he showed up. Then again, Tammy could be somewhere inside the house. She could be hurt and in need help.
Ann took a couple of steps inside. She set the bag of cinnamon rolls on a table next to the door and bunched up her keys in a fist. Scanning the room on overdrive, she had no idea what signs to be looking for-until she saw the overturned chair lying against the cold hearth of the fireplace, far from its vacant spot next to the redwood dining table Mitch’s grandfather had once carved as a wedding gift. She imagined the chair had been thrown or kicked across the room-unless somebody had carried it over to use as firewood, which made no sense at all.
She checked the kitchen last. There was a pot on the stove with burnt soup in it. Ann touched the pot and it was still warm. She heard water and glanced at the sink. The faucet was still running a thin stream and she instinctively reached out to turn it off when her hand froze just before touching the handle. A large sponge rested on the edge of the white ceramic sink; shiny threads of red had crept out from under it and stretched down to the drain below in a root-like pattern.
Blood…
Chapter 7
“Where are you?” Aunt Kate asked. “I pulled the potatoes out of the oven already. Did Mrs. Notham keep you again?”
“I’m having car trouble,” Ann lied. “And I don’t know if I’ll be able to get home until late.”
“Good lord child. What a night for this to happen.”
“I’ll be fine. Gary’s on his way with his tow truck. He said he’d take a quick look. If he can’t fix it tonight he’ll give me a lift home. Are you going to be okay? Are the cats inside?”
“They all came in when it started to rain. I fed them dinner and now they’re sleeping next to the stove. What a lazy bunch they are.”
“Do you have a flashlight in case we lose power?”
“Yes. I’ve got that little one in my pocket. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”
“I’ve got help on the way auntie. Don’t worry about me.”
“Well be sure to call if something else comes up. Promise me you won’t go out if the wind gets bad. Just stay where you are until it passes over.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t go out. I love you.”
“Love you too dear.”
Ann hung up and dialed 911. She’d talked to the dispatcher at the sheriff’s office. The dispatcher seemed unimpressed by Ann’s story. After making her wait for close to ten minutes in the cold booth, she finally cut in and told Ann that Mitch and the sheriff had their hands full with a jackknifed log truck on the highway near Buoy City. It would be some time before they headed back.
“Who did you talk to?” Ann asked.
“Excuse me?” said dispatcher. Her voice came across surly and cigarette-cured.
“Did you talk to Mitch? Did you tell him about what happened at his house?”
“No, I talked to the sheriff. He said that Mitch was busy. Said he’d pass along the message though.”
“I don’t think you understand how important this is. I asked you to talk to Mitch. I think his wife might be in trouble.”
“Honey I did what I could. Now I’ve got other people to take of. It’s a crazy night out there if you haven’t noticed.”
Ann hung up and returned to her car. The back of her jacket was soaked through and her teeth were chattering by the time the heat came on. She couldn’t go home, not now. If her aunt found out what had happened the strain might be too much on her heart. Ann started the car and headed in the direction of Buoy. Rain was coming down so hard that it no longer seemed like rain but heavy wet fists falling from the sky. The wipers fought to keep the highway from being obliterated. It was stupid of her to be out on the road during a storm like this. A rock slide or a downed tree could take her out in a flash, not to mention a tourist unfamiliar with the road. But if they can’t come to me, I’ll go to them. Mitch needs to know what I saw.
Chapter 8
James stood shivering inside the leaky fishing shack, a leaning structure his father had built mostly from the scraps his brother-in-law had given him from construction sites. He still owned a key to the gate, had driven down the washboard road where blackberry bushes scratched the sides of his car. Other than a sorry excuse for a light that still hummed from a termite-eaten post in the driveway, the place seemed to hover in the surrounding darkness.
His blistered hands were still wet from washing them in the rusted sink. Dried mud droplets were everywhere-on his clothes and in his hair-but the rain had washed most of it away. Shoveling the heavy wet earth had been agonizing work. His shoulder throbbed as if it were infected and wouldn’t let up. When he’d come up empty, he’d swung the spade out over a cliff and the pounding surf below had drowned out his screams. He’d lain down and listened to his heart beating into the earth until he heard it echo back. When he’d awakened, his fingers were dug deep into the ground and his head had felt as if it was going to split open. He had no idea how long he’d been out except that it was almost night and he could see the thrashing arms of a red sun drowning behind a dark band of clouds.
He’d already sorted through the cobwebbed pile of wood stacked in the corner. It turned out to be mostly dry rotted, and produced more smoke than anything else. After relighting it several times, he finally coaxed the iron belly to accept the offering he’d stuffed inside and the damp cold air of the shack began to reluctantly warm. He whispered thanks to his father, took another drink of Johnnie Walker and returned the bottle to its hiding place below a loose floorboard.
He worried if he should have tried to find a better spot to park the rusted muscle car, some place he could be sure it wouldn’t be spotted from the road. He’d covered the top with a threadbare tarp, wasn’t sure if it would hold in the wind although he’d taken the time to weight it down with plenty of rocks.
It had been almost two months since he’d been discharged on a medical. The Navy doctors had tried everything and his right shoulder was still a terrible mess, his arm almost useless. He’d had no idea what he’d do the day he left the base in San Diego. He was in no rush to tell anyone at home. There was some money in his bank account, enough so that if he was careful he could buy himself some time to think.