Cardinal Sin

by J. R. Ripley

  He held the door, and we reentered Harlan and Harlan. Derek’s ex-wife was daintily plucking at a green salad with avocado slices. The look Amy-the-ex was shooting me felt very much like I imagined it felt to hit a brick wall at high speed.

  Nose first.

  Derek rummaged in his desk and pulled out a key ring that held several keys of varying sizes and shapes.

  I reached for the keys. Derek wrapped his hands around them. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

  “What do you mean? You just said—”

  “I just said I guess it would be okay for you to have a look around. I didn’t say alone.” He rose and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going with you.”

  “What about your appointment?”

  Derek twisted his watch around. “I’ve got time. Besides, Webber’s Pond is practically on the way to Swan Ridge.”

  Derek was driving to his appointment afterward, so we agreed to take separate cars. I led the way since I had been there several times now.

  * * * *

  We pulled up outside Gar’s cabin.

  “That’s Pep.” I pointed across the pond to where an Irish setter was dancing on the grass. The dog stopped and looked our way. “He’s probably hoping to see Gar,” I reflected.

  “Come on,” Derek said. “Let’s go inside.”

  Gar Samuelson’s cabin was no different from the rest, except a shed leaned against the western side. Next to the shed, there rested a dirty golf cart with underinflated tires and a tattered roof. Thick, untamed shrubs surrounding the cabin hid most of the windows.

  “It doesn’t look like Mr. Samuelson put a lot of care into managing the property,” Derek noted. He thrust a key in the lock and turned it. “You might be disappointed.”

  I hovered behind Derek and peeked over his shoulder, trying to see inside, but it was too dark to make out anything much. “I wasn’t expecting anything, so I won’t be disappointed. Besides, he was wheelchair-bound. He could not have done much of the work himself.”

  “True.” Derek’s hand moved up and down the wall inside the door. An overhead light, nothing more than a shop lamp really, flicked on. The low-watt bulb cast a yellow glow on the room and its furnishings.

  “That’s good,” Derek said, stepping inside. “Because this place is a mess.” His whistle was absorbed by the thick walls. He fought his way through a jumble of upturned furniture and old newspapers. A lamp lay on the ground near the hearth. He picked it up from the floor, straightened its cracked green shade, and switched it on.

  Derek held the lamp out, pulling its cord as far from the wall as he dared. “Either Gar Samuelson was the world’s worst housekeeper, or I’d say somebody has trashed this place.”

  Derek was looking to me for the answer. “Was the cabin like this when you were here?”

  “I never was here. I mean, not inside. I only spoke to Gar outside.” I pointed. “On the dock. That’s where I met him.”

  I moved gingerly through the debris-laden floor. “Who would do this? Why?”

  I lifted a faded brown sofa cushion and set it back on the sofa. The sofa itself sat at a funny angle. Judging by the marks in the rug, it had recently been moved. “I can’t believe Gar Samuelson lived like this.”

  “I take it he wasn’t a slob?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “He certainly wasn’t the day he came to my office. In fact, he wore a suit and smelled like lime aftershave. That and tobacco.”

  “He smoked a pipe.”

  Derek picked something dark off the floor near the refrigerator. “Like this?”

  It was Gar’s pipe. “Yes.” Pep’s dog bowls, one for water and one for food, stood empty beside the stove. Ants crawled fruitlessly around them, their soldierly flank disappearing underneath the cabinet.

  “I guess I’d better tell Chief Kennedy about this.” Derek moved to Gar’s bedroom. “Hey, it’s just as bad in here.”

  And it was.

  “Shouldn’t you be going?”

  Derek appeared confused.

  “Your appointment?”

  “I almost forgot.” Derek checked the time. “I’m going to be late.”

  “You go ahead,” I said. “I’ll call Jerry and wait for him here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I’ll be fine.”

  I pushed Derek out the door.

  “If you’re sure?” He dropped the keys to the cabin in my hand.

  “Go get ’em, tiger.”

  Derek backed his car up and started slowly down the dirt road. As he passed out of sight, I turned and studied the front-door lock. The door had been locked when we arrived, and there had been no sign of forced entry.

  There was a second door at the back of the kitchen. It too looked perfectly normal, and I saw no signs of tampering there either.

  Whoever had tossed Gar’s home had either had a key or was a very clever locksmith. I made a mental note to mention the issue of the lock to Jerry. The police might be able to tell if the lock had been picked, whereas I could not.

  I set my purse on the kitchen counter and pulled out my cell phone so I could take a few pictures of the interior. I knew I should be calling the police. I’d told Derek I would, but I wanted a look around for myself a bit before Chief Kennedy arrived and kicked me out.

  I took a few photos and set my phone down beside my purse. I moved to the bedroom. The nightstand drawer stood open. Inside the drawer, I discovered a heavy black flashlight and a red leather Bible. Atop the nightstand was a leather pouch filled with tobacco and a small plastic butane lighter.

  The bedsheets had been ripped off the bed, and the mattress lay askew atop the box spring. I lifted the side of the mattress and peered underneath. Nothing.

  I returned to the main living area. There were a number of books scattered on the floor beneath the built-in shelves located on either side of the fireplace.

  I riffled through the titles: some out-of-date history books, several classic American novels, including Robert Louis Stevenson, and a handful of old Reader’s Digest Condensed Books, a series of anthologies that contained abbreviated versions of more contemporary novels.

  Curious, I flipped through the table of contents of several of them. After reading a bit, I set the book on the lowest shelf. I picked up another. This volume appeared much older.

  I sat in an old yellow chair with velvet upholstery that was covered with dog hair. I smiled. This must have been Pep’s spot.

  I curled my legs underneath me and flipped open the book. The volume had been printed in 1950. The first story was written by a man named Elmer Rice. His novel was called The Show Must Go On. It told the tale of a new playwright, his first play, and the accompanying and probably unavoidable trials and tribulations that went along with it.

  I must have read a hundred pages before realizing I had lost track of the time. My throat was dry and scratchy. I carefully set down the book, making note of the page I had stopped on. I planned to continue it later, after everything was settled.

  I moved to the kitchen. The refrigerator was filled with spoiling milk, fruit, and vegetables. I grabbed a tall, not-so-clean glass from the edge of the sink and filled it from the tap.

  Drinking slowly, I glanced out the kitchen window. Obstructed by the wild shrubs that were in desperate need of pruning, a glint of light caught my eye. I paused and squinted out the smudged glass, focusing my eyes on a gap between the tightly packed leaves.

  There was nothing out there in the distance but the unoccupied cabin and the woods beyond. A veil of darkness was now settling over Webber’s Pond. The sun does not stick around long this time of the year in North Carolina.

  Only one or two stars dared show their faces.

  There it was again. The briefest of silver flashes. Then nothing.

  Whatever it was, it had come from
the abandoned cabin at the farthest edge of the pond. The one that no one had lived in for years and that Gar Samuelson was purported to have scared prospective buyers away from.

  As I watched, the dark shape of a dog ran along the edge of the lake, coming from my left. The animal was jogging in the direction of the cabin. It then disappeared from my sight.

  Was that Pep?

  Did Ross know the dog was loose? Was Pep chasing Gar’s ghost?

  I decided to investigate. If it was Pep running around loose after sunset, Ross might not be aware of it. Although I had no doubt that Pep knew Webber’s Pond and the surrounding woods far better than I did or ever could.

  This would also give me a reason to visit the empty cabin. I didn’t know why, but I was attracted to the cabin at the edge of the woods like a prothonotary warbler was attracted to a vacant nesting box.

  Besides, Gar was gone now. There was no one to deter me from taking a closer look. There would be no more frightening prospective buyers away.

  I stepped outside and pulled the front door closed behind me. I didn’t bother to lock up. I stuffed the key ring in the pocket of my coat jacket.

  Under the lowering sky, I walked to the last cabin. I looked all around and listened. Only the sounds of the woods and its creatures were audible.

  “Pep?” I cupped my hands and called again. “Pep? Come here, boy!” I slapped my hands against my thighs.

  A bird fluttered in the branches of a nearby oak, then flew off.

  With no sign of the dog, I turned my attention to the cabin. The derelict structure appeared long neglected, with a sagging porch, cracked windows, and several loose shingles.

  Glancing back, I saw lights on in each of the other cabins but no one out of doors.

  The front door itself was warped and showed signs of age, with gray, almost silvery planks and pitted, rusty hardware. There was a gap at the bottom large enough for a fat rat to squeeze through.

  Great.

  Now that I’d thought it, I had probably created a whole family of the critters, and they would be waiting for me just inside the door, mouths wide open, sharp little teeth glistening with saliva, tongues hanging out, waiting for a tasty toe or two.

  I wiggled my toes nervously and tried the doorknob. Surprisingly, it turned. Even more surprisingly, the door opened easily, without complaint.

  Foul air swept over me like an ethereal plague. I pinched my nose and grunted. “Gross.”

  It smelled like Death itself was napping inside.

  “Coming here was a bad idea,” I whispered.

  “Yes,” a man’s voice whispered back in my ear. “It was.”

  “Phil?” The jerk was trying to scare me again. “Is that you?”

  “Inside!”

  21

  Rough hands shoved me forward through the open door. I tumbled inside. The room was as black as it was foul-smelling. I banged against a hard, cast-iron woodstove and spun around. “Who-who are you?”

  A match flickered to life. The face of a man danced before me. He was unshaven and unbathed. He wore a dark ski mask over his face. A baggy shirt hung loose over a pair of muddy blue jeans.

  The match burned down to his fingertips. He cursed, tossed it over his shoulder, and lit another. From that, he lit the stub of a candle that he pulled from the front pocket of his pants.

  “Who are you?” His voice was breathy and menacing. Hard black eyes studied me from behind the mask.

  “Amy Simms,” I said. “Who are you? What are you doing here? This cabin is supposed to be empty.” As my eyes adjusted to the little light that was available, I inspected my surroundings.

  The floor was filthy, covered in dirt, caked mud, dried leaves, and every manner of debris. The dusty old woodstove sat on a raised hearth in the center of the room. Beside it, there was a small, portable camp stove, the kind that uses canned gel for fuel. I noticed other signs of camping: a slender LED flashlight, a tattered blanket, food wrappers, and empty plastic water bottles, one of which was filled with cigarette butts.

  “You live here?” I asked.

  The stranger rubbed his face. His lips looked like two purplish scars. “You live in one of these cabins?”

  “No. You didn’t answer my question.”

  I probably should have kept my mouth shut or at the very least been more polite, but something about this man was getting under my skin. “You shouldn’t be here. Aren’t you cold?” I wrapped my arms around myself. “If you need a home, I’m sure social services could help.”

  “Shut up, lady. Just shut up.”

  He rubbed his face some more, and I wondered if it was the itchy nature of the ski mask or a nervous condition.

  “Fine.” I stepped toward him. “If that’s the way you’re going to behave, I’m leaving.”

  I reached for the door.

  He threw himself against it and grabbed my arm. “Sit over there!”

  I winced as he twisted my right arm and threw me toward an upholstered chair that definitely looked like it was home to an entire colony of toe-biting rats.

  Hey, I gave it a shot.

  “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but everybody knows I’m here.” I struggled to keep the fear I was feeling from revealing itself in my voice.

  I clamped my hands over my knees to cover my trembling and looked madly about the room for a means of escape.

  Barring that, a good weapon.

  But neither a plausible escape route nor a possible weapon leapt to sight or mind.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he snarled, as if reading my mind.

  The room smelled of smoke and stale sweat. “The only thing I’m thinking is that you really could use a housekeeping service.”

  “You volunteering to be the maid?”

  “You can’t afford me.”

  “You got that right.”

  The way he said that was chilling.

  He tugged at the end of his dark blue ski mask. “Don’t move.”

  He stabbed a finger at me. It may as well have been a knife or a gun. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  He moved to the window and peeked out. “You got a car?”

  I debated lying but couldn’t see what my advantage might be. “Yes.”

  I debated lying again, but I was also afraid he might not like it if he discovered I had misled him. “It’s a van. It’s parked outside Gar’s cabin.” Unfortunately, I couldn’t help myself from adding, “You know, the invalid you drowned?”

  My captor didn’t confirm my statement, but neither did he bother to deny it. Was that a sign of guilt?

  He breathed heavily through his open mouth and blinked at me. “Is the key in it?”

  “Yes. It is.” I realized leaving the key in my vehicle was getting to be a very bad habit. The last time I’d done so, some kids had taken it for a joyride. That was probably the fastest and hardest the van had been driven in its lifetime. While the Kia may have enjoyed itself, I hadn’t been a happy camper.

  “You can have it if you want. There’s plenty of gas.”

  “Good to know.” He grabbed the poker from the fireplace and slapped it forcefully against his meaty palm. “Let’s you and me go for a ride.”

  “And if I say no?”

  My captor loomed over me, both hands clasped tightly around the poker. “I don’t think you are that stupid.”

  I stared him down for all of three seconds, but he was right. I wasn’t that stupid. If he attacked me now, who would hear my screams? The nearest occupied cabins were hundreds of yards distant.

  Pep to the rescue? I’d seen no further sign of the dog, if it was a dog and if it was the Irish setter.

  Maybe, if I went with him, one of the residents would notice and notify the police. I groaned. I should have telephoned the police hours ago—as I had promised Derek I wou
ld.

  If I got out of this alive, I promised myself that I would be wiser in the future. Face it, I couldn’t get much dumber.

  “Open it,” he said, indicating the door.

  I did and stepped out onto the porch.

  “Oh!” My heart jumped.

  Derek stood with his back pressed to the wall outside the open door. He held a finger of caution to his lips. His left hand gripped a broken shovel handle.

  I forced myself to look away for fear of giving Derek away.

  “Quiet and get moving.” Rough hands gave me a push.

  I stumbled down the steps.

  I heard a muffled shout and turned around. Derek and the man in the mask struggled on the porch. The broken shovel handle lay between their feet.

  Derek was taller than his assailant by approximately a head. I ran toward the porch. Derek saw me out of the corner of his eyes and yelled. “Stay back, Amy!”

  Derek was distracted. His attacker cursed and pummeled him in the face and chest. Derek fell backward, hitting the porch hard. He scrambled and grabbed the handle of the shovel. He took aim at the other man’s shins.

  The man jumped but not high enough. There was a sickening yet satisfying—for me anyway—crack as wood met bone. The masked man howled in pain, kicked savagely at Derek, then spun away.

  Derek staggered to his feet and threw himself on the man’s retreating legs. The masked man fell half in, half out of the front door and struggled on his elbows to detach himself.

  Derek slowly climbed over the man’s back. The man kicked and bucked like a wild animal fearing capture.

  Derek struggled to hold on. Finally, he sat on him. The man threw a couple of awkward backward punches. Derek pressed the masked man’s face into the floor.

  “You got him!” I threw myself on Derek.

  “Careful!” he shouted, tumbling sideways and throwing out his right arm for support.

  “Oops!” I climbed off and ran around to the front. I had picked up the busted shovel on my way in the door, and I waved it threateningly at the man on the floor.

  “Sorry! Sorry!” I hollered breathlessly, my eyes on Derek.