Picking up a magazine from the stack next to her she did an eye roll at the irony. Good Housekeeping.
She’d have a coffee and a bite to eat before tackling the heaps of junk. But as she was about to step into the kitchen a noise from the spare bedroom made her stop. It had been a click and then a low thud. She stepped over to the door and slowly turned the knob. Opening it an inch at a time, she peered into the room. Once more the overhead light was on, but there was nothing other than the usual debris on the floor. Nothing that could have made that thud when it fell.
The sea chest though. The lid was up and resting against the wall behind it. The hair on Paige’s arms spiked high. That lid had been closed last night, and there was no one here but her. How had it lifted up like that? It was metal, weighing probably five pounds or more! That had been the thud—the lid banging against the wall when it opened.
She barely breathed staring hard at the sea chest. Her heart skipped a few beats in a mad rush as she peered at the chest.
How was that lid being open even possible? It had always been locked when she lived there. The realization dawned on her that this was the first time she’d seen it open. Ever. She remembered when she was a kid trying to pick the lock like she saw on TV shows. She tried a bunch of times until giving up. It had always worked on TV, but not for her.
And when Mom saw the scratches on the lock from her efforts…wow. She got really upset. Really, really upset. And not the yelling kind. No…it was worse. It was the sad upset. She sat Paige down and through teary eyes made her promise to never, ever, ever go into that chest.
Ever.
She wouldn’t explain why, she just made Paige promise.
“I’ll explain when you’re a grown up, Paige,” was all Mom had said about it.
Now, twenty years later, her mind was spinning with the guilt and apprehension of a twelve year old. Up until now, she had just decided that she’d respect Mom’s privacy.
But with all that had been going on lately, curiosity overwhelmed any sense of remorse as she peered down at the contents. ‘What the hell, I’m grown up now, right?’ flitted through her mind. She knew she was making excuses, but maybe just a peek, okay?
The top layer was strewn with bundles of bank statements, each bundle with the year scrawled on the top envelope. Beside them were a stack of manila envelopes, each one also dated, but marked Taxes as well. Nestled into the mound of paperwork was a cardboard box with a clear plastic top. Inside she saw a cotton lace baby bonnet and christening gown, both yellowed with age.
She picked up the box and looked at the contents. That was her christening outfit. The box had been lying on a shallow wooden tray that was covering more stuff. She set the box aside and lifted the tray from the chest.
Her eyes opened wider seeing a collection of photo albums, scrapbooks and a thin black box. A quick rifle through the pages of the first album showed pictures of Paige from when she was a newborn to the first day of school. No doubt the other albums were more of the same.
But the box was bound with elastic that had hardened and split in a few places. It looked out of place in a chest devoted to capturing moments of Paige’s life. The color, and the fact that the lid was secured, was curious.
A series of sharp raps made her jump.
Her eyes closed as she murmured to herself, “It’s the front door. That’s all,” she said aloud to calm herself. Even so, her hands trembled from the surprise as she closed the chest and hurried down the hall.
When she opened the front door, Karen stood there. She smiled extending a plate. Waves of steam wafted from under the colorful napkin topping it. “Banana bread, fresh from the oven.”
Paige opened the door wider, stepping back, “Come in! You shouldn’t have, but it smells great.” She took the plate from Karen and watched as the older woman shrugged out of a red fleece jacket.
Karen heaped it on top of another coat hanging on the rack and rubbed her hands together. “I put extra chocolate chips in it, just the way you like it.”
Paige’s mouth was already watering from the sweet aroma. “You spoil me, Karen.” She led the way to the kitchen. “But that’s why I love you! I was just about to make some coffee. This is perfect.”
“I saw your car out front. I’m glad I caught you before you took off for the hospital. How was Cheryl after I left?” Karen asked as she sat down at the table.
Paige glanced over at Karen as she prepared the coffee. “She seemed pretty good all things considered. They’re doing more tests and stuff with her this morning so I thought I’d sleep in.”
“Good for you. You probably could use a good night’s sleep after all this. First that dreadful murder and then your mother’s illness.”
All this. Karen was right; the past week had been hell on steroids. Paige got mugs down and then plates for the warm bread. She gazed at Karen as she took them over to the table. “I was beside myself when I heard about the murders. Actually I still am. But you want to know what’s really weird?”
Karen looked up from where she was perched like a bird on the edge of the chair. “What? What’s weird?”
“I met the mother in court...well not met exactly, but we spoke during the hearing. But after I learned of their deaths, I kept thinking of the daughter. I still do actually.”
Taking a deep breath, she continued. “This may sound crazy but I swear I’ve seen the little girl a few times.” Seeing Karen sit straighter, jerking back a little Paige wondered if she should have mentioned this. Karen would probably think she was totally losing it, seeing ghosts.
“What do you mean? How could you see her when she’s dead?”
“It was just fleeting glimpses from the edge of my vision but it was there, Karen.” She gulped and then kept going. “I even heard her voice on my cell phone.”
“But Paige. That could have been the stress of it all. Your mind—”
“No. Hang on.” Paige left the kitchen heading for her bedroom. She slid the bracelet out from under her pillow and brought it back with her. She held it out in front of Karen. “This bracelet was Aubree’s. That was her name. I had dreams about a backyard with a swing and sandbox. It was so vivid. I could see the orange mums, the fenced yard and even the color of the house.”
Karen could only stare up at her with wide eyes, her jaw falling open slowly.
Paige continued. “I went there, Karen. I know it’s a macabre thing to do, but I had to go there. It was all exactly the way I’d dreamed it. Exactly. I found this partially buried in the sandbox. She wanted me to find it.”
Karen got up and walked over to the counter to pour the coffee. Paige couldn’t get a reading on what the older woman was thinking. “Karen? Do you believe me?” This woman was like a second mother. It was important that she understood.
Karen turned holding the mugs of coffee as she walked back to the table. “Of course I believe you. You’ve never lied to me or your mother. Not that I ever knew. But…” She blew out a long sigh as she set the mugs on the table and sat down. Looking up at Paige she continued. “I don’t think it’s healthy to hang on to that. Give it to the police. Maybe it will help them, or they can give it to the grandparents. You’ve got enough to worry about right now without getting mixed up in that murder.”
Paige’s eyes widened, and she blinked a few times staring at Karen. Of all the reactions she might have anticipated, this was the last thing she would have thought. Karen was warm and supportive normally—but this? Her words were cold. She was supposed to just wash the blood from her hands as if it didn’t matter?
A child and her mother were dead because of her! She held her temper before it grew. Instead, she pulled out a chair and took a seat across from her godmother. “I can’t do that, Karen. Don’t you see? As crazy as it sounds, Aubree is reaching out to me.” She grit her teeth before exploding. “ME! Of all people, me. I don’t know why, but I have to be open to this.” She set her chin. “I’m going to run this down and follow where it leads.”
<
br /> Karen’s eyes flashed. “Run it down, eh? Paige, you practice the law, not enforce it like a cop. Let the police handle this.” She leaned into the younger woman. “You have more important things to do! You have to look after your mother! That’s the important thing. Not go chasing after some stupid dreams.” Karen shook her head and looked down. “The child is dead. You can’t change that. This isn’t helping you or your mother. Let it go.”
Chapter 17
WHILE PAIGE SAT WITH HER MOTHER IN THE HOSPITAL, CORY HAD HIS HANDS FULL dealing with a mother as well—except this one had whiskers and a black mask.
“Shit! That little fucker!” He peered at the bite on his ankle, gently touching the inflamed tissue. Even though he’d washed the wound and applied some antiseptic ointment, it looked red and puffy with infection. The ointment was probably expired. The old biddy who owned the cabin had probably bought it eons ago.
To make matters worse, he was down to his last hunk of wood for the stove. He’d have to go out and try to forage some more before the storm that was brewing hit. After applying a fresh bandage to his ankle he stood up and grabbed his jacket.
His eyes narrowed, relishing the weight of the knife in the pocket of the jacket. This time if that ‘coon was around he’d inflict some serious damage, if not kill the bitch.
It wasn’t bad enough that he was stuck in some rat-trap cabin in the middle of nowhere, but he’d probably get some kind of septic shock from the bite. His father was no help—three days since he’d seen him and supplies were running low.
Should I call him?
He blew out a fast sigh heading for the door. The old man would make fun of him and probably be pissed that he called. No, he’d wait another day and see if the swelling in his ankle went down.
The sky was gunmetal gray while the air was heavy with the threat of a downpour. He’d better hurry and get the wood. When he stepped into the growth of trees he peered at the spot where he’d had the encounter with the overgrown rodent. Part of him, a very large part if he was honest with himself, wished it would appear. He wouldn’t kill it...not straight away. Just wound it—the same way the damned thing had made him suffer.
His foot nudged the heap of leaves and twigs where the baby raccoons had been. Nothing. The creature had probably moved on with whatever of her litter had survived. He turned away and spied through the underbrush for fallen tree limbs.
There was a maple tree about ten feet away that looked promising. A broken branch from the birch next to it was wedged in a fork of the lower limbs. At least it would be dry and not infested with bugs. As he made his way over there, a high-pitched scream brought him to a complete halt.
Once more, a howl pierced the air followed by rustling leaves and a thud coming from his left side. Eerily human sounding, there was also a catlike element. His hand shot into his pocket for the knife while he searched the area for any sign of movement.
A fleeting glimpse of silvery brown was soon hidden by the dying leaves of the underbrush. A lynx? He could have sworn he’d seen an ear topped with a pointed tuft of black. When it cried and hissed again, he knew he was right. There was a wild lynx in the woods with him! Shit!
His heart thudded quickly against his ribs as he raced out of the woods. A raccoon was one thing but a wildcat? He thought of the toms he’d hung from trees watching them squirm as they suffocated. Their talons had tried in vain to work the wire noose, often slicing their own necks in the process.
No way was he going to get into it with a fifty-pound cat. He grabbed the handle of the door and dove back inside the cabin. He needed a gun or an ax, not some two-bit pocketknife to do battle with the likes of that. Lynx were crazy fast and fierce.
He rushed to the window peering hard over at the stand of trees. Where was it? Movement to the right showed the lumbering grace of a lynx settling on a log. Slitted amber eyes watched the cabin, and seemed to be staring right at him.
Cory jerked back when a second cat joined the one sitting there. The new one was slightly smaller and had something in its mouth. It was hard to tell, but it looked like a squirrel when it dropped it next to the bigger cat. The two cats didn’t look like they were in any kind of hurry to leave, but maybe the rain would change that.
He looked over at the supplies of food on the counter. There were a couple boxes of macaroni dinner and a can of baked beans. The wood wasn’t the only thing he was low on. Somehow he had to get out to the road to see if there was a knapsack. The old man had promised to keep him supplied, and he’d damn well better have done that.
Once more he debated with himself whether a call to the old prick was in order.
With the two wildcats out there, a jaunt to the road only to find nothing wasn’t something he was willing to risk. He grabbed the phone from the kitchen table.
After a few rings, his father answered. “What?”
Cory rolled his eyes. Not even a “hello,” let alone a “how are you doing?” “I need supplies, but you’re gonna have to drive to the cabin, not toss them near that post. There’s wild animals—”
“I told you not to call me. Sit tight.”
“Hey! You stuck me here! The least you can do is bring me supplies or maybe even a gun.” When there was no response his forehead tightened. “Dad? Dad, are you there?”
A glance at the phone showed that his father had ended the call.
“Shit!” He flung the phone at the sofa where it bounced against a cushion. Threading his fingers through his hair he clenched his fists. “What the hell am I gonna do?”
He pulled the curtain back from the window and glanced up at the sky before searching the spot where the cats had been. They were gone now. And the rain still hadn’t started. The woodstove showed only embers when he opened the heavy metal door. Pretty soon it would be freaking cold in the small cabin.
Gripping the wooden chair tucked into the table he lifted it high and then smashed it on the floor. It splintered into pieces, but one of the chair legs would make a decent club to stave off those cats if they were still out there. He should have grabbed a thick branch from the woods. But yesterday the only threat had been that stupid raccoon.
He stormed out the door with the chair leg in his fist. This was all Noele’s fault. If she hadn’t gone to the police and fought him in court, he wouldn’t be stuck in some remote shack fighting wild animals. If she were here right now, he’d beat the shit out of her and the little brat. The kid looked more like Noele than him. He was more convinced than ever that the kid wasn’t his. He wouldn’t put anything past the two-bit whore.
“Hey cat! Come on out and fight me!” He could feel the vein in his forehead throb and even hear the beat of his heart. All the while his narrow eyes scanned the forest for any movement.
Bring it on! Every cell was firing with the adrenaline coursing through his body. The blinding rage had always been a high that was waaay better than sex. He was Rambo, an Avenger, a Transformer all rolled into one. Invincible.
He rushed at the woods with a lust for blood and revenge. First those cats and then that bitch raccoon.
What would raccoon meat taste like with a side of cat? He could almost feel the thud ripple through his arm muscles when he caught up with them. In his mind’s eye he could see the spatter of blood and brains from a hard whack at their ugly heads.
A low growl to his right made him spin in that direction. At the scratching of claws and the crack of tree limbs breaking, he spied movement in the dark oak ten feet away. Both cats clung to the trunk, making their way higher as he raced toward it.
He swung the chair leg against the tree, glaring up into the bigger cat’s eyes. “C’mon down, mister kitty. I’ll show you a thing or two about fighting.”
The cat growled and hissed at him.
Cory spied a fist-sized rock and backing slowly away, he hurled it high at the cat, missing it by a few inches. The other cat slithered higher, rounding the trunk until it was out of sight.
“Ha! I’ll get you, cat.”
Cory rummaged around the floor of the forest searching for more rocks. This was more fun than shooting fish in a barrel.
Chapter 18
MICHAEL SMITH SLID THE CHEAP BURNER PHONE INTO THE POCKET of his sports jacket. His heart beat faster as he peered through the door opening at the reception room. There was only Marcy there, sitting at her desk typing and staring at her computer monitor. It didn’t look like she’d heard any of the call from Cory.
That bloody fool! He was told not to call unless it was an emergency. Michael rose from his desk and darted over to the window overlooking the parking lot and the street. Nothing unusual in the lot. All the cars there belonged to his salespeople, and of course there was Marcy’s beater. But that black Buick was parked on the street...for the second day. An unmarked police car?
Had they believed him when they barged into his office and grilled him? Probably not. Why else would they question his neighbor? But good old Bob had backed him up. He’d been happy to report that “he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Cory visiting his dad in many, many years.”
But still there was that black Buick.
When Cory had showed up at three in the morning that Saturday night, he should have told him to get lost. The last thing he needed was cops nosing around his home and business.
His slate wasn’t exactly lily white, and there was no need to bring that to light. As far as his staff and the business community were concerned, he was an upstanding businessman, if not a civic leader. Hell, people even showed sympathy for him after Lorraine left him. Poor man, raising their son all on his own.
He turned away from the window and went back to his desk, flopping heavily into the leather chair. That stupid kid. But he was his son, dammit. He’d done the best he could with the boy.
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