The episode with his wrist when he was ten had been traumatic—a memory forever burned into Lance’s mind. But when he’d been older, he thought he would have been better equipped to handle the hospital. He understood more about who he was at that point, and thought himself accustomed to dealing with the spirit world.
He’d been wrong.
So much sadness and so much anger and so much pleading had driven him away.
He’d apologized profusely to Mariah when she’d returned to school, but he’d never forgiven himself for making such a stupid mistake, for being so over confident in himself.
Yet here he stood, again. Outside a building that undoubtedly held—at least on some small scale—the things that Lance did not want to face, did not want to have to deal with right now. But there was also the chance that Victoria and Richard Bellows were still inside, and he needed to talk to them both. Needed some answers.
Lance sighed heavily and looked up to the sky. Heavy clouds rolled across, shading the parking lot. But they weren’t dark and foreboding and promising of storms. Instead, they were white and cheerful, creating a cool, comfortable fall afternoon. A breeze blew across the parking lot, and Lance enjoyed the momentary chill, inhaling deeply and beginning a mental pep talk to convince himself that no matter how badly he didn’t want to step through the doors of Central Medical, he was old enough now—if not wise enough—to understand that much of his life had very little to do with what he wanted. There were much bigger things at play, and no matter how much he hated to admit that on some larger scale, he might be nothing but a tool, a vessel the Universe used to do its bidding, he carried the burden with respect.
Especially now. After what his mother had done, and what she’d said to him as she’d passed on.
Lance started across the parking lot, his feet feeling heavy, as if he were slogging through a marsh. His heart beat faster in his chest the closer he got to those automatic doors, which began to look more and more like a robotic mouth, ready to open and swallow him whole, swallow him into a prison of despair.
He felt a trickle of sweat slide down his temple.
He was still ten yards from the doors when they slid open with a whoosh so sudden and unexpected that Lance actually jumped back a step. He stopped and stood and stared, a momentary flit of an absurd thought that the building had become self-aware and was taunting him. But then the thought vanished, the fear abated, and he was quickly overcome with a cool, refreshing stream of relief.
Richard and Victoria Bellows walked out of Central Medical. They both stopped just outside the doors and stared at Lance as if he were an exotic animal—the last thing they’d expected to see at that moment.
Lance stood perfectly still and waited, not particularly feeling like making the first move. Victoria Bellows’s eyes looked more tired than before, but they were still kind. Rich stared at Lance with what looked like gritted teeth and a crinkled brow, as if he were working out a complex word problem and struggling to find the answer.
He’s still not sure, Lance thought. He still thinks it might be me.
After what felt like minutes but was likely only a matter of seconds, Victoria gave Lance a small smile and said, “I’m hoping your morning went a lot better than mine.”
Lance returned a smile of his own and slowly walked forward to meet them on the sidewalk. “Had a great breakfast,” he said. “But it sort of went downhill from there, what with the whole police interrogation and all.”
“Police what? Wait … did they…?” She shot a glare at her husband. “Rich. I may be concussed, but I very clearly remember telling you it wasn’t him.”
Rich was staring directly at Lance. He spoke slowly and said, “You don’t know who it was. You said you never saw who hit you.”
Victoria sighed, and Rich and Lance continued to stare at each other. Rich looked ready for blood, but Lance stood and tried to look indifferent to the whole thing. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Lance held the bouquet of flowers out to Victoria. “For you,” he said. “A get-well present, I guess. Or a ‘thanks-for-cleaning-my-house-and-I’m-sorry-you-got-attacked-while-scrubbing-toilets’ present, if you’d prefer.”
This elicited a snort of laugher from Victoria, which caused Lance to chuckle, and he watched as a bit of the tension Rich Bellows had been holding in his shoulders and neck began to loosen. Victoria took the flowers from Lance and smelled them, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “Wonderful,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
Rich allowed himself a small grin and put a protective arm around his wife. He looked at Lance and said, “I admit you’d have to have some pretty big gonads to attack my wife and then show up with flowers at the hospital.”
Lance shrugged. “I suppose I could just be playing an angle. Trying to appear innocent by hiding in plain sight. But I think that only works in mystery novels.”
Rich narrowed his eyes. “Did Kruger really bring you in?”
Lance nodded. “Yes, sir. I got a behind-the-scenes look at Ripton’s Grove’s finest at work.”
Rich Bellows was silent.
Lance gave him what he wanted. “My alibi checked out,” he said. “Sheriff Kruger was supposed to let you know.”
Rich used his free hand to pat the pockets of his jeans. After not finding what he was looking for, he snapped his fingers and said, “I left my phone in the car. Sorry, I was in a bit of a panic when I got here.”
Lance held up his hand. “I understand. But I want to promise you, I had nothing to do with what happened to your wife. I feel terrible for the whole thing, truly. If I hadn’t been renting the place, she would have never been there and this would have never happened.”
Victoria said, “Don’t be ridiculous. This is in no way your fault.”
You have no idea, Lance thought.
Rich removed his arm from around his wife and stuck out his hand. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions,” he said. “It’s just … well, that place … and you showed up and …” He stopped. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
Lance shook Rich’s hand. “I don’t blame you,” he said.
Then, as if they were approaching the inevitable, Rich asked, “I suppose you’ll be wanting to find somewhere else to stay now?” He shook his head, disbelievingly. “I swear … it’s always something with that farmhouse. First it’s haunted, and now we have violent home invaders.” He sighed. “Come by the office after church tomorrow and I’ll get you your deposit back. I tend to pop in for an hour or so after services to catch up on some paperwork.”
“Actually, sir,” Lance said, “I think I’d like to stay there a bit longer, if that’s okay with you.”
Both Rich and Victoria looked shocked at this. “Seriously?” Rich asked.
Lance nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The Bellowses waited for more, but they weren’t getting anything else from Lance right then.
Finally, Rich nodded. “All right, then. Just let me know if you change your mind.” Then, “Well, as you know, we’ve all had a bit of an adventurous day.” He moved to step off the sidewalk, off to their vehicle. “I think Victoria would like to get home.”
Rich and Victoria, hand in hand, had made it a few feet past Lance when he called after them. “I hear there’s a trail, leads from town up to the farmhouse?”
The couple stopped and turned together. Rich looked done with the entire conversation but nodded his head. “Yeah, there is. Straight up the damn hill. Maybe a little less than mile.”
Lance started walking back across the parking lot, toward Rich and Victoria. “Any chance I could have a ride to where it starts? If you’re going that direction.”
Lance knew they were going that direction. Somehow, he knew. Just like he knew Victoria would never let Rich deny Lance’s request. They both had kind hearts.
Sure enough, Rich looked to his wife, saw something unmistakable in her eyes, and then said, “Sure. Come on.”
Lance smiled and said thank you and foll
owed them to their car.
If they were locked in a car together, it would be harder for Rich Bellows to avoid answering Lance’s questions.
17
Rich Bellows drove a late-model Ford Explorer, that new car smell still faintly clinging on. Lance waited while Rich opened the front passenger door for Victoria and helped her in. “Easy does it,” Rich said as he held his wife’s hand and she stepped up into the vehicle. “No need to rush.”
“I got hit in the head, Rich. I don’t have a spinal injury, for goodness sake. I’m fine.”
Rich said something Lance couldn’t hear and Victoria laughed. Then he closed the door so gently it was as if he were trying to keep from waking a napping infant. Victoria made an I’m-not-amused face through the window, and this time it was Rich who chuckled. But when he turned and saw Lance standing by, waiting for the couple to finish their moment before he’d allow himself into the backseat, Rich’s face fell just the tiniest bit. Enough that Lance noticed. Rich recovered quickly enough. “Hop on in, Lance. Apologies if you sit on something sticky. Kids…” Rich shrugged and walked around the front of the car and slid into the driver’s seat.
Lance folded his feet and legs enough that he was able to slide into the backseat of the Explorer with little trouble. The rear seats were a bench that stretched all the way across, so Lance chose to sit in the middle, giving him a better view out the front, and also allowing him to stretch his legs out to either side for more room. When you’re tall, you learn these sort of things—a unique set of survival tactics for the long-limbed. He buckled his seat belt and adjusted his backpack on the floor between his feet.
Rich started the engine and drove the vehicle through the parking lot and out onto the road, headed back toward town. He cranked up the Explorer’s heater like a blizzard was fast approaching and looked to Victoria. “Warm enough, sweetie?”
Victoria quickly shot her hand out and snapped off the fan. “Burning up. Seriously, Rich. Again, I have a head injury, not hypothermia. It’s got to be in the high fifties today!”
Even from the backseat, Lance could see Rich’s cheeks redden ever so slightly. After a moment of silence, given as ample time for Rich to regain his dignity after his wife’s scolding, Lance started with his questions. He knew his time was going to be limited, he’d need to make the most of it.
“Mr. Bellows, I figure I should tell you, I’m fairly certain there was somebody in the farmhouse last night when I got there.”
Rich’s head spun around so fast Lance thought they might end up back at Central Medical to treat the man for whiplash. “What?” Then, almost under his breath, “Damn teenagers. Can’t they find someplace else to smoke their pot and drink their warm beers?”
“Don’t forget about the sex,” Victoria chimed in.
Rich looked at her as if she’d spoken Latin. She gave him a playful wink that made Lance a little uncomfortable. Lance cleared his throat, pushed on. “I don’t know if it was teenagers, sir. I mean, I can’t say for sure, but I think it might have just been one person.”
Rich sighed. “Certainly isn’t the first time folks have broken in. But I figured by now everybody was too afraid to have to deal with the wrath of Ray Kruger to bother having a go at it. Like I said, that place used to be sort of the go-to hangout spot for the ones that weren’t too creeped out by what happened there and—” He stopped, as if merely alluding to the murders was more than he wanted to get into.
“That’s the other thing, sir,” Lance said. “I don’t think they had to break in, exactly.”
Rich shot Lance a look in the rearview. “What do you mean?”
“The back door was wide open when I got there. There was no sign of forced entry that I could see.”
The car went quiet. Lance continued, in case Rich wasn’t coming to the conclusion himself. “So, in my opinion, that means either the door wasn’t locked to start with, or somebody has a key.”
Rich shook his head. “The door was definitely locked. I was the last person there. I make it a point to visit all the vacant rental properties once a month, just to do a quick walk-through. Though I’ll admit I usually only get up to the farmhouse once a quarter—I know Kruger sends a guy up that way a couple times a month, so I figure it sits quietly enough.”
“Does the sheriff have a key?” Lance asked.
Rich opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. Closed it and thought a moment. Finally, he shook his head. “No. I’m fairly certain he doesn’t have a key. Not anymore…”
Lance sat up a bit straighter. “Anymore, sir?”
“Ray Kruger did not attack me,” Victoria said, almost too quickly. Lance and Rich both turned their heads toward her. Ahead, a yellow traffic light turned to red, and Rich eased on the brakes. When the car was stopped, he said, “I thought you told us you didn’t see who attacked you.”
If Rich Bellows was trying to gain some redemption from his wife about entertaining the possibility of Lance being her attacker, he wasn’t going to get that satisfaction. Victoria eyed him with what appeared to be a well-practiced look that only married couples can become familiar with. Rich flinched, almost as if he’d taken a small blow, and offered with some forced cheerfulness, “Right?”
Victoria looked straight ahead and sighed. “Nobody in this town is dumb enough to believe Ray Kruger would do something like this to me. Unless you’d like to try and prove me wrong.”
Rich sighed as well, heavier and deeper than his wife, then nodded. “I agree.”
Lance let a little more silence pass between the couple, then asked, “Mrs. Bellows, I know you didn’t see the person who hit you, but do you have any idea where they might have come from? How they got in the house?”
Victoria closed her eyes for a moment and bowed her head down, as if she were about to pray. Then she said, “I had just come down the stairs. I turned left to head toward the kitchen and had made it about halfway down the hall when I got the feeling that something was behind me. Turns out, I was right. I didn’t even get to turn around before my lights went out. They could have come in anywhere. The front door was unlocked. I know that for sure, because I’d gone out to the car a couple times.”
Rich smacked the steering wheel with his palm. “The car! I forgot all about your car. It’s still up there.”
“We can get it later, Rich. It’ll be fine,” Then, to Lance, “But I didn’t touch the back door. Was it locked, as far as you know?”
Lance nodded. “Definitely.”
Victoria shrugged. “Well, we may never know. Heck, I had the windows open, remember. They could have climbed right in if they wanted to.”
This conversation was giving Lance nothing. Rich Bellows drove the Explorer past Mama’s and then made a turn just past the post office, turning into what looked like a small park. A few picnic tables were scattered about under the shade of some large trees. A baseball diamond, basketball court, jungle gym and swing set completed the picture. Lance felt his time slipping away.
“Mr. Bellows, why did you say Sheriff Kruger doesn’t have a key ‘anymore’?”
Rich pulled the Explorer into a parking space along the fence line bordering the park. “See that walking path there?” He pointed to a paved path leading away from the parking lot. “Follow it around the baseball field and turn right. You’ll see the entrance to the trail that leads up the hill and to the farmhouse. It’s a nice little hike, but you look like you’re in good shape.”
Lance waited. Said nothing.
Rich reached up and switched on the fan again, this time letting it blow cool air instead of heat.
Lance picked up his backpack, moved to leave. Then stopped. “Sir, with all due respect, there’s something you’re not telling me.”
Rich looked to Victoria, his eyebrows questioning. Victoria nodded and turned around to face Lance. “He’s not doing it out of spite, or to be a hindrance. It’s just … Ray’s a part of this town. A big part. And, well, he’s been through a lot, and…” She shrugged. �
��We tend to respect his privacy.” And then for good measure, “We don’t tell Ray’s business, and he respects ours.”
Lance sat back in his seat, possibly even more confused than he had been when he’d gotten into the car. He wanted to push forward, demand more. But he couldn’t think of a tactful way to go about it.
Finally, when Rich Bellows must have decided Lance had sat there long enough, he looked at Lance with a stoic face and said. “Son, my wife’s right. It’s not really your business. But”—he said this cautiously, looking to Victoria with a face that said just bear with me a second—“since you’re staying in the house, and because of the events of last night and today, I suppose I can tell you this much to appease you a bit.”
Lance still wasn’t a fan of the vagueness, but he waited patiently for Rich to finish.
Rich sighed again and looked out the windshield, staring at the picnic tables. “After the murders, Ray Kruger was the owner of the farmhouse. That’s why he had keys.”
18
Lance sat back in the seat, the whir of the Explorer’s air-conditioning fans quietly filling the cabin. Rich Bellows’s assertion of Ray Kruger’s previous ownership of the farmhouse seemed to have stunned them all. Lance because it was information he hadn’t expected—and now his gears were spinning so fast in his head he was surprised they weren’t audible; Rich and Victoria because they seemed to be almost ashamed that the information had come to light, and now they were weighed down with guilt, unsure how to proceed.
The farmhouse had once belonged to Ray Kruger. The sheriff, who seemed to carry such a distaste for the place, who seemed to get agitated at the very mention of the home, not to mention having to drive out to it and give Lance a stern talking-to, had been the farm’s owner. This raised so many more questions in Lance’s mind, he didn’t know where to start. But … on the other hand, it did somewhat explain why the sheriff—although the place clearly raised his blood pressure— also seemed to carry along with him a sense of protectiveness about the place. It was as though he both despised the farm and wanted to make sure nothing happened to it. Or at least, maybe, to the people in it.
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