The Girl in the Woods

by Patricia MacDonald

  From underneath the door, behind the Indian blanket, three rivulets were trickling out, feebly. Slowly. Blair looked at them in confusion. Calm down. Don’t start imagining things, she thought. There’s probably some melted snow leaking through the barn walls into that first little room and it found its way out under the closely fitted door. That’s all it is.

  Nonetheless, Blair lifted the blanket and crouched down beside the padlocked door. She hesitated, then reached out with her fingers and dipped her fingertips into the running liquid. She picked her fingers up and held them to her nose, expecting water, or maybe oil. She inhaled and stared at her fingers in disbelief. She hesitated. She didn’t want to do it, but she had to know. She opened her mouth and flicked a drop of the liquid off her finger and onto her tongue. Her eyes widened as the taste registered. She scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering.

  Soap, she thought. Soapy water. Somehow, it was trickling out under the door.

  In her shock, Blair had to balance herself for a moment against the door. Then she grabbed the padlock and shook it again. It remained firmly locked. She began to pound on the door.

  ‘Hello,’ she called out. ‘Is someone there? Answer me. Is someone in there?’ She looked through the keyhole but there was nothing to see. She placed her ear flat against the door and pounded on it with the palms of her hands. ‘Who’s there?’

  A voice from behind her was steely. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Blair wheeled around with a startled cry. Joe Reese had quietly entered the barn, crossed over to the stalls and now was standing behind her.

  ‘Oh my God, you scared me,’ Blair said accusingly, stepping away from the door and letting the blanket fall back into place. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘Your car is in my driveway. What are you doing here?’ he said.

  ‘Out here in the barn? Or out here at your place?’

  ‘Both.’ Joe pursed his lips and waited.

  Just be honest, Blair thought. She’d had a reason for coming here, even though her simple errand seemed to have become infinitely more complicated. She launched into her explanation.

  ‘Well, I came out to your place because Darlene left a bottle of pills at our house last night. She called me this morning and asked me to bring them here and leave them in that box on the porch, which I did.’

  ‘Someone broke the windowpane in my door. Was that you? Why were you trying to get into my house?’ he demanded.

  ‘No, I didn’t break the window,’ Blair scoffed, although her denial sounded forced to her own ears. ‘It was that way when I got here,’ she said.

  ‘That’s impossible. There’s no glass anywhere.’

  ‘I … cleaned it up,’ said Blair.

  ‘You cleaned it up,’ said Joe skeptically. ‘You didn’t break it, but you cleaned it up.’

  ‘I know it sounds a little strange, but I didn’t want anyone to get cut on it. I cleaned it up and threw it away.’

  ‘So let me get this straight,’ Joe said, ‘You’re claiming you just came here to drop off a pill bottle in the box on my porch. But you found a broken window, so you cleaned it up and then you came out here to poke around in my barn. Excuse me, but that doesn’t make much sense.’

  Blair couldn’t fault him for his skepticism. She knew how unlikely it all sounded.

  ‘One thing led to another,’ she said.

  ‘Did you go in the house?’ he asked.

  Blair thought about lying, but decided against it. ‘I had to. I had to get a dustpan and a broom. I put it back after I cleaned up the glass.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’ he asked querulously.

  Blair sighed. It would not be long before Darlene came home and found the sweater on her bed. She would know that it was Ellis who broke the window and she would tell Joe. What was the point of shielding him from blame?

  ‘All right, look. You might as well know. I was coming here to drop off the pills and I saw my uncle driving away. He had come over here to leave a present for Darlene. He broke the window to get into the house. He put the present in her room.’

  Joe stared at her. ‘Your uncle broke my window and let himself into my house.’

  Blair nodded. ‘Yes. I’m not trying to make excuses for him, but he wasn’t thinking clearly. He was upset. Darlene was angry at him.’

  ‘To be honest, I hope she is finally done with him.’

  ‘I think she is,’ Blair said. ‘I’m sorry about your window.’

  Joe shook his head. ‘Why did she ever get involved with him? Everyone knows he’s got a screw loose …’

  Blair nodded and said nothing.

  ‘Well, this behavior must run in the family,’ said Joe. ‘I come home and find my window broken and you trying to break into my barn.’

  There was a little needling tone in his voice. She had told him the truth, but Joe wasn’t about to let this go. She’d ratted out her own uncle and that wasn’t enough for Joe.

  ‘Look, I wasn’t trying to break in,’ Blair corrected him. ‘And I had a perfectly good reason for coming out here. The pills. Darlene asked me to.’

  ‘Oh right. The pills …’ he said humbly.

  Blair decided that making excuses would only make her sound more guilty. The fact was that she had a few questions of her own. She pointed to the rug hanging off the wall.

  ‘There’s a door behind that rug. Where does it lead to?’

  ‘That’s the old tack room. There’s no horses so we don’t use it anymore.’

  ‘Why is the door locked?’ she asked.

  Joe shook his head. ‘That’s really none of your concern.’

  ‘It’s a simple question,’ she said.

  ‘Well, here’s the simple answer. It’s locked because I have things in there … valuable things. And who gave you permission to come out here and poke around anyway?’

  ‘I thought I smelled something out here,’ Blair said stubbornly. ‘Food cooking. And then, a trickle of liquid appeared under the door. It was soapy. Like dishwater.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ he asked.

  ‘I … touched it,’ she said. ‘I rubbed it on my finger.’

  ‘Off the ground? This is a horse’s stall. Why would you do that?’ he asked.

  Blair felt a sudden surge of anger, whether it was justified or not. His questions made it seem as if she had done something crazy. As if curiosity was somehow … akin to madness. She had noticed something odd and she had investigated. Why was he treating her like a criminal?

  ‘I was curious,’ she said. ‘I was trying to make sense of it …’

  Joe looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘I told you. There’s nothing in there. I use it as a kind of toolshed to hold some lumber and some tools that aren’t used anymore.’

  ‘Before you said that you had valuable things in there.’ She reminded him.

  ‘This is my house. These are my belongings,’ said Joe, in a quiet voice. What business is it of yours what I do in my own barn …?’

  ‘I smelled something cooking,’ Blair insisted, raising her voice as well.

  Joe took a deep breath and composed himself.

  ‘You couldn’t have,’ he said. ‘There’s no one else here. Now, get out of my barn and be on your way.’

  ‘You don’t even want to know?’ Blair asked.

  ‘I already know,’ he countered. ‘Have you been hit on the head lately? You know, I think I read somewhere that people with brain injuries start smelling things that aren’t there. You might want to have yourself checked out.’

  ‘Why were there Tampax in your garbage?’ Blair blurted out.

  Joe’s mouth fell open in disbelief and his eyes glittered behind his glasses. He spoke in a low, menacing tone. ‘You went through my garbage?’

  ‘I was throwing away the glass,’ she said defensively. Blair realized that she had crossed a line. She was rifling through the trash and claiming to smell someone cooking. She wanted a door unlocked
in an empty barn. Anyone would think she was not in her right mind. She could see anger mounting in his face as if she had struck a nerve. And then she remembered the pink sock, stuck to the back of Joe Reese’s fleece vest.

  What if …? she thought.

  Everyone had read about such things, seen them on the news. They had been known to happen. What if there were someone being held there, locked in that room? If Joe had nothing to hide, why would he be so reluctant to open the door?

  ‘Could you just indulge me and unlock those doors?’ she said. ‘This one … and the one behind it?’

  Anger flared in his cool eyes, and a flush rose in his cheeks.

  ‘You need to get out of here,’ he said.

  Blair stared back at him. ‘It won’t take long,’ she said. ‘Only a minute to unlock each door and then I’ll leave you in peace.’

  Joe pulled his phone from his pocket.

  ‘That does it. I don’t have to bargain with you. You are trespassing on my property. I’ve been nice about this, but I am going to have to call the police …’

  Blair knew that what he said was true. She was trespassing. And once the police learned, as they would, that she had also been in the house and cleaned up the trail of blood, she could find herself under arrest. And what was it that she was contending anyway? She suspected that Joe Reese had someone locked behind these doors? Someone who wore pink socks and made soup? The whole idea suddenly seemed preposterous.

  She realized how the police would react. Joe was perfectly within his rights to object to her being here, especially with that broken window in the back door of the house. They wouldn’t force Joe to open the door. Instead, they’d probably arrest her. She knew how unlikely it all sounded, even though she was nagged by the fact that Joe was indignant, but not curious. Some people were more private than others, she reminded herself. Maybe, for Joe, this invasion of his privacy trumped any curiosity he might have. She needed to think and regroup. Maybe it was time to walk away, at least for now. Apologize, she thought. Apologize and get out of here. Blair raised her hands as if in surrender.

  ‘All right. I’m sorry. I’ll go.’

  ‘Too late,’ he said, punching numbers into his phone. He held it to his ear. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘this is Joe Reese on Fulling Mill Road. I’d like to report someone trespassing on my property …’

  Blair thought about her car, still in the driveway. If she ran out there, jumped in the car and drove away, he would probably drop the whole matter. He just wanted her gone. She could end this right now. That would be the easiest thing. But she wasn’t sure that the easiest thing was the right thing in this situation. She glanced at him defiantly and then she reached into her pocket and pulled out her own phone.

  ‘Who are you calling?’ Joe demanded in a whisper.

  ‘If you must know, I’m calling the detective I hired to help me investigate Molly Sinclair’s death. Tom Olson? If the cops are coming, I’d like him to be here too. He used to be a cop in this town.’ She didn’t know why she said that, except that she wanted him to know that she had a connection to the police as well. That, and for some reason, she just wanted to let someone know she was here. She bent her head to look at her phone and quickly pulled up Tom’s number. Pressed it.

  ‘Yes, I’ll wait,’ said Joe into his phone in what seemed to be an abnormally loud voice. Almost as if he was pretending to be speaking to someone.

  Blair could hear Joe moving around behind her. She put her own phone to her ear and turned to look. He was not talking on the phone. His phone was nowhere to be seen. His jaw was set, his gaze icy and he held an iron shovel, raised above his head. The shovel sliced downward almost as if in slow motion.

  ‘No …’ Blair cried, raising her arms to try to shield herself. ‘Don’t!’

  She felt the blow and everything went black.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘Hello?’ Tom Olson frowned at his phone and then asked again. ‘Hello? Blair? Are you there?’

  There was no answer. He had only gotten back to town a few minutes ago. His phone started to ring and he saw her name on display. He was glad. He had been planning to call her anyway.

  ‘Blair?’ he said again.

  Nothing. Tom waited a moment and then ended the call. He put on some water to boil, checked his emails and then went over to his woodstove and threw in a couple of small logs. He sat down and stared into the fire. The trip to Arborside had been tiring and, ultimately, futile. Randy Knoedler didn’t want any trouble. He was anxious for Tom to see him as a friend of the police. He claimed not to know anything about the death of Molly Sinclair, and, when all was said and done, Tom was inclined to believe him. He had seen plenty of guys like Randy in the course of his police work, and since. They were more than capable, when they had a load on, of landing a few vicious blows on whichever helpless family member was within reach. It was a combination of malice and sport to them, and certainly, as they saw it, within their rights as the head of the household. To harm a neighbor – that was something else. They could get in trouble for that, Tom thought ruefully. At home, sadly, they were perfectly safe.

  Tom picked up his phone and tried Blair’s number again. The phone rang and then went to voicemail. Tom knew he should just make himself something to eat or read for a while, but he felt restless. He wanted to talk to Blair. He wanted to compare notes with her.

  He was well aware that there was something that attracted him to that girl. All the more reason to stay away, he warned himself. She was going back to Philly and there was no point in trying to start something with someone whose life was so different than his. Besides, he told himself firmly, you’re too old for her. She had to be about fifteen years younger than him. He put his head back and closed his eyes. For a few minutes, he tried to rest. But it was no use. He found himself constantly looking at his phone. Blair had not called back.

  Let it go, he thought. Don’t get fixated on her. The fact was that he was used to the solitary life. Hell, he preferred it. Women were difficult at best. At one time, he was more hopeful. More of a … romantic. He thought about his wife, whom he had loved so deliriously when they met. Once they had settled in together, it was as if their relationship buckled under a mountain of petty complaints. They didn’t argue about big issues. Children, careers, sex – they never even found time to argue about those things. They were too busy trying to negotiate the minefield of everyday life. His every habit seemed to annoy her: how he dressed, what he ate, where he put things. At first he tried to accommodate her complaints, but gradually he felt as if she begrudged him his very existence. If he tried to point out that she was being petty or a nag, she would dissolve into tears and accusations, which would be followed by the silent treatment. That became the pattern of every day. Tom sighed. The more he tried to please her, the more he seemed to further infuriate her. By the time it was over, he was left with a feeling of failure and relief. Mostly, if he was honest, it was relief. He had grown to dread the sight of her. He did not miss her. He did not miss living with a woman. It wasn’t worth the angst.

  Tom looked at his watch. It had been an hour since that call came in. He had noticed that Blair didn’t play phone games. Or any other kind of game, for that matter. She was blunt. She said what she felt. She called you back. Something had come up, obviously. Still, he had a bad feeling about it. It was always that way when you were around town, asking a lot of questions. People began to resent you.

  Tom tried one more time, and got voicemail. The fire needed another log as it was sputtering down. Instead, Tom got up and pulled on his jacket, before he had a chance to talk himself out of it.

  A young boy with tired, wary eyes answered the door, a cat rubbing up against the legs of his pants. This had to be Malcolm, Tom thought.

  ‘Yeah?’ the boy said.

  ‘I’m looking for Blair,’ Tom said.

  ‘Not here,’ said the kid.

  ‘Do you know where I can find her?’ Tom asked.

  The boy turned
and bellowed toward the back of the house. ‘Uncle Ellis. Where’s Blair?’

  Tom could hear muttering and the clomping of unlaced boots as Ellis came toward the front door. ‘Who wants to know?’ he demanded.

  ‘Some guy,’ said Malcolm.

  Ellis came up to the door, looming over Malcolm and the cat. He peered at Tom.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘My name is Tom Olson. Blair hired me to help her with this Yusef Muhammed investigation.’

  ‘Oh. Yeah,’ said Ellis. ‘Well, she ain’t here.’

  ‘Do you know where I can find her?’ Tom asked. ‘She’s not answering her phone.’

  Ellis inserted a toothpick between his teeth and began to absently poke it between his teeth. ‘Nope. I haven’t seen her since …’

  ‘Since?’

  ‘Earlier,’ said Ellis in a grumpy tone.

  ‘When was that?’ Tom asked patiently. He was trying to imagine Blair growing up with this lout as her guardian. How had she turned out so … well?

  Ellis hesitated, as if he were trying to make up his mind. He pursed his lips, lost in thought and worked absently on his teeth with the wooden pick.

  ‘Mr Dietz?’ Tom prodded.

  ‘She went out to Reese’s place this morning, on Fulling Mill Road.’

  Tom felt his heart miss a beat. He had specifically warned her not to go there alone. ‘Did she say why?’ he asked.

  Ellis hesitated. ‘Something she had to return to Darlene. That’s Reese’s sister.’

  ‘I know,’ said Tom. ‘But what was so important …?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ellis. ‘She’s got a knack for going where she’s not welcome.’

  Like when she came to live here, Tom thought.

  ‘Anyway, I ain’t heard from her since then,’ said Ellis.

  ‘Did something happen to Blair?’ asked Malcolm, who was hovering anxiously behind his great-uncle.

  ‘No, she’s fine,’ said Ellis.

  Malcolm turned to Tom. ‘How come you’re looking for her?’

  Tom avoided the boy’s questioning gaze. He wanted to say: Because she’s not answering her phone, and I’m afraid she might have pissed off a dangerous person. So I’m worried about her. Instead, he shook his head.