by Jo Gibson
“No!” Julie put up a valiant struggle, but Uncle Bob was just too strong. He pried her away from the chimney, and started to drag her across the roof. She kicked out at him, scratched him with her nails, pounded his heavy back with her fists, but she was no match for his demented strength.
Then there was a loud shout, and Julie looked up to see Paul standing in their path. Paul had come to save her! He looked solid, and strong, and very determined.
“Stop, Mr. Hudson! She’s not Vicki! She’s Julie!”
Julie felt her uncle’s grip slacken for an instant, and she took full advantage of that momentary lapse. She kicked out hard and managed to free herself, scrambling away through the snow to Paul.
“Stay back!” Paul pushed her to the side. Then he stood there, watching, waiting, anticipating Mr. Hudson’s next move.
The move came much quicker than Julie had thought it would. For a big man, Uncle Bob moved with lightning speed. He let out a terrible yell and charged through the snow toward Paul, his arms sweeping wide to knock him off the edge of the roof.
Julie watched with horror as Paul stood frozen in place. He had to get out of the way! But then, at the last instant, Paul sidestepped quickly, throwing Uncle Bob off balance.
Julie screamed then, a high, thin sound of terror, as Uncle Bob hurtled toward the edge of the roof, slipping and sliding, trying to regain his balance. But he was going too fast to stop, and the downward slope was steep. He let out a terrible howl, full of insane rage. And then he was gone, disappearing over the side of the roof with horrible finality.
“Oh, my God!” Julie’s knees sagged, and she was about to sink down in the snow, when Paul caught her in his strong arms.
“Are you all right?”
“I . . . I think so.” Julie’s eyes were wide with horror. “Is he . . . dead?”
Paul’s arms tightened around her and he cradled her against his chest. “He’s dead. There’s no way he can hurt you now.”
“Oh, Paul! Thank God you came! Uncle Bob was the stalker! And he killed Vicki!”
“I know, Julie. I know.”
They stood in the blowing snow, huddled in a tight embrace, until they heard Sheriff Nelson’s siren. Then Julie turned to Paul with tears in her eyes. “He was crazy, you know. He didn’t mean to kill her. He just wanted to keep her here so she couldn’t marry Ross.”
Paul nodded, and led her toward the fire escape. There would be questions to answer, explanations to give. But just before they started down the metal stairs, Julie turned to Paul and kissed him. He’d saved her life, and she wanted to tell him how grateful she was. She also wanted to tell him that she was beginning to fall in love with him. But this wasn’t the time. Or the place.
“Paul?”
“Yes, Julie.”
“Will you take me to one of your football games?”
“Uh . . . sure. I’d like that, Julie. But what made you think of football now?”
Paul was looking at her as if the strain had unhinged her a mind, and Julie actually managed a shaky smile. “I saw how you sidestepped when Uncle Bob tried to tackle you. And I think you’re my favorite quarterback in the whole world!”
Epilogue
Ross pulled the Saddlepeak Lodge van into a parking place in front of the small community hospital, and turned to look at his passengers. “Are you ready to go in?”
“I’m ready.” Julie smiled at him. A week had passed and Aunt Caroline was ready to come home from the hospital. She’d collapsed when she’d learned the truth about Uncle Bob, but now she was fully recovered.
Julie opened her door and got out of the van. Donna was right behind her. Then Paul got out and motioned to Ross. “Come on. You’re coming in, aren’t you?”
Ross looked worried. “I think I’ll just wait here.”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Julie opened the driver’s door and grabbed his arm. “Aunt Caroline specifically asked for you.”
As they went through the door and walked down the hall, Julie thought about how they’d all pulled together the night of Uncle Bob’s horrible death. Since Aunt Caroline had been taken to the hospital, Paul and Donna had wanted Julie to spend the night at their house. Julie had refused. It wasn’t right to leave Ross at the lodge alone. Donna had called her mother and they’d all stayed the night at the lodge, sitting in the lobby until long past midnight, sipping hot chocolate and talking about what had happened.
It had been a night for confessions. Ross had told them he’d had no idea that Uncle Bob was his real father. His mother had always talked about the handsome soldier who’d died in ’Nam, and she’d insisted that Uncle Bob was just a former employer and a family friend.
Paul had read them the letter that Vicki had left in the guest house for him, and Ross had been very relieved to learn that it was all a trap. Vicki hadn’t been pregnant, and she hadn’t chosen to commit suicide rather than marry him. Vicki had been desperate, and she’d tried to use him as a way to escape the stalker.
Then it had been Julie and Donna’s turn. They’d told Ross and Paul about the videotaped diary, and Vicki’s fascination with men whose names started with the letter R. That had cleared up a mystery for Paul. He’d always wondered why Vicki had called him Rock.
Now that they knew that Uncle Bob had been the stalker, the peepholes made sense. Uncle Bob had drilled them in the attic floor to spy on Vicki and Ross. Even the disembodied face at Julie’s balcony window was explainable, now that they knew about Uncle Bob’s obsession. The face had belonged to Uncle Bob. Julie hadn’t been able to see the rest of his body, because he’d been leaning down from the fire escape to peer in her window. If Ross and Aunt Caroline had thought to look up at the fire escape, instead of down, they would have seen the footsteps he’d left when he’d climbed back up to the fifth story attic.
The only things they hadn’t been able to explain were Julie’s nightmares, the terrifying dreams where she’d been Vicki, and taken her place in the car. There were only two possible solutions. Either Vicki had really reached out from the grave to warn her about Uncle Bob, or the nightmares had been the product of Julie’s own overactive imagination. It really didn’t matter, now that Uncle Bob was dead. If Vicki’s spirit had been restless, it was now at peace. And if Julie’s own imagination had been prompting the nightmares, she couldn’t possibly imagine anything more horrible than what had actually happened.
They’d all agreed on one thing, and Julie was glad. They would keep Vicki’s secrets, and not tell anyone what had actually happened. Vicki had done some terribly selfish things, but she hadn’t really meant to hurt anyone.
As they approached Aunt Caroline’s room, Julie took Ross’s arm. She could tell he was very nervous. He wasn’t sure how Aunt Caroline would react to him, now that she knew he was Uncle Bob’s son.
“Hey . . . it’ll be okay.” Donna came up to slip an arm around Ross’s waist. They’d been spending a lot of time together in the past few days, and Julie couldn’t help hoping that they’d start dating. Ross was such a hard worker, he’d never learned how to relax and have fun. If anyone could teach him to loosen up and be a little less serious, it was Donna.
They found Aunt Caroline ready to go, dressed in a beautiful powder-blue suit. She looked strong and healthy, totally unlike the pale, confused woman who’d been taken to the hospital on a stretcher.
Julie rushed over to hug her aunt. And so did Donna. And even Paul. But Ross stood in the doorway, looking very out of place.
“Aren’t you going to hug me, Ross?” Aunt Caroline held out her arms.
“Sure. But I didn’t think you’d want me to . . . I mean, after what happened and all.”
“Come here, Ross.” Aunt Caroline patted the spot next to her on the bed, and Ross sat down. Then she slipped her arm around his shoulders and smiled at him. “I’m only going to say this once, and then I don’t want to hear another word about it. We’ve all had a terrible shock, but it’s over. Bob killed Vicki, and that was the act of an insa
ne man. And his insanity almost cost Julie her life. When they did the autopsy, they found a brain tumor that had been growing slowly for years. That explains the horrible things he did. Bob’s disease drove him mad.”
Julie nodded. What Aunt Caroline said made sense. “If they’d found the tumor earlier, could they . . .”
“No.” Aunt Caroline interrupted her. “It was inoperable, honey. And that’s one of the reasons I asked you to bring Ross here today. I wanted him to know that his father wasn’t a bad man.”
Ross nodded. Then he took a deep breath and let it out. “I didn’t know that he was my father, Mrs. Hudson. My mother never told me.”
“Of course you didn’t know. I didn’t know, either. But now we do, and I’m glad you’re here with me. I lost Bob’s only daughter, but I still have his son. I hope you’ll stay, Ross. It’ll make me very happy if you’re here to help me run Saddlepeak Lodge.”
Tears came to Ross’s eyes, and he blinked them back. “You really want me to?”
“I certainly do. Vicki had a college fund, and I’d like you to have it. You can commute if you like, or you can live on the campus in Denver. Either way is fine with me. But when you graduate, I want you to come back as the manager of Saddlepeak Lodge.”
They all saw the expression of delight that crossed Ross’s face. He’d told Julie that he loved Saddlepeak Lodge. He’d been there for almost five years, and it had become his home.
Ross reached out to hug Aunt Caroline. “I’ll stay at the lodge, and I’ll commute to Denver. Donna’s going there in the fall, and we can car-pool. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”
“Caro.” Aunt Caroline smiled at him. “You really have to stop being so formal, now that you’re my stepson.”
Julie felt tears of happiness fill her eyes, and she blinked them back. It was a touching scene. And then Paul slipped his arm around her shoulders, and she looked up to see that he was blinking back tears, too.
Aunt Caroline stood up, and Ross took her arm. Then she smiled at all of them. “I think we should have a little celebration tonight. This is a new beginning for all of us.”
Donna took Aunt Caroline’s other arm, and they all began to walk out to the van. The day was perfect for a homecoming. The sky was a brilliant blue and the sun was shining brightly, reflecting off the banks of glittering white snow. Julie took a deep breath of the clear, chilled air and smiled.
“Julie?” Paul pulled her back, as Donna and Ross helped Aunt Caroline into the car. “Is it a new beginning for us, too?”
Julie knew what Paul was asking. Could she forget that he’d been involved with Vicki? Was she willing to put all this grief and trouble behind her, and make a fresh start?
Paul looked a little nervous as he waited for her answer, and Julie could tell that he really cared about her. She cared about him, too.
Julie smiled even wider as she reached out to shake his hand. “I’m Julie Forrester, and I’m very glad to meet you, Paul. I have the feeling we’re going to be very, very good friends.”
WHERE INNOCENCE DIES . . .
Expectant parents Karen and Mike Houston are excited about restoring their old rambling Victorian mansion to its former glory. With its endless maze of rooms, hallways, and hiding places, it’s a wonderful place for their nine-year-old daughter Leslie to play and explore. Unfortunately, they didn’t listen to the stories about the house’s dark history. They didn’t believe the rumors about the evil that lived there.
. . . THE NIGHTMARE BEGINS.
It begins with a whisper. A child’s voice beckoning from the rose garden. Crying out in the night. It lures little Leslie to a crumbling storm door. Down a flight of broken stairs. It calls to their unborn child. It wants something from each of them. Something in their very hearts and souls. Tonight, the house will reveal its secret. Tonight, the other child will come out to play . . .
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Joanne Fluke’s
THE OTHER CHILD
coming in August 2014!
Prologue
The train was rolling across the Arizona desert when it started, a pain so intense it made her double over in the dusty red velvet seat. Dorthea gasped aloud as the spasm tore through her and several passengers leaned close.
“Just a touch of indigestion.” She smiled apologetically. “Really, I’m fine now.”
Drawing a deep steadying breath, she folded her hands protectively over her rounded stomach and turned to stare out at the unbroken miles of sand and cactus. The pain would disappear if she just sat quietly and thought pleasant thoughts. She had been on the train for days now and the constant swaying motion was making her ill.
Thank goodness she was almost to California. Dorthea sighed gratefully. The moment she arrived she would get her old job back, and then she would send for Christopher. They could find a home together, she and Christopher and the new baby.
She never should have gone back. Dorthea pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window and blinked back bitter tears. The people in Cold Spring were hateful. They had called Christopher a bastard. They had ridiculed her when Mother’s will was made public. They knew that her mother had never forgiven her and they were glad. The righteous, upstanding citizens of her old hometown were the same cruel gossips they’d been ten years ago.
If only she had gotten there before Mother died! Dorthea was certain that those horrid people in Cold Spring had poisoned her mother’s mind against her and she hated them for it. Her dream of being welcomed home to her beautiful house was shattered. Now she was completely alone in the world. Poor Christopher was abandoned back there until she could afford to send him the money for a train ticket.
Dorthea moaned as the pain tore through her again. She braced her body against the lurching of the train and clumsily made her way up the aisle, carefully avoiding the stares of the other passengers. There it started and she slumped to the floor. A pool of blood was gathering beneath her and she pressed her hand tightly against the pain.
Numbness crept up her legs and she was cold, as cold as she’d been in the winter in Cold Spring. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips moved in silent protest. Christopher! He was alone in Cold Spring, in a town full of spiteful, meddling strangers. Dear God, what would they do to Christopher?
“No! She’s not dead!” He stood facing them, one small boy against the circle of adults. “It’s a lie! You’re telling lies about her, just like you did before!”
His voice broke in a sob and he whirled to run out the door of the parsonage. His mother wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be dead! She had promised to come back for him just as soon as she made some money.
“Lies. Dirty lies.” The wind whipped away his words as he raced through the vacant lot and around the corner. The neighbors had told lies before about his mother, lies his grandmother had believed. They were all liars in Cold Spring, just as his mother had said.
There it was in front of him now, huge and solid against the gray sky. Christopher stopped at the gate, panting heavily. Appleton Mansion, the home that should have been his. Their lies had cost him his family, his inheritance, and he’d get even with all of them somehow.
They were shouting his name now, calling for him to come back. Christopher slipped between the posts of the wrought-iron fence and ran into the overgrown yard. They wanted to tell him more lies, to confuse him the way they had confused Grandmother Appleton, but he wouldn’t listen. He’d hide until it was dark and then he’d run away to California where his mother was waiting for him.
The small boy gave a sob of relief when he saw an open doorway. It was perfect. He’d hide in his grandmother’s root cellar and they’d never find him. Then, when it was dark, he’d run away.
Without a backward glance Christopher hurtled through the opening, seeking the safety of the darkness below. He gave a shrill cry as his foot missed the steeply slanted step and then he was falling, arms flailing helplessly at the air as he pitched forward into the deep, damp black
ness.
Wade Comstock stood still, letting the leaves skitter and pile in colored mounds around his feet, smiling as he looked up at the shuttered house. His wife, Verna, had been right, the Appleton Mansion had gone dirt cheap. He still couldn’t understand how modern people at the turn of the century could take stock in silly ghost stories. He certainly didn’t believe for one minute that Amelia Appleton was back from the dead, haunting the Appleton house. But then again, he had been the only one ever to venture a bid on the old place. Amelia’s daughter Dorthea had left town right after her mother’s will was read, cut off without a dime—-and it served her right. Now the estate was his, the first acquisition of the Comstock Realty Company.
His thin lips tightened into a straight line as he thought of Dorthea. The good people of Cold Spring hadn’t been fooled one bit by her tears at her mother’s funeral. She was after the property, pure and simple. Bringing her bastard son here was bad enough, but you’d think a woman in her condition would have sense enough to stay away. And then she had run off, leaving the boy behind. He could make a bet that Dorthea was never planning to send for Christopher. Women like her didn’t want kids in the way.
Wade kicked out at the piles of leaves and walked around his new property. As he turned the corner of the house, the open root cellar caught his eye and he reached in his pocket for the padlock and key he’d found hanging in the tool shed. That old cellar should be locked up before somebody got hurt down there. He’d tell the gardener to leave the bushes in that area and it would be overgrown in no time at all.
For a moment Wade stood and stared at the opening. He supposed he should go down there, but it was already too dark to be able to see his way around. Something about the place made him uneasy. There was no real reason to be afraid, but his heart beat faster and an icy sweat broke out on his forehead as he thought about climbing down into that small dark hole.