She went out on the patio and tried to relax, but for once, the peacefulness of the scene failed to calm her. The day stretched before her, a gaping hole she needed to fill. She drove into Great Barrington for her usual vigil by Emily’s hospital bed. Then she had lunch at a café in town, and made use of its Wi-Fi to check her e-mail and search the Internet for the same newspaper stories about the shootings she’d refused to take from Alan yesterday. She skimmed a couple of articles without finding anything conclusive. The police report might have been more helpful. She regretted refusing Alan’s packet of information, but it was too late now. Finally, when the clink of glasses and clatter of tableware told her the tables were being set for dinner, she shut down her computer and left.
She’d no sooner entered the house than she sensed something was wrong. It was the same feeling she’d had when she returned to find the stuffed snake on the staircase. But if someone had indeed been here and left something nasty behind, it wasn’t immediately obvious. At least not in the living room or the kitchen. She went into the dining room and there on the table lay two pictures. She stopped in her tracks, heart pounding. She had to force herself to take a closer look.
One was a copy of the photo Suzy had taken of Earl feeding her a piece of cake at the anniversary party. Except that now pointy ears sprouted from her head, a long snout replaced her open mouth, and she had a bushy tail. The word “VIXEN?!” was written in large block letters at the top of the photo and repeated on the top of the second picture. It showed her with Alan at the Lion’s Den. Again, she appeared in the guise of a fox, but there was also a message written with the same black marker pen used for the drawings:
“Give you a chance to explain before I show my boy. Meet me at the ruins of the old mill at four. Roy.”
Her throat seized. She swallowed hard. The grotesque images reminded her of Diana’s defaced wedding picture. Had Roy been responsible for that, too? If she still had the wedding picture, she could have compared them, but it had disappeared from the attic with Gordon. A more important question was how Roy had gotten the photo of her and Alan. Could he have followed her to Stockbridge or just happened to be there, seen her go into the Lion’s Den, and become suspicious? Neither scenario seemed likely. Yet someone had taken the photo. She remembered the blurred face in the window, and afterward on the side street, the glimpse of a teenager.
Pete? He’d been her friend in the beginning, but how did he feel about her now that she was involved with his father? Every time she’d been around him lately, he seemed ill at ease, hardly speaking to her, barely meeting her eyes, always finding an excuse to leave as soon as possible. He might resent her being with Earl, because didn’t most kids of divorced parents secretly wish their mom and dad would get back together? Pete could have hoped Millie and Earl would reunite after Diana’s death, but then she’d come along and wrecked that dream. If he was angry at her, he must have been angry at Diana also. Enough to . . .? Impossible. He’d been ten when she was killed.
She needed to talk to him, have the conversation they probably should have had when she and Earl first got together. She tried his home in case he was back from school. The machine picked up, so she left a message.
She could only guess why Pete had gone to his grandfather instead of Earl with the photo. Maybe he was afraid his dad would be angry at him for spying on her. But then again, Roy could have put Pete up to the spying. Roy knew Earl was worried she might still be in contact with her old boyfriend. Perhaps he wanted to see whether there was any truth to it. And now that it appeared to be so, Roy was clearly mad at her. He wouldn’t have called her “vixen,” his nickname for Diana, if he weren’t. But not so mad that he wasn’t willing to hear her side of the story. Something Earl might be incapable of. At the anniversary party, Millie had said it was like Earl to shoot first and ask questions later. Roy, however, had asked her directly where the ring had come from. He’d wanted them to patch things up. Had been on her side then. Maybe he would be again, if he believed her reason for meeting Alan. He had, after all, written “vixen” with a question mark. Perhaps it was a good thing he wanted to meet with her.
But why the mill ruins? She supposed it was because there could be other family members at his house, while at hers, Earl was likely to show up. Then too, Roy might have ruled out meeting at a public place on the off chance someone would eavesdrop. The ruins, on the other hand, were far enough out of the way to give them complete privacy. And Roy probably knew she’d been there. Still, she wasn’t confident she could find the spot as readily as she had with Alan. Well, she’d just have to do her best.
Kathryn checked her watch. It was already after four. Surely, Roy would wait, but not forever. She shoved her feet into hiking boots, grabbed the daypack with a flashlight, headed out the door, and then stopped.
Omigod! She’d left the incriminating photos on the dining room table. She rushed back inside, took a last look at them and shuddered. The images drawn in thick black marker pen were so ugly. Again, she thought of Diana’s defaced wedding picture and also of the marred inscription on Marguerite’s original gravestone. An intense hatred had produced those defilements and now these. She could almost see the clenched fist holding the pen to make the drawings.
But she was letting her imagination run away with her. Roy didn’t hate her; he just wanted to clear the air. Quickly stuffing the photos under the cushion of a dining room chair, she flew from the house.
Chapter 64
Kathryn sprinted to the break in the trees that marked the beginning of Gordon’s road. She climbed over fallen trees and pushed back brush until the way cleared, and she followed a leaf-strewn path, pock-marked by hunters’ boots. Descending the slope, she crossed the rocky stream bed and scrambled up the other side.
She stopped a moment to catch her breath then forged ahead. At this time of year, the light would be gone soon, and she didn’t want to be alone in the woods at night. Dark clouds were rolling in from the west. In the gathering gloom, everything looked different. Even with the flashlight she’d brought, she’d have trouble finding her way home. But why worry about that? She could return with Roy.
Through an opening in the trees, she caught a glimpse of the early rising moon. Ordinarily the sight would have heartened her. Not tonight. It was neither a thin, lovely crescent nor a big, bright full moon, but something in between. Gibbous. An ugly name for an ugly, misshapen moon. The visible part stuck out like a woman’s pregnant belly. Like Sis’s belly before Garth shot himself and she lost her child.
She had to reach the ruins, do her explaining to Roy, and get out fast. To her enormous relief, she spotted the dried up stream bed and plunged down, heedless of the loose stones that made her slip, slide, and nearly fall. Ahead she heard the brook burbling into Leech Swamp. Almost there!
In the rapidly fading light, the swamp seemed eerier than she remembered. The brown hillocks became burial mounds, the dead tree trunks, ghosts rising from the thin layer of ice that now covered the water. Not a place to linger, even if she hadn’t been in such a rush. She escaped into the shelter of the forest, glad she was headed to where a living person waited, instead of a specter.
Picturesque in the daylight, the ruins were forbidding in the dimness. As if some monster lurked within those dark, moss-covered piles of stone. And where was Roy? She’d expected to find him waiting in front of the twin pillars. Had he given up and gone home? “Roy?” she called. No answer. Had she come for nothing? Would she ever find her way back? She should have left something to mark the path. Roy had to be here; he couldn’t have abandoned her. “Roy?” she called again. Still no answer. She wanted to cry with sheer frustration.
A light suddenly flicked on in the maze of roofless underground storerooms to one side of the pillars. Thank god!
*****
Earl put down the chain saw. His back ached and it was getting dark. Time to quit. The work was addictive, though. He’d
just cut down one more bush, one more pine tree, then he’d stop.
He hefted the saw and began, its dull whine reaching him through his ear protectors. He welcomed the noise and exertion because they kept his mind off Kathryn. He hoped that if he gave her a lot of loving, built her a house, and made a baby with her, he could hold her fast. Yet already he felt her slipping away.
The bush fell to the ground. One down, one to go. Maybe he should stop while he was ahead, while he still had the energy to get down the hill, shower and change, have dinner and make love to Kathryn. Last night he hadn’t and that bothered him. Maybe she was right to worry he was driving himself too hard. If he didn’t have the strength to give her what he thought she wanted at the end of the day, he was in trouble.
The physical connection was important to him, too. Had been ever since that afternoon on the patio when she called him kane and touched the snake tattoo on his arm. Then, he’d felt the first, faint stirring of an emotion he sensed could grow into love. Having been burned once, he’d tried his damnedest to keep away from the fire. But it had caught up with him the day he snatched her from harm’s way and carried her down the hill from the cemetery. He felt a tenderness toward her he’d never experienced with any other woman. Not with Mill. They’d been too young and too hot for each other. Not with Diana either. Their passion had a ferociousness that was nothing like the aching sweetness of his love for Kathryn. The mere thought of losing that sweetness drove him wild.
Glancing upward, he saw the rising moon. It wasn’t a full moon or a crescent, but some phase in between. He couldn’t remember the name. Didn’t matter. What mattered was how it looked: the side that was visible, beautiful and rounded, the way Kathryn’s belly would look when she was carrying their child.
He wished he was holding her in his arms now instead of this frigging chain saw. But they needed a place of their own, and if he didn’t get the land cleared, they wouldn’t have it.
Earl walked over to the pine he’d decided to take down. The tree loomed above him, taller than it had appeared from a distance, its shadow adding to the growing darkness. He better put on his headlamp before he began cutting. Its band didn’t fit comfortably around his head while he wore ear protectors and protective glasses. He tossed both aside and turned on the light. Now the tree trunk was clearly visible.
The saw roared to life. Without his ear protectors, the noise was deafening. The saw felt heavier, too, probably because he was tired. Heavier and more difficult to control, almost as if it had a mind of its own.
He wrestled the saw to the tree trunk and started cutting. Suddenly the blade hit a knot, bounced back, and smashed into the tree again. A shard of wood flew into his face. Earl closed his eyes and dropped the saw. It sputtered to the ground and shut off. He felt a searing pain near his left eye. When he tried to open it, blood blinded him. His fingers fumbled in the sticky mess, searching for the injury. The chunk of wood had created a gash dangerously close to his eye. His vision remained intact, though. Thank heaven for that! He couldn’t afford to wind up blinded like Garth, or his great-great-uncle, Clyde. Clyde who’d regained consciousness only to find himself sightless, his lover dead and gone. Earl shivered. He needed to get back to Kathryn and reassure himself that she was all right, that they were all right.
Stanching the blood with his handkerchief, he hoisted the chain saw onto his shoulder, and started downhill. He hadn’t gone far when he stumbled on a rock, lost his balance and fell, landing facedown. Dirt and pine needles ground into his wound. It stung like hell. With difficulty, he raised his head and saw a pinprick of light winking low on the horizon. The evening star. His Star summoning him down from the mountain top.
Earl wanted to cry with joy when he saw the light in the trailer. She must have come to wait for him. He ran the last few yards and threw open the door—not to Kathryn but a worried Pete.
“What’s up, son?”
“I—what happened, Dad?”
“Had a little accident. I’ll just—” He started toward the sink, but Pete caught him by the arm. “I gotta talk to you—now!”
Chapter 65
“So you’re here after all, Roy,” Kathryn called. “C’mon up and we can talk.” No answer. The light flicked off abruptly. She squinted into the gloom. What was going on? Was he teasing her like Earl at the boat ramp when he’d switched his lighter on and off? They both had the joker gene. “Quit playing games and show yourself.”
Silence. Moonlight filtering through the trees provided scant illumination— not enough to locate Roy in the dark recesses of the labyrinth. She got out her flashlight and trained it downward. Suddenly it went out. She jiggled the flashlight, trying to get it to work. Nothing. Damn!
Kathryn scowled into the murky, sunken rooms. And saw Roy’s light! On, off, on again, as if he were winking at her. She still couldn’t see him, but the light was now directed at the steps leading down into the storerooms. He wanted her to come to him. “All right, have it your way,” she groused, mentally cursing herself for a fool. This was crazy.
She started cautiously down the steps, one hand pressed against the cold, mossy stone wall beside them to steady herself, following the trail of light. When she was almost to the bottom, it suddenly went out, she missed a step, and tumbled to the ground.
She flung her arms out to break her fall, glad she landed on a pile of leaves rather than a hard surface. Still, she was annoyed that Roy had chosen that moment to extinguish his light. But maybe it wasn’t intentional, maybe his flashlight was dead, too. She was relieved when it came on again. It flashed at her from the opening of a nearby room, vanished, and then flashed a second time. Again, he seemed to be signaling to her. He certainly wasn’t making this easy.
Levering herself up, she groped toward the light. Her feet crunched on leaves, weeds swiped at her legs and rocks got in her way. A beating of wings erupted overhead. A bird disturbed from its nest? More likely departing bats. She flinched at the thought of an inky black creature flying at her. She was tempted to flee then and there. Instead, she followed Roy’s flashlight deeper and deeper into the maze. “Hey, Roy,” she protested, “can’t you stay in one place?”
Silence. The light went out, and came back on. She chased it into another room. And found it abandoned on the ground.
The next instant, everything went black. Scratchy wool enveloped her from behind. A scream caught in her throat. Panic ripped through her. A rope was wound and cinched around her forearms. Hands spun her like a top until, dizzy and nauseous, she crashed into a wall.
“Roy, what . . .?” she groaned.
“Not Roy,” a woman’s voice rasped.
Millie! A deep chill shot through Kathryn. “What’re you doing here? Where’s Roy?”
“He couldn’t make it, doesn’t even know you’re here.”
Kathryn’s heart pitched against her rib cage. Dear God. She’d walked straight into a trap. Millie had gotten Pete to spy on her and take the photo. Then Millie had written the note and made the drawings, portraying Kathryn as a fox so she’d think Roy was responsible. Millie had probably defaced Diana’s wedding picture, too. And lured her into the woods and . . .
“You killed Diana.”
“She was a filthy, home-wrecking bitch!”
“And Brian.”
“Didn’t mean to,” Millie said with a twinge of regret. “But if I let him live, I’d have spent the rest of my life in jail. Can you imagine what that would do? My boys need me. The whole community needs me. Without me, the village would fall apart. But nobody was going to miss Brian.”
Kathryn was about to point out that Brandy still grieved for her son, but stopped. She’d only anger Millie more. Best to agree with her. “That’s right, you’re a helper.”
Millie was silent a moment then she laughed. “Want a last look at your old friend? Okay, I’ll cut slits. Better hold still. Don’t want to hurt you . .
. just yet.”
Just yet. Fear gripped Kathryn like a vise. A sharp object slashed the blanket. She shut her eyes tight, sucking in her breath as it grazed her eyebrow.
“There! Did it with only a teeny nick,” Millie said. “You can open your eyes.”
Millie had gotten her flashlight back. It cast weird shadows up into her face. Kathryn recoiled. The perky, former cheerleader was now a demon with lank hair, hollow eyes and bared teeth.
“Earl belongs with me!” Millie cried. “Always has. Always will. With you outta the way, he’ll come back to me.” She brandished her weapon—a hunting knife with a long, curved, serrated blade.
Kathryn swallowed hard. She was helpless. Unless . . . She bowed her head, feigning defeat. Then, summoning all her strength, she barreled into Millie with such force that Millie fell backward. Carried forward by her own momentum, Kathryn landed on top of her. Millie grunted and twisted violently, trying to dislodge her. Kathryn struggled against the rope holding the blanket around her. During her fall, it had hiked up. She tore off the makeshift hood.
A ray of moonlight glinted on the blade of the knife. It lay on the ground, just out of reach. She grabbed at it but missed. She tried again, muscles strained to the limit, heedless of the roiling motion beneath her. Motion that left her flat on the ground, as Millie slithered out. Kathryn’s fingers were about to close on the knife when the sharp heel of a boot stomped on them. Yelping with pain, she sank her teeth into Millie’s leg.
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