A Shadow on the Ground

by Smith, Rebecca Lee

  He opened her drawers for the second time, one by one, running his hands around the perimeters, feeling for false backs. He forced himself to stay detached and not let his gaze linger any longer than it had to on her things. He propelled it along, skimming over her books, the neatly folded clothes, the framed photographs of her family forever locked in her young embrace. He rummaged through her closet, moving things aside, putting them back, careful to leave no trace anyone had been there.

  Tyson always said Gage had been born with the gift of ransacking someone's property without leaving footprints. Not exactly something to make your parents proud, but he had no parents. Never had, really. His mother died of a stroke giving birth to him. After that, his father had wasted away grieving for her, then spent years drifting from one failed business venture to another until a swift and deadly bout of pancreatic cancer took him out in a week.

  Gage lifted the flowered dust ruffle and peered under the bed. Not even a respectable collection of dust bunnies. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Morgan and Jeremy had been gone for almost two hours. They would be back soon. He was running out of time.

  He opened the bedside table drawer and inspected it thoroughly. “Bingo,” he whispered, withdrawing the tiny crowbar like a miniature sword. He glanced around the room, then scooted her rocking chair aside, and flipped the rug back. He ran his hands over the polished wood floor. Not a mark on it. Oh, she was good. Better than she knew, in fact.

  He inspected the grooves between the wooden slats with his index finger, slowly and methodically, until a sharp ridge scraped against his fingertip pad. He inserted the crowbar and carefully pried up a small section of attached floorboard pieces. He lifted out the Lucite box, opened it, and rubbed his hand against the rough cotton flag. He wanted to unfold it, see what all the fuss was about. But he had no time to waste. He returned the box to its hiding place, smoothed out the rug, and replaced the rocker.

  He would talk to her this evening after Jeremy was in bed. Tell her to get the flag out of the house before someone came looking for it. If she became suspicious, and asked him straight-out why moving the flag was so all fired important, he would have to come clean with her. It was the only way he could protect her.

  The front doorbell jangled above him.

  He went downstairs and flung the door open. Ethan Spannagel's hand, poised to knock, froze in midair. Ethan's gaze traveled from Gage's unbuttoned shirt to his bare feet.

  “Hello,” Gage said, enjoying the shocked look on the man's face. He didn't like Ethan Spannagel, and he didn't know why. Jealousy, maybe. Ethan and Morgan seemed to have a special bond that went way back. He crossed his arms over his chest like Mr. Clean, then reconsidered trying to intimidate the guy and held his hand out. “I’m Gage Kirkland. I don’t think we’ve officially met. Thanks for helping me get Morgan and Peach away from the fire last night.”

  “Is Morgan—”

  “Not here.”

  “But you are.”

  “My son Jeremy and I are staying in the guesthouse.”

  Ethan's eyes narrowed. “Last time I looked, it was behind the main house, not in it.”

  Gage shrugged. “Well, the soaking tub is in here.”

  “Where’s Morgan?”

  “She’s with Jeremy. They walked up Pip’s Hill. Do you want to wait?”

  “No, thanks.” Ethan shoved his hands in his pockets, but made no move to go. “You know, this is a small town. People like to talk. You might want to think about that the next time you show up at Morgan’s front door half-dressed.”

  “You’re right. Next time, I’ll put my shoes on.”

  “Or you could stay somewhere else.”

  “I could.” Gage shifted his weight to the other foot. “But I’m not.”

  “Morgan and I have known each other since grade school.”

  “She told me,” Gage said. “What's it like growing up with a slaughterhouse in your backyard?”

  “I'm a vegetarian.”

  “Umm. Well.” Gage nodded. “I...uh...heard about your father. I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Do?” He looked at Gage incredulously. “What would you do?”

  “Maybe help find the person who killed him?”

  “What I think you should do is stay away from Morgan.” Ethan squinted.

  “Yeah, well. I don’t always do what people tell me to.” He smiled brightly. “Are you sure you won't wait?”

  Ethan glared at him.

  “I guess not. Well, have a nice day.” Ethan shot him one last look with his pale, watery eyes then shuffled off the porch. Gage waited until Ethan cleared the end of the walk before going back inside. He stood behind the lace curtain and watched Ethan lumber down the drive. “She'll never love you,” he whispered. “And I'll never deserve her.”

  Chapter 11

  At first Morgan thought she'd imagined it. The faint crackle of breaking twigs, the swoosh of air too close to identify. But as she and Jeremy made their way through the forest, it was clear something was tracking them.

  They lapsed into an uneasy silence, matching their gait as they tramped along the path. Jeremy hadn’t said much, and Morgan wondered if he realized they weren’t the only ones walking through the dense woods. She dropped back and glanced at her watch. They'd been gone two hours. Longer than she'd anticipated, but hardly long enough to cause Gage worry.

  Another crack. This time followed by the soft rustling of leaves.

  Jeremy glanced behind him. She didn’t want to worry the kid. Common sense told her it was probably an animal scurrying through the thick brush, scavenging for food. Raccoons or squirrels, wild turkeys, deer, even a bear or two had been spotted roaming the woods from time to time. Especially during the drought, when food and water were scarce.

  Jeremy picked up his pace and threw another worried glanced behind him.

  “It's all right,” she said, trying to sound calm. “If an animal is following us, it's probably wondering what we’re doing in its forest. Or it’s looking for food.”

  “I didn't bring anything to give them.” A trace of panic colored his voice. “Did you?”

  “No, but they won't bother us.” God, she hoped that was true. September was late for bear sightings, but it had happened before.

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Of course not,” she lied. “I've played in these woods since I was ten. Here. Hold my hand. We can make better time as a unit.” And I can stop watching you to make sure you’re okay. She fought to think of something to distract him. “Hey, did you know your Dad and I knew each other years ago?”

  “Really?”

  “Back before he married your mother. We met at the Riverbirch Harvest Festival. I was stirring apple butter beside a big tent. I looked up, and he was laughing at me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was muttering under my breath and cursing a blue streak. Stirring apple butter was the last thing I wanted to do that day, and I didn't care who knew it. He thought it was funny.”

  “And you became friends?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then how come I never saw you before the other day?”

  “Well, he lived in Atlanta, and I live here. We didn’t keep in touch.”

  A loud crunch sounded beside them. Jeremy squeezed her hand and froze.

  Morgan whirled around. “Okay!” she yelled. “Whoever is there, just stop it! You're scaring us!”

  She scanned the trees, the piles of dead leaves, the jagged stacks of rock sprouting tiny scrub cedars from their crevices. She held her breath and tried to think. Bears could be sneaky unless they were hungry. A wild boar would still be moving toward them, crashing fearlessly through the underbrush. Squirrels and raccoons would have lost interest by now. Deer would have disappeared the minute she’d made the first noise. If someone like Finch was following them for sport, she’d never be able to outrun him with a kid in tow. Another crackle of leaves, this time nearer. She put her arm around Jerem
y and drew him close. “This is not funny!” she yelled. “I know you’re there, so you might as well show yourself. I mean it! Come on out, you piece-of-shit coward!”

  Ethan Spannagel slowly emerged from behind the thick dead limbs of a felled oak.

  “Ethan! What are you—Jesus, Ethan, you scared me half to death! What are you doing here?”

  “I didn't mean to frighten you,” Ethan said. “I stopped by the house, and Gage said the two of you had walked up Pip’s Hill. I was worried about you being up here alone.”

  “So you decided to follow us?”

  “Stalking is more like it.” Jeremy pushed his baseball cap back from his forehead. “If you were looking for Morgan, why didn't you yell out her name?”

  “I thought I saw someone watching you.” Ethan pushed his glasses up on his nose. He regarded Jeremy solemnly. “I didn’t want them to see me in case I needed to go for help.”

  “You're weird,” Jeremy said. “And I don’t believe you.”

  “Did you see someone?” Morgan asked. “Who was it? Finch? Mendoza? Bert?”

  “I said I thought I saw someone. It must have been my imagination.”

  “Or Bigfoot,” Jeremy said.

  The three of them started walking. “Have you talked to Peach?” Morgan asked. “I went to see her, but she didn’t have much to say. She didn’t hang around the hospital very long either.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about Peach. She’s a survivor.”

  “Did the two of you get a chance to talk last night? She said you hadn’t been getting along, and she wanted to clear the air.”

  “Is that what she called it?”

  “Well, not specifically, but—”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have gone to Bad Moon. But she won’t leave me alone. I thought if I talked to her, I could convince her there can never be anything between us. She’s not my type. And even if she was, I couldn’t afford her.” He pushed a branch aside to let Morgan go ahead of him. “I stopped by the farm to make sure you were all right. I was planning to give you a ride home last night after the fire, but by the time I’d finished giving my statement to the sheriff, you’d already left with Gage.”

  “He and Jeremy are staying with me until Sean comes home.”

  “Do you think that's a good idea? I mean, what will people think? The two of you staying alone, out here in the middle of nowhere? It doesn't look good.”

  Morgan chuckled. “Why, Ethan, what a prude you are. They’re sleeping in the guesthouse. It’s all perfectly respectable. Since when do I give a flip what other people think?”

  Ethan moved up beside her, leaving Jeremy to bring up the rear. “Have you made any plans about leaving? Peach said you wanted to get back to Nashville as soon as possible. Are you going soon?”

  Morgan stared at him. “How can you ask that? My brother’s in jail. I can’t think about leaving now.”

  “Your brother’s in jail?” Jeremy asked. “Cool. What’d he do?”

  “He didn’t do anything,” Morgan snapped. She looked at Ethan. “As long as Sean’s in trouble, or this farm’s in trouble, I'm not goin’ anywhere.”

  “I understand,” Ethan said, nodding. “Listen, Dad’s funeral is Sunday—tomorrow.”

  “So soon?”

  “I’m having him cremated, and I just want to get it over with. But I was wondering if you could play something on the piano. I don’t know who else to ask.”

  “Of course, I'll play.”

  “Thanks,” Ethan said. “I have to meet with Pastor Byrd at three to go over the details. You can choose whatever you want. Dad didn’t care for hymns much. He won’t care what you play. The Higher Ground Baptist Church might. But he won’t.”

  “So, no Def Leppard or the B-52’s?”

  Ethan smiled shyly. “Better not.”

  “Does this mean they've finished the autopsy?”

  “I guess. Somebody from the sheriff’s department called and said they were releasing the body later today.”

  They came to the end of the path and took a sharp right out of the woods. The brilliant sunlight warmed Morgan’s face and arms. She started down the steep hill, picking her way around gopher holes and rocks.

  “I've seen you before,” Jeremy said to Ethan.

  “I don't think so. I mean, you were at the fire last night, but we’ve never actually met.”

  “I was hiding in the bushes when that man yelled at Morgan. You were on the porch, looking through her window. Then my dad came, and you ran away. I saw you.”

  The blood drained from Ethan's face. He looked at Morgan. “I—I was going to tell you, but I didn't want you to think I was a—”

  “—pussy?” Jeremy said.

  “I thought it would be better if I went for help. I’ve met Denny. He’s a loose cannon.” He laughed self-consciously. “He could do some serious damage, Morgan. You know that.”

  “Better than anyone,” Morgan said. “Don't worry about it.”

  “Yeah, don't worry about it,” Jeremy said. “My dad wasn't afraid to kick his ass.”

  Morgan opened her mouth to reprimand him, then closed it. The kid had a point.

  Halfway down the hill, the sheriff's car pulled into the driveway. When it stopped in front of the fence, a tall, sandy-haired man got out of the back seat and stretched.

  “Oh, my God,” she said. “It's Sean.” She jumped up and down, waving both arms. “Sean!” She scooped up Jeremy and swung him around, laughing and crying, “Sean’s home! He’s home! My brother’s home!”

  “Before we go running down the hill, I need tell you something,” Jeremy said.

  She set him down. “What, honey? What is it?”

  “I don’t think ‘piece-of-shit’ is an adjective.”

  Morgan laughed. “In my world it is. And as long as you’re staying here, you can use it anytime you want.”

  Jeremy grinned, looking exactly like his father. Something tightened in her chest. She grabbed his hand, and they galloped to the bottom of the hill, laughing and whooping, as if the weight of the world had been lifted off them both. She took the porch steps two at a time, threw her arms around Sean, then did something she'd only done twice in her life:she burst into tears. It was only later that she realized she'd left Ethan behind without a single thought or glance, standing alone on the top of Pip’s Hill, watching them go.

  ****

  Sean sat perched on a kitchen stool, freshly showered and shaved, wolfing down the last of the bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich Gage had made for him. “What are my plans? The only plans I have are finding some pickers and getting those apples off the trees. At this point I'd hire the 4-H Club, if I thought they’d do it.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Gage said.

  “Forget the damned apples,” Morgan said. “I want to know more about the sheriff letting you go.” She refilled Sean's coffee cup. “How do they know you didn't stab Harlan?”

  “They don’t,” Gage said. “Unless they turn up more prints. What they do know is Sean didn't stab him while he was alive. Once a person is dead, their heart stops pumping, and they can’t bleed.”

  “Well, somebody stabbed him,” Morgan said.

  “True,” Gage said. “But if they can prove Sean stabbed Harlan after he died, the most they can get him for would be mutilation of a dead body. Which is no small thing, but it’s not murder. No one killed Harlan with a knife. He was already dead. His blood was so thin, he hemorrhaged, which probably muddied the waters for the autopsy but in no way changed the outcome. Whoever tried to frame your brother for Harlan's death wasn't very smart. But then, most criminals aren't smart. Most criminals are idiots.”

  Sean leaned back against the wall. “And you know this because....”

  “He's an ex-PI,” Jeremy said proudly. “You should've seen him throw that creep against Morgan's piano. It was awesome!”

  “What creep?” Sean looked from Gage to Morgan. “What happened? What are you not telling me?'

  “Denny showed up the
day after you were arrested,” Morgan said

  “Oh, Lord,” Sean said. “What did he want?”

  “He wanted to take back the flag he gave her,” Jeremy said. “You know, the one that real famous general used in the Civil War? The one she's gonna sell for a lot of money?”

  Sean looked at Morgan. “No. I don't.”

  “Come on, Jeremy,” Gage said quickly, as if he recognized a storm blowing in when he saw one. “Let's go pack. Now that Sean's here, our bodyguard services are no longer needed.”

  “No,” Sean said. “Stay until you find a place. You've both been great to watch out for Morgan. The guesthouse is sitting there empty. You might as well use it.”

  “That okay with you, Morgan?” Gage asked.

  She nodded.

  “Okay, then. Thanks,” Gage said. He raised his eyebrows and gave her a little bolstering smile. He placed his hands on Jeremy's shoulders and turned him toward the door. “Okay, sport. Let's go unpack.”

  After they'd left, Sean said, “Okay, twin of mine. Spill it. What was the kid talking about?”

  “Denny gave me an old Civil War battle flag that had belonged to his father. It's supposed to be very rare and worth a lot of money.”

  “What are we talking here? Hundreds of dollars? Thousands?”

  “Hundreds of thousands,” Morgan said quietly.

  Sean whistled through his teeth. “And this is the first I've heard of it?”

  “I wanted to tell you. But I was afraid you'd—”

  “Want you to share it with me?”

  “I was afraid you'd find out why Denny gave it to me.”

  “I think I have an idea.”

  She crossed her arms across her chest and leaned against the counter for support. “The flag was a bribe not to press charges when he—when he hit me.”

  “I figured as much.” He walked to the sink and poured the rest of his coffee down the drain. Then he turned and looked at Morgan with her father’s eyes. “Do you think I didn’t suspect something? You couldn’t hide the bruises on your arms. I heard you crying in the middle of the night. We knew you’d had a miscarriage.”

  “How?”

  “You know what this town is like. Doc Branson let it slip to Opal at church. He wanted to put you on the prayer list.”