A Shadow on the Ground

by Smith, Rebecca Lee

  Gage crouched in the high weeds beside the car. He leapt on to the porch, swiped the key from beneath the planter, and unlocked the Spannagel’s front door. Morgan joined him in the living room.

  “It's ten after three,” Morgan said. “If Ethan dropped the paper off without talking to the pastor, we've got about ten—twelve minutes. I’ll search upstairs for the pills. You look for the files.”

  Morgan opened Harlan’s bedroom door and was surprised to find his room exactly as she'd seen it the day Harlan had died, with one exception: no pill bottles. She looked in his drawers and closet, lifted the lid of the old steamer trunk at the end of his bed. What had happened to them? Had they been confiscated by the police as evidence? Had Ethan thrown them away? The first thing she’d done after her grandfather died was rake all his medicine bottles into a bag and toss them in the trash.

  She hesitated before opening the door to Ethan’s room, then wrapped her shirttail around the brass doorknob and turned. She looked under the bed, felt under the mattress, opened and closed his drawers. A black suit in a clear plastic cleaner's bag hung in the closet beside a freshly laundered white shirt. Funeral clothes. She picked up the shoebox sitting on the closet floor and lifted the lid. The sweet, pungent odor of vanilla and jasmine rose up, permeating the air. She pulled the white tissue paper apart and tried to comprehend why she was staring at an open bottle of her favorite perfume instead of Ethan’s shoes.

  The soft, crunchy sound of tires rolling over gravel rumbled outside the bedroom window.

  Her heart crashed into her throat.

  She slammed the lid on the shoebox and shoved it in the closet.

  “Morgan!” Gage yelled. “He's back! Time to haul ass!”

  She ran into the hall. Halfway down the stairs, she remembered she'd left Ethan's bedroom door open. She spun on a dime, retraced her steps, and pulled the door shut. The sound echoed through the hall like a clap of thunder.

  “Morgan!”

  She started running. OhGodOhGodOhGod. She swung around the banister and stumbled down the stairs.

  Outside, a car door slammed.

  “Hurry! Quick!” Gage stood at the bottom of the steps. His eyes darted to the window. He held out his hand, and she clasped his arm. The strength of it pulled her toward him until she was airborne. His other arm circled her waist to steady her landing on the braided rug.

  She hit the ground running.

  “Back door,” she gasped. “Through there.”

  “After you, my dear.”

  They sprinted around the dining room table to the kitchen, then dodged another table and trashcan before escaping out the back door. The key sounded in the front lock. Gage pulled the door closed, then pressed his fingers against the wavy glass windowpane to keep it from rattling. They ducked under the kitchen window and slid to a stop at the corner of the house.

  “Slow breath,” Gage said. “In your nose, out your mouth, count of four.” He grinned at her. “Oh, and act natural.”

  The back door opened. “Sean?” Ethan said. “Are you out here?”

  “Hey,” Morgan said. The rasp in her voice gurgled like she’d been swallowing water. Her pulse pounded in her throat. She flashed Ethan a bright smile. The skin where she’d been slapped pulled taut against her cheekbone.

  “I saw Sean’s Jeep,” Ethan said.

  “Yeah, the transmission on the truck is acting up again. We were...uh...”

  “Good seeing you again,” Gage’s low baritone boomed jovially. He held out his hand, and Ethan shook it. “Morgan's been a basket case, trying to figure out exactly who in this sleepy little burg would want to frame her brother for your father’s murder.”

  Morgan shot him a warning glance.

  “So, I suggested she come back to the scene of the crime. See if anything jogs her memory that might help Sean’s defense. She didn't want to look around while you weren’t here, but I told her that since the two of you are such close friends, and you have her best interests at heart, you wouldn't mind.” He gave Morgan an indulgent, exasperated look, so exaggerated, it almost made her laugh. “But now our girl’s having second thoughts.”

  “It was just so...gruesome,” she said. “We should have waited for you.”

  “I was on my way to meet Pastor Byrd,” Ethan said. “Then I realized I'd forgotten the list of scriptures I want him to read at Dad's funeral.” He smiled tentatively at Morgan. “But if you think it will help Sean, I'll open the slaughterhouse for you.”

  “No, no.” She glanced at the slaughterhouse anxiously. “I thought I'd be able to go back in there, but the memories are so...fresh. And now I...I just don't think I can.”

  Gage slid his arm around her shoulders. “Baby, you're trembling.”

  Ethan shot him a look of pure disdain. “Morgan, I think finding Dad's body has been more traumatic for you than you realize.”

  “Exactly what I told her,” Gage said. “Maybe she'll believe it, coming from you.”

  “The autopsy is in,” Ethan said. “I didn’t think it would be back so soon. I think Sheriff Stallard must have hustled it through.”

  “Cause of death?” Gage asked.

  “Hemorrhagic bleeding from an overdose of anticoagulants.”

  “Time of death?”

  “Between one and three. Sheriff Stallard explained that once a person is dead, the heart stops pumping and blood stops flowing, so even though a massive amount of blood was lost when Dad was alive, his cause of death could still be determined.” He looked at Morgan. “I shouldn’t have said anything. You’re white as a ghost.”

  “Are ghosts white?” Morgan shivered. “Sorry, Ethan. Sorry to cause so much trouble.”

  “No trouble,” Ethan said. “Do you want to come inside? I could make you a drink.”

  “Thanks, but I think I should get back home. Sean’s alone with the pickers.”

  “Pickers?” Ethan said. “You found pickers?”

  “Only two,” Gage said. “But they’re hard workers.” He edged his way up the driveway, still holding on to Morgan. “Isn’t that great?”

  “Great.” Ethan’s gaze never left Morgan's face. “Maybe now things will finally turn around for the orchard, and you can leave Riverbirch. You still want to leave, don't you?”

  “Of course I want to leave. There's nothing for me here.”

  “Nothing, Morgan?” His pale eyes regarded her sadly. “Nothing at all?”

  “Once Sean’s name has been cleared and the harvest apples are in, only one thing could make me stay in Riverbirch.”

  “What's that?” Ethan asked hopefully.

  “A bloody miracle.”

  Chapter 15

  Gage backed the Jeep out of the weeds and headed down Milltown Road.

  “Do you think he bought it?” Morgan asked. “Any of it?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “I thought I sounded pretty convincing. But you—” The dimple beside her mouth deepened. “‘This sleepy little burg.’ What was that about?”

  “Well, it beat the hell out of, ‘Oh, Ethan!’—bat, bat, bat—‘I don't think I can go back in that scary old slaughterhouse again. It was soooo awful.’”

  “Well, it was awful. What was I supposed to say? You're the one who told him I was having second thoughts.”

  “He was waiting for an explanation. Somebody had to say something.”

  “Too bad it was all for nothing.”

  “Oh, I wouldn't say that.” Gage reached over and pulled a small trash bag from behind the front seat. He set it on her lap. “Merry Christmas.”

  She opened the bag and squealed. “Harlan's pill bottles! When did you—how did you—”

  “While you were upstairs. They were in the mudroom at the bottom of a trashcan. I’m not sure how thorough the sheriff was, but I guess the she didn’t consider them part of the crime scene.”

  “I wasn’t upstairs five minutes. How did you locate them so fast?”

  “I used to do this for a living. Without the
benefit of a search warrant, I might add.”

  “How did you know to hide the pills in the car? Did you know Ethan would come back?”

  “No, but I've learned not to take chances. In and out. As fast as possible.”

  “I might have to cross-stitch that on a pillow for you.”

  “Well, it's not going in the bedroom,” he said, laughing.

  “I just wish you'd been able to find the account folder.”

  “It's in the trunk.”

  She stared at him with her mouth open. “Unbelievable.”

  “They were in the china closet drawer. You know, the Hamster’s not too bright.”

  “Why do you call him that?”

  “Because he is one. If he was a turtle, I’d call him a turtle. He’d still be in love with you.”

  “He is not.”

  “Is too.”

  “Is not.”

  Gage lowered the window. “I get a very crazy-obsessive vibe from him. He probably has a picture shrine of you plastered on a wall somewhere. Or a Hannibal Lecter hole dug in the basement of his house.”

  “All I found was one picture. I don't think that qualifies as either crazy or obsessive.”

  “He probably snipped off a lock of your hair when you weren't looking and sleeps with it tucked inside his pillowcase. That’s where I hid my blankie at summer camp. Did you check his pillow?”

  “Stop it,” Morgan said, laughing. “You're the crazy one.”

  “No, I’m the hungry one.”

  She smiled at him, and his heart lurched. Then she looked at him with such unabashed affection, it made his legs go weak. They’d had a close call at the Hamster’s house, but it had brought out the best in her. She’d kept her cool. Kept her head. They’d bantered back and forth like they’d been breaking into people’s houses together for years. Why had he spent all those years working alone? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun.

  The R-rated fantasies he’d spun in his head featuring Morgan had all been soft focus, wrapped in a kind of dreamy gauze, and about as romantic as a guy who’d never made it through a Lifetime movie could craft. They had nothing to do with the person sitting beside him, a woman with brains, and a wicked sense of humor, and a huge, caring, strong, brittle heart.

  He liked this Morgan—the real Morgan. He liked her take on the world, the way she handled herself. The way she laughed at herself. He liked the way her smart, sassy mouth could take no prisoners one minute and tremble beneath his touch the next. He marveled at the way the light in her eyes could wrap around him, healing him, grounding him, making him believe the miracle of love was more than a myth someone had made up to torture lonely people. How could he risk giving that up? How could he walk away?

  He couldn’t. And he wouldn’t.

  Not without a fight.

  The only chance he had—which, face it, was so slim, it barely existed—was to be honest with her. Completely, brutally, open-a-vein-and-bleed honest. Even that might not be enough. If he told her the truth, that the only reason he’d agreed to recover the flag was to help Jeremy, maybe, just maybe she would understand. And maybe she wouldn’t.

  “Are you up for barbecue?” she asked. “There’s a place in Cherokee Bluff called Hog Heaven.”

  “I think that’s a country-western bar.”

  “Well, you are in Tennessee.”

  “I’m always up for southern fried indigestion.” He handed her his cell phone. “Mine seems to get a better signal. Call Sean and tell him we have the goods. Don’t want him worrying.”

  After she checked in with Sean, Gage said, “You and your brother sound like good friends. I know you’re twins, but some twins can’t be in the same room without wanting to strangle each other.”

  “I’ve always felt protective of him. That it was up to me to keep the bad guys at bay.”

  “Like you’re doing now?”

  “Sean and I were born polar opposites. He was a sweet, gentle kid. I was Nellie Oleson. But don’t let him fool you. That sweet, gentle kid has a will of iron. In his own quiet way, he usually gets what he wants. He can talk me into anything.”

  “Good childhood? Except for your parents dying?”

  “Well, that did kind of put a damper on things. My grandpa was a widower when he took us in, and I think he married Opal so he wouldn’t have to be a single parent. Of course, to his surprise, she ended up being anything but the motherly type. He raised us Old School. Sean got to drive the truck and taste the apple wine. I got to make apple butter and practice piano. Maybe that's why I detested the farm so much; Sean seemed to be having all the fun. Looking back, I realize he didn’t have it so easy, but at the time, the freedom he’d been handed because he’d been born a boy, made me envious. And angry.”

  “But you still watched out for him.”

  “Someone had to.” She lapsed into a long silence.

  “What are you thinking about? I know the girl usually asks the guy that, but I’m willing to break tradition if you are.”

  “I was thinking about all the hours I spent practicing piano to win a music scholarship at UT. And how I only did it because it was my ticket out of Riverbirch.”

  “I thought you loved piano. What would you have rather been doing?”

  “Almost anything.”

  “Whoa.” Gage shook his head. “You've got a priceless treasure hidden in your house that could bring you enough money to give you what you've always wanted. And you don't have any idea what that is?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then we need to figure out what you want to be when you grow up.”

  Morgan laughed. “I'm pathetic, aren't I?”

  He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “You're beautiful. And smart. And quite possibly the love of my life. But you are anything but pathetic. You want to know what pathetic is? Pathetic is not listening to your heart when every instinct inside you swears you should. Pathetic is spending your life wishing for what might have been, and not having the guts to do something about it. Does that sound like a crazy person talking?”

  She squeezed his hand. “It sounds like a hungry person talking.”

  He glanced in the rearview mirror. The motorcycle was still behind them. He hadn’t said anything because he didn’t want to worry her, but he couldn’t sit on it any longer. He tried to sound casual. “Do you know anyone who rides a motorcycle besides Denny?”

  “The Wheeler twins ride them, and I think Deputy Nelson has one. Why?”

  “One has been following us since we started over the mountain. I've given it every opportunity to pass, but if I slow down, it drops back. When we go around a switchback, it stays too close for me to see the rider’s face.”

  She flipped the sun visor down and looked in the vanity mirror. “It’s too dark to see anything but a pair of black shoulders hunched over the handlebars. It looks sinister. Like the faceless driver of a hearse that stops on the road in front of you and opens its door.”

  “I wish I had your imagination.”

  If Gage had been alone, he would have tried to lose the bike. But with Morgan in the car, he was forced to own up to his limitations as a mountain driver. He kept his eye on the rearview mirror and downshifted around the last series of hairpin turns. When he started over the bridge, he approached the stop sign, but instead of slowing down, he slammed his foot on the brake. The cyclist swerved to the right and skidded hard across the pavement, barely missing the Jeep’s back bumper. After the bike righted itself, the driver revved the motor a few times, then made a wide U-turn and headed back up the mountain.

  “He's leaving,” Gage said. “He just flipped us off. Well, that wasn’t nice.”

  “Do you think it was Denny?” She squinted out the back window. “Why the hell don’t they put a streetlight at this intersection?”

  “If it was Denny, I think he was trying to spook you.”

  “One of the few things he excels at.”

  Gage glanced at her. “Do you s
till want to eat? I can take you home, if you want.”

  “No, we’re safe. Denny’s a coward. He only bullies women who are alone.” She blew out a breath. “Look, I swore a long time ago, I wouldn’t let Denny, or the fear of Denny, rule my life. And I’m not about to start now.”

  “Good girl.” Gage pulled into Hog Heaven and cut the motor. “Popular place. Is this the local Saturday hot spot? I see kids and grandparents.”

  She laughed. “Of course, you do. Welcome to date night in Riverbirch, Tennessee.”

  ****

  Ten minutes later, they were seated at a rustic wooden table covered with a red-checkered cloth. The smoky sweet aroma of pork barbecue made Morgan's mouth water, and she realized she hadn't eaten since breakfast.

  Rows of square tables and a long half-moon bar sat on a platform circling the dance floor. A split rail fence separated the diners from the dancers. Copper pigs, handmade quilts, and antique farm implements decorated the walls, giving it a cozy barn-like feel. Country music boomed from the speakers. A line of dancers dipped and kicked in unison, whooping and clapping to the music.

  “Is it always this lively?” Gage looked at the waitress’s nametag. “Suter? Well, that’s a name I’ve never heard before. But it...suits you.” He shot her a blinding grin that sent blood rushing to the girl’s cheeks.

  Been there, Morgan thought.

  “Why, this ain’t nothin’,” Suter said. “After the band sets up at nine, it’ll be so crowded, you won’t be able to fart sideways in this place.” She smiled at him, a little breathless, and smoothed a few tendrils of hair off the nape of her neck. “You should hang around.” She glanced at Morgan, his previously invisible date, and added, “Oh, and you, too.”

  After polishing off a plate of pork barbecue, coleslaw, cheese grits, and jalapeño cornbread, Gage leaned back in his chair and laughed. His deep, rich baritone rumbled across the table. Sean did that sometimes, laughed out loud for no reason at all, as if the sudden burst of joy inside him could not be contained.