Rose from the Grave

by Candace Murrow

  Bile rose in Chance's throat, heat flooded his arm, and before he could stop himself, he fisted a hand and decked Tim, who staggered backward and fell on his rear. Tim scrambled to his feet, his nose dripping with blood, just as the sheriff's cruiser swung in next to Chance's truck. The sheriff charged into the fray, planting himself between Tim and Chance.

  Tim seethed like a wounded bull. "Let me at him."

  Sheriff Holmes held Tim back while Chance massaged his fist. Tim wiped his bloody nose with the rag from his back pocket and slowly calmed down.

  "What's going on here?"

  "He started it," Tim said. "He accused me of all kinds of crap. He's crazy."

  "Go back to work. I'll handle this."

  Tim scowled at Chance and bellowed, "I want to press charges." Then he stomped into the auto bay to watch.

  The sheriff turned to Chance. "We have a real problem here."

  "Why don't you control your son?"

  "You need to take a step back, Eliason. You're the one getting out of control. I had to smooth it over with Wheeler because you hassled him, and now Tim. An assault on top of that." He opened his palm to Chance. "I want you to relinquish your keys and get in the cruiser."

  "You've got to be kidding."

  "It's either that, or I'll slap an assault and battery charge on you, and you can have your day in court. Your choice."

  Chance squeezed the back of his neck to relieve the mounting tension. He knew he'd crossed the line. He dropped his keys into the sheriff's hand and slid into the back seat of the cruiser.

  At the sheriff's office he let Holmes direct him past two vacant desks to the back of the building and into one of two empty jail cells, which in a town the size of Rosswood were rarely used. Chance glanced out the window at a field overgrown with grass and weeds, then sat on a hard cot with his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands clasped together. The door clanked shut, metal on metal.

  Chance rose and grabbed onto the metal bars. "You know, Holmes, besides having her house broken into, Kat Summers has been getting unwanted phone calls ever since she's been here. Someone is so frightened of the truth they're trying to scare her off. I'm beginning to believe her theory about Brianna's death, that it was no suicide. What do you think about that?" He didn't get an answer. "Someone should keep an eye on Ms. Summers," Chance yelled as the sheriff left the building.

  * * *

  Sheriff Holmes found Tim at the gas pumps washing a customer's window. The sheriff's shoulders were permanently bunched in pain.

  Everything he'd done to quell the bleeding from his son's mistakes was crumbling before his eyes. He'd been too lenient with Tim, too soft on him, by overlooking his bullying, his temper, his womanizing. The boy needed discipline.

  He waited in the cruiser until Tim finished collecting the money and the car at the pump drove off. He motioned Tim over.

  Tim joined him in the front seat. "So, did you slap those charges on the sonovabitch?" His eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and he smelled like a putrid combination of gas and grease, nearly nauseating his father.

  "Don't be stupid."

  "It was his fault," Tim said. "I didn't do anything."

  "Shut up and listen to me. If you don't back off, the Summers woman is going to keep snooping around until she finds out it's true that you were there the night her sister died, and I won't be able to help you. Is that what you want? Now she's got Eliason on the trail, all because you're an idiot. I'm telling you to leave the Summers woman alone."

  "But, Dad--"

  "Shut up, for once in your life." The sheriff gripped the steering wheel and stared off into space as Tim slumped down. "You're forcing me to take matters into my own hands and see to it that the woman leaves town for good."

  "It serves her right," Tim said.

  Sheriff Holmes banged the steering wheel with his fist. "Damn it, Tim, just shut the fuck up."

  CHAPTER 31

  Kat reached into the cupboard for the fluted glass vase and the round casserole dish and cushioned them in a box padded with kitchen towels. This was the last box to go.

  She'd worked all afternoon sorting through the rest of Brianna's belongings and packed and transported them to Tilly and her grandmother, a very appreciative pair. Kat also washed and dried the bedding.

  A few items Kat couldn't part with and kept in remembrance of her sister: Brianna's gold rings she'd found on the windowsill, the tattered teddy bear Brianna clung to whenever life at home was intolerable, two flannel work shirts, a white mug with Brianna's name emboldened in bright red letters, and the wool hat Tim Holmes had found in the car's backseat.

  Kat arched her back, stretching out the soreness, and picked up the apple she'd bought earlier. While she munched the sweet juicy flesh, thoughts of the incredible night she spent with Chance seeped around the edges of her carefully built walls, but she brushed those thoughts aside. Longing for a solid, loving relationship she'd never allow herself to have seemed pointless.

  In thirty minutes she had an appointment to meet the Faulkeses at their cabin. The sun was low in the sky, the light fading. She slumped on the couch, tipped her head back, and closed her eyes, promising herself a minute's rest, but more fatigued than she'd realized, she drifted into sleep.

  * * *

  Chance paced the jail cell like a trapped panther. He was tired and hungry, but all he could think about was Kat and how much he wanted to see her before she left town, if that was what she truly intended to do. He hoped her leaving was nothing more than a rumor.

  A cold draft swept through from up front. He recognized the sheriff's off-key whistle. "Hey, when are you going to let me out of here? It's been two hours."

  Sheriff Holmes appeared with the keys jingling in his hand. He gave Chance a disdainful look but nevertheless unlocked the door and slid it aside, clattering it open. "I don't suppose you've curbed that anger of yours."

  "And I don't suppose you've checked on Kat Summers," Chance said, shadowing him to the entrance.

  "As far as I can tell, she's in no danger. That murder theory of hers doesn't fly, Eliason. If you ask me, the Summers woman might be as unstable as her sister."

  "Watch it, Holmes."

  "Oh yeah, I forgot about how it is between you two."

  "That's none of your business."

  "Remember, I investigated Brianna Whitley's death, and I determined it to be a clear case of suicide."

  "And you've never rushed to judgment or made a mistake?"

  The sheriff bumped shoulders with Chance on his way to opening the door. "Your truck's outside. The keys are in the ignition. Good afternoon." He ushered Chance out. "Oh, and I'd advise you to keep away from Tim."

  Chance groused a reply. His first thought when he wrapped his hands around the steering wheel was of Kat. She wanted space, but that didn't mean he couldn't check up on her to ensure her safety.

  * * *

  He had to see her, even if that meant the possibility of ruining his plans. Kat Summers was leaving town soon. He couldn't let that happen. But he had to be careful. He couldn't afford to bungle this.

  The trees afforded him a nice cover. He snuck around to the front of her house, ever so slowly, and peered in the window just to get a peek at her, alert not to be noticed.

  Ah . . . She was on the couch, resting, dreaming of him, no doubt. "Soon, we'll be together. Very soon."

  But how could she be dreaming of him when she planned to leave town? How could she? The woman was forcing him to act before he was ready. His mother always pushed him. He hated to be pushed.

  His wistful thoughts turned wicked and biting. If only Brianna had cooperated, he wouldn't be in this bind, he wouldn't be under this incredible pressure.

  He gritted his teeth and pressed his hands against his face. The pain throbbed. It wouldn't stop. The only way to make it go away was to have her in his grip and satisfy his urges. He breathed in short, shallow pants.

  He should act now, never mind about later. He couldn't wai
t another minute to execute his plan. Just as he squeezed the cold metal doorknob, a car's engine roared in the distance and lights flickered through the trees. An intruder.

  He lingered until his palms moistened and the lump in his throat thickened, until the thrill of being caught quickened into panic.

  He dashed around the house and darted into the woods.

  * * *

  Chance slowed to a stop in front of Brianna's house. Kat's SUV was in the driveway, but no lights were on inside. He cut the engine and waited, mulling whether or not to knock. The worst that could happen was a rejection, but the best that could happen was her allowing him to take her in his arms.

  Swallowing his apprehension, he stole a peek in the window. She was resting on the couch. He didn't have the heart to disturb her. At least she was home safe.

  Despite the fact he'd eaten there earlier, he drove to Bertie's, speculating if Kat woke hungry, she would end up there, too. If not, he'd have an excuse to drive by the house again on his way home.

  The Grill was raucous, typical for a Friday evening, with pool balls clashing, voices rising, and the jukebox booming out a tune. He sat at the bar and ordered a beer and a hamburger. He looked around but didn't see any of the usual faces.

  Sue Ann, who was taking orders in the main area kept an eye on him, but he never intended to bother her. He rubbed the hand that had dealt the blow to Tim Holmes. Jail time or not, Chance had had the satisfaction of letting the punk know how it felt on the receiving end of a fist.

  * * *

  Kat woke, disoriented. She'd heard a loud, grating noise. To hear where it was coming from, she forced herself to get up and listen.

  Startled at the scratching sound that came from the back of the house, she crept toward the bedroom to investigate. A shadow of an arm swept the window pane.

  Still groggy from sleep, she grabbed the only weapon-like object she could find--Brianna's umbrella--and slipped outside, vowing once and for all to discover the culprit who'd been giving her grief.

  The wind kicked up and swirled around her, chilling her legs and flapping her shirt tail. She tightened her grip on the umbrella. While she'd slept, the sun had descended the hills, and the surroundings blended together in shadowy layers.

  Hunched with the umbrella in hand, she snuck around the side of the house along the trampled path. When she reached the corner, a large wind gust whistled through the yard, causing a bang from the front of the house.

  She wasn't sure how to proceed and began to turn back. But the scraping noise started up again, and she was certain someone was trying to open the bedroom window. Was there more than one intruder?

  With the umbrella poised like a spear, she darted around the corner, shouting, "Hold it right there."

  Scratching the window was a low-hanging branch. Kat let out an anxious giggle. A mixture of nerves and exhaustion could generate anything.

  Even so, just to be safe, she sneaked around front with the umbrella steady in her hand and discovered the wind had slammed the door shut. She jiggled the knob again and again, but no amount of jiggling would force the door open. It had locked from the inside.

  "Dammit." Kat marched around back and tugged on the bedroom window. It wouldn't budge.

  Her purse and her cell phone were in the house, as was her jacket. She rubbed her arms for warmth. With the wind a factor, the temperature was sinking fast.

  She pressed the button that lit up the face of her watch. She was already ten minutes late to her appointment with the Faulkeses. Back around the house, she knelt in front of the SUV's bumper and felt for the magnetic metal box where she kept the spare key.

  On the upside, she'd left the directions to the cabin on the passenger's seat. Using a flashlight from the glove box, she figured out her route. She'd take her chances with no driver's license and hope that later Lenny would help her pry the bedroom window open.

  No lights were on in the church, nor was the pastor's Jeep in the parking lot. Tilly's house was dimly lit. Kat wondered where everyone gathered on a Friday night, where Chance was in particular. He hadn't tried to contact her. She fought back the empty feeling, the unanticipated disappointment.

  She flipped on the heater but hadn't given the SUV a proper time to warm up. It spewed lukewarm air.

  Before making the turn onto Pine Road, she glanced to the left toward Chance's driveway in time to see a vehicle's headlights. Her stomach clenched. It may have been his truck, but she'd only caught a glimpse before needing to turn right. According to Lenny's map, the cabin was only a short jog off Pine Road. She pressed on.

  In October the dark came quickly to this mountain community. A bitter night was settling in. She jacked up the heat. She wished she'd agreed to meet the Faulkeses earlier in the day or in the morning before she left town.

  Because of no driver's license, she lumbered along under the speed limit. The farther she drove, the thicker the trees grew—pines and firs clustered on both sides like a fortress of murky green. With no artificial lighting to guide her, it was darker than in town.

  Finally she spotted the For Sale sign Lenny told her to watch for. Its reflective letters flashed in the dark. Just past the sign, she turned onto a dirt road and was snared by the deepening shades of gray.

  The SUV snaked over the potholed path, jarring Kat from side to side. Up ahead in the distance lights filtered through the trees. She fought back an unsettling feeling. The thought of turning around crossed her mind, but then a pine grove opened into a clearing, and the cabin materialized.

  It was nothing as Kat had imagined. In the moonlight it looked more like a miner's shack than a summer retreat. The wood was weathered, as if it hadn't been painted or stained since it was first built. The windows were tiny squares barely large enough to look through. The porch steps were uneven and saggy in places. The Faulkeses needed more help than she could give them, perhaps the help of a demolition crew.

  She noticed no other cars around, but lights flickered inside, rose and fell like flames from a fireplace. When she exited the car, she smelled the wood smoke, confirming her suspicions. Someone was waiting for her.

  CHAPTER 32

  Without a jacket for warmth, Kat stood on the cabin's porch on a plank that squished beneath her boots, shivering from the forest's deep evening chill. As she raised her fist to knock, an owl hooted so close to the cabin she glanced at a nearby tree, but it was too dark to see any details. When she turned back, the door creaked opened.

  The doctor stared back at her. "Come in." He had a warm and friendly smile, but his breathing was fast and choppy. Moisture laced his upper lip, dirt caked the edges of his shoes, and his shirt had perspiration stains under the arms.

  Kat looked past him into a room that was sparsely filled with second-hand furnishings: a faded plaid sofa; a worn coffee table facing a roaring fire; a wooden dining table with mismatched chairs. "Why are you here?" A cool breeze whipped through the doorway, chilling her back. She hugged her arms to her chest.

  "Come in. Come in. I can see that you're cold. You should be wearing a coat. You could catch your death."

  She entered but stayed near the door. He slid it shut and stood so near to her she could feel his breath on her hair. She stepped to the side, putting more distance between them.

  He motioned toward the fireplace. "I made that for you. Why don't you come and sit by the fire?"

  "Where are the Faulkeses?"

  "Not to worry. They'll be along shortly. They got hung up on the time and asked me if I would let you in. And I did, didn't I?"

  White candles were scattered about on the hearth, the mantelpiece, the table--all burning bright yellow flames. Lying next to the candle on the table was one white rose.

  "Didn't I?" he repeated.

  "What?"

  "You didn't answer me. I said I let you in, didn't I?" His hospitable smile faded, replaced by an irritable glare.

  Something wasn't right. "I think maybe I should come back later."

  In one q
uick move he backed against the door, blocking her exit. She had to move farther inside the room just to get away from the proximity of him.

  "Why don't you sit by the fire like I asked you to?"

  "Why don't you let me leave, and you can tell Lenny I'll come by another time."

  He squinted his BB-like eyes, the color deepening.

  "In fact, I can stay here and look for myself," she said. "Maybe you should go."

  His face darkened into a storm. "That's what you always say to me."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Shut up, Brianna."

  She took a step back. "I'm not Brianna. I'm her sister. You know that. Are you all right?"

  He stared at her, unresponsive, his face distorted in an odd way that seemed as if he were trying to make sense of what she'd said but wasn't quite putting it together. Something was definitely wrong with the man.

  "I think you should move away from the door and let me leave this instant."

  "Not this time, Brianna. You're not going away this time."

  He obviously wasn't going to let Kat go. She strode to the back of the cabin into a room she thought might be a bathroom, hoping she could lock herself in or find another way out, but she rammed her knee into a metal bed frame. She winced from the pain.

  The room had no door to secure against him, so she felt around for a chair, a lamp, a book, anything to use for self-defense. Her eyes acclimated to the dark, and the fire from the other room gave off just enough light for her to realize nothing in this room would help her.

  She stationed herself against the wall next to the doorway, listening for his footsteps, and waited for what seemed like hours, the icy feel of the wall seeping into her. She heard nothing but the crackling fire. Her heart throbbed. Her knees weakened.