Elaine gave a disparaging laugh. “People with really bad taste in furniture.”
“Not to mention their taste in food,” said Arlo, pointing at the empty can of pork and beans.
“You ate it fast enough.”
“These are survival conditions, Elaine. One does what one must to stay alive.”
“And did you see the clothes in the closets? Nothing but gingham and high collars. Pioneer dresses.”
“Wait, wait. I’m getting a mental picture of these people.” Arlo pressed his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes like a swami conjuring up visions. “I’m seeing …”
“American Gothic!” Doug tossed out.
“No, Beverly Hillbillies!” Elaine said.
“Hey, Ma,” Arlo drawled, “pass me another helping of that there squirrel stew.”
The trio of old friends burst out laughing, fueled by whiskey and the potent joys of ridiculing people whom they had never met. Maura did not join in.
“And what do you see, Maura?” asked Elaine.
“Come on,” prodded Arlo. “Play the game with us. Who do you think these people are?”
Maura looked around the room at walls devoid of decorations except for that framed poster of the dark-haired man with the hypnotic eyes and the reverently upturned gaze. There were no curtains, no knickknacks. The only books were how-to manuals. Diesel Engine Repair. Basic Plumbing. Home Veterinary Manual. This was not a woman’s house; this was not a woman’s world.
“He’s in total control here,” she said. “The husband.”
The others watched, waiting for more.
“Do you see how everything in this room is cold and practical? There’s no hint of the wife in this room. It’s as if she doesn’t exist, as if she’s invisible. A woman who doesn’t matter, who’s trapped and can’t find any way out except through a whiskey bottle.” She paused, suddenly thinking of Daniel, and her gaze blurred with tears. I’m trapped, too. In love and unable to walk away. I might as well be shut up in a valley all my own. She blinked and as her vision cleared, she found them staring at her.
“Wow,” said Arlo softly. “That’s quite a psychoanalysis for a house.”
“You asked me what I thought.” She drank the last of her whiskey and set down the glass with a hard clunk. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”
“We all need some sleep,” said Doug. “I’ll stay awake for a while and keep the fire going. We can’t let it go out, so we’ll need to take shifts.”
“I’ll take the next shift,” Elaine volunteered. She curled up on the rug and pulled her blanket around herself. “Wake me up when it’s time.”
The floor creaked as they all settled down, trying to get comfortable on the braided rug. Even with the fire burning in the hearth, the room was chilly. Beneath her blanket, Maura was still wearing her jacket. They had brought pillows down from the beds upstairs, and hers smelled like sweat and aftershave. The husband’s pillow.
With his scent against her cheek she fell asleep and dreamed of a dark-haired man with stony eyes, a man who loomed over her and watched as she slept. She saw threat in his gaze, but she could not move, could not defend herself, her body paralyzed by sleep. With a gasp she woke up, eyes wide in terror, heart banging in her chest.
No one stood above her. She stared up at empty shadows.
Her blanket had slid off, and the room was freezing. She looked at the fireplace and saw that the flames had died down to only a few glowing coals. Arlo sat snoring with his back propped up against the hearth, his head lolling forward. He had let the fire die down.
Shivering and stiff from the cold floor, Maura rose and placed another log on the hearth. The wood caught almost immediately, and flames soon crackled, throwing off delicious waves of heat. She looked in disgust at Arlo, who didn’t even stir. Useless, she thought. I can’t even count on them to keep a fire burning. What a mistake it had been to throw in her lot with these people. She was tired of Arlo’s wisecracks and Grace’s whining and Doug’s annoyingly unflagging optimism. And Elaine made her uneasy, though she didn’t know why. She remembered the way Elaine had stared when Doug had embraced Maura up on the road. I’m the interloper, the one who doesn’t belong with this happy quartet, she thought. And Elaine resents me.
The fire was now burning hot and bright.
Maura glanced at her watch and saw it was four AM. It was almost time for her shift to watch the fire anyway, so she might as well stay awake until dawn. As she stood up to stretch, a reflected glimmer caught her eye on the periphery of the firelight. Moving closer, she saw that droplets of water had beaded on the wooden floor. Then she noticed, off in the shadows, a light dusting of white. Someone had opened the door, letting in a gust of snow.
She crossed toward the door, where the snow had not yet melted, and stared down at the fine powder. Pressed into that powder was a single shoe print.
She turned and quickly scanned the room, counting the sleeping forms. Everyone present and accounted for.
The door was unlocked; no one had bothered to latch it last night, and why would they? Whom would they be trying to lock out?
She slid the bolt shut and went to look out the window. Although the room was warming up again, she was shaking under her blanket. Wind moaned in the chimney, and she heard snow hiss across the glass. She could see nothing outside, only blackness. But anyone out there would be able to see her, backlit by the glow of firelight.
She retreated from the window and sat on the rug, shivering. The snow near the door melted, taking with it the last remnants of the shoe print. Maybe the door blew open during the night, and one of them got up to shut it, leaving the print. Maybe someone stepped out to check the weather or pee in the snow. Wide awake now, she sat and watched as night slowly gave way to dawn, as the blackness outside lifted to gray.
Her companions did not stir.
When she rose to feed the fire again, she saw that they were down to their last few logs. There was plenty of wood outside in the shed, but it was probably damp. If she wanted it to dry out, someone would have to bring in an armload now. She looked at her sleeping companions and sighed. That someone would be me.
She pulled on her boots and gloves, wrapped her scarf around her face, and unlatched the front door. Bracing herself against the cold, she stepped outside, closing the door behind her. Wind swept the porch, its bite as sharp as needles. The swing creaked in protest. Glancing down, she saw no shoe prints, but the wind would have scoured anything away. A thermometer mounted on the wall read twelve degrees. It felt far colder.
The steps were buried in snow, and as she set her boot down on what she thought was the first step, her foot slid out and she fell. The impact shot straight up her spine and exploded in her skull. She sat for a moment, stunned and blinking in the dawn’s brightness. Sun beamed down from a blue sky and glared on a world turned blinding. Wind blasted a puff of powder into her face and she sneezed, which only made her head hurt worse.
She got up and brushed off her pants. Squinted at snow glistening on rooftops. Between the two rows of houses was a swath of virgin white, inviting her to be the first to tread that perfect, untouched surface. She ignored the impulse and instead tramped around the corner of the house, struggling through knee-high snow to reach the woodshed. She tried to pull a split log from the top of the pile, but it was frozen in place. Bracing one foot against the pile, she tugged harder. With a loud crack, the frozen bark suddenly gave way and she stumbled backward. Her boot caught on something buried beneath the snow, and she sprawled to the ground.
Two falls in one day. And the morning was still young.
Her head ached and her eyes felt scorched by the sunlight. She was hungry and queasy at the same time, the result of too much whiskey last night. The prospect of pork and beans for breakfast wasn’t making her feel any better. She struggled back to her feet and looked around for the log that she’d dropped. Kicking around in the snow, she bumped up against an obstruction. She dug in with gloved ha
nds and felt a hard lump. Not the log, but something larger, something that was frozen to the ground. This was what she had caught her boot on.
She brushed away more snow and suddenly went still, staring down at what she’d uncovered. Repulsed, she backed away. Then turned and ran into the house.
NINE
“They must have left him outside, and he froze to death,” said Elaine.
They stood in a solemn circle around the dead dog, like five mourners at a grave, buffeted by a wind with a bite as sharp as glass. Doug had used a shovel to widen the hole, and the dog now lay fully uncovered, its fur glistening with snow. A German shepherd.
“Who would leave a dog out in this weather?” said Arlo. “It’s cruel.”
Maura knelt down and pressed her gloved hand against the dog’s flank. The body was frozen solid, the flesh hard as stone. “I don’t see any injuries. And he’s not a stray,” she said. “He looks well fed, and he’s wearing a collar.” On the steel tag was engraved the unlikely name of LUCKY. “He’s obviously someone’s pet.”
“He might have just wandered out of the house and his owners couldn’t find him in time,” said Doug.
Grace looked up with stricken eyes. “And then they just left him here, all alone?”
“Maybe they had to leave in a hurry.”
“How can anyone do that? We’d never do that to a dog.”
“We don’t know what really happened here, honey.”
“You’re going to bury him, aren’t you?”
“Grace, he’s just a dog.”
“You can’t leave him out here.”
Doug sighed. “Okay, I’ll take care of it, I promise. Why don’t you go inside and keep that fire going. I’ll take care of everything.”
They waited until Grace had retreated into the house. Then Elaine said, “You aren’t really going to bother burying this dog, are you? The ground’s frozen solid.”
“You saw how freaked out she is.”
“She’s not the only one,” said Arlo.
“I’ll just cover it back up with snow. It’s so deep, she won’t know the dog’s still here.”
“Let’s all go back in the house,” said Elaine. “I’m freezing.”
“I don’t understand this,” said Maura, still crouched over the dead animal. “Dogs aren’t stupid, especially not German shepherds. He’s well nourished and he has a thick winter coat.” She rose to her feet and surveyed the landscape, her eyes narrowed against the glare of reflected sunlight. “This is the north-facing wall. Why would he end up dying right here?”
“As opposed to where?” said Elaine.
“Maura raises a good point,” said Doug.
“I’m not getting it,” Elaine said, clearly annoyed that no one was following her back into the house.
“Dogs have common sense,” he said. “They know enough to seek shelter from the cold. He could have dug himself into the snow. Or crawled under the porch. He could have found any number of places where he’d be better protected against the wind, but he didn’t.” He looked down at the dog. “Instead he ended up here. Fully exposed to the wind, as if he just keeled over and died.”
They were silent as a gust whipped their clothes and whistled between buildings, whirling white glitter. Maura stared at deep drifts rippling the landscape like giant white waves, and she wondered: What other surprises lie buried beneath the snow?
Doug turned to look at the other buildings. “Maybe we should take a look at what’s inside those other houses,” he said.
The four of them walked in single file toward the next house, Doug leading the way as he always did, breaking a path through deep snow. They mounted the front steps. Like the house they’d slept in the night before, this one had a porch with an identical swing.
“You think maybe they got a volume discount?” said Arlo. “Buy eleven swings, we throw in the twelfth for free?”
Maura thought of the glassy-eyed woman in the family photo. Imagined a whole village of pale and silent women sitting in these swings, mechanically rocking back and forth like windup dolls. Clone houses, clone people.
“This door’s unlocked, too,” said Doug, and he pushed it open.
Just inside lay a toppled chair.
For a moment, they paused on the threshold, puzzling over that fallen chair. Doug picked it up and set it upright. “Well, that’s sort of weird.”
“Look,” said Arlo. He crossed toward the framed portrait hanging on the wall. “It’s the same guy.”
The morning light spilled down in a heavenly beam on the man’s upward-gazing face, as though God Himself approved of his piety. Studying the portrait, Maura saw other details she hadn’t noticed before. The backdrop of golden wheat behind him. The white peasant shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, as though he had been laboring in the fields. And his eyes, piercing and ebony black, staring into some distant eternity.
“And he shall gather the righteous,” said Arlo, reading the plaque mounted on the frame. “I wonder who this guy is, anyway? And why does everyone seem to have his portrait hanging in their house?”
Maura spotted what looked like a Bible lying open on the coffee table. She flipped it closed and saw the title, embossed in gold on the leather cover.
Words of Our Prophet
The Wisdom of The Gathering
“I think this is some sort of religious community,” she said. “Maybe he’s their spiritual leader.”
“That would explain a few things,” said Doug. “The lack of electricity. The simplicity of their lifestyle.”
“The Amish in Wyoming?” said Arlo.
“A lot of people these days seem to crave a simpler life. And you could find that here, in this valley. Grow your own food, shut out the world. No TV, no temptations from the outside.”
Elaine laughed. “If showers and electric lights are works of the devil, then sign me up for hell.”
Doug turned. “Let’s see the rest of the house.”
They moved down the hall, into the kitchen, and found the same pine cabinets and wood-burning stove, the same hand pump for water that they’d seen in the first house. Here, too, the window was open, but a screen had kept out the snow, allowing in only the wind and a few sparkling motes. Elaine crossed the room to shut the window, and suddenly gasped.
“What?” Doug asked.
She backed away, pointing at the sink. “Something—there’s something dead in there!”
As Maura moved closer, she saw the butcher knife, its blade smeared with blood. In the sink were frozen splatters of more blood and mounds of gray fur. “They’re rabbits,” she said, and pointed to a bowl of peeled potatoes sitting nearby. “I think someone was about to cook them.”
Arlo laughed. “Good going, Salinger. Scare the bejesus out of us over someone’s dinner.”
“So what happened to the cook?” Elaine was still hanging back, as though the carcasses in the sink could reanimate into something dangerous. “She’s about to skin the rabbits and then what? She just walks away and leaves them here?” Elaine looked around at their faces. “Someone answer that. Give me one logical explanation.”
“Maybe she’s dead,” said a soft voice. “Maybe they’re all dead.”
They turned to see Grace standing in the doorway. They had not heard her come into the house. She stood hugging herself, shivering in the frigid kitchen.
“What if they’re all lying under the snow, like that dog? And we just can’t see them?”
“Grace, honey,” said Doug gently. “Go back to the other house.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“Elaine, can you walk her back?”
“What are you all going to do?” asked Elaine.
“Just take her, okay?” he snapped.
Elaine flinched at his tone. “All right, Doug,” she said tightly. “I’ll do whatever you say. Don’t I always?” She took Grace’s hand, and the two of them walked out of the kitchen.
Doug sighed. “Man, this keeps getting
weirder.”
“What if Grace is right?” said Arlo.
“Not you, too.”
“Who knows what’s under all this snow? There could be bodies.”
“Shut up, Arlo.” Doug turned toward the garage door.
“Why does that seem to be everyone’s favorite phrase lately? Shut up, Arlo.”
“Let’s just look through the rest of these houses. See if there’s anything we can use. A radio, a generator.” He stepped into the garage and halted. “I think I just found our way out of here,” he said.
Inside was parked a Jeep Cherokee.
Doug ran to the driver’s door and yanked it open. “The keys are in the ignition!”
“Doug, look!” said Maura, pointing to a mound of metal links on one of the shelves. “I think those are tire chains!”
Doug gave a laugh of relief. “If we can get this baby up to the main road, we might be able to drive it all the way down the mountain.”
“Then why didn’t they?” said Arlo. He stood staring at the Jeep, as though it were something alien, something that did not belong there. “The people who lived here. The people who were about to cook those rabbits, why did they leave this nice truck behind?”
“They probably had another car.”
“It’s a one-car garage, Doug.”
“Then maybe they left with the people in the first house. There was no car in their garage.”
“You’re just guessing. It’s an abandoned house with a nice new SUV, dead rabbits in the sink, and no people. Where is everyone?”
“It doesn’t matter! What matters is that we’ve now got a way out of here. So let’s get to work. If we go through the other garages, we should be able to find shovels. And maybe bolt cutters, to get through that chain at the top of the road.” He went to the garage bay door and yanked up on the handle. The sudden glare of sunlight on snow made them all squint. “If you find anything you think we can use, just grab it. We’ll settle up with these people later.”
Arlo pulled his scarf tighter and waded across to the opposite house. Maura and Doug trudged to the house next door. Doug dug in the snow for the handle and yanked up the bay door. It squealed open and they both froze, staring into the garage.
The Rizzoli & Isles Series 11-Book Bundle Page 222