You Will Never Leave: A psychological suspense thriller

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You Will Never Leave: A psychological suspense thriller Page 11

by Hinkens, N. L.


  Blair eyed him warily. His own words were condemning him. And the bruising on Whitney’s arm proved he had a violent streak. She couldn’t shake the notion that Logan might be the killer. At the very least, he wasn’t to be trusted.

  "Sandy might not have ingested the poison today," Whitney piped up. "Hazel made her herbal tea yesterday, remember?"

  Blair flattened her lips. She wasn’t the only one entertaining that suspicion.

  All at once, the door to the camper van opened, and Rob stuck his head out. "Did you find Hazel?"

  Matt groaned, and muttered, "We’d better bring him up to speed on everything that’s happened."

  They made their way over to the adjacent campsite and filed into the camper van.

  "I feel terrible," Rob said, passing a trembling hand over his forehead after Blair broke the news to him about Sandy. "I checked on her an hour or so ago. I meant to go back over, but I fell asleep on the couch. I only just woke up at the sound of your voices outside."

  Matt raised his brows a fraction. "You were in Sandy’s RV an hour ago?"

  Rob nodded. "Harvey wanted me to check up on her while he was gone. He left a spare key." Rob fumbled in his pocket and handed it to Matt. "Maybe you can return it for me."

  Matt and Blair exchanged a guarded look. It seemed odd—out of character—that Harvey would trust a virtual stranger to look in on his sick wife. Up until now, he’d been more intent on keeping people out of his RV.

  Whitney frowned. "Was she alive when you checked on her?"

  "Yes," Rob answered emphatically. "She was sleeping—definitely breathing. I saw the covers moving up and down. I asked her if she wanted any water, but she didn’t respond."

  "You didn't happen to see anyone else go into the RV at all today?" Blair inquired.

  "No. No one other than Harvey." Rob’s eyes scanned the expectant faces turned toward him. "Why? Is there something suspicious about her death?"

  "Nothing obvious," Blair responded. "Just … the timing of it."

  Rob opened his mouth to speak and then hesitated, as though bracing himself for more bad news. "What about Hazel?"

  Logan scowled and rested an ankle over his knee. "No trace of her anywhere. But we searched her trailer and we did find out some interesting things about the self-appointed camp medicine woman."

  A befuddled look passed over Rob's face. "I don't understand."

  "She’s a retired nurse and she’s writing a book about homeopathic medicine," Whitney explained. "Or so she told us."

  "Turns out she's not the earth-loving, hippy-dippy naturalist she wanted us to believe she is," Logan went on. "In fact, she's a gun-toting pervert."

  Rob looked helplessly around the room. "Are we talking about the same woman—the one who fixed up my arm?"

  "Yeah, that’s her," Matt affirmed. "We don’t know for sure if she has a gun, but we found a concealed carry permit in her purse."

  "And she was spying on Logan and me," Whitney added vehemently. "She had some kind of high-powered zoom lens on her camera. She’d taken dozens and dozens of photographs of us inside our trailer." Whitney reached for Logan’s hand and interlaced her fingers with his. "I think she was planning on killing us next." Her lip trembled and she swallowed back a small sob.

  "That’s a bold assumption," Sam cut in. "Let’s not go there. She’s not here to explain herself."

  "The truth is, we don't know what her game was," Blair said. "The gun could have been for protection—traveling around on her own as a single woman."

  "We didn't find it in her trailer, and, trust me, we looked everywhere. What does that tell you?" Logan ranted. "She’s the killer, that’s what! She wasn’t abducted!"

  Rob scratched at his beard with his good hand. "So you think she’s out there somewhere now with a gun?"

  "It’s more complicated than that," Sam responded. "The back bedroom window on her trailer was forced open from the outside and the screen was cut."

  Rob’s eyes widened at the news. "Sure sounds like someone took her against her will. If that’s the case, they might have her gun too."

  "It would have been tough to abduct her without waking her and risking someone hearing her scream," Matt said. "But if the killer forced the window open earlier in the day, it’s feasible he came back and strangled her in her bed while she was sleeping."

  Whitney sucked in a sharp breath and buried her head in Logan’s flannel shirt.

  Sam blew a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Why would the killer take her body instead of leaving it there? It’s just making work for himself."

  "There's only one reason I can think of," Matt said grimly. "To make us think that Hazel’s the killer."

  15

  Matt’s ominous words hung in the air between them. It was the theory that made the most sense, but in many ways it was also the most disturbing. Not only was there a killer out there, but apparently now he was playing mind games with them, pitting them against one another while he picked them off one-by-one.

  Deep down, Blair didn’t believe for one minute that Hazel was the killer. Granted, she was a tad eccentric, and it was disturbing to think she’d been snapping countless pictures of Logan and Whitney since their arrival. Still, a female Peeping Tom was not in the same class-A category as a murderer.

  Matt turned to Rob. "We need you to settle an issue for us. We were going to ask Sandy but …" His voice trailed off and he cleared his throat.

  Logan looked aghast. "You're not seriously still going on about searching the trailers, are you?"

  Matt locked a piercing glare on him. "After everything that's gone down, I’d say it’s more important than ever that everyone’s cards are on the table."

  Rob gave a one-shouldered shrug, careful not to disturb the sling on his other arm. "Ask away, whatever you need."

  "The truth is," Blair continued, picking up from where Matt had left off, "none of us really knows what's going on, and none of us really knows or trusts each other. We have a killer at large, possibly with a gun at his disposal. It’s not in Hazel’s trailer, so the logical conclusion is that the killer got his hands on it." She frowned to herself, searching for the right words. "I’m just going to come right out and say this. Any one of us sitting here could be the killer."

  Rob blinked rapidly, clearly taken aback at her words.

  "We need to be sure we know who we’re dealing with," Matt said, regaining his composure. "Blair proposed that we go through each other's trailers together—to clear the air, so to speak."

  "If we’re going to band together and help protect each other, we can’t have any more surprises," Blair hastened to add.

  "Like Hazel—she certainly wasn’t who we thought she was," Whitney chimed in. "She had no right—"

  "It’s a stupid idea," Logan interrupted, glaring at Whitney. "I don't want a bunch of strangers trekking through my trailer, trashing the place like they did Hazel’s."

  "Bet you're glad we went through her rig now," Matt interjected. "You’d never have found out what she was doing if we hadn’t." He tilted a chin accusingly at Logan. "Maybe she's not the only one with something to hide."

  "Let’s just get on with the vote," Sam cut in. "I'm sick of you two jumping at each other's throats every five seconds. I happen to agree with Logan that it's overkill, but I’ll go along with the majority."

  "What do you say, Rob?" Blair prodded. "You get to break the tie."

  He glanced nervously around the group. "I don't want to start a camp war here."

  "You won’t," Blair assured him. "We’ll abide by your vote."

  Rob gave a cautious nod. "In that case, my gut says go for it. We're a bunch of strangers in survival mode, and if anyone's hiding anything, it's best that the rest of us know about it."

  Matt slapped his thighs and stood. "That settles it. Where should we start?"

  "How about the camper van?" Rob asked, glancing around. "If you’re searching all the trailers, you might as well start here."

  Logan g
roaned. "Forget it! The guy’s dead, washed away in the mudslide."

  "You don’t know that," Matt said. "He could still be out there somewhere—he could even be the killer."

  Sam scratched the back of his neck. "We can't make any assumptions that could cost us down the line. If this is the killer’s van, we might be able to find out some valuable information about him."

  "Have you looked around it at all, Rob?" Blair asked.

  He shook his head. "To be honest, I've been asleep most of the time."

  "All right," Matt said, springing into action. "Let’s get busy. Stick to the same area you searched in Hazel’s trailer. We’ve got a good system going, let's keep things simple. And try and leave the place like you found it. Rob, you can sit tight for now."

  Matt and Blair left the others to their respective zones and headed to the bedroom area.

  "Let's start with the cabinets and work our way down," Blair proposed. She removed the contents of an overhead cabinet and set the items on the bed while Matt began methodically going through a pile of neatly folded clothes. Blair watched out of the corner of her eye as he shook out each item in turn, making sure nothing was hidden inside, before rolling it back up. If the owner returned, he wouldn't be too impressed to discover his highly organized wardrobe had been rifled through and reconfigured, but it was the least of Blair's concerns at present.

  As she worked, her mind kept going back to Sandy’s sudden passing. The thought that Hazel might have had something to do with her demise nagged at her. Hazel had made a point of brewing one of her tea concoctions for Sandy. What if she’d poisoned her? Or could Harvey have asked her to give Sandy something to end her pain and suffering? And then gotten rid of Hazel afterward? It all seemed too outrageous. And how was any of this connected to the man they’d found strangled on the trail?

  After going through all the overhead bins, Blair moved on to the bedside cabinets. She pulled out a dog-eared composition notebook, flicked it open and began to read. Goosebumps prickled her skin. "Check this out," she said, passing the book to Matt.

  He turned a few pages and let out a low whistle. "Yikes! This guy’s full on anti-government."

  "In other words, he could be dangerous," Blair said. "Possibly unstable in light of his obsessive interest in weapons."

  "He could also be dead," Matt said, tossing the notebook back to her. "But in the event he's not, you’d better put that back where you found it."

  After going through the remainder of the cabinets, and finding nothing else of interest, they lifted up the bed to examine the storage area beneath it.

  "Bingo!" Matt lowered his voice to a whisper. "He has a gun safe in here." He rattled the combination lock for good measure. "Doesn't do us any good if we can't get into it though."

  Blair stared at the built-in safe beneath the foot of the bed. "Can’t you get your tool bag and open it?"

  Matt let out a snort. "I didn't bring my power tools. Why are you so keen to open it anyway? You’re the one who insisted I leave my gun behind." He avoided her gaze, the bitter note in his voice serving as sufficient condemnation.

  "I made the best decision I could based on the facts at hand. How was I supposed to know we were going to end up in this mess?"

  "That's why you always bring a gun," Matt hissed. "To be prepared for anything—a bear, a killer, a mudslide."

  Blair shrank back from the dark look he shot her. They’d all been under an enormous amount of stress in the past forty-eight hours. It wouldn't take much more to make Matt snap. She bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue. Having the last word, even if she was right about the decision they’d made, wasn’t worth risking stoking the fire of his frustration any further.

  He cast a wary look toward the bedroom door, and then tugged at the lock on the safe one more time. "The only good thing is that the others can’t open it either. Supposedly none of them even own a gun. The last thing we need is untrained civilians arming themselves, especially as we don't know who the killer—"

  "Well, what do we have here?" Logan drawled, slinking into the room. "Were you intending on keeping that a secret from the rest of us? So much for laying all our cards on the table."

  "Is that a safe?" Whitney questioned, peering around the doorframe.

  "A gun safe," Logan corrected her. "Not sure Matt was planning on telling us about it though."

  Before Matt had a chance to respond, Sam and Rob stepped into the room to take a closer look.

  Rob stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Makes me think this rig belongs to that duck hunter I met."

  "Any idea how we can open it?" Sam asked.

  "No," Blair responded. "And it’s probably better that way."

  "I don’t know about that," Rob said. "I’d rather have a weapon than not. I can shoot one-handed, if that’s what you’re worried about."

  "It’s a moot point. We can’t open it." Matt looked around. "Anyone turn up anything else?"

  "Nothing other than more books about war and guns," Sam replied.

  Matt pushed the bed back down and got to his feet.

  "If we’re done here, we should go check on Harvey," Blair suggested.

  "You go, and give him back his key." Matt pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. "We’ll finish up here. If Harvey’s having a rough time of it, he might not want us all piling into his RV just yet."

  Blair found Harvey sitting on the couch clutching a mug of black coffee. He eyed her warily when she knocked on the door and peeked inside. "Can I come in for a minute?"

  He made a disgruntled noise, which she took as a reluctant invitation. "How are you doing?" she asked, sinking into the captain's chair opposite him.

  He waved his mug vaguely at her. "So-so. Find anything next door?"

  Blair nodded. "Turns out your mysterious neighbor has a small library of books about war and weapons, not to mention a gun safe in the storage area beneath his bed. I suppose that’s hardly surprising if he's a hunter."

  Harvey stared at her raptly, eyes that seconds earlier were glassy and unfocused, suddenly remarkably alert. "Were you able to get it open?"

  She shook her head. "No. It might be empty anyway for all we know. If he took off hunting, it stands to reason he would have taken his gun with him."

  Harvey set down his mug, looking thoughtful. "I'm willing to bet he has more than one gun in that safe."

  Blair cast a discreet glance down the hallway. The door to the bedroom was closed. "Do you need anything, Harvey? Is there anything we can do for you?"

  He rumpled his brow. "I … need to do something with the body."

  Blair swallowed, unsettled by the distance Harvey had injected into his words. His wife had transitioned to the body in an astonishingly short space of time. A shiver ran down her spine. No doubt, it was a defense mechanism—putting space between himself and the stark reality that his wife was dead. Still, it irked her.

  "We can help you move Sandy's body into the back of our truck, if you want," she offered.

  Harvey frowned down at the carpet and drew a heavy breath. "Or we could bury her."

  Blair threw him an alarmed look. "I don't think … I mean … help will be here in a matter of days. Don't you want to take Sandy home to your family—have a proper funeral and burial? Besides, there’s bound to be an autopsy, under the circumstances."

  "What circumstances?" Harvey took a long swig of his coffee. "She was dying of cancer. It's not a matter of how she died. It was only ever a matter of when."

  "I realize that," Blair said, looking intently at him. "But we can't bury her until the police get here. Two people are dead, and a woman is missing. Like it or not, the campground’s a crime scene now."

  16

  Back in the camper van, Blair shared with everyone the gist of her conversation with Harvey. She didn’t bother mentioning the fact that she hadn’t returned his spare key. Her fingers had curled around it a time or two in her pocket while they’d been talking so she couldn’t honestly say she’d
forgotten about it—but some sixth sense had told her to hold on to it.

  "I mean, I realize Harvey’s grieving, but he’s not thinking straight—talking about burying Sandy here," she concluded. "There has to be an autopsy, under the circumstances."

  "You can’t blame the man for wanting to bury her." Logan shuddered. "There's no way I’d sleep in that RV with a dead body. And I wouldn't put it in the truck either. It won’t take but a day before it starts to stink."

  "We have to put it somewhere. We can't leave her body outside," Sam said. "It will attract wild animals and then—" His voice tapered off at Whitney’s sharp intake of breath.

  "It’s starting to rain again too," Blair pointed out. "Outside’s definitely not an option."

  "I have a cover for my truck bed," Matt said. "We can wrap Sandy’s body in a tarp and put it in there for tonight. If we're trapped here for too much longer, we might have to figure out an alternative—move her to the outhouse or something."

  "We won't be able to keep the critters out of there," Sam said, sounding dubious.

  "And we’ll need to use the outhouse once our holding tanks are full," Blair pointed out.

  "Can’t we put her in a big cooler or something?" Whitney asked.

  Blair arched a brow at her. It was hard to tell if Whitney was actually that much of an airhead or if she played into the role for the attention it brought. "She won’t fit in a cooler. Not once rigor mortis sets in."

  Whitney pressed a fist to her mouth, a horrified look spreading across her face.

  "Changing the subject," Blair said. "It’s time we got on with searching the rest of the trailers. You’re up next, Logan and Whitney."

  Rob got to his feet. "I’ll come with you. I could do with some fresh air."

  "I’ll meet you over there," Sam said, making a beeline for the door. "I need to let Duke out for a quick sniff around first before it really starts dumping."

 

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