“What do you see?” Aynslee asked impatiently.
“Spiders.”
Something ran up my back.
I jumped to my feet, slapped at my shirt, and made wimpy squeals.
“It was just me, Mom.” Aynslee smirked. “I tickled you.”
“There are times that I think you are the devil’s spawn.” I tugged gently on one of her spiral curls but remained standing. “Looks like you discovered Grady’s snake room.”
“Why would you use a ladder to get the snakes up and down?”
“I suspect there’s another entrance. This is probably a way to check on the snakes without going outside.”
“Let’s go find it.” Aynslee was up and out the door before I could say anything. I shut the trapdoor, pulled on a pair of clogs, and followed.
The cabin was built on a hillside, with the rear tucked into the slope. We crossed the porch and went down the steps to the front. In daylight, the river-stone foundation was easy to see. We crouched and peered under the steps. Dried grass, more pine needles, and a few rocks filled the space. Using the flashlight, I illuminated the foundation to check for doors or windows. Everything appeared solid.
A complete search around the perimeter of the house proved unsuccessful in finding an access to the basement. I did find a neatly curled garden hose attached to an outside faucet, a small stack of firewood, and an ax. I brought several pieces of wood, along with the ax, to the steps. I could split some kindling later today for tomorrow morning.
“Why aren’t there any outside doors or windows, even?” Aynslee stared at the front of the cabin.
“I’m not sure. The roof is new, and the logs have been recently refinished. I’d say they went ahead and just put a stone facing on the foundation, covering over any openings.”
“I could climb down that ladder and see if there’s another way in.”
“No. You’re not going into that snake room.”
She rolled her eyes. “But all the snakes are gone.”
“The spiders still live there. No.”
“What if I found a way in through a tunnel somewhere in the woods?” Her eyes sparkled.
“You still couldn’t go down there, but you might have the start of a good story for your Creative Writing paper.”
“Turn around slowly,” a male voice said from behind me.
A bolt of adrenaline raced through my veins. I raised my hands and did as he said.
The snake handler, Jason Morrow, stood behind me, a rifle leveled at my waist. Dirt was smeared across his pale face and his jacket was ripped.
I stepped sideways, blocking Aynslee with my body. “What do you want, Jason?”
“So you know my name.”
“Everyone does now. There’s a warrant out for your arrest as the Hillbilly Rapist.”
Jason spit on the ground. “Yeah, well, don’t believe everything you hear. Face the cabin and sit down.”
I really didn’t want to sit on the ground with my back to him, but he raised the gun slightly. I sat. Aynslee thumped to the ground in front of me and I put my arms around her. “Did your mom, Mrs. Fields, tell you—”
“Leave my mom out of it!”
Please don’t hurt my daughter. Please don’t hurt my daughter. The words hammered in my brain with the pounding of my heart.
“I’ve done a lot of things wrong—” His voice wavered and he cleared his throat.
“Just turn yourself in—”
“Shut up and listen!”
Aynslee grabbed my arm. She was quivering like an aspen leaf. A hawk shrieked overhead and a puff of cold air raised goose pimples up my arm.
“They paid me, okay?” Jason’s voice was stronger. “So I took the money. It was supposed to be a joke. That’s what they told me. So I turned the snakes loose. And the next day I put one in the car. No one was supposed to get hurt. When they called again for me to do something else, I said no way, I wasn’t going to be up for murder.” Jason was babbling now, the words tumbling over each other.
“Jason. Jason!”
He stopped.
The cold from the earth under me seemed to run up my body. “I’m sure you never meant for anything to go wrong—”
“That’s right! But it did, and now this.”
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“I wanted to talk to you. To tell you.”
“You’re trying to convince me you’re not a killer? Or the rapist? With a gun in my back?”
He was silent for a moment. “Gun’s not loaded. It had to be you. You’re an outsider. And they’re afraid of you.”
“Who is, Jason?”
“And I didn’t put that rattler in your bed. I swear.”
“Jason, give me a name. Who paid you?” I held my breath.
“Don’t trust anyone.” His voice grew fainter. “Anyone. Do you understand? The snake—” The hawk screamed again, drowning out his final words.
Taking a chance, I looked behind me, then jumped to my feet. Jason was gone. Aynslee leaped up and together we raced into the cabin, slammed the door, and leaned against it. “We gotta call the police!” Aynslee said.
I pulled the curtains, checking first that Jason hadn’t returned. “We will. But we need to be sure the police aren’t involved.”
“He was going to kill us!”
“No. Not with an empty rifle. I think he was warning us.”
“What was he talking about?” Aynslee’s eyes were wild and her lower lip trembled.
“He mentioned ‘next day’ and ‘murder.’ ” Strolling to the table, I rummaged around until I found the chart Clay had given me on the deaths of the past few months.
AGE SEX CAUSE OF DEATH DATE IDENTIFIED?
12 female poison 4/15 yes
32 female hit-and-run 5/11 yes
8 male undetermined; body burned 6/7 approximate yes
37 male poison 6/29 yes
62 female snakebite 8/1 yes
64 male snakebite 8/1 yes
29 male car accident 8/2 yes
27 female car accident 8/2 yes
5 male car accident 8/2 yes
3 female car accident 8/2 yes
6 mo female car accident 8/2 yes
21 male snakebite 10/? yes
Sure enough, an older male and female had died of snakebite, and the next day there was a car accident in which a number of people perished. Had a snake loose in the car caused them to crash? No wonder he’d wanted to confess. He could be responsible for the deaths of seven people. But Jason hadn’t said who’d paid him.
That still left two people poisoned. And the others.
Clay told me the bodies and the Hillbilly Rapist were not linked, but Jason formed a connection—assuming he was the rapist, which he denied.
“What are you going to do now?” Aynslee slouched on the couch and wrapped her arms around her legs.
I picked up a pencil and tapped it on the table. “Did you hear the last things he said?”
“Something about snakes.”
“That’s all I heard.” I stopped tapping and picked up the phone.
No dial tone.
Aynslee watched me.
“I’m going to check something. Lock the door after me, okay?”
“Don’t go.”
“I’ll be right back.” I peeked through the curtains, then waited until my daughter got off the sofa. “Ready?”
She nodded.
Unlocking the door, I stepped through and waited until I heard the click of the lock. Still no sign of Jason. I trotted down the steps and around the cabin, looking for the phone line. I quickly found it. The phone cable appeared to be untouched, but when I gave it a slight tug, half of it pulled out. Someone, probably Jason, had cut the line.
I hurried to the front of the cabin just as one of the Campbell luxury cars drove up and parked. Both Blanche and Arless stepped out. They didn’t notice me at first. Arless grabbed a paper sack from the backseat. He wore an open-collared golf shirt with an embroidered logo
proclaiming its designer origins. Khaki slacks and loafers completed the GQ look. She wore a cap-sleeve, black sheath dress with a simple silver embellishment at the shoulder. Her hair was again swept up into a carefully tousled series of loops.
I was still wearing plaid flannel bottoms, oversize white socks, clogs, and a snaggy gray sweater.
Blanche paused when she spotted me beside the cabin. “Um, good morning.”
“Good morning.” I strolled over to her. Up close, I could see her eyes were red and face pale. Continuing up the stairs, I tapped at the door. Aynslee opened it. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when she saw Blanche and Arless. I gave her a tiny shake of the head and she retreated to the chair in the corner.
“I tried calling, but the phone is out of order,” Blanche said.
“Yes . . . so I just discovered.” Jason’s voice rang in my brain. Don’t trust anyone. Anyone. Do you understand?
“You wouldn’t have heard.” Arless placed the sack he held on the kitchen counter, then leaned against it.
“Heard what?”
“Jason Morrow’s been caught. Less than a mile from here.” Blanche glanced at the pulled curtains. “Did he come here? Did you talk to him?”
Don’t trust anyone. “Why would he come here?” I didn’t look at Aynslee.
“He was the person who put the rattler in your bed,” Arless said. “Maybe he was trying to get to you again.”
“Well, I’m glad he was arrested.” This time I did look at my daughter. She raised her eyebrows at me but remained silent.
Blanche picked up the sack. “I brought some clothes for Aynslee and you to wear to the funeral. What time does it start?”
I checked the clock. “Eleven. You brought the clothes just in time. I’m sorry, I’m being rude. Would you like some coffee?”
“Please, if it’s already made.” She noticed the partially emptied jug of water. “I’m sorry. I meant to mention the tap water wasn’t great, but I see you figured that out.” She placed the sack and her small purse on the table, then sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace. Arless took the chair on the right. I brought each of them a cup, clearing a small area on the coffee table for their cups. “Do you have any news about Trish?”
Blanche cradled her mug in both hands. “Poor Trish. I feel responsible. If I hadn’t sent her up here to straighten—”
“It’s not your fault.” I sat next to her. “She . . . slipped?”
“That’s what Clay said.” Arless leaned forward. “He thinks her head hit a rock on the way down, then got twisted . . .” He paused when he glanced at Blanche’s face. “Uh . . . we’re waiting on the autopsy.”
She sipped her coffee, swallowing audibly.
I wanted to ask more questions about what Clay discovered at the accident site, but Blanche was clearly in no mood to talk about it.
“How’s the cabin working out?” Arless asked.
“Well, since you’re here, in addition to the phone being out, I don’t think the fire alarm is working either. And I need to confess that we’ve done a bit of damage to the cabin.”
Blanche looked at me, raised an eyebrow, then glanced around the small room. She quickly spotted the missing “cupboard,” the attached door still slightly open.
“I’m afraid we overloaded the shelf and brought it down.”
Arless stood and examined the wall. “Not to worry. We’ll get someone up here to see to the phone, fire alarm, and cabinet.” He looked at his wife. “In fact, we should just go ahead and order the matching upper cabinets we talked about. The wooden boxes seemed rustic at the time, but we need to keep this place in good repair for when we go to sell it.”
“You’re putting this place up for sale?” I asked.
“We’re hoping for a big move.” Arless gave me a hundred-watt smile.
“Now, darling . . .” Blanche shook her head slightly.
“Well . . . anyway, when the wooden crate fell off the wall, there was a space behind it with some items you should have.” I rose and brought them the Bible, money, and photograph, shoving more art supplies aside and placing them on the pine coffee table in front of them. “The Bible belonged to the original owner of the cabin, Grady Maynard. The photo is of his wife, Miriam. They apparently had a son, Devin.”
Arless returned to his seat and picked up the Bible.
Standing, Blanche strolled to the sink and placed the half-empty cup on the counter. “We could locate no family when we bought this place. It was sold for back taxes.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that someone else may have a claim to this place—”
“No, no, I know you weren’t saying that.”
“Speaking of the prior owner,” I said. “Aynslee discovered the snake room in the basement—”
“Yes.” Arless wrinkled his nose in distaste. “When we renovated the cabin—what was it, five years ago? Anyway, we just left everything down there and sealed it up.”
“I see,” I said. “Um, about Trish . . .”
Blanche took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m still pretty shaken up over her death. She lived with us for several months. She was almost like a sister to me.” She reached into her purse and took out a lace hankie, then dabbed her eyes.
Aynslee stood and approached the woman. “I’m really sorry, too, Mrs. Campbell.”
Blanche turned away and blew her nose, a quiet, ladylike toot.
I’d really like to learn the art of crying neatly, instead of my big, red-faced, sobbing boo-hoos.
Blanche kept her back to us for a few moments before turning around. “We need to get going. Do you have a sack or bag for those things?” She waved her hand at the Bible still in Arless’s hands.
I found the small box that had originally held some of the groceries, then loaded it with the items on the coffee table. Arless handed me the Bible. “About Trish’s funeral?” I asked.
“We’re trying to locate next of kin.” Arless stood and took the box. “We’ll let you know.” He strolled to his wife and gently rubbed her back. “Ready to go?”
Blanche nodded, grabbed her purse, and started for the door, then paused. “Oh, and when you have the drawings done of the snake-handling church members, bring them to our house and we can cut you a check for the reward right away. Or you can call and we can arrange to meet you someplace—”
“Can it be Octavia’s grave? At midnight? On Halloween?” Aynslee grinned at me.
“I thought you were afraid of ghosts,” I said.
“Whatever.”
Blanche smiled for the first time. “A bit theatrical, don’t you think?”
“I love this cloak-and-dagger stuff,” Aynslee said. “Except for . . . um.”
“Yes?” Blanche said.
“Nothing.” Aynslee glanced at me, then down.
“Well,” Arless said, “if you finish on Halloween and want to deliver the drawings, best come in costume. That’s the night we have our big party.”
“We actually start with a gathering at the shelter for the less fortunate in our community.” Blanche lightly stroked Arless’s face. “Some small gifts, bobbing for apples, that sort of thing. We do that every chance we get. We love being around the children . . .” She touched the hankie to her eyes.
“After an hour or so, we’ll head to our place for our big political fund-raiser.” Arless caught Blanche’s hand in his and gently kissed her fingertips.
I looked down, feeling like an intruder to their intimate moment. “So . . . ah, when does the computer program arrive?”
“The marvels of modern technology,” Arless said. “I’ve already downloaded and installed Composit-Fit ID at the department. The instructions say they’ve developed it to the point that rough sketches will still spit out possibilities. Amazing.” He took his wife’s elbow and escorted her to the car, opening the door and making sure she was comfortable before closing it. He gave us a casual wave, then drove off.
I sighed. What would it feel like to have a hu
sband like that?
“Now what?” Aynslee said.
“Now we get ready to go to a funeral.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I SAT AT THE KITCHEN TABLE AND BENT OVER the file on the snake-handling group. The answer to the accidents, murders, and rapes somehow was tied up with snakes. I shifted in my chair and glanced around the room.
Clay was unable, or unwilling, to do the necessary police work to stop the crime spree. That left me. I couldn’t wait for another person to die, or another woman to be tortured and raped. But sitting around a mountain cabin without any way to communicate and waiting for something to happen was stupid. I shouldn’t have let myself get talked into this isolation.
But all the official channels were closed. I couldn’t interview Jason, work the crime scenes, view tapes, or use any of my skills.
I did have one avenue open. The invitation to the funeral with the snake handlers.
Aynslee got up and wandered to the window, opened the curtain, and leaned against the glass.
How can I keep Aynslee safe? I trusted no one. No way would I leave her here at this cabin.
But if the snake handlers were involved . . .
I needed to talk to them, to get invited to the revival, not just to draw them, but to see if I could find answers. I didn’t want to botch the invitation to join them by saying or doing the wrong thing. Beth usually relished doing my research for me, and I missed my friend’s purple highlighter and notes. Fortunately someone had condensed the materials for me.
Aynslee screamed.
I shot to my feet.
She stepped out of the bathroom. “Just look at me! I can’t go anywhere dressed like this.” She turned to the freestanding mirror and screamed again. She’d put on the outfit Blanche had dropped off: a black, ankle-length, gathered skirt; white, long-sleeved blouse; black socks; and clunky black shoes.
I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep from smiling. “Perfect.”
“Perfect? Are you kidding me? I look like-like a nun or something.”
“Wrong denomination. You look modest. Be sure you wash off all your makeup and take off your ear baubles.”
Aynslee left to wash her face. I finished reading the file, then closed it and tapped the outside with a pencil. This wasn’t going to be easy.
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