Cabin FURvor (A Klepto Cat Mystery Book 16)
Page 8
Mary’s older son, Amos’s father, had been a builder and the one thing Amos cherished most after his parents’ death was his father’s tool belt. That’s when the boy started wearing it, taking it off just to sleep.
Well, the kid frightened me from day one. He was fifteen when I was first introduced to him. With the rift between Frank and his brother, there were no family gatherings of siblings and cousins. On this occasion, we met Mary and Del at their beloved cabin. What a disaster! I spent the entire weekend protecting my son from Amos’s violent advances. Craig was only seven then and Amos took delight in poking, pinching, and pounding on little Craig with all those tools in his tool belt. Mary and Del seemed oblivious to what was going on—or maybe they were just too tired to deal with it. Their idea of entertaining Amos was to turn him loose and let him run wild where they felt he couldn’t hurt himself or anyone else.
I’ve never witnessed anything like it—the boy went from quiet, remote, withdrawn in the car or in the cabin to crazy wild out of doors. I noticed that he was especially excited around bodies of water and he spent a lot of time playing in the river and the lake. The others couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t let Craig tag along with his cousin. They thought I was doting too much—not letting him be a boy. But inside I was terrified of what Amos might be capable of. I couldn’t explain it, but he frightened me to the core and I wasn’t taking any chances that he might harm my son.
By the time Amos was twenty-five, Mary and Del were in poor health and he spent most of his time in the institution. They died within months of each other in 1972. For some reason, Frank thought it was important that he take responsibility for Amos. Maybe it was a deathbed promise he’d made to his parents, guilt…I don’t know what it was that motivated Frank to get involved with that young man.
When the grandparents were no longer able to care for Amos, Frank talked about bringing him to live with us. I made it clear that I would not have him in my home. It’s unfortunate, but that issue drove a wedge between Frank and me. To this day, I cannot understand why anyone would want to spend time with Amos. And Frank obviously doesn’t understand my feelings. There’s something frightening about that young man. I think Mary was aware of it, too. For, that day when she talked to me about Amos, she said that although she loved him, she knew something was not right—that there was a shadow over his soul. That’s how she explained it—a shadow over his soul. And that was the only time she ever bared her own soul in front of me with regard to Amos Sledge.
Iris rolled her eyes at the others before reading the next paragraph. Since Frank insists on coming to the cabin more often and bringing Amos along, I’ve done everything I can to eradicate the evil I feel when he’s around. Yes, evil…there, I said it. That’s what I feel. Since I can’t say that to my husband or my son, I truly need this outlet in order to get in touch with and validate what is true for me. And maybe someday someone will find these writings and understand why we were murdered in our sleep or, maybe drowned, or hanged.
Iris read more slowly, obviously moved by the words. I don’t know much about the dark side, but I read someplace that where evil lurks, you should burn sage and sprinkle salt. I’ve been doing that every time I come up here. I even found a secret place in our bedroom where I can hide it. I believe that’s where Frank’s father kept his handgun.
Iris placed the journal on her lap and stared at the others. “That poor woman. I’d be terrified up here with a scary, deranged kid like that.” She handed the book to Savannah, who sat next to her on the green sofa. “Here, you read what happens next.”
BANG!
Margaret clutched Colbi’s arm. “What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know,” Colbi said, looking at the other women.
Before anyone could respond, Rags and Dolly tore into the room. Rags leaped onto the back of the green sofa, turned, and stared toward the guest bedroom, his eyes wide and his ears alert. Dolly, in the meantime, ran behind the vinyl chair and peered out at Colbi.
“What is it, Dolly, girl?” she asked, reaching out for the tabby. “What scared you guys?”
“Or what did they do?” Margaret asked, squinting toward the guest bedroom.
“We’d better go check,” Savannah suggested.
“Why?” Margaret whined.
“They might have gotten into something they shouldn’t have or broken something,” Savannah reasoned.
“You go,” Margaret said. “I’ll stay here.” She stood and picked up the poker. “…and tend to the fire.”
Savannah smirked playfully at her. “Come on, Iris…Colbi, let’s go see what that was.”
“I’ll stay here with Maggie,” Iris said, snuggling deeper into the green sofa.
Colbi looked at Iris, then stood up. “I’ll go with you, Savannah.”
“Thank you, Colbi.”
“You go first,” Colbi said, cowering behind Savannah, who let out a sigh.
Savannah walked confidently toward the darkened guest bedroom. When she flipped on the light switch, she started to laugh.
“What?” Colbi asked, peering out from behind her.
“My suitcase. I guess they were playing in it and it toppled over onto the floor. They’re lucky no one caught a tail in there.”
“What’s funny?” Margaret asked, walking cautiously toward the bedroom door and peeking in. Iris followed.
“This room is so dark and dreary,” Iris said. She looked more closely at the bars on the window. “Do you think they put these here because of Amos?”
Colbi nodded. “Yeah, this is probably where he stayed.” She studied the locks on the door and shivered. “They must have locked him in…like an animal.” She turned to leave the room. “Let’s finish the story and maybe find out what really happened here. Wow, what if we crack the case?” When her comment was met with blank stares, she added, “You know, the hammer-murder case.”
Margaret pushed past Colbi and rushed out of the room. “Sheesh, Colbi, why did you have to bring that up? Now, I need another swig of whiskey.” Holding up the bottle, she asked, “Anyone else ready?”
“Sure wish we’d remembered to get wine,” Colbi complained, picking up her drink and sitting down on the brown sofa. She stared at the liquid in her jar. “This stuff’s strong.” However, when Margaret bypassed her glass while pouring, Colbi said, “But since it’s all we have, I’ll take a little more.” When Margaret grinned at her, she said, “Courage. I might need courage to get through the rest of the story.”
Savannah took a sip from her glass, picked up the book, and began reading: September 13, 1974. Frank has been in a bad mood for most of the weekend. He misplaced his keys. We spent a good part of our first day here searching for them. We thought we’d have to stay an extra few days in order to meet a locksmith from the city and have new keys made. Friends were going to bring up our extra car key. But thankfully, the keys showed up a day later, almost as if it were a miracle. Yes, miraculously, there they were, in plain sight, near where had Frank left them. I believe Amos had something to do with this fiasco—a sick joke of his, perhaps?
At any rate, we leave for home today, Can’t wait to get shed of this young man. I’m still shaking from something that happened last night. Frank thinks I dreamed it, but it was as plain as day. I saw Amos standing outside our bedroom window in the moonlight, holding that hammer up over his head. Frank insists the young man can’t get out of his room when it’s locked, but I beg to differ. He was out of that room! I don’t know how, but he managed—probably using those tools of his. When Frank found the animal outside the window this morning, I tried to tell him Amos was to blame, but he insisted the animal had been dead for weeks. If that’s the case, Amos’s actions were even more bizarre than I thought. I’m so glad it’s daylight and that we’re leaving for home very soon.
Savannah cringed. “He bludgeoned an animal? Now that’s just sick.”
“But he didn’t kill it—he just beat up on a carcass,” Colbi reasoned.
Margaret looked apprehensive and took the book cautiously. “Why, is it X-rated?”
“Could be,” Savannah said, laughing nervously.
Margaret began to read: December 28, 1974. I told Frank I didn’t want to make the trip up here this time. But it seems to mean a lot that I accompany him and I don’t like to disappoint him. I can stand it for a few days. When we picked Amos up from the facility, they told us he’d been behaving much better. So far, he seems calmer and that makes me calmer. I’d hoped Craig could join us this time—he’s never come up here with us when we’ve had Amos. But he’d made plans with some of his college buddies. I thought Craig might help to defuse the situation with Amos, but actually, it’s been less intense this time. He does stay to himself, though. He’s no conversationalist, that’s for sure.
December 29. I was wrong about Amos. He had a spell last night—woke us up with a lot of clattering. Frank found him slamming that hammer against the window bars. He managed to break out the window, which had to be boarded up so Amos wouldn’t freeze overnight. He acts like a caged animal. But then he virtually is, at least at night. I don’t know why it bothers him. He chooses to be to himself, but he sure doesn’t want to be locked up. Frank realizes he needs to do something different. He’s thinking about giving Amos his freedom when we’re up here to see how he does. I told him those bars and locks are not keeping him in, anyway. He still doesn’t believe me.
Last night, I was up visiting the bathroom and saw a shadow cross the window. When I looked out, it was Amos I saw out there. Frank tries to convince me it’s my overactive imagination and sometimes I tend to doubt myself.
However, something happened this morning to change Frank’s mind. When we got up, Frank unlocked Amos’s room and greeted him as usual. In the meantime, I went into the kitchen to start breakfast. That’s when I saw mud tracks on the floor—obviously carried in on someone’s shoes. They led from the front door through the kitchen toward the basement door. When I showed them to Frank, he was stunned. At first, he thought he had tracked in the mud last night after gathering firewood. But it was fresher and wetter than that. He checked outside and discovered it had not rained overnight. Whoever tracked in that mud had probably picked it up down at the lake or along the river while we slept. Sure enough, Frank found mud on Amos’s boots.
Later, Skip, the boat tender’s son, came up from the dock with one of Amos’s tools. He said his father had found it in a skiff that had been set adrift.
Frank was quiet for most of the day. When I tried to talk to him about the strong evidence that Amos has found a way out of that room, he snapped at me. Said I was paranoid. I told him he’s wearing blinders and that his denial could ultimately come back to haunt him. I tried to remind him of the reason why he started locking Amos in, but he didn’t want to discuss it. He went to bed angry and I’m trying to not fall asleep here on the sofa. If that young man was responsible for his parents’ death—even if he simply blames himself for it, as one psychologist suggested—our lives could be in danger. Why can’t Frank see that?
Iris took a sip of her drink. “Sure glad I came into the family too late to have to deal with Amos.”
“You paid your dues.”
“What do you mean, Maggie?”
“Your challenge was your oldest son.”
“You got that right,” Iris said. “What a nightmare Damon was during his druggie days.” She smiled. “And what a blessing he is now.”
“Amen,” Colbi said, choking up a little.
Iris reached over and squeezed Colbi’s hand, then said, “But, as messed up as he was, he wasn’t scary and dangerous.”
Margaret grinned in Iris’s direction. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Back in those days, he was something only a mother could love.” She smiled and asked, “How are your other two boys doing?”
Iris beamed. “Wonderful. Brett’s taking some college courses in hopes of accelerating his path toward becoming a physical therapist, and Chris plans to enroll in a trade school—probably for electronics. Their father has actually decided to pay for part of their schooling, so that will help a lot.”
“Hey,” Colbi said. “I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, it is about supper time,” Savannah noted.
“I’ll start heating it up,” Iris said.
“What is it?” Margaret asked.
“Lima beans and ham.”
Colbi cocked her head. “When did you have time to make that, Iris?”
“Last week; I froze it.”
“Well, it sounds good to me,” she said.
Yeah,” Margaret agreed. “Hey, want biscuits to go with it? I saw biscuit mix in there.”
“Cool. I’ll start the coffee,” Savannah offered.
Once the beans were in the oven and the biscuits were baking, Iris suggested, “Shall we read another chapter while dinner’s cooking?” She picked up the journal and handed it to Colbi. “It’s your turn.”
Colbi opened it to the next entry, dated February 3, 1976. We’ve been here for three days. I’m on muscle relaxants for back pain. The doctor seems to think my problem is stress-related. It didn’t help to learn of a killing across the lake. Some poor fisherman was found dead, his fishing buddies are missing. Young Skip told us about it this morning when we walked down to the boat dock to take a skiff to the other side. When he noticed Amos becoming agitated, Skip shuttered the topic, but I could tell he was awfully upset about it. I felt as though he needed to talk, so I told Frank to take Amos across the lake and I’d follow in another skiff. I was right about Skip wanting to—or maybe needing to—talk. He admitted he’s scared out of his wits to know there’s a killer running around loose.
Skip told me it happened early this morning. He said someone had taken one of the boats from this side of the lake and he and his dad found it caught up in a stand of trees near the mouth of the river with what appeared to be smears of blood on one oar and on the floor.
It’s certainly unnerving to think there’s a killer lurking around up here. Frank says it was probably another fisherman or maybe a wild animal. A sheriff came to see us later this morning to take our fingerprints. They said they found good fingerprints on boat number twelve. But I don’t know what good it’ll do them; we admitted to using boat number twelve yesterday afternoon when we motored over for lunch.
I was surprised that Frank didn’t mention Amos to the sheriff when he was here. If he’d known about Amos, I’m sure he’d want his fingerprints, too. Amos was in his room as usual and Frank saw no reason to subject him to being questioned. Things like that tend to put the boy over the edge.
Actually, Amos has been surprisingly calm this trip. Maybe I’m just getting used to him. At any rate, it has been a better stay than usual, except for the murder and the missing men.
Everyone sat silently for a moment, then Margaret said, “This is spooky as all get-out.”
Savannah nodded. “It’s like we’re reading fiction, but it’s true and it happened here.” She shivered. “Someone should bring in truckloads of sage and salt.”
“Yeah, maybe burn the forest down,” Colbi said. “That might make enough light to dispel any residual evil.”
“Cripes,” Iris said. “Don’t even joke about a forest fire, Colbi.” She reached for the book. “My turn to read.” After glancing at the next entry, she said, “Awww, they got a puppy.”
“Goodie, let’s hear about the puppy,” Colbi said. She pulled her fists up to her chest and frowned. “It’s not going to get hurt is it? Please say it’s not going to get hurt.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t read it yet.”
“Well, stop if it sounds like the puppy’s going to get hurt,” Colbi insisted. “I can’t sleep if something bad happens in a story before I go to bed.”
Suddenly
Iris gasped. “Oh my gosh. This is today’s date!”
“Today’s date?”
“Yes, Ellen wrote it forty years ago today.” She looked around at the others. “I’ve got goose bumps.”
“Read,” Savannah said. “I want to know what happens.”
Margaret shivered. “I think we kinda already know what happens.”
“Yeah, but this is from the horse’s mouth.”
“Colbi, are you calling my mother-in-law a horse?”
“What’s wrong with horses?” Savannah asked, indignantly.
“Okay, here goes,” Iris said. “February 22, 1976: I’m so busy with our new puppy, I hardly notice Amos is with us. He pretty much ignores Buster. Well, he ignores Frank and me, too—stays in his room and carves wood with his knife. Frank wasn’t happy to find one of the dressers in there all carved up. I practically cheered Amos on because Frank was so focused on Amos today that he didn’t notice Buster’s mistake. He’s a puppy. He’s going to make mistakes. He’s a wonderful distraction for me. I think I’m ready to be a grandmother. Ha ha.
Anyway, Frank forgave Amos and the two of them went fishing this afternoon. Amos does like to fish, only we never get to eat what he catches because he carves the fish up with that knife of his. I think he catches them purely for the pleasure of mutilating them.
I love it when Frank takes Amos out for a while. I actually enjoy the mountains and the cabin when I’m alone here.
When Frank returned, he brought a few copies of the local news for me. Yes, there’s a writer up here who delights in reporting mountain news. It’s actually more of a bulletin. It’s generally quite amusing, only this time he reported on the fisherman’s death. The investigation concludes that he was killed—murdered. Somehow even more eerie is the fact that the blood they found in the boat was not his—but that of his two buddies. Now they’re searching along the riverbank for miles and miles for their bodies. People have come up from the cities to hold a vigil in hopes that they will be found alive or maybe that their bodies will be found so their families can stop living in limbo. My heart goes out to their loved ones.