Alone in a Cabin

by Leanne W. Smith

  As Maggie washed last night’s dinner dishes, she marveled at how strange yet calming it was to have the sheriff here, if the man sitting on her barstool was real this time. Canon Dale’s presence certainly felt solid—comforting—especially with that gun fastened to his hip.

  Maggie thought of Cal’s gun. Where had Zeke put it? Was it back under the pillow in the bedroom? If so, did the sheriff see it in his search? Or had it ever been removed from under the bed in the first place? What about the first aid kit? Was it in the bathroom, or still in the trunk of the Subaru, never having really been needed?

  What day is this? New Year’s Eve.

  When Canon finished his coffee, he stood.

  “What happens now?” asked Maggie.

  “I’ve got some paperwork in the car. Thought I’d go out there and leave you alone. When it gets daylight, I’d like to scout around.”

  Maggie looked at the clock. “It won’t be daylight for nearly two hours.”

  “I’m slow at paperwork.” Canon nodded toward the coffee pot. “If I get my thermos, can I have the rest of that coffee?”

  She heard his stomach growl, long and low. “Why don’t I cook you breakfast?”

  Canon grimaced. “Mrs. Raines, I feel awful about waking you so early. I just…I had to be sure Rodriquez wasn’t here. I could see there weren’t any tracks leading up to the cabin, but…when I peered in and saw you on the couch, I…I had to know.”

  Maggie knew the sheriff would have checked on anyone, that was his job, but the thought that he cared for her well-being was a welcome one. “I don’t mind cooking you breakfast. Really, I don’t. I’m up now. You’re obviously hungry.”

  “Well.” That sheepish look of his was starting to grow on her. “I’m not fool enough to turn down a good meal.”

  “You haven’t eaten it yet. It might not be good.”

  “Any woman who brings a stack of cookbooks on a get-away is a cook. Plus, I did open the fridge. Saw the homemade bread on the counter. If I’m a decent sheriff, your last cooked meal was a great smelling salmon with asparagus, two of my favorite things.”

  Maggie smiled. Her eyes kept sweeping the kitchen, the laundry, for any sign of Zeke. How could he be explained? Here was a seasoned officer—the county sheriff, no less—also looking for signs of a second person in the cabin, but no evidence had presented itself.

  Maggie excused herself to the bathroom. She wanted to put up her hair and wash her face. Zeke had borrowed her toothpaste, her soap, used extras towels and hung them on the rack. Where were those things now? The first aid kit was not in the bathroom.

  Under the guise of getting dressed, she stepped to the bedroom and closed the door. Lifting the matelassé coverlet she saw Cal’s gun case still under the bed as if never opened. There was the Tylenol bottle in her purse. In the cedar chest her fuzzy socks sat rolled where she put them when she unpacked the day she arrived. She pulled them on, along with jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt.

  By the time she padded back to the kitchen, Canon sat snoring on the couch. Maggie didn’t know how he could sleep sitting straight up, but was glad he allowed himself the luxury. Not wanting to disturb him, she worked quietly in the kitchen. A radio on his hip belt hummed with white noise periodically.

  At 6:00 a voice spoke over his radio, “Sheriff? This is Amos.”

  Canon answered as though he’d never been asleep. “What’ve you got?” He’d apparently learned to wake faster than Maggie had.

  “A third witness says he saw a man on the highway near Patterson Road just before the storm hit. Thought I should let you know.”

  “Nothing seems amiss at Thompson’s. I checked there early this morning. No forced entry. Couldn’t get him to come to the door, but it was early and you know how he is. I’ll head back down there later.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Cabin down the road. Has a current tenant. Been here since before the storm. Hasn’t seen anyone. Soon as it’s light, I’ll scour the area.”

  Technically, Maggie never said she hadn’t seen anyone. The sheriff had not asked that specific question.

  “Want company?” asked Amos.

  “No. I’ll holler if I need you. People are gettin’ cabin fever. We’ll get calls. Oh, and Amos.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thanks for coming in. I know it’s your day off.”

  “Sure thing, Boss.”

  Maggie heard the couch groan as Canon stood. A stack of banana sour cream pancakes sat under the warmer. She was just pulling a frittata from the oven when he appeared in the doorway.

  “Mind if I use your restroom, Mrs. Raines?”

  “Not at all. And call me Maggie.”

  He disappeared. Soon she heard water running. When Canon reappeared his eyes looked brighter, his footfalls on the floor more brisk. Maggie wondered how many couches the sheriff had napped on. He took the dining chair across from hers and picked up his fork, eyeing the pancakes and frittata like he was looking on heaven itself.

  “I didn’t ask you what you like,” she said.

  “Do I strike you as a picky eater? I like everything.” Then he commenced to prove it to her. Several mouthfuls in, he pointed with his fork. “You got those molasses at Anderson’s.” It appeared to be the sheriff’s custom to state things as facts rather than questions.

  He reached for the jar then poured some onto a pat of butter on his plate. Breaking off pieces of pancake, he used them to sop up the mixture. “I’m sorry if this is not proper manners. I love this stuff and I’ve never tasted it on anything like these pancakes.” Canon smiled before stuffing a large bite in his mouth. When he got it chewed, he said, “An Amish community on Cane Creek in Perry County sells the sorghum to Anderson’s. I try not to buy it, because I can’t resist it.”

  His eyes looked straight at her, almost through her. Maggie got the feeling they always saw more than the recipients of his gaze really wanted them to. By the time they finished eating she was convinced she had only imagined Zeke. And Zeke had been so lovely.

  What other explanation was there? Zeke looked like a fair-haired version of one of her teen idols, had blue eyes to Tom’s brown, was taller, more fit, and in spite of frightening her, appeared so willing to see and love her for what she wanted to believe she was. Zeke washed the dishes. Did laundry. Told her she didn’t need make-up, and that she ought to leave her hair down. These were things Tom Raines had never done or said.

  Maybe Maggie had gotten the text from Cal, then let her imagination wander. The realization that she might have wanted a Zeke so badly that she made him up left Maggie feeling sad…empty…but she tried not to show it in front of her present live and watchful company.

  ***

  Canon didn’t mean to fall asleep on Maggie’s sofa. But he was tired and it felt so good. Everything about this morning felt good, like he might still be dreaming. Listening to her pad softly through the cabin, going to the bedroom to dress, then waking to the smell of breakfast, sitting with someone at a table, sorghum to pour, felt like the old days. Rita had never failed to have sorghum on the table.

  Flowers in a vase. Books beside the couch. A lot of water had passed under the bridge, but Canon still missed those things. This woman made a space so pleasant he nearly dropped his guard and told her about his dreams. But something stopped him.

  He didn’t really know Maggie Raines. He didn’t want her to think he was crazy. It had been a long time since he’d felt so comfortable in a woman’s presence. Canon didn’t want to spoil it. Plus…he came here to do his job.

  * * *

  Maggie watched Canon push back from the table. The sky outside was lightening. He thanked her and stood to leave. Before putting his jacket on he checked his gun then pulled on his hat.

  “Do you need gloves?” Maggie didn’t know why she asked, she didn’t have any gloves to fit him. Maybe she was stalling. She suddenly hated to see him go. It felt safe with Canon Dale there. Would Zeke reappear when Canon was gone? Did
she want him to? Maggie wasn’t sure.

  Canon leveled his gaze at her. “I can’t work my gun wearing gloves.”

  “Oh. Right.” A gun.

  Maggie wanted to ask if she could search the grounds with him, but she suspected he would tell her no. “You really think someone could be out there, having survived in this cold weather?”

  On what seemed a highly diminishing chance Zeke had been real, she hated to think about him fleeing the cabin only to have the sheriff shoot him. She thought of her dream—red blood dripping from Zeke’s chest onto the snow.

  Canon shook his head. “I’ve learned never to say never. Noticed you had a case under the bed. What kind of handgun?”

  “Colt .22. Belongs to Cal. He insisted I bring it.”

  “Cal’s a good son, sounds like. You might want to keep it close ‘til I get back.” He nodded to her. “Thank you for the fine breakfast, Mrs. Raines.”

  She gave him a look and he corrected himself. “Maggie.” He smiled. “I don’t know when I’ve had a finer one.” He turned to open the door. “Or company to share it with.”

  Then Canon Dale was gone.

  13

  Twice in Act 2 there should be a plot twist, a major turning point, something the reader is not expecting. Often it surprises the writer, too.

  Maggie sat on the couch staring at her computer, trying to write, but she couldn’t concentrate. The dishes were washed, the cabin was tidied, and she’d searched all over for evidence Zeke had ever been there, but…nothing. She looked over at her cell phone, back in her possession, and thought of texting her children, but could think of nothing to say.

  Hey. Thought there was an escaped convict in the cabin with me for a couple of days. Turns out it was only my imagination. I’m fine now. No need to worry.

  The wail of a police siren coming up the road cut through her disheveled thoughts.

  Maggie pulled on her coat and boots, reached for a hat and gloves, and watched at the window. When the car came into sight she stepped out on the porch. Canon’s squad car, a silver Taurus with green lettering, was still parked near her Subaru.

  A young man jumped out of a newly arrived SUV.

  “What’s happened?” she asked.

  “Sheriff found a body in the woods. You the tenant?”

  Maggie nodded and came down the steps zipping her coat to her chin as the man reached for a bag. “Can I go with you?”

  He gave her a startled look. “Dead bodies aren’t pleasant.”

  “I’d still like to come.”

  “You’ll need to stay wide of the crime scene.” The man looped the bag strap over his shoulder and clapped his hands together. “It’s awful cold!”

  Maggie tucked her hair into the cap and pulled on her gloves as she followed him past the cabin and into the woods behind it. In moments her toes felt numb inside the shearling boots she wore.

  The deputy plucked a radio off his belt. “I told the tenant she could come. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind,” came the deep timbre of Canon’s reply.

  A clearing surrounded the cabin, save for the few trees that dotted the yard—the large oak that covered the bedroom windows and the two mid-sized hickory trees in the front where the rick of wood was stacked. Otherwise the land was open and flat then began to slope uphill into a wooded area behind. Maggie stepped through the snow-blanketed landscape, following the young officer in front of her.

  They climbed for several minutes then turned left following Canon’s tracks. After what must have been a half mile, Maggie saw him coming toward them in the distance. The terrain had grown rough, ice-covered brush pulling at the fabric of their coats. Canon nodded to his deputy then reached a hand down to help Maggie up the next sharp rise. When all three stood on top of the ridge Canon pointed down.

  A man lay sprawled in the ravine below.

  Maggie’s breath caught—she had seen Zeke falling in her dream.

  “There’s a deer path over here.” Canon led the way. Maggie could see dainty tracks mixed in with his. “This is the best way down.”

  He turned every few steps to make sure Maggie and the officer behind him each had a solid foothold on the slippery descent. Long before they reached the bottom Maggie knew it wasn’t Zeke. The clothes weren’t his. This man wore prison garb. And his hair was too dark.

  Maggie didn’t realize how tightly she had been coiled until her shoulders relaxed. She stood back as the men spoke low and leaned over the body.

  “Been here since the snow started,” said Canon.

  “Think he fell?” asked the deputy. Canon had called him Amos.

  “I don’t know. Get a picture of this.” Canon pointed at the man’s head. Amos pulled a camera from the bag and leaned in to get a closer shot. “Blunt force trauma. Something hit him. Paul can tell us more.”

  Maggie didn’t know how they could tell anything. All she could see was a man frozen and stiff, with a bluish sheen all over, lying face down in the snow. The man was nearly covered, all but for a patch of his hatless hair.

  Canon looked up at her. Maggie’s face must have looked ashen because he asked, “You okay?”

  She nodded, but in truth didn’t feel well. Maggie had never seen a dead person like this. When her father died, medical staff were quick to attend to him. Maggie shouldn’t have come traipsing out here. That was a mistake. But she wanted—needed—to see with her own eyes that it wasn’t Zeke.

  After Amos took several photos, he and Canon began dusting snow from around the man, getting him ready to turn over. Canon looked up at her again before they flipped him. Maggie turned away, focusing instead on the land around them and the steam of her breath hanging in the air. She rubbed her arms. She needed to keep moving.

  The cold air made Maggie’s vision sharper. She noticed how beautiful the ravine was, with rocks jutting out, with animal tracks here and there. Maggie recognized the deer tracks but none of the others. Squirrels? Rabbits? Maggie heard the men grunt behind her as they lifted and turned the body. It must have been heavy. Groans. Thuds. More snapping of pictures.

  Canon was suddenly beside her. “Why don’t I walk you back to the cabin? It’ll take us a while to get the shots we’re after, and I need to get a stretcher.”

  Maggie glanced back. She could see dark stains on the man’s head now—what must have been days’ old blood, a mass of mottled blue and black, covered by icy hair. By the time she and Canon reached the top of the ravine she was shaking all over, and not from the cold.

  Zeke must not have been real—he couldn’t have been real. But where had the thought of him come from? Had Cal really even texted about the prison break? As Maggie stepped numbly through the snow she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and pulled off her glove so she could punch in the code and scroll back through her messages.

  Yes. There was Cal’s text: Keep your doors locked. There was a prison break not far from your cabin.

  Then her response: I’ll keep them locked, Cal. Thanks for loving me enough to let me know! An exclamation point.

  The phone slipped from Maggie’s hands, dropping into the snow. She didn’t text Cal that message. Canon, close beside her, picked up the phone, brushed off the ice, and handed it back to her with a pinched brow.

  She clutched the phone again, avoiding the sheriff’s probing eyes. There was Robbie’s text the next morning: You making it okay? And her response: Swimmingly. Had Maggie ever used the word “swimmingly” before? Why wasn’t Robbie suspicious? Why hadn’t she questioned Maggie’s use of an out-of-the-norm expression?

  Great! Happy writing.

  Maggie felt Canon looking over her shoulder. They were almost back to the clearing now. Canon had already read the messages, of course, but now he stepped in front of her with pinched brows. “I’m sure it’s upsetting to know he was this close to your cabin.”

  “Upsetting?” Maggie choked. Or was it a sob? She stumbled through the snow past him into the clearing, then stopped and turned ba
ck to him, her face painfully cold, but her body now on fire under the down of her jacket.

  “You’re going to think I’m crazy, Sheriff. I was not alone for the past two days. The night that man in the ravine escaped from prison, a man came to my door. A different man. He was nearly frozen, curled in a heap. I pulled him inside by the fire. I helped him thaw out. Later when I tried to leave he wouldn’t let me.”

  Canon put a hand to her elbow. “Did he hurt you?”

  “That’s just it. He was in my cabin for two days and he…he was nice. I liked him. He was good for me. He said the nicest things—things I wanted to hear, things I needed to hear. I’ve been so…”

  Maggie’s words got twisted like a logjam in her throat. A dead man in the woods behind my cabin! What must the sheriff think of her? She tried again. “This has been hard. I’ve never lived alone. But I have to now. Tom didn’t give me a choice. He didn’t ask how I felt about it.”

  The sheriff’s forehead pinched again. “Your ex-husband’s name is Tom.”

  Maggie nodded.

  “I see.”

  “This man’s leg was cut. I keep a first aid kit in the car, but it’s not in the bathroom any more. And there should have been two plates on the dining table this morning. I don’t know how to explain that.”

  “Slow down, Maggie. Start from the beginning. Tell me what happened. Every detail.”

  They were back to the cabin now, stepping onto the porch, stamping their feet. Maggie hadn’t locked the door. The police were here, after all. All the danger was on the outside. Or was it?

  “Please don’t think I’m crazy.”

  * * *

  Canon didn’t think she was crazy. Hadn’t he seen things himself in a dream that he couldn’t explain? But he was the sheriff, sworn to uphold the law. And laws were supposed to be rooted in truth…on facts.

  What Canon believed was evidence. He had a body and a body was evidence. But there weren’t any bodies in that cabin but Maggie. No evidence at all to suggest anyone else had ever been there…no tracks in or out of the cabin.