by Emily James
I’d keep it in mind to ask him if he was former military if there was a lull in the conversation. Social rule #1 on my mother’s list: Always have a topic in mind to keep a conversation going. Maybe that’s why I was chronically uncomfortable with any silence longer than ten seconds. Yeah, that’s the story I was going with rather than that it was a flaw in my DNA.
My preparations weren’t necessary. After the initial awkward I’m-no-longer-a-victim-you’re-interviewing-for-work moments, we settled into an easy conversation. It was different than talking to Mark, less goofiness, more deep discussion, but still nice. Very nice. Almost too nice, since the evening was nearly over before I remembered why I’d suggested Hops in the first place.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, motioning in the general direction of the restrooms, which also happened to be the direction of the bar.
I wouldn’t have much time to come at this subtly. Then again, I was in a bar. Subtle wasn’t exactly the word of the hour.
I waited for the crowd ordering drinks to part for a minute and I hopped up on a stool.
The bartender stopped in front of me. “What’ll it be?”
“Are you Kevin Franklin?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah.”
I held out a $20. Hopefully money talked here. “I was hoping you could help me with something. Was Jason Wood in here a week ago last Saturday night, negotiating with you to carry his beers?”
Whatever reason he thought I had for asking, he snagged my $20. “Not on a Saturday, that’s for sure. You see this place.” He swept a hand toward the room behind me. “You think I’d have time to argue with Jason on a night like this.”
Busted. It still didn’t prove Jason killed Uncle Stan, but it did prove he wasn’t where he said he was the night Uncle Stan died.
I smiled at Kevin and slid down from the stool. “Thanks.”
I turned around and came face to chest with Erik.
A little frown left creases between his eyes. “I came to make sure you weren’t buying your own drink. Why do you care where Jason Wood was?”
Crap. Asking about another guy did not look good on a first date. And it’d be nice to have a second. He was a gentleman. We had a surprising amount in common. And, most importantly, he wasn’t married. At least not that I knew of. He didn’t have a wedding ring on or a mark on his ring finger where one might have been.
I tipped my chin up toward our table. We settled in and he leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest. Not a good sign.
“I’ve been looking into my uncle’s murder, which is why someone might have tried to blow me up the other night and why I was asking where Jason was the night my uncle died, because I think he might have been the one who killed him.” It all came out in a sonic speed information dump.
Erik blinked slowly, but his arms loosened from his chest. “Is that why you wanted to try Hops tonight?”
Burning started in my ears and spread across my cheeks. I dropped my gaze. “Yes.”
“Is that the only reason you agreed to go out with me tonight?”
I swear I was doomed to be single forever. “No. But when you asked if there was anywhere I wanted to go, this was the place that came to mind.”
“And is there a reason you didn’t tell me?”
I brought my gaze up. He was giving me the same granite stare I imagined he used on suspects he was questioning. I couldn’t read it. That wasn’t a feeling I was comfortable with.
“I knew how it would look.” I pursed my lips. If I was being honest, I might as well confess to all of it. “And Chief Wilson technically told me to stop investigating.”
His lips twitched. I couldn’t quite tell if it was amusement or a simple muscle spasm. “I have heard that you’ve been a stone in his boot.”
I tucked my hair behind my ears. “I understand if you want to call it a night.”
His stare didn’t change. “I do.” He pushed back his seat and stood.
Way to go, Nik. I slumped slightly in my seat.
His hand clamped on the chair back and helped pull it out for me. “But I think you owe me another date to make up for it.”
I glanced up at him. His lips twitched again. It must be his version of a smile. “I can do that.”
He walked with me to the bar door. People seemed to naturally part in front of him, unlike the way I’d had to squeeze through the tightly packed bodies and say excuse me at least five times in my attempt to reach the bar.
He held open the door, and I ducked outside. The cold air slapped me in the face, and I sucked in a breath. With all the bodies packed into Hops, it’d been so warm I’d forgotten how far north I was.
I hitched a thumb to the right. “I’m that way.”
“I’m in the other direction.” He reached for my hand and linked his fingers with mine. “I’ll call you later this week. Next time, though, tell me what you’re up to. I could have questioned Kevin officially.”
I gently squeezed his hand. “I will. Promise.” I gave him a lopsided smile. “Are you going to tell Chief Wilson?”
“I should tell him that Jason’s alibi fell through, don’t you think?”
I picked at one of my buttons with my free hand. “Do you have to tell him I’m the one who checked it?”
He gave the hand he held a return squeeze, then let go. “Yup. Omission is still a lie.”
I wobbled a little like his words came with a physical push. It was such a different perspective from what I’d been raised with. My parents were masters of omission. They considered it good business practice. I guess in their work—our work—it was. Maybe the Chihuahua-size lump his words created in my stomach were yet another sign that I wasn’t cut out to continue working as a defense attorney. Lying—directly or by omission—tended to make me feel like a sleaze.
“I’ll give him a call right away so he doesn’t waste time sending anyone else out here.” He raised his hand in a parting wave. “Goodnight, Nicole. Try to stay safe. I plan to make good on calling in that second date.”
I blushed again, but this time for an entirely different reason.
16
Since I wasn’t going to be able to sleep anytime soon with my mind bouncing from my date with Erik to Jason’s broken alibi, I headed for Sugarwood instead of for The Sunburnt Arms. No way was I staying out there after dark, but I could quickly grab the last two boxes and haul them back to my room at the B&B to sort through. I still hadn’t found the insurance papers, and I was guessing I only had a limited amount of time to get those changed over into my name before the policy would lapse.
I pulled up in front of Uncle Stan’s house. I needed to start thinking of it as my house, but that was going to take me a while longer. Once I settled in and didn’t have to worry about someone trying to blow me up again, I could redecorate and put my own touch on the place. Then, hopefully, it would start to feel more like home.
I fished around under my passenger seat and snagged the flashlight I’d bought myself earlier today. I popped it on, and immediately my heart rate slowed. It was startling the difference a little extra light could make. I made my way up the walk.
A piece of paper tacked to the front door fluttered gently in the breeze. I freed it. The paper was smooth, a sure sign it hadn’t been there long, not with all the random showers we’d had today.
I aimed the flashlight beam at the paper.
Nicole,
There’s a dangerous mold problem with the old sugar shack that could hurt business. I need your help with a decision immediately. Please meet me there as soon as you get in.
--Russ
I glanced over my shoulder toward the path that led to the original sugar shack. I couldn’t see further than a few feet away unless my flashlight were aimed in that direction.
A shiver slithered over my arms. Russ made it sound urgent. I honestly didn’t know enough about this business yet to know if that was melodrama or if snap decisions were often needed.
Mold coul
d make people quite sick depending on the kind. How long did it take to cure mold? The tours given of the grounds made up a significant portion of income during the busy season, especially for Noah, who’d told me about the generous tips people gave him if he let their kids feed the horses carrots, and the original sugar shack was one of the popular highlights.
I squinted into the dark. I tucked the flashlight under my arm and worked my phone out of my purse. I’d give him a call first.
My phone showed one weak bar of signal. Great. First thing tomorrow morning, I was calling local carriers and seeing if one could give me the best coverage, penalty or no penalty for canceling my current contract before it ended.
I’d gotten a signal inside the house before. I unlocked the door. I wasn’t traipsing out there in the dark until I’d exhausted my other options.
Inside, my signal jumped to full. I dialed Russ. No answer. The old sugar shack probably sat in another pocket.
I chewed on my bottom lip. Stay or go. He might not even be out there anymore.
Or he might be waiting for a chance to ambush you, the paranoid voice in my head said.
“Shut up,” I told it.
I knew I could outrun Russ as long as he didn’t get a firm hold on me. I might be too clumsy for sports, but I loved running and biking. The only way I’d be in danger was if he had a gun, and that wouldn’t look much like an accident.
Besides, Jason didn’t have an alibi. Russ looked less and less like a suspect every second.
Just in case, I ducked into the kitchen and grabbed a steak knife. I hid it in my purse. None of my self-defense training included knives, but how hard could it be? Stab for your attacker’s fleshy parts, then run. It’d only be a backup anyway.
I quickly moved the last boxes I needed to sort through into my car, locked the house and car, and headed into the woods with my flashlight.
On second thought…I backtracked and unlocked my car. In case I needed a quick getaway, I didn’t want to be struggling to find my keys and unlock my car while running.
I shook my head. “Now you’re being silly. And you’re talking to yourself.”
But I’d rather be silly than dead. And no one was around to see my silly, so it didn’t matter. If I didn’t need the knife or the unlocked car, no one would be the wiser, and they both made me feel a whole lot better about heading off into the woods alone.
I passed into the tree line and held the flashlight out in front of me like a shield. It wouldn’t stave off a human attacker, but hopefully it would keep the creepy crawlies in the woods away from me. Did they have wolves up here?
I strode forward, my speed a touch shy of a jog. I wasn’t cut out for the great outdoors.
Cold stiffened my fingers. The old sugar shack appeared in front of me, all shadows and reflection. A light glowed from inside.
“Russ?”
No answer.
I moved around the front. The door was hooked open and a fire burned under the boiler. He must have been waiting for me and stepped away to take care of something else.
I climbed inside and directed my flashlight beam into the corners and around the edges of the floorboards. No mold that I could see.
A grinding sound behind me. I whirled around in time to see the front door slam close with a shack-rattling bang.
I dove for the door and tugged on the handle. It refused to budge.
My heart skittered around in my chest and the jittery feeling spiraled through my stomach and head. I swallowed hard. Do not panic.
Russ told me the door sometimes did this. The hook must not have been properly set. Maybe I’d jostled it when I climbed in.
I whipped my phone out to call for help. No signal.
I sank down into the chair, gulping in air. It was a simple accident. This wasn’t a big deal. Russ would come back and let me out. No one stood to gain anything from locking me in here. Even if, for some strange reason, Russ didn’t come back to check for me or put out the fire, I wouldn’t freeze to death overnight. I had a fire, after all. Noah would be by to feed the horses in the barn tomorrow morning, and he’d have to hear me if I yelled. If nothing else, Mark would start to worry if he didn’t hear from me in a few days. My mom or Fay or Erik might even start to wonder what happened to me. I could live a few days without food and water.
I hugged my purse and flashlight into my lap. “Don’t be a baby, Nicole.”
Nicole!
The note taped to my door hadn’t called me Nikki. It’d called me Nicole. But Russ, at least in verbal communication, always called me Nikki. What if Russ hadn’t left the note at all?
I pulled it out of my pocket and read it again. Anyone could have written it. I didn’t know Russ’s handwriting, and it didn’t have anything in it that had to come from Russ.
And I’d fallen for it.
But if Russ hadn’t sent it, why had whoever did want to draw me here?
A sharp crack ripped through the air, like wood snapping. I jumped to my feet, my purse, flashlight, and the note tumbling to the ground. What the…?
I inched toward the back of the building. Heat radiated off the wall. I stretched out my hand, but yanked it back before touching the wood.
Holy. Crap. They’d set the building on fire from the outside.
I backed toward my chair in the middle of the room. My hands shook, and I couldn’t steady them. The fire under the boiler made sense now. Depending on if they’d used an accelerant, or if the police even brought in an arson investigator to check for accelerants, this could very well look like an accident. Stupid city girl was fooling around with the equipment in the old sugar shack and burned it down with herself inside.
It was a flimsy cover. They had to be depending on law enforcement to not investigate too carefully. After nearly getting away with Uncle Stan’s murder, they had good reason to think that might be the case. Except I didn’t think Mark would believe this was an accident.
For all the good that would do me. I’d be dead.
I checked my phone. Still no signal. No way to call for help. By the time someone noticed the flames, it’d be too late. I had to find a way out myself.
Smoke poured in the cracks, and a bead of sweat trickled down the back of my neck under my hair. I stripped off my jacket.
There were only two ways out of the shack. The door, which I knew was locked tightly, perhaps even secured from the outside to make sure I didn’t escape. And a tiny window high in the left wall.
I dragged the chair across to the window and stepped up. The fire must have been set on the opposite side, on the wall behind the boiler, because this wall was still cool. The window was clean, and I couldn’t see any flames directly outside it either.
The window was small, but assuming I could get it open, I should be able to climb out. And once I got out, I’d have to hope I didn’t break my neck in the fall.
I ran my fingers along the edges of the window. It wasn’t the kind that opened, and it had a sturdy wooden bar running horizontal across the middle and another vertical. Breaking out the glass would be easy enough. The bars would be the real problem.
I scrambled down from the chair, grabbed my jacket, and wrapped it around my hand and arm. I snagged one of the antique-looking spiky metal tools from its hanger on the wall and smashed out the glass as well as I could. None of the other tools looked like they’d help me with the bars.
Smoke dried out my throat, and I scrubbed at my eyes. Sweat plastered my hair to the back of my neck.
I wrenched on the bars. Even if I hung off of them, they didn’t feel like they’d give. I had to weaken them somehow.
A cough wracked my body. The air even seemed hot now as I breathed it in. I was too afraid to look back. A panic attack now would, quite literally, kill me.
I grabbed my purse. The only thing I could think was to saw at the bars with the steak knife I’d wedged into my purse. It was the heavy kind that men seemed to favor, and if I knew my uncle, it would be sharp.
I
took out the knife and heaved my purse out the window. Assuming I didn’t make it, maybe someone would spot my purse and see it as a clue that this was no accident.
My lungs burned and ached. I sawed at the vertical bar with both hands wrapped around the knife handle. Even without looking, I could tell by the roaring and firecracker-like pops behind me that I wouldn’t have time to cut through both. If I could at least break this one off, I might be able to squeeze through. I wasn’t chunky, but I wouldn’t be modeling on any runways, either. I carried a lot of muscle weight.
The wooden bar started to splinter. I yanked on it, leaning back, and the bar gave at the bottom. I shoved it back and forth until the top broke. I dropped it on the floor inside. One less thing to fall on if I could get out.
I stuck my arm out the window and heaved the knife to the side, out of my drop radius hopefully but where I could still grab it back up in case the arsonist decided to stick around to watch me burn. What kind of a psycho would do that, knowing he’d probably hear my dying screams, I don’t know, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
I hoisted myself up and shoved my upper half through the window. Shards of glass I couldn’t remove tore my shirt and sliced my skin, sending lines of pain down my torso. Each squirm delivered new streaks of hot pain. The horizontal wooden bar ground into my back.
One final twist and I tumbled out the window, trying desperately to push off the wall and shift my weight so I wouldn’t fall on my head.
I hit the ground sideways. Something popped in my shoulder, and agony burst through my body. Black rimmed my vision, and the hot, queasy feeling that always came before passing out flooded over me.
But I was still too close. I used the building wall to pull myself up, but my vision blacked completely and I sank to the ground. I crawled as far as I could from the shack using my good arm. My other arm dangled in a strange way. I tried not to think about it.
Somewhere between the shack and the edge of the clearing, I passed out.
17
