by R M Wild
“You call this simple?”
“Compared to some of things I had to do in New York, yes,” he said.
“Your client must have had deep pockets.”
Kendall turned and grinned. “You know that they say about men with deep pockets?”
“I have no idea.”
“They can hold a lot of balls.”
I shifted uncomfortably.
“It’s a billiard reference. You know, like pockets on a pool table?”
“It’s very funny,” I said. “Even funnier when you explain it.”
“Sorry, I’m a better hitter than a pitcher,” he said.
Boy, I missed Matt Mettle.
A few minutes after the digits in the dashboard rearranged themselves into 4:00 a.m., we pulled off the single lane road and drove down a long, winding driveway.
I twisted to see behind us. There had been no mailbox at the entrance on the road and the woods on either side of us were thick and twisted.
“This is a vacation home I picked up a little bit ago,” Kendall said. “I got it real cheap. Two hundred acres of solitude for a hundred thousand bucks. No one will ever find you here.”
I shifted in my seat. “Ever?”
“You know what I mean.”
We drove through the woods for about a mile and then we came to a vast clearing. In the moonlight, the grass was tall and deeply green, the field bumpy with tiny hillocks. The borders of the clearing were all deeply wooded and there were no dwellings in sight except for a small, modern cabin sitting atop a hill, its roof blue-green with solar panels.
Behind the cabin, a path led down to a dark lake, the morning fog thick as cotton balls and hovering heavily, obscuring the farthest banks.
“She’s a beauty, right? Once I saw her, I had to have her,” Kendall said.
I hoped he was talking about the cabin.
“I don’t know how much you’re into the outdoors, but this baby is anything but rustic. You’ll love her. A real getaway.”
The way he talked about “her” reminded me of Captain Herrick and his boat. I wondered what Kendall had named the cabin. The Girl with the Pearl Ceiling? And why did men always refer to things they owned and controlled as she?
The driveway led right up to the front door. The cabin had wood siding, but the door was all glass, very sleek and very modern.
Kendall parked. A light automatically came on over the driveway.
“Motion sensors. High tech security. If anybody’s coming, we’ll know it right away. There are cameras up near the roof. I can watch everything from my phone.”
He rocked onto one butt cheek, pulled his phone out of his tight pockets, and tapped a few buttons.
The front door beeped and unlocked itself.
“Remote entry. Pretty cool, right? You’ll be safe here,” he said. He got out and motioned for me to go inside. “After you.”
I got out and walked hesitantly up to the front door, the reflection of my hair in the glass a big splotch of red. The moment I stepped over the threshold, the living room lit up.
Kendall came in behind me. “The house senses your whereabouts and adjusts the lights accordingly. It’s all solar powered.”
He passed me and headed straight for the kitchen, the lights flicking on ahead of him as he crossed the hardwood floor. In the kitchen, he grabbed a glass from one of the cabinets and filled it with water from the stainless steel refrigerator.
“Water?”
“Thank you,” I said. I accepted the glass and drank deeply. It tasted clean and pure.
“Can I get you anything to eat?”
“I’m not hungry. I’m very tired. I’d like to get some sleep if it’s okay with you,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was asking for permission to go to sleep.
“Absolutely,” he said. “Follow me.”
I followed him up a floating staircase, each step secured on only one side and hanging magically. On the second floor, there was a loft-style hallway with three doorways. On the first, the frame and door were covered with tiny holes as if hungry termites had found their heaven. The damage was not in keeping with the rest of the cabin.
Kendall pulled the door open and stepped aside for me to enter.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I said. I thought it odd that the door opened into the hallway instead of the other way around.
The bedroom was small. It had a dresser, a television, a king-sized bed that ate most of the floor space, a closet, and an antique chair in the corner with a towel folded on the cushion. A small window opposite the door was blue with moonlight.
Kendall motioned to the bed. It was made, the comforter tucked tight under the mattress and wrinkle-free.
“Good enough?”
“It’s very nice,” I said. “And well kept. Were you expecting a guest?”
“I always try to be prepared,” Kendall said. He remained in the doorframe. “If you don’t mind, I need to head back to the office. I’ve got just enough time to make it back to Dark Haven before your foster father comes in for the morning. We have to keep up appearances, right? We can’t have anybody thinking that I’m aiding and abetting the notorious Rosie Casket, now can we?”
“Of course not,” I said, weary. “Will you tell Robert I’m okay? Once that video leaks about Mettle, he’ll be sick with worry.”
“Absolutely. Consider it done,” Kendall said. He turned the lock on the door handle. “You’ll be safe in here.”
“Thank you. Again. For all your help.”
“It’s the least I can do for the daughter of my boss,” Kendall said. “I’ll be back this evening and bring you some clothes. The fridge is stocked and there’s a shower in the master bedroom. Feel free to go for a walk on the grounds, but be careful around the lake. The fog is thicker than chowder and the banks are soft.”
I nodded. “Can you bring me a phone charger? I left mine back at the inn.”
“Sure,” he said. “I doubt you’ll get a signal though. We’re pretty remote.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got a library of books on my phone to keep me busy.”
“Of course you do,” Kendall said. He smiled and then stepped aside to gently close the door behind him. I listened to his footsteps pad down the stairs and then I shuffled to the window.
I leaned on the sill and craned my head for a glimpse of the Mercedes as Kendall sped out of the driveway, the moonlight whipping over the vehicle’s sleek curves and melting at the bottom of the rear window before the taillights disappeared into the darkness of the woods.
I listened hard for a good five minutes. The house was completely quiet except for the soft buzz of what I presumed was the battery backup for the solar panels. There were no settlement pops, no groans from stressed timbers, no phantom noises to keep me up at night.
The quiet unnerved me.
Once I was convinced that I was completely alone, I collapsed on the bed and let it out. I cried deeply. I punched the pillows and kicked my heels as if I were trying to dig my own grave in the silk sheets.
I sobbed until my eyes were swollen and my throat was ragged from whimpering.
Finally, all cried out, I wiped my eyes, crawled under the covers, and fell fast asleep—the escape to nightmares about Chrissy my only refuge from the torment of reality.
33
When I woke the next morning, the sun was burning through the window and laying a twisted rectangle of yellow across my shins. My stomach was empty, my midsection a deep cavity beneath my ribs. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten, yet I still wasn’t hungry.
I crawled out of bed, my eyes throbbing from all the crying, a headache nestled in the base of my skull like a vicious hangover. I grabbed my phone from the top of the pile of towels.
It was 10:15. I hadn’t slept that late in months.
I swiped through my contacts. For decades, old-man Eldritch had stayed awake all night and slept through the day. I wondered how well he was doing with the inversi
on required to take care of my inn.
Unfortunately, like Kendall warned, there was no signal.
I took my phone to the window and held it to the top of the curtains. Still no bars. I climbed onto the chair and held it up to the corner of the room.
Still nothing.
I went to hop down from the chair, but the legs wobbled and gave a loud crack. I grabbed the wall to steady myself and then climbed down and kneeled to inspect the chair for damage.
My heart skipped like a bad scratch on a CD.
It couldn’t be.
I leaned closer.
The feet were iron. They were shaped like hooves.
I swiped to my picture album and found the photo of Chrissy that Dimitri had taken. I pinched the screen, enlarged it, and held it up to the foot of the chair.
They were the same cloven hooves.
What were the chances this was the same chair? The one in the photo looked much older, scratched and worn, but this chair was in decent condition, making it unlikely that this was the same chair, but there was no doubt they had come from the same set.
If the chair was mass-produced, it could have been a grim coincidence. But it was more unique…
Seriously, how many chairs had feet like that?
“Stop being paranoid,” I said out loud. “Lots of antique chairs have clawed feet.”
But those were the devil’s hooves.
Out of habit, I snapped a photo and went to send a text to Mettle, but then I caught myself.
He was gone.
I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath.
Then I sent the text anyway. There was no signal. And no recipient. But maybe Mettle’s ghost would see it.
Look familiar?
I sighed and lowered the phone. Kendall didn’t strike me as a kidnapper—besides, he would have been thirteen years old when Chrissy disappeared. He couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with it, could he?
No. No way. Not possible. Not him.
I slipped my phone into my pocket, unlocked the door, and went downstairs. On the east side of the house, the morning sunlight was coming through the French doors that lead out to the deck and laying bright on the hardwood floor. Whenever the light hit the inn like that, the air would sparkle, but this cabin, although supposedly rarely used, was remarkably free of dust.
In the refrigerator, I found a bottle of Evian water and some organic granola snacks. I chewed slowly and drank slowly, not wanting to stress my upset stomach.
I finished the water and then set the bottle down on the counter. Seen through the plastic, the label backward read Naive. I really hoped that wasn’t the case.
With nothing better to do, I moseyed around the living room and inspected the furnishings. Everything looked relatively new, as if an Ethan Allen truck had pulled up to the front door and unloaded. A large-screen TV hung opposite the windows and the French doors and various pieces of wrought iron clung to the walls in an attempt to make the modern cabin look more rustic. A bear trap with teeth as sharp as shark’s teeth hung with its jaws pried all the way open, an old rifle was mounted over the mantel of a fake fireplace, and a set of horseshoes hung from railroad spikes jutting out of the cedar paneling.
I went to the French doors and looked out across the property. In the valley behind the house, the morning sun hadn’t succeeded in burning the mist off the lake and a long dock extended into the gloom. A set of wooden lounge chairs, vague in the grayness, sat near the end of the dock and a metal bucket collected the fog like a pail full of gauze bandages.
I unlatched the brass locks and stepped outside onto the deck. The entire rear of the house was in shadow, kept cool by the darkness. I descended the composite stairs and walked across the field, the high, stalking grass scratching at my legs and leaving my calves wet with dew, hitchhikers clinging to my jeans.
The sun on my shoulders felt good and strong. It cast my tromping shadow on the waving tentacles of weeds, giving me the impression that the whole property had gone underwater. Yet, the sun wasn’t strong enough to reach the lake. Ahead, the whole depression was a dark crater, immune to the sun, sitting low enough that the fog never left.
Down at the dock, I walked across the planks, the grayness swallowing me. I sat in the one of the wood chairs and watched the water smoke. The surface was mostly still. It wasn’t glassy, but dark and green, only a faint ripple when the breeze blew.
I inhaled deeply, feeling the gray moisture coat the inside of my nostrils. I was deeply bored and craved something to keep my mind off Mettle. I took out my phone to read, but the battery was down to twenty percent and I didn’t want to risk it dying and slid it back into my pocket.
I had to admit that disconnecting from the rest of the world brought a certain kind of peace. The concerns of my failing inn, of the inflammatory comments, of even my feud with Captain Herrick, all felt like a lifetime ago.
Yet I couldn’t help but imagine Mettle sitting in his smoke-lined throne over the lake and gazing down on me. In too many ways, his death was all my fault. If I hadn’t been such a prude, he might have spent the night with me and avoided arrest. If I hadn’t been such a prude, he might be sitting in that second lounge chair and we might be holding hands and gazing across the lake like a silly Cialis commercial.
My eyes popped open when a cold drop of water struck my forehead. I must have fallen asleep. I looked up. The sun had retreated behind a gang of heavy clouds.
I stood and turned to head back to the cabin, when a pair of headlights cut through the trees. I took out my phone and glanced at the time. It was a few minutes after noon. The battery was down to seventeen percent.
The rain began to fall. I hurried through the tall grass and back up to the deck in time to see Kendall swing the Mercedes around and pull up to the front door. He got out and carried two armfuls of grocery bags through the front door.
I met him in the living room and grabbed a paper towel from the counter and patted down my hair.
“I thought you lawyers worked long hours,” I said.
He put the groceries on the counter. “We do, but I told your foster father I had some shopping to take care of.” He opened one of the bags, took out a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of red panties and a bra, both too frilly for my tastes.
“I know they’re nothing fancy, but I hope they will suffice.”
I ignored the underwear and grabbed the jeans with suspicion and turned the waistband inside out to read the tag.
“Was I right?”
“Yes,” I said. “Most guys I know don’t have a clue about women’s sizes.”
“I worked at a Banana Republic in college. Got some great discounts.”
“How bourgie of you.”
He reached into the bag and pulled out a purple package. “I bought you some lady pads too. Just in case.”
“Thank you,” I said. I couldn’t help but imagine him standing at the checkout counter, his face bright red.
“How was the lake?”
I froze.
“The cameras, remember?”
I had forgotten all about the security cameras and suddenly felt like I was standing in one of those full-body scanners at the airport.
“I-it started to rain so I came back up.”
“Be careful down there. I haven’t gotten a chance to renovate the dock. I’d hate to be watching the security cameras and see you fall in and be too far away to help. We’ve got lots of slippery critters around these parts, especially Northern Water Snakes. I caught one in the basement last month and had to use a pitchfork to get it out.”
I winced. “What do you have a pitchfork for?”
“I have no idea. It was here before the renovations,” he said as he reached into the grocery bag and pulled out two bottles of rum and set them on the counter with a double heavy clink. “Shall we imbibe?”
I stared at the bottles. The bearded skull stared back at me.
Red Rum.
“Wha—what is that doing her
e?”
“What?”
I pointed at it with a shaky finger. “The rum.”
“This? This is the best rum I’ve ever tasted. You don’t need to pass the bar exam to know how good this stuff is. What’s the matter? You don’t like it?”
I had an urge to grab the bottles and crack him over the head. “Red Rum was Peter Hardgrave’s brand.”
Kendall turned the bottles around to look at the label. “It is?”
“Yes. It isn’t being brewed anymore. Where did you get it?”
“It’s—from my own collection. I bought a few cases from the Gold Bug Tavern a while ago. I had no idea it was Hardgrave’s brand. I just thought he sold it. Now I feel really stupid. I can take them back if they bother you.”
“No, don’t do that. Just leave it,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m fine. It’s no big deal.”
Kendall put the bottles back into the bag. “I’m really sorry. I was going to ask if you wanted to join me in a little escapism, but I guess that can wait.”
“Did you get my phone charger?”
“Rats. I knew I forgot something. I will get you one tomorrow. I promise.”
I went to the French doors and watched the rain streak down the glass. It ran in crooked rivulets toward the floor and a puddle was spreading from under the door toward my toes.
Kendall came and put a towel on the floor to sop it up. “Unfortunately, there’s a tear in the weather seal. I haven’t gotten it fixed yet.”
I stepped aside so he could wipe up the leak. “Have you heard anything about Matt’s funeral?”
“Not yet.”
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to go.”
“No can do. You need to stay here, Rosie. Your life is at risk.”
“I’ll take that risk. I’ll wear a disguise or something.”
“I can’t let you do that, Rosie.”
“It’s my choice, Kyle. I can’t stay here forever.”
“Yes, but I won’t let you do something stupid. When I was at the office today, I did some digging into this Roman Caesar fellow you mentioned. I had forgotten that I had actually represented him a few months back, however briefly.”
