Threat of Darkness

by Valerie Hansen

“What is it, boy? What do you see?”

  The dog inched his way around so he was facing the yard and had his broad rump to the door.

  As far as Samantha was concerned that made this situation a no-brainer. She quickly stepped into the kitchen and reached for the switch on the wall, then stopped herself. If she flipped those lights on she’d be silhouetted in the open doorway.

  “Brutus, come,” she ordered. “Come. Now.”

  Instead of taking his eyes off the yard he literally backed into the house, his nails clicking on the vinyl floor. The minute he was in the clear, she slammed and locked the door.

  Although the dog still had his hackles up he seemed to be calming down. Samantha crouched next to him and put one arm around his neck. “I sure wish you could talk. What did you sense, huh? Was it a skunk or an armadillo?”

  Rabbits, though plentiful, seldom interested him but he hated skunks and ’dillos. Still, it took quite a bit of incentive to get the old dog going these days. For him to show such concentration and defensiveness meant he was positive something was amiss.

  “Okay, Brutus. You win. You can spend the night inside with me,” Samantha said with affection. “I don’t want to have to wash you in tomato juice because you got skunked. I don’t need anything else to make the last twenty-four hours more memorable than they already are.”

  Suddenly, the dog ducked out of her hold and started to trot toward the front of the house. He barked, but only once. That reaction wouldn’t have caused her undue concern if she hadn’t just been through the growling spell with him.

  He pressed his nose to the crack between the jamb and the heavy, wooden door, snuffling up and down where the door fit the frame the way he did whenever she had a pizza delivered. Only nobody delivered food at this hour of the morning, not to mention the fact that she hadn’t ordered anything.

  Grasping Brutus’s collar she held tight, leaned close to the door and called, “Who’s there?”

  When John Waltham answered, “It’s me,” Samantha didn’t know whether to be glad or tell him to scram. Judging by her dog’s amiable reaction, at least one of them was happy to encounter him again.

  “What are you doing out there? Do you know how much you scared me?”

  “If you were scared, it wasn’t my fault,” John insisted. “Open the door. We need to talk.”

  Samantha’s sense of humor surfaced. Okay. If he wanted to come in she’d let him. But she wasn’t going to restrain Brutus. If John got knocked down and licked to death, it would serve him right.

  She turned on the closest table lamp then reached to unlock the door.

  Brutus had reacted with unbridled joy the moment John had spoken and he was still beside himself. He wedged his head into the gap as she started to open the door and shoved with his shoulders, his whole rear half wiggling like his tail.

  Anyone other than John might have had trouble getting past a dog so bent on bestowing slobbering affection. Instead of giving ground, however, he simply started forward and Brutus made room.

  “I think he remembers me,” John said as he shut the door behind him and bent to pet the old dog. “At least somebody is glad to see me.”

  “He’s a dumb dog,” Samantha countered, struggling to keep from laughing aloud at the interaction between man and animal. “What does he know?”

  “Plenty, if I remember right,” John said. “Brutus could always tell the good guys from the bad guys, even when he was a pup.” Slipping one hand under the dog’s muzzle he lifted his head and smiled affectionately. “He’s getting gray. How old is he now?”

  “Probably about ten,” Samantha said. “I’ve had him since I was fifteen.”

  “I remember. I thought you were going to go to jail over that episode, for sure.”

  The particularly poignant memory sobered her. “I might have if you hadn’t arranged to buy him from that awful man who’d been abusing him.”

  “I didn’t get you off the hook all by myself. Mrs. Prescott helped. She convinced the sheriff that you were just doing your civic duty and he had a talk with the guy for us.”

  “I never knew that.”

  “There was no need to tell you. Your life was already in an uproar because of your parents and since you were planning to come to live with Mrs. P, she figured it would be good for you to have a pet of your own.”

  “She was right.” Samantha sighed. “So, what was it you just had to tell me?”

  Straightening, he returned her steady gaze. “I followed you home and…”

  “What has gotten into you? I do not need a babysitter.”

  “If you’ll stop interrupting, I’ll explain.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Reluctant to invite him to make himself comfortable, she nevertheless fell back on her Southern upbringing and gestured toward the tweed-covered sofa. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’m not staying. I didn’t intend to even let you know what I was doing until I thought I saw a shadow moving around on your porch.”

  “My porch?”

  “Yeah.” Perching on the edge of the couch he continued to pet the dog. “But since Brutus isn’t upset, I guess it’s nothing.”

  “But he was! Just before he heard you out front he’d been growling at the back door.”

  John leaped up so fast he nearly knocked the dog off its feet. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  “You didn’t ask. Besides, I figured he’d just heard your truck coming up the drive. Relax. That’s probably all it was.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Are you sure enough about it to tell me you don’t want me to investigate?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Although Samantha was making a silly face at him, there was plenty of fear hiding behind the mock humor. “Go ahead. Knock yourself out.”

  “Okay. Stay there.” Although John was clad in jeans and a denim jacket instead of his uniform, he pulled a small gun from a hidden holster and started toward the kitchen.

  Samantha crouched beside her dog and watched her old friend walk away. At least he’d been in the house often enough to know his way around so she didn’t need to direct him. The trouble was, she very much wanted to stick closer, and not for his sake.

  * * *

  John relied on the living-room lamp for illumination as he edged into the kitchen. His boots clomped hollowly on the floor. He lightened his steps as much as possible but the old house squeaked and groaned like a dilapidated garden gate swinging on rusty hinges.

  As his eyes adjusted to the dimness he was able to see well enough to get by. Gun in hand he approached the back door, laid his ear to it and listened. There was nothing to hear. Not even the songs of the usual crickets and night-calling birds. That was a bad sign.

  He was about to unlatch the door when he sensed that he was no longer alone. Samantha was creeping up on him quietly enough but Brutus’s noisy panting and the click of his nails on the hard floor announced their approach.

  “Stay back,” John said.

  “What did you find? Anything?”

  “Not yet. Was this where he was when he growled?”

  “Close. We were out on the porch.”

  “Terrific.”

  “Hey, don’t blame me. I had to get to the house somehow.”

  “You could have parked in front, under the bright lights.”

  “That’s not where my carport is.”

  This argumentative exchange was getting them nowhere. It didn’t matter what he said, Sam would have a rebuttal ready. She was not making this easier. Then again, she never had been simple to understand, at least not for him. Just when he was certain they saw eye to eye, she’d shock him by proving otherwise or by setting up a no-win situation.


  “Look, since you’re here, how about unlocking the door and easing it open for me. Just do that and then get out of the way. Can you manage that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well?” He knew his tone was too harsh but he’d seen her in danger at least twice in the past few hours and that was two times too many to suit him.

  He watched her approach in a crouch, hand on the knob, the other on the dog’s collar. At least she was thinking clearly enough to keep Brutus out of trouble. Too bad she wasn’t that cautious with herself.

  “Ready?” Samantha asked, nearly whispering.

  John braced himself. “Ready.”

  She jerked open the door.

  Something moved on the other side of the screen.

  Startled, John tightened his finger on the trigger for an instant before he realized what he was seeing. A large piece of paper was fluttering against the mesh.

  He reached around the screen door frame, grabbed the paper and jerked it loose.

  Samantha’s voice trembled. “What is it?”

  “Looks like a note. Close the door and lock it, then turn on the lights.”

  His eyes were barely adjusted to the brightness when she rejoined him but he’d already seen plenty. For a brief moment he thought about hiding the details from her, then reconsidered. If Sam was in danger she needed to know everything about the threat.

  John holstered his gun, then laid the note on the kitchen counter so they could both study it.

  “But out if U know whats good for U” was printed in block letters with broad strokes of a black marking pen.

  “Well, they can’t spell or punctuate but I get the idea,” Samantha said with a short, nervous laugh. “Think I should post the corrected version?”

  More than a little worried, John rolled his eyes at her. “No. And we don’t want to handle it any more than we have to in case there are fingerprints. What I do think you should do is make a pot of coffee, sit down at the table and tell me who you’ve made mad lately.”

  “You act like you think it’s a long list.”

  “Is it?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Okay. I’ll go check the rest of the house while you make coffee. Brutus isn’t the least bit upset so I assume your prowler is gone but there’s no sense taking chances.”

  He paused at the doorway to the hall and glanced back at her. The dog sat at her feet, leaning his shoulder against her knee, his tongue lolling. “Keep him with you.”

  Hearing that, Samantha gave a wry chuckle. “Mister, you couldn’t separate me from this dog with dynamite.”

  “No,” John said, smiling, “but a slice of baloney might do the trick.”

  THREE

  “I doubt I’ve had any CASA cases that might still be causing problems,” she said, cupping her hands around a steaming mug and watching eddies of cream spread across the surface and lighten the color.

  Wishing she’d told John everything her purse snatcher had said, she knew she didn’t dare reveal those threats now. Not unless she wanted to listen to another lecture. Besides, there was no reason to assume that the man who had accosted her outside the hospital had left the semiliterate note. It didn’t really fit with his verbal warnings.

  “Tell me about the cases, anyway. Are any of your CASA assignments recent?” John asked.

  “Not really. One was late last year. After that I helped Jill Kirkpatrick—I mean Jill Andrews—and her new husband, Mitch, get set up to adopt the Pearson orphans. I imagine the chief and the sheriff told you all about that murder and kidnapping since it happened so recently.”

  “Yes. It was my understanding that the guilty parties were incarcerated.”

  “The instigator has been hospitalized for psychiatric reasons. The others all ended up in jail.” She sighed.

  “What else? Was that your last case?”

  “Nearly. One more concluded several months ago when the court gave the children I was helping to their maternal grandmother.”

  “Are those parents still around?”

  “No. The kids’ mother went to jail for unrelated crimes and nobody knows what happened to the father. He split a long time ago.”

  John nodded. “Okay. So what are you working on right now?”

  “Officially, nothing. I have been worried about a seven-year-old boy, Danny Southerland. I’m virtually positive he’s being abused. His father works for some kind of investment firm and he’s deeply involved in town politics, too. I guess he thinks that makes him above the law.”

  “Nobody is above the law, Sam. You should know that from personal experience.” He reached toward her hand where it rested on the table and tenderly laid his over it.

  Samantha’s initial urge was to pull away from him but by the time she had taken a few brief moments in which to relish his warm, gentle touch it was too late. She’d decided to leave her hand right where it was.

  “You’re just giving back some of the support you got when you needed it,” John continued. “All you can do is try your best in any given situation. The results are up to God.”

  “And to a judge,” she added, smiling wistfully. “As far as I know, nobody from CASA is on the Southerland case yet but I understand what you’re saying. It’s not my job to make things right. I don’t have that power.”

  “Exactly.” John leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “So, tell me more about this Danny. When did you meet him?”

  “It all started several months ago.” She closed her eyes and pictured the scene in the emergency room. “The last time was the worst. His father brought him to our E.R. because their regular doctor doesn’t work on weekends.”

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “I asked Mr. Southerland what the problem was and he told me Danny fell. That was his usual explanation.”

  “What made you suspect abuse? Bruises?”

  “Yeah.” She took a settling sip from her coffee mug, then continued. “Danny’s body language was textbook, too. He was perched on the edge of the exam table with his feet and legs dangling over the side. He wouldn’t look up but I could tell he’d been crying. He’d hunched over to cradle his left arm and was holding it tight against his stomach.”

  “Was it broken?”

  “No. I asked him what hurt and he nodded when I touched that arm. One area was showing signs of bruising so I told him the doctor would probably want an X-ray.

  “That’s when he started to really cry, looked at his father and said, ‘It’s better. Honest,’ as if he was apologizing for getting hurt.”

  “What did you do then?”

  Amazed and filled with relief, Samantha realized that her story was finally being taken seriously. “I said, ‘Don’t be afraid, Danny. We’ll be very careful with your arm.’ Then I whispered, ‘How did you get hurt?’ That’s when his father started insisting he fell when he was running in the house. I wasn’t too upset until he said it served Danny right to get hurt because he was disobeying.”

  Nodding, John gave a short chuckle. “I can just picture your reaction to that.”

  “And you’d be right. If that man had been three times bigger and growling like a grizzly bear I’d still have given him a piece of my mind. I told him that no child deserves to be hurt. Ever.”

  “What was his response?”

  “Nothing. He shut up the minute Dr. Weiss came into the cubicle.”

  “Did he ever threaten you?”

  “No. When I got the doctor alone later, and suggested we report possible abuse, he laughed at me. It seems Weiss and Ben Southerland go to the same church. Not only that, the man is about to be appointed to the medical-center board. The doctor swears there’s no way an upstanding citizen like that would abuse
his son.”

  “What about his wife? Would she…?”

  “I don’t know. I was told flat out that it was an accident and ordered to forget it.”

  John’s brow furrowed. “Wait a second. If nobody reported him, why should the guy be mad at you?”

  Knowing her cheeks were betraying embarrassment, Samantha forged ahead. “Because I went against the doctor’s orders and called in a report. I had to, you know, even if my bosses fired me over it.”

  “Good for you.”

  She huffed. “That’s not how the police responded. They acted like they thought I was crazy. Maybe I have been wrong a few times in the past, but not this time. I know an abused kid when I see one, even if I can’t prove it.”

  “Did you ask that your identity be kept secret when you made your report?”

  “Are you joking? In Serenity? Around here, the only difference between normal conversation and deep, dark secrets is how long it takes the news to travel. Besides, considering my reputation and the fact that I was working E.R. that day, there wouldn’t be much doubt where the complaint originated.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” John got to his feet, carried his mug to the sink and rinsed it out. “I’d better hit the road. Are you going to be okay if I go?”

  “Sure. All I have to do is figure out who wanted me to butt out of their business. Piece of cake.”

  He turned and leaned against the edge of the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just had a thought.”

  “If it means I’ll have to quit defending kids and keep my mouth shut when I see a problem, forget it.”

  “Nothing of the kind. I was just thinking about maybe keeping an eye on Danny and his family—in a casual way, of course.”

  “How do you propose to do that? You don’t even know what they look like.”

  “No, but you do. What church does Dr. Weiss go to these days? Seems to me I used to see him at Serenity Chapel when I still lived around here.”

  It was Samantha’s turn to scowl. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not going to coerce me into going to church again. I told you I gave that up.”