The Inn

by William Patterson

“Yes,” she said at last. “Take a drive. Get away from here. Yes, we’re still on.”

  “Great,” Chad said. “You know, I should tell you that we were just down in the basement—”

  Neville quickly and subtly moved his foot over to the other man, whacking his shin.

  Chad stopped speaking. He exchanged a look with Neville.

  “Do whatever you need to do,” Annabel said softly. “I need to take a walk. Get some air.”

  “All right,” Chad said. “See you tomorrow then. I want to get an early start. The weather report says we might get a pretty big snowstorm tomorrow afternoon.”

  Annabel didn’t answer. She just headed outside.

  Chad looked over at Neville once she was gone. “Why did you stop me from telling her about what we heard in the chimney?” he asked. “If she’s got raccoons living in there, she’s going to need an exterminator before we can finish repairing the fireplace.”

  “She’s had a rough day,” Neville replied. “She doesn’t need to start worrying about raccoons.”

  Chad wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “But that might explain the blood she found in there. If those coons have been eating squirrels and mice . . .”

  Neville gave him a cold look. “I doubt it’s squirrels and mice they’re eating.”

  Chad shivered. “Wait. Are you . . . ?” His face blanched. “Are you thinking that the killer stuffed Paulie’s and Priscilla’s bodies inside the chimney, and that’s what we heard the raccoons chomping on?”

  “It did cross my mind.”

  “That’s just too freaky.” Chad looked back down the stairs. “But you just may be on to something. That’s one really wide chimney. You could fit a body in there, sure.”

  “Especially if the killer was adept with a butcher knife, as the hand in the wood box would seem to indicate,” Neville added.

  “Jesus.” Chad shuddered. “We need to tell Annabel, or her husband.”

  “I promised Annabel last night that I would tell the chief of police. She did not, for her own reasons, want her husband to know.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Neville headed toward the door, grabbing his coat from the hook on the wall. “All I know is I need to fulfill the promise I made to Annabel. I’m going down to the chief’s office now.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Chad said. “He’ll want a statement from me, too, about what I heard.”

  “All right.”

  Tammy had come down the stairs. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Listen, Tam,” Chad said, “I’m going to run Neville here into town for a moment. I’ll be back in two shakes. You almost done?”

  “I’ve measured every window upstairs,” she said, “except for the attic. It’s locked. There’s somebody in there.”

  “It’s Zeke, the caretaker,” Neville told her.

  “He seemed a little upset.”

  “That’s just Zeke,” Neville assured her.

  “Okay, listen, Tam,” Chad said. “Get the windows in the kitchen and dining room measured. We might as well plan for everything now. We’re going to be replacing all the windows eventually.”

  “All right, boss.”

  Chad turned to leave, and then looked back at Tammy. “You going to be okay by yourself? I’m just going to be gone a little bit.”

  “Well,” Tammy said, “I’ve discovered there’s some weird people in this house, but I haven’t seen any ghosts yet.”

  Neville saw the smile the two of them exchanged.

  Operative word being yet, he thought, as he and Chad left by the front door.

  64

  It was the thought of driving up to Great Barrington that revived Annabel. The thought of getting away from here, on the road, driving miles and miles away. The idea appealed to Annabel almost as much as a Caribbean vacation.

  The cold afternoon air rushed into her nostrils. It functioned as she had hoped. Her mind felt clearer, more alive.

  As she walked into the woods, leaves and twigs crunching under her feet, Annabel told herself she had allowed her imagination to run amok. It had happened before, when she was in the hospital, when sometimes she hadn’t known where she was, when the orderlies had looked like deformed monsters and her room like a dungeon. Jack was right. Her doctors had warned her she might have flashbacks. The delirium that had set in as her body withdrew from the drugs had been intense. It was still there, buried deep down in her brain.

  It had taken being raped by Jack to bring it out again.

  He wouldn’t call it that, of course. He’d say they had just made love. Annabel hadn’t fought him. She hadn’t resisted. But still she felt raped just the same.

  He had just tried to do it as fast as possible, fearful he’d lose his erection again, she argued with herself. It wasn’t rape. That’s not fair to Jack.

  But what about fair to her? She couldn’t deny how she felt.

  And that horrible feeling had led to some horrible hallucinations. Annabel had to find a way to deal with it, to get it all out of her head—the anger, the fear, the sense of violation. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to go on. She would always feel unsafe here.

  Annabel paused at the little white stone marker. She looked down at the words carved across its surface.

  CINDY DEVLIN

  Poor little girl. How had she died? Her death must have been terrible, given how much blood was found.

  Annabel wondered what kind of memorial Jack would want for his grandmother. They’d been notified that her body had been taken from the morgue to be cremated. Jack had told her that his grandfather’s ashes had been scattered in these woods; Annabel assumed that was what he’d want to do with Cordelia’s as well. They should have a little service, she thought. Maybe ask a minister to come in and say a prayer. Annabel could get some fresh flowers from Millie’s store and carry them as the old woman’s ashes were scattered. Afterward, they’d put the flowers on the mantel over the fireplace.

  Annabel walked on into the woods.

  How she wished she was walking down Fifth Avenue, or through busy Times Square, taxicabs honking, sirens wailing, lights flashing. She yearned to be surrounded by masses of people—thousands of them, all moving past her, rubbing shoulders—and away from this stark, gray, silent place. Some claustrophobics hated being in the city, and longed for the empty countryside. Annabel was different. The city made her blood race. It filled her up.

  She missed New York like an old, comforting friend.

  Above her, a crow cawed. She heard the flapping of its wings, but could not spot it through the network of interlacing, bare, blue limbs.

  Annabel didn’t want to get lost. She kept turning around, making sure she could still see the outline of the house.

  What had she been thinking? Had she really been so angry at Jack that she believed him capable of murder? How crazy was that? What motive did Jack have to kill those two people? Even if something had happened between him and Priscilla that night, Jack had had absolutely no interaction with Paulie that mattered. It was just crazy. In her confused state of mind, subconsciously blaming Jack for hurting her—violating her—Annabel had seen sinister motivations behind every action Jack took, every statement that he made.

  She’d been seeing other things as well.

  Like blood in the chimney, when it was clearly just old soot and debris.

  Like a pair of Tommy Trickies, whom she had stopped believing in a long time ago.

  I’ve been decompensating, as Dr. Adler would say. She still remembered the definition he’d given her of the term after he’d used it to describe what was happening to her. The failure to generate effective psychological coping mechanisms in response to stress, resulting in personality disturbance or disintegration.

  That was what she had felt. That she was disintegrating.

  She had to get it together. She was stronger than this.

  She stopped and sat down on a log, breathing in the cold air. She could see h
er breath in front of her.

  Off in the woods, she heard the snap of a twig.

  She wondered what kind of animals might be out here. Jack had said they’d feared little Cindy had been killed by a bear all those years ago. Were there still bears prowling these woods? There were also coyotes and foxes and bobcats, Zeke had told her. The bobcats could be particularly vicious.

  And they’d seen that big, terrifying moose on the ride up, too.

  She laughed a little then, remembering the moment. Annabel felt as if she had tumbled down the rabbit hole into a very strange, topsy-turvy world.

  Another snap of another twig, closer this time.

  Annabel stood. She shouldn’t have come out this far. What if what she heard moving out there was a bear or a bobcat?

  She looked around. She couldn’t see the house. Damn it!

  But she could hear something approaching, crunching through the leaves.

  “Okay, Annabel,” she whispered to herself. “It’s time to go home.”

  She started walking back in the direction she’d come. At least, she thought it was the same direction.

  All at once she heard something.

  The tweet of a bird?

  But it sounded different than that....

  She paused.

  The sound came again.

  Annabel’s blood ran cold.

  It was no bird.

  It was also not a bear or a bobcat, either.

  What Annabel heard was a short, two-note whistle, made, she was certain, by human lips.

  It sounded again.

  As did the crunching of the leaves, very close to her now.

  So maybe it’s a hiker, Annabel thought. Or a hunter.

  A hunter with a gun. Who might mistake her movements among the trees for a deer, and shoot to kill.

  I’ve got to get home.

  Annabel began to walk faster. And as she did, the sound of whoever was crunching through the leaves toward her accelerated at the same pace.

  This was no hunter, no hiker, she told herself. It was also not a wild animal.

  She walked even faster. The sound behind her also sped up.

  Annabel realized she was being pursued.

  She started to run.

  65

  Tammy stretched her measuring tape across the windowsill in the kitchen. But before she could make a note of the length, she suddenly had the distinct sense someone was behind her. With a start, she looked over her shoulder.

  She was right. There was a man there. A tall, handsome man with two paper bags full of groceries in his hands.

  “Oh, hello, I wasn’t aware someone came in,” Tammy said, turning to the man.

  He set the groceries on the counter. “It’s always a pleasant surprise to come home and find a beautiful woman in your house.”

  She blushed. “I’m Tammy,” she said. “I’m working with Chad, taking some measurements of the windows.”

  “I didn’t see Chad’s truck out front,” the man said, taking some steaks out of the bags and putting them in the refrigerator.

  Tammy shook her head. “He took the Englishman who’s staying here into town.”

  To this, the man lifted his eyebrows. “Did he now? Why couldn’t Neville have driven himself? He has a car.”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t know what their errand was. But Chad said he’d be back shortly.”

  The man nodded. “I’m sorry, I’ve been impolite,” he said. “I haven’t introduced myself.” He walked across the room and extended his hand. “I’m Jack Devlin. The owner of the place.”

  “Hello, Mr. Devlin,” Tammy said, accepting his greeting.

  To her surprise, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tammy. A very fine pleasure indeed.”

  He didn’t let go of her hand.

  “Have you seen my wife?” Mr. Devlin asked.

  Tammy felt uncomfortable that he was still holding her hand. He was also standing a little too close for comfort. She could smell him. Man sweat and aftershave.

  “Um, I actually didn’t meet your wife yet, but I saw her,” Tammy said awkwardly. “I believe she went out to take a walk.”

  “I see.” Mr. Devlin smiled and took a step even closer to her. His grip on Tammy’s hand tightened. “That means we have the house to ourselves.”

  “No,” Tammy said quickly. “I heard a man in the attic. . . .”

  “Oh, that’s just Zeke,” said Mr. Devlin. His eyes seemed strange to Tammy. His pupils were dilated. “He won’t bother us.”

  Mr. Devlin leaned down toward her as if he was about to kiss her.

  “No!” Tammy shrieked, yanking her hand away from him and hurrying across the kitchen. “You had no right to do that!”

  “To do what?” Mr. Devlin asked her with a smirk. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “I have a job to do, Mr. Devlin,” Tammy told him.

  His smirk stretched into a wide smile. “Then by all means,” he said, “don’t let me keep you from it.” He winked at her, and then headed out of the kitchen.

  Tammy had to sit down, she was shaking so much.

  Hurry up, Chad, she thought. Get me out of here.

  66

  Annabel ran.

  Blood raced through her veins. She could feel it pulsing in her ears. She caught sight of the house up ahead, still too far away for comfort. She ran as fast as she could.

  A broken branch on the ground proved her undoing. She tripped over it and fell facedown in the leaves.

  A hand was gripping her arm. Whoever had been pursuing her had caught up to her.

  “Annabel, are you all right?”

  She looked up. It was Richard Carlson.

  “Oh, Chief Carlson,” she said, nearly bursting into tears. “I thought . . .”

  He helped her to her feet. “You thought what?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, brushing leaves off her coat. “A bear, maybe. I guess I thought you might be a bear.”

  He smiled. “Why would you think that?”

  “Well, the way you were coming after me.”

  His face creased in puzzlement. “I wasn’t coming after you. I just spotted you a few moments ago. I saw you from the parking lot, running through the woods. I was concerned.”

  Annabel looked at him. “You didn’t whistle? A little two-note sound, like this?” She demonstrated what she had heard.

  “No, that wasn’t me,” Richard told her.

  “Then somebody was chasing me,” Annabel said, looking back out into the woods and shivering.

  “Are you certain?”

  She moved her eyes back to the police chief’s. “No,” she admitted. “I’m not certain about a lot these days.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  Annabel thought his eyes looked kind. A little tired, and there was sadness in there, too, but they were kind.

  “I didn’t want to come here,” she said, surprised at herself. The words just tumbled out; she hadn’t planned to say them. “Jack thought it would be a good idea to leave New York and start over here at the Blue Boy Inn when his grandmother called and asked him to take over. So I came along.”

  “Have you changed your mind since arriving?” Richard asked.

  She shrugged. “I was hoping the project of restoring the place would give me some purpose, something to focus on. But then Priscilla and Paulie went missing, and that hand was found out back. . . .” She shuddered. “It makes me long for the safe streets of Manhattan.”

  They both laughed and started walking slowly back to the house.

  “If it’s any consolation,” the chief said, “I believe the killer is long gone. I don’t know why he came through this way, or why he either killed or kidnapped Priscilla and Paulie. But I don’t think he stuck around. We’ve been through here several times a day. I’ve had officers searching these woods half a dozen times. There’s been no trace. I think you’re safe here.”

  “Do yo
u?” Annabel asked. “Honestly?”

  “Safe from whoever killed Roger and possibly the other two,” Richard told her. “Whether there are other dangers here for you, only you can know that.”

  She thought of Jack, and for a second, she wanted to tell Richard all of her doubts about him, but then realized how ridiculous that would sound. The chief of police was not a marriage counselor.

  But he should know about the chimney....

  “Did Neville speak with you?” Annabel asked. “About what I found . . . ?”

  Richard was nodding. “That’s why I’m here. I came out right away. He and Chad came to my office and told me about the blood.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t blood,” Annabel admitted. “I may be getting a little hysterical.”

  “Well, it’s worth a look, anyway,” the chief said. “Especially after what else they told me.”

  “What was that?”

  “They said that they heard some sounds down there today. Chad described it as a pack of raccoons eating very noisily.”

  “Raccoons?”

  Richard’s face became serious. “If the killer dismembered Paulie and Priscilla and disposed of their remains in the chimney, it could be that animals smelled their decaying flesh and decided to creep down the chimney for a meal.”

  “Oh, dear God!” Annabel was repulsed.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s okay, chief. I just . . . well, it’s hard to imagine.”

  He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You can call me Richard.”

  Her eyes flickered up to his. “Oh, well, thank you.”

  “Tell me something. Has anyone else looked into the ash dump since you discovered the blood?”

  Annabel found herself shuddering. Richard tightened his grip on her shoulder.

  “Zeke and my husband both, I think,” Annabel told him. “Zeke locked it up again.”

  “Do you know if he looked inside before doing so?”

  “I don’t.”

  Richard nodded. “I’ve got a forensics team on its way. But we ought to go down there ourselves first and take a look.”

  “Of course,” Annabel said.

  The chief removed his hand from her shoulder and they started walking back toward the house. “I’m sure this isn’t how you imagined your new life in Woodfield would be.”