On the way out of town she stopped at a convenience store and bought a ham and cheese sandwich and a six-pack of diet soda. Then she hit the mountain road that would take her back up to the Corbetts’ house.
As she swung around a bend in the road she thought she saw a vehicle behind her on a lower slope. It was too far away to recognize but it looked awfully like a minivan.
Determined not to let her dumb fears overrule her common sense, she kept her gaze squarely on the road ahead until she swung off onto the bumpy trail to the house.
She waited until she was almost there before stealing a look in her rearview mirror. The forest stared back at her, thick, green and silent. She was alone.
As she approached the front yard, she took another careful scrutiny of the area before killing the engine. The house seemed so lonely and dejected. A home should have people in it, laughter and love. There was something so sad about an empty house. Even the windows appeared dull and lifeless, like the eyes of an abandoned puppy.
A wave of depression swept over her and she gave herself a mental shake. The past was over and she couldn’t bring it back. Once the house was sold a new family would move in and fill the house with happy voices.
She gathered up her sandwich and soda. Her pulse skittered uneasily when she opened the door of her car. Branches above her shifted in the strong breeze, spraying dead pine needles over the hard ground. Somewhere deep in the woods a blue jay screeched. The rasping sound jarred her nerves. The skin on her arms prickled with apprehension.
Trying to dismiss her irrational fear, she approached the gate and reached for the latch. The hinges squeaked as she pushed it open. She was about to pass through when another sound echoed from the woods behind her. The unmistakable crunch of snapping twigs.
Someone was walking through the trees.
She jerked her head around and scanned the area as far as she could see. No minivan. Nothing but her own car standing just a few feet away. Was it her mind playing tricks again? No. Those footsteps were real. As if to confirm her thoughts, a pair of crows soared from a nearby tree into the sky with a frantic fluttering of their wings.
Galvanized by their hasty retreat, Ginny plunged for her car. She’d locked it automatically before she’d climbed out. Her fingers seemed reluctant to obey her as she fumbled with the keys.
The footsteps drew closer and she scrambled to fit the key in the lock. She could hear them clearly now, just beyond the fringe of trees that would bring the intruder out into the open. With a sob of relief she felt the key enter the lock and turn in it. Just then harsh words rang out behind her and her fingers froze on the door handle.
“Who’s there? Whadda you want?”
Although it had been a good many years since she’d heard the caustic voice, Ginny recognized it instantly. Still shaking, she dropped her hand and turned to face the newcomer.
The withered old man approached her, a shotgun tucked securely under his arm. His beard had grown even longer than she remembered and his tangled white hair reached his shoulders. Old Man Wetherby, the kids had called him. He was a recluse, living alone in an old shack in the woods. She was surprised to see him still alive. He’d always looked as if he were on his last legs.
“Mr. Wetherby,” she said, uncomfortably aware of her heart beating way too fast. “It’s Ginny. Ginny Matthews. How are you?”
The old man drew closer, his watery blue eyes peering at her in distrust. “You don’t look like no Ginny Matthews,” he muttered.
“But I am.” She tried a wavering smile. “Remember I lived here with the other kids? You used to chase us all out of the woods when I was small. Remember the rabbit I found? It had a broken leg, and you took it home with you.”
He drew even closer and Ginny held her breath. She’d forgotten the awful smell that always clung to him. “Well,” he said at last, just when she thought she’d have to back away from him, “I reckon you could be Ginny at that.”
He nodded at the house. “Corbetts ain’t home. They’re dead and gone.”
His flat statement chilled her. “Yes, I know. The Corbetts left me the house. It’s mine now.”
He sniffed. “Well, good riddance to ’em. Got what they deserved if you ask me. That bastard Jim killed my dog.”
Ginny stared at him in disbelief. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you sure it was Jim?”
“’Course I’m sure.” The old man lifted his shotgun and shook it at the house. “They killed my Butch. But that ol’ dog had the last laugh. His spirit came back and sent them off the mountain. He paid them back.” His chuckle was pure evil. “Good ol’ Butch.” He peered at Ginny again. “You’d better watch out for Butch’s spirit. He’s still in that house, looking for Jim. I seen him.”
Ginny swallowed. “Well, I’ll be sure to remember that.”
“Yeah, you do that.” With one last scowl at the house, he shuffled away, mumbling something under his breath that Ginny couldn’t catch.
She let out her breath. He’d startled her but at least she knew he was harmless. As a kid she’d been terrified of him but now she felt kind of sorry for him. His long years of loneliness had affected his mind. He was seeing ghosts now. It was sad.
Even so, her heart thumped uncomfortably when she fitted the key in the lock of the front door. Carrying her sandwich and soda into the silent house, she walked into the kitchen, where the counters and stovetop looked strangely bare.
She was used to seeing packages of cereal, rice or spaghetti standing there. There had always been dishes, cups, glasses, piles of newspapers, junk mail and odds and ends scattered everywhere. Whoever had cleaned up had done a good job. Unless Mabel had left it like this, pristine clean, now that she’d no longer catered to a bunch of unruly kids.
Once more her heart ached at the tragic and senseless loss of two good-hearted people, who’d sacrificed so much to help lost kids find their way in an unfriendly world. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.
She slumped down on a kitchen chair and unwrapped her sandwich. It was quiet in the house. Too quiet. She got up and moved to the counter, where a radio sat plugged into the wall. The switch failed to produce a sound and she remembered Cully saying the power had been turned off.
She hunted in the drawers for batteries but couldn’t find any. Mabel must have found a new place to keep them. Giving up, she went back to the table to eat her sandwich. She had just snapped the tab on a can of soda when a slight popping sound caught her attention. As if someone had popped the cork on a bottle of wine.
She listened, her head on one side, her heart beginning to pound. Then she heard another and somewhere deep in the house, something cracked.
She made herself relax. It was simply the expanding of aging wood. Heaven knew she’d heard the sounds of it enough times when she was a kid. She could still remember lying in the dark listening to the pops and snaps, her imagination taking her on wild rides of fantasy. One time she’d be on a pirate ship, its sails creaking in the wind. Another time she’d be on a spaceship landing on some distant planet, or beneath the sea in a strange waterworld filled with weird and wonderful creatures of the deep.
Smiling at her childhood fantasies, she reached for her sandwich, just as another sound froze her hand. A soft thump, as if someone had dropped something on the floor.
For a moment she held her breath, her heart racing. When she heard no more, she made herself relax. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. She was alone in a big house, at least a mile from the nearest neighbor. No wonder she was feeling jumpy.
She ate half the sandwich, then wrapped up the other half to take with her. After a couple gulps of soda, she started gathering up the items that were to go to the rest of Mabel’s beneficiaries.
She’d purchased a large canvas holdall, since she had no room in her garment bag for the extra clothes she’d bought. There was plenty of room in it to hold the candlesticks, the cuckoo clock and the china cat. The next thing on the list was a stuffed bear.
Ginny s
miled. She remembered the bear. More than three feet tall, it sat in the middle of Mabel’s bed during the day. No one was allowed to touch it, except on special occasions when one of the kids needed an extra dose of comforting. Then Mabel would let the unhappy child lay on the bed, hugging a bear that at times was bigger than the small body holding it. One of those kids must have loved that bear an awful lot to inherit it.
Still smiling to herself, Ginny headed for the stairs, the list in her hand. While she was there, she told herself, she’d look for Mabel’s jewelry box, though she had doubts if she’d know what was missing, if anything.
She was halfway up the stairs when she heard the noise again. Another thump, only this time the noise had been accompanied by a scraping sound. As if someone was moving something heavy around.
Chills, as cold as ice, clamped her fingers to the handrail. The sound had come from directly below her. From the basement.
She waited, hardly daring to breath, ears straining for yet another sound to convince her she hadn’t imagined it. Nothing. Only the thumping of her heart, so violently her body shook.
She had to get out of here. Out in the sunlight and the fresh air. The rest of the things could wait. She was too upset right now.
Forcing herself to move, she started back down the stairs. She’d reached the hallway when a sharp crack sounded right below her feet.
Something, or someone, was in the basement.
An animal. Yes, that was it. Old Man Wetherby’s words came back to her. He’s still in that house, looking for Jim. I seen him. No, she didn’t believe in ghosts. It had to be a squirrel or something.
But squirrels couldn’t move heavy objects around.
Staring down the hallway, she peered at the door to the basement. Mabel had always kept the door locked, afraid one of the kids might fall down the narrow, rickety steps in the dark. The only light in the basement was from a bare bulb, with a dangling string to pull the switch on and off.
The door locked from both sides and Mabel kept the key on the ledge above the doorframe—too high for prying fingers to reach—afraid one of the kids would lock themselves in down there.
Ginny looked at the ledge. There was only one way to find out if anything was down in the cellar. One way to convince herself that whatever it was she feared was only in her imagination. Maybe if she faced her fears instead of running from them, she could overcome the nightmares and the gnawing worry that she was losing her mind.
With grim determination, she marched toward the basement door. Balancing on her toes she had to stretch as far as she could to reach the ledge. At first she felt nothing but the smooth wood of the door frame but then her pulse leaped when her fingers closed around the key.
Carefully she fitted the key in the lock. The door swung open with a loud creak that made her jump. She waited, listening, but now everything was quiet and still. Was someone waiting down there for her?
Every instinct in her body screamed at her to leave. To run as fast and as far as she could, until she was safely back home in Philadelphia.
Something deep inside her wouldn’t let her give in to the inner voices. She had to fight this thing. She couldn’t let Brandon win. If she gave in now to the crazy thoughts in her head, he would have the last laugh. She wasn’t about to give him that. He had hurt her enough when he was alive. He wasn’t going to reach out from the grave to torment her again. Not ever again.
Her hands clenched at her sides, she began to descend the stairs. The shaded hallway behind her allowed little light to filter into the basement. The damp, musty smell wrinkled her nose. She could see nothing but darkness ahead of her. The small window at the back was around a corner and any light that filtered through couldn’t reach the steps.
She blinked, trying to adjust her gaze. Shadows seemed to move in the murky darkness. The stairs creaked with each step she took. Her nerves tightened on the very edge of endurance.
She had forgotten how many steps there were. She couldn’t see where they ended. Her hand outstretched in front of her, she stepped down one more. Then a sudden sound made her blood run cold. A soft scraping sound in the darkness.
Her heart pounded, throbbing in her ears. Pain pounded her forehead. She froze, unable to go down or back up. She had been crazy to come down here without a flashlight. Too late she remembered the power had been cut off. Even if she’d found the string to light the bulb, it wouldn’t have gone on.
She started to back up the stairs. Then, from somewhere in the dark shadows of the room behind her, she heard a sound that iced her bones. A whispering voice, terrifying in its warning. You can’t escape me. You are going to die.
Chapter Five
Ginny’s shuddering cry of fright bounced off the walls and followed her as she bolted up the stairs. Racing headlong down the hallway, she had only one thought in her mind. Escape. Away from that house and its whispering memories.
She flung herself out the door and down the path, fumbling with the latch on the gate for several anxious seconds until she had it open. She left it unlatched, her one driving purpose to reach her car and get out of there.
Her fingers shook so badly she dropped the keys and had to scramble in the dirt for them. At last she had the door open and she fell into the seat, almost slamming the door on her feet in her haste to shut it.
As she gunned the engine she shot a nervous glance at the front door of the Corbetts’ house. She’d slammed it shut behind her. It was still firmly closed. No one had followed her out. She was safe.
Even so, as her car jolted forward, she took a frantic look around, half-expecting to see the gray minivan parked somewhere near the house. Nothing. No van. No car. No sign of anyone in the area except herself.
In spite of her efforts to calm her racing pulse, she drove too fast down the mountain road, rocketing around the bends at a pace that normally would have alarmed her. Every minute or two she glanced in the rearview mirror, certain she would see the minivan pursuing her.
As she turned onto the main road, a school bus loomed ahead of her. The sight of something so normal finally slowed her heartbeat. She eased the brake down until she was cruising at a reasonable speed behind the bus.
This was crazy. She had to quit doing this. The noises could have been anything. The wind, which she now noticed tossed the branches of the ponderosa pines along the edges of the highway. It could have caused a tree limb to scrape against a window. A squirrel leaping to the floor could have made a thump loud enough for her to hear.
Now that she had time to really think about it, she could see how stupid she was being. How could someone be in the cellar if the door had been locked and the key still on the ledge?
It must have been that squirrel, or even more likely, a rat. And the voice? She shuddered. It must have been her imagination after all. Which brought her back to the thing that terrified her the most. Mentally unbalanced, they called it. A nice way of saying she was slowly going insane.
CULLY HAD SPENT the afternoon going through all the records of former foster children who had been assigned to the Corbetts. It was almost five o’clock when he finally closed the files. Leaning his elbows on his desk, he ran his hands through his hair. Some of those kids were still living in Gold Peak.
Luke Sorensen, who worked at Bailey’s Garage and helped out at the Red Steer. Sally Irwin, who also worked at the Red Steer. Neil Baumann, who sold real estate. And a half dozen more. The rest were scattered all over the country. Two had died. Three more were living in a foreign country.
He’d been hoping to find something, no matter how small, that might possibly be a connection to the murders. So far he’d come up empty. None of the files had given him a clue as to who might have killed Jim and Mabel. Because of the lack of forced entry he was assuming the Corbetts knew their attacker. But he couldn’t eliminate the possibility that they let a stranger into their house. It all came down to one thing. Motive. If he knew that, he’d at least know where to start looking.
He sho
ved his chair back and picked up the pile of folders. Enough for today. He had a dinner guest to worry about now. Though he couldn’t figure out why in the world he’d invited Ginny Matthews to dinner at the ranch.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He needed to know what it was she was taking such pains to hide. He was thinking that she might just relax enough to tell him in the comfortable environment of his living room.
He had to be out of his mind. Asking for trouble, that’s what it was. Even Lyla had sounded surprised when he’d called her to warn her about their unexpected guest. And she didn’t even know about their past. Then again, how long had it been since he’d invited anyone out to the Black Diamond? He couldn’t remember.
He glanced at the oak-framed clock on the wall. It would have been nice to go home and take a shower before picking up Ginny. Change into something a bit more classy than the jeans and checkered shirt he’d worn all day. But the ranch was a good half hour’s drive away and it was almost time to head for the Sagebrush.
At the thought, he felt a twinge of anticipation. In spite of his reservations about the coming evening, he was looking forward to it with an eagerness he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe he was heading into trouble but there was no reason he couldn’t enjoy the ride while it lasted. Impatient with his juvenile thoughts, he crammed his hat on his head and headed out the door.
Ginny was waiting in the foyer when he walked in the door five minutes later. She stood in front of a rack of travel brochures, studying one of them with a frown of concentration that he remembered well. She had a habit of massaging the back of her neck when she was tense. Right now her hand worked on her neck as if she were trying to rub the skin clear off.
He paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of her. She wore pale khaki pants belted low on her hips. Her sweater stretched tight across her breasts, the neckline dipping just low enough to make his mouth water.
Official Duty Page 6
