Too Familiar (Fear Familiar Book 2)

by Carolyn Haines

  “She was fine when she got out of the car.”

  Adam’s face was white with worry. “Got out! She got out, or did you drag her?”

  “Listen, buddy,” Ray leaned forward, his chin thrusting out. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but you’d better watch it. She got out of her car of her own free will. She took off through the woods, like she had a ghost on her heels. I called and called, but she wouldn’t come back.”

  “Where’s her car?” Adam challenged.

  “Back at the lounge, where I told her I’d leave it. Her purse is on the seat. I looked through her things and found her name and address.”

  “Where did she get out?” Running Stream asked quietly.

  Ray gave the location. “She wasn’t hurt when I saw her,” he insisted.

  “You’d better pray she isn’t hurt now,” Adam said, vaulting to the ground.

  “If she’s sick, you shouldn’t let her go running around by herself,” Ray called after him.

  Running Stream caught up with Adam. “We should go to her home. I know Cassandra, and she would go there. It’s closer.”

  “If he isn’t lying. What if he’s killed her and dragged the body off somewhere?” The worry he felt was more painful than anything he’d ever experienced.

  “He didn’t have the attitude of a man who’d just committed a heinous crime,” Running Stream reassured him.

  “Then why would Cassandra bolt and leave her own car?”

  “We’ll ask her that when we find her.” Running Stream hurried around the car and got into the passenger seat. When Adam had the motor going and was pulling out of the parking lot, she spoke again. “My son is missing, too. I know how you feel, Adam, but we can’t allow ourselves to think the worst. Cassandra is fine. She’s at home, trying to locate both of us, I’m sure.”

  “And Bounder? Where do you think he is?” Adam knew she was worried about her son. He felt a twinge of guilt. In his concern for Cassandra, he’d hardly given Bounder’s disappearance a moment’s thought.

  “He’s fine, too. When I do get my hands on him, he’s going to be in a terrible amount of pain.” A pair of oncoming headlights illuminated her smile.

  Adam reached across the seat and patted her hand. She was a brave woman. A good ally. “Fasten your seat belt,” he directed as he pushed the car as hard as he could on the winding mountain roads.

  The trees were a dark blur against the headlights as they raced up the mountain. Adam refused to consider what he might do if Cassandra weren’t at home.

  He was tormented by the thought that he should have held Ray and called the sheriff. But Beaker wouldn’t have done anything. Adam had seen the carnie leave with Cassandra, but there was no evidence yet that she was missing. He could only push the car as hard as possible and drive like a madman to her home.

  The rough terrain of her driveway forced him to slow down. Running Stream did not comment, but she relaxed her grip on the door handle.

  “Sorry about that,” he said.

  “No need to be sorry. I’m in as big a hurry as you are, Adam.”

  “It’s rougher on the passenger though.”

  When they passed the tree with the scarred trunk, Adam told Running Stream about the incident with the scarecrow.

  “Any evidence who might have done such a thing?” she asked.

  “Nothing solid. Whoever it is, he knows Cassandra’s property.”

  “That’s not a very comforting thought.”

  “Since I came to Tennessee, I haven’t had many comforting thoughts.” He patted Running Stream’s hand. “Not to complain, because I’ve had some other very enlightening thoughts, especially about our mutual friend.”

  “You care for her deeply, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Living with Cassandra would require great skill at compromise.”

  “That’s an understatement.” Adam chuckled. “We’re two people very set in our own life-styles.”

  “Two strong people,” Running Stream said. “There are bound to be conflicts in such a situation. But to find a mate with your strength, your drive, a partner in the truest sense of the word, that is something worth compromise.”

  Adam waited.

  “My husband was such a man. We came from very different worlds.” She looked straight ahead, as Adam piloted the car up the winding mountain road. “He was the stronger. He gave up his life and adopted mine.”

  “Did he make a good decision?” Adam could tell that she wanted him to ask questions.

  “For many years we were very happy. I don’t think he regretted giving up his city life. For his family, it was difficult to accept, and that caused him pain. But for days and days, we were happy without question. Bounder came to us, and Kevin could not have been happier. A son was the ultimate gift I could have given him.”

  “What happened to your husband?”

  “He was an advertising executive when we met, and then he became a ranger in the park.” She folded her hands in her lap. “He loved the mountains and the people. He studied the Cherokee history and made it his own, even though he was a white man. He was killed in the park one day while on patrol. The person who shot him was never found.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “To this day, I grieve for him. But you asked me about his decision to give up the city life and live with me. For us, it was the best decision. I don’t know if I could have overcome my fears and learned to live in the city, certainly not as the wife of an advertising executive. But the ultimate answer is Bounder. I have begun to wonder if we made the right decision for him.”

  Adam understood the fears and worries that tore at Running Stream. In preserving her life, she’d made her son a partial outcast in the world she loved.

  “Bounder has to learn, just as you and your husband did, to make his way. White or red, there are always problems.”

  “He is neither one, nor the other though. And he wants so much to belong.” Her voice caught and nearly broke.

  “When we find him, perhaps I could talk with him. If he gave himself half a chance, he would find college a place where there are so many different types of people, he would see that he isn’t the only one who feels alone.”

  “Cassandra says the same thing. If only Bounder would try.”

  “He has to find his own path, Running Stream, but we can help him look for the beginning of it. I promise you, I will.”

  “If we find him.” Her worst fears were captured in that statement.

  “We will. Don’t worry about that.”

  “Adam!” Running Stream pointed through the woods on the left side of the road. “There are lights. See them?”

  “I do.” Adam swung around a curve and slowed so he could get a better look. “They’re moving.”

  “Relatively fast,” Running Stream said. “The woods are so dense. How is that possible?”

  “Another path?” Adam had slowed almost to a stop. The lights had disappeared, and the blackness of the woods settled around their motionless car.

  “There’s the track up to the apple orchard that the farmers use to harvest the apples. It’s little more than…Bounder! He knew about it, and there’s on old cave he told me about. He might be hiding up there!” Hope and excitement made Running Stream lean forward in her seat.

  “It could be Bounder,” Adam said tersely, “or it could be someone who means to harm Cassandra.”

  16

  “Familiar!” Cassandra saw the cat’s black paw sweep along the shelf. She raced for the flashlight, but she wasn’t fast enough. It crashed onto the floor and bounced on the rug. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you did that deliberately.” She looked at the cat. When she checked it, the flashlight still worked, and she gave Familiar a warning glance. “You’d better behave.”

  Her nerves were jangling from the incident with the fake bomb. The meanness of the attack was clear to her, frighteningly so. Someone had entered her home—an assault in the truest sense of th
e word. He’d pointed out how easily she could be made a victim, and he’d forced her to cringe on the floor, expecting her own destruction. The final, infuriating blow was the taunts he’d hurled at her.

  A muffled crash from the foyer again made her jump, and she almost dropped the flashlight she’d just rescued.

  “Damn!” She hurried into the tiny room and found the coatrack lying on the floor. Familiar had dragged her black windbreaker over to the door.

  “Meow!” he insisted.

  “Familiar, have you set out to torment me to death?” She picked up the jacket and righted the wooden stand. “What is it with you?”

  “Meow!” His tone was strident.

  “You can’t go out now. Get a grip on yourself,” she said, then sighed. It wasn’t bad enough she was talking to her cat, she was ordering him around as if he’d deign to obey. She wasn’t an expert on cats, but one thing she’d learned from Familiar was that he did only what he pleased.

  “You must have been a king in a past life,” she chided him. “At least, that’s what Sylvia would say.” The thought of her mother made her smile. Sylvia wouldn’t cower down on the floor of her home; she’d take matters into her own hands.

  Clutching the flashlight and her jacket, she went to the phone and dialed the number to the sheriff’s office. When Beaker wasn’t in, she hesitated.

  “What is the nature of your call?” the dispatcher asked.

  Cassandra was almost ready to leave Beaker a message, but something held her back. There had been too many coincidences with information she’d given Beaker. Something wasn’t right with the lawman. He was possibly covering up for someone. That thought made her decide.

  “Tell the sheriff that Cassandra McBeth has new evidence in the murders.”

  “The sheriff won’t be in until the morning.” At last, the dispatcher’s interest was aroused. “I’ll send another unit up to talk with you.”

  “No! Beaker is the only one I’ll talk with. The implications of this are very serious. Only Beaker. Tell him, if he wants to know who the murderer is, to watch The Martin West Show tomorrow.”

  She smiled to herself as she replaced the receiver. If she were going to set herself up by appearing on television as a psychic, then she might as well go whole hog and pull Beaker in, too.

  The whump of the door rattling made her whirl angrily around and return to the foyer. Familiar was hurling himself against the door.

  “You aren’t going out,” she said. “Enough!” She clapped her hands for emphasis.

  Familiar walked directly to her feet and dug his claws into the tops of her shoes. She’d changed into comfortable jeans and sneakers. “Meow!” He went to the door and threw himself against it.

  Cassandra looked at the flashlight in her left hand and her jacket draped over her arm. The cat was at the door, demanding that she open it. Was it possible he wanted her to go outside with him?

  She looked at the flashlight and the jacket again. Lassie couldn’t have done it any better. And Familiar did watch a lot of television, especially since he could turn it on and off and switch the channels with a flick of his paw.

  She went to the door and opened it a crack. Familiar shot outside, but when he got to the edge of the porch, he stopped. “Meow,” he said.

  Cassandra looked back and forth. There was no sign of anyone, or anything, in the darkness. She felt that the intruder was gone, but she wasn’t willing to risk her life on a hunch. What if he were lurking on the fringe of the woods, waiting for her to venture out?

  She started to shut the door, but Familiar let out a yowl. It sounded as if he’d been run over by an eighteen-wheel truck. She hurried to the edge of the porch to snatch him up, but he jumped to the safety of the yard and cried again.

  “I’m going to get you,” she whispered as she darted after him. She was suddenly struck by the memory of the day in the orchard when the cat had shown her the tracks in the grass.

  It didn’t make much sense, but he had shown her. Was there something he wanted to show her tonight? She had the flashlight in her hand. The lightweight jacket was perfect for moving unseen in the woods. Slipping it on, she started after Familiar’s bobbing tail.

  Without wasting another second, the cat moved along the path toward the apple orchard.

  * * *

  It’s about time someone started listening to me. What with all the commotion going on around here, I didn’t think I’d ever get Goldilocks on the move. There’s something she’s got to see.

  It’s going to be a long haul, and if she starts to question where we are headed, I’ll lose her. She hates the orchard. I’m not certain why, but I know it makes her sad. Even worse, it makes me worried. I’ve got a really bad feeling about what’s been happening up there.

  I should have been checking around the premises more. I knew Bounder was out there, and I thought he was keeping an eye on things. That isn’t exactly the case, though. His smell is everywhere, and after the things I’ve seen, that isn’t a comforting fact.

  That’s one of the problems with humans. They aren’t clear in their thoughts or emotions. Take a cat, for instance. Say I’m walking down the street and I see another tom. If I’m on his territory, he lets me know with a growl. He doesn’t hide behind a fence and jump out and stab me in the back. It’s straightforward. Humans are devious. They pretend one way and then—wham-o!—the next thing you know, there’s a stiletto sticking out of the old back. I wonder if duplicity is part of the process of walking upright.

  Now that’s a theory for consideration. We superior four-legged animals may fight, and even kill, but it’s a matter of survival and protection of territory. We also clearly signal our intention. Those two-leggers are another matter. They get into the darnedest struggles, and we’re talking about environmental suicide here with bombs and nuclear attacks, and the crux of it is economic.

  I’ll tell you, it makes a cat wonder. When all of this is over, and I’m home again, I’m going to spend some time thinking on this. How did humans end up in control? Cats are infinitely superior. Why aren’t we running things?

  This fascinating topic is going to have to wait until I resolve the more immediate problem of the item I’ve discovered. When I saw the hair, I didn’t put two and two together. My mind is definitely slipping. Now I know what it means, though. As soon as Cassandra sees it, she’ll know, too.

  The strand of hair isn’t very long, maybe about four inches, but it’s a healthy hunk. Dark and gorgeous. I know it isn’t Cassandra’s. The way it’s been placed on that rock, though, it had to be done deliberately. Some sort of sacrifice or ritual, I’d say. Just looking at it gave me the willies.

  Now who would stand in the middle of an apple orchard, cut off a shank of hair, and leave it displayed on some big rock? It doesn’t make sense. It’s so weird. I know it has something to do with those women who disappeared.

  Hurry, Goldilocks! Time’s a wastin’. I’d better gear up into a slow jog and keep her feet on the move. Hurry! We’re alone out here for the moment, but there’s no guarantee when the owner of that hair might return. And I ain’t referring to the person who wore it last. I’m talking about the one who cut it off.

  And frankly, my dear, I do give a damn if we get caught. I don’t mind admitting that the thought of what this person might do to my incredibly sleek and gorgeous hide makes my whiskers pucker. I’d like to live to see my Eleanor once again, and I’d like to do it comfortably attired in my formal black hide.

  Come on, Cass, shake the lead out, we’re almost there.

  * * *

  “Damn it, Familiar, slow down.” Cassandra was panting heavily as she climbed the steepest portion of the path to the apple orchard. She was tired, exhausted, and afraid. Now she was chasing through the woods following a cat that acted as if he were training for the Boston Marathon. It didn’t make a bit of sense. Besides, she’d forgotten to leave a note for Adam when he came back. He would have no idea where she’d gone.

  She len
gthened her stride a bit and pushed harder. The sooner she checked out the orchard, the sooner she could go home to Adam.

  She felt as if she’d covered several miles, but Familiar continued to lead. She was going to feel like a complete idiot unless she found something.

  “Meow!” Familiar stopped abruptly in the middle of the path.

  Cassandra snapped on the flashlight. She’d been traveling with only the light from the moon as her guide. If someone were around, she didn’t want them to be able to follow her. She didn’t want to be a perfect target, especially since she was beginning to feel like the perfect idiot.

  The thin beam of light cut the darkness and revealed fresh tire tracks in the lush grass. Bounder had once told her a bit about tracking. Kneeling in the thick grass, she felt one of the crushed blades. It was still wet where it had been broken. That meant the tracks were relatively fresh. How fresh? It was hard for her to know. She also couldn’t tell if they were coming or going tracks. Bounder would have known the subtle differences, but she’d never learned.

  An interesting possibility occurred to her and she scratched the waiting Familiar on the neck as she examined the ground. “Are you saying that the man who drove up here was the same man who put a fake bomb in my house?” Cassandra asked the cat.

  “Meow.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought you’d say.” She shook her head at her own foolishness. It was possible, though. Not only possible, but probable. The man who’d broken into her home and tried to frighten her had been driving on her property, hiding out among her fruit trees.

  And he might still be in the area.

  She snapped off the flashlight. So, she’d tracked him to the upper reaches of her land. Now what? She should have left Adam a note. If someone were up here, waiting for a chance to hurt her, it might be days before Adam thought to look in her orchard. In days, she could easily be dead.