Sara's Song

by Fern Michaels

  The key. Where was the key? Had the intruder taken it? No, she’d put it in the envelope with her birth certificate. Her hands fumbled through the papers and envelopes at the bottom of the bag. A mighty sigh escaped her when she felt the key through the envelope. Seconds later she was inside the cabin, which was as dark and cold as it was outside.

  The fire was laid; all she had to do was light a match. Thank God the kindling and the logs were dry. Sparks showered upward, lighting up the huge room. Oil lamps were everywhere. She lit them all. While she waited for the logs to blaze, Sara prowled the cabin, dragging quilts and blankets to the hearth, where she spread them out. The kitchen had a potbellied stove, the logs waiting for her to strike a match. She remembered to open the damper before the fire took hold. She thanked God for the indoor bathroom. Obviously the judge had a septic tank somewhere outside. The giant woodbox that went all the way to the ceiling was loaded with clean dry logs. The cabinets in the kitchen were full of canned beans, canned spaghetti, tuna, and Spam. If need be, she could stay here for weeks and not starve.

  The big question, though, was she safe here in this cabin? She saw the baseball bat in the corner by the door. Did the judge bring his grandson Jack up here? She decided it was as good a weapon as any, so she picked it up and carried it over to her makeshift bed to slide it under the down comforter. She heard a noise then. Her heart pounded in fear as she tried to decide if it was one of the logs splitting in the fire or someone outside. She looked around at the undraped windows that left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. Anyone outside could see every move she made. If there was someone out there with a gun—her gun—they could shoot her through the window. She knew now that she had made a mistake coming here. She was truly trapped.

  She moved to the darker corners of the kitchen. One by one she turned out the oil lamps. Now she could see the blinding whiteness beyond the windows. She moved quietly from one window to the next to see if there were any footprints to be seen. The pristine white snow was untouched. Outside the wind howled and shrieked. Inside, shadows that looked like obscene monsters danced on the walls of the cabin. The fear stayed with her.

  She ran to the door, then, when she heard the same strange noise a second time. It sounded as if someone was on the roof. Was there an attic or crawl space in the cabin? Stupid, stupid, stupid. If there was space above the ceiling, the only entry would be from the inside via a pull-down ladder or a trapdoor. With a fire roaring up the chimney, no one would even think of coming down the way Santa did. There had to be a foot of snow on the roof, making footsteps soundless. An animal looking for warmth? The thought was so ridiculous, Sara grimaced. She felt like the sitting duck she was.

  Sara eyed the only door in the cabin. It was sturdy and stout, like Nellie’s truck. She knew little about architecture but the cabin looked like it was overbuilt. The beams and heavy black bolts and flanges were awesome, as if some warrior lived here who was securing his fortress. She had no idea what kind of wood the door and the cabin were made of. Not pine. Pine was a soft wood. Oak she thought. The heavy-duty bolts on the door pleased her. One was vertical and one was horizontal. The uncovered windows were another story. Multipaned, the wood in between the squares would shatter if someone threw something against them or tried to throw his body through the window. She asked herself what Carly would do in this situation. She’d probably rack her brain, trying to recall a movie where she’d seen the same scenario acted out and resolved in ninety minutes.

  Sara paced, staying close to the wall and away from the windows. She took a deep breath. She would never be able to go to sleep until she was sure there were no threatening forces outside. The way she saw it, she had two choices. She could either sit and suck her thumb, or she could go outside and investigate. She maneuvered her way to the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers in search of a flashlight. She finally found one in the bottom drawer. It was large with a shoulder strap, the kind that took a big square battery. Holding it down toward the floor, she turned the button. Weak yellow light lit up the corner. She hunched down to remove the battery and fit in a new one. Bright golden light filled the corner.

  Sara retraced her steps to the door. Once she opened the door she was fair game for anyone out there stalking her. She debated a full five minutes. She was bone tired and her body still had a chill that the fire hadn’t erased. This was one of those now-or-never times in a person’s life. Her heart skipped a beat when she undid the heavy locks. She yanked at the door, the force of the wind and snow driving her and the door backward. With her back to the outside, Sara pulled at the door to close it. She had to use both hands to close it tight, the flashlight banging against her leg as it dangled from the strap she’d looped around her neck. She felt the heat leave her body as she tried to plow through the drifting snow. The light, angled downward, showed that her previous footprints had been obliterated. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until it exploded from her mouth in a loud swoosh.

  Obviously, she told herself, she was paranoid. It was probably the firewood creating the strange noises she’d heard. Still, the nervous feeling stayed with her. She knew she wouldn’t rest until she’d checked the area surrounding the cabin. Her steps were tortured, her weary, tired body protesting each one as she strained to see through the swirling snow. There were no footprints to be seen until she came to the area by the kitchen window. The snow under the window overhang was shallow, the ground showing through in the area closest to the foundation. Large, deep footprints. She gasped in horror as she ran, slipping and sliding back to the front of the house. At the door she hesitated. Where was the person who made the footprints? Did he go into the house? If she opened the door would that person grab and kill her?

  Sara looked around wildly. In her panic, she’d destroyed the footprints she’d made when she first came outside. It was impossible to tell now if there were any prints other than her own. Suddenly her knees gave out on her and she was in a snowdrift. Fine, stinging snow whipped across her face. Look in the window, look in the window, her mind shrieked. Where was the baseball bat? Did she take it out of the covers? Did she lean it up against the door when she went out? Yes, yes, yes. She pulled herself up to the windowsill. The fire blazed, casting the room in jumping shadows. Was one of those shadows a real-live flesh-and-blood person? The black bag holding her life sat next to the makeshift bed. Where were the keys to the truck? Were they in the black bag or were they in her jacket pocket? She pulled off one of the yellow mittens to grope inside the pocket of her jacket. Her cold fingers closed around the key. Thank you, God.

  She needed the bat. How best to get it? If there was only some way to lock the door from the outside so the person inside couldn’t get out. The force of the wind would blow the door inward, slamming it against the wall where the bat rested. Trying to get the bat from behind the door would give the intruder time to drag her into the room and then it would all be over. No, it was best to go to the truck and drive away. “Please, God, help me,” she prayed as she struggled through the snow to Nellie’s truck.

  Dear God, she hadn’t locked the truck. What if someone was waiting inside? Did she dare take a chance and get in the truck? The only other option was to take off on foot and try to head back to the gated community. If the tire tracks hadn’t filled over, she could follow them. If new snow filled the tracks, she was on her own. “Please, God, help me.”

  How long would the person inside the house wait for her to return? Any minute now they’d be coming out to check on her.

  Try for the truck or go it on foot? Petrified, Sara struck out in what she thought was the way she’d come. Coming toward her was a looming figure that to her mind looked as big and as frightening as Big Foot. She was going to die out here in this godforsaken place, and her body wouldn’t be found till the spring thaw. She swung the flashlight upward.

  She wasn’t really out here in a snowstorm. She was safe at home and this was just one really bad nightmare. She knew it was a nightmare becaus
e the figure staring at her in the glow of the flashlight was dead. She would wake any minute now. Any second.

  “Dallas?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Pull over, Adam, before you kill us both. You aren’t used to driving in snow and I am. As a matter of fact, I don’t think you’re used to driving at all. Limos and chauffeurs are more your style. I understand that you feel the need to be doing something, but this ain’t it, big guy,” Tom Silk said.

  “You’re right. It’s been years since I drove in snow, and at that it was a mere dusting swirling across the road. I’ve missed out on a lot of things. It’s all yours, Tom. I have to warn you, for the past hour visibility has been nil. I’ve been following the guy’s taillights in front of me.”

  They drove in silence, each man busy with his own thoughts. What seemed like a long time later, Tom said, “Listen, we’re all over the damn road. We’re playing with our lives here, Adam. Are you sure you want to continue?”

  Adam’s voice was grim. “Yes, I’m sure. Sara’s life is in danger. Pull over so I can scrape the windows for you.”

  Hunched over the wheel, his eyes glued to the swirling snow beyond the windshield, Tom muttered under his breath. Adam ignored him as he struggled to see through the cascade of snow falling all about them.

  “Where the hell are the goddamn work crews is what I want to know?” Tom cursed when the Rover fishtailed and then righted itself. “Try for the weather report or the news. I think we should have called the police or the sheriff up there instead of trying to make it in this storm. This isn’t good, Adam. If Dr. Killian left earlier in the day, she probably made it before the weather got bad. We’re chasing ghosts. We don’t even know for certain she’s up here.”

  “I know, Tom. Ah, here we go. News on the hour. Oh-myyyy-God!”

  “Is that the judge . . . ?”

  “That’s the one. Shhh. He’s in critical condition, but he’s alive. I guess that answers our earlier questions. He is definitely not in on this venture. According to the police, no one saw or heard anything. Of course you have to look at the flip side of that particular coin, which means he could have been in on it and then chickened out.”

  “I’m going to pull over; our wipers are so frozen they aren’t moving. I can’t see a damn thing. Get out on your side and see what you can do.”

  His teeth chattering, Adam climbed back in the truck. His efforts to clear the blades had been feeble at best. “The only time I ever saw snow like this was in the movies. Do you really think Sara got up here before the weather turned bad?”

  “I don’t know, Adam. It’s been snowing for hours. There must be eight or ten inches, maybe more out there, and it’s drifting badly. We’ve been driving for more than two hours, and I haven’t the faintest clue as to where the hell we are. As far as I can see, it’s a crapshoot if we’ve even gone fifty miles.”

  “We have to keep going, but I am going to call the sheriffs office. I should have called him from the apartment before we started out. If anything happens to Sara, it’s going to be my fault. I should have been on top of the Sandi situation days ago. I just couldn’t comprehend that someone would kill for a song. One tiny little part of me says Sandi could be telling the truth. Dallas could have written the song for her just the way she said he did. Then one or the other of them broke it off. Billy died and Sara Killian came into his life. I know Dallas. He could have changed the name of the song and given it to Sara. Dallas did a lot of strange things. He always meant well, but sometimes situations backfired on him. Sandi wants the big score and Easy Street for the rest of her life. Sara wants the song for sentimental reasons and doesn’t care about the money.” He was babbling, but he didn’t care.

  “What about you, Adam? What do you want?”

  “I just want to get to where the hell we’re going. I can’t stand not knowing if she’s safe or not. I want whatever Dallas wanted. The only problem is I don’t know what Dallas wanted. I don’t think we’ll ever know. I don’t believe Sara is the outdoor type, Tom. Can she survive this? Sandi, on the other hand, is as fit as they come. The big question is, is she in front of us or behind us?”

  Tom snorted. “Give the doctor some credit, Adam. She got out of that tub in time. Dr. Killian has a brain. So does the singer, but she’s eaten up with greed. The doctor is fighting for her life, which makes me believe she’s a survivor. She probably has more brains than the two of us put together. Try the sheriff again. You need to get out and clear the wipers again, too. Jesus Christ, Adam, this is fucking suicide. Is that a truck in that drift? Be careful, Adam.”

  “The line is busy. They probably have a hundred accidents they’re working on. Even if I get through to the sheriff, do you think they’ll make Sara a priority? We have no concrete facts to back up our story. What if they do try to find her, and it turns out to be a wild-goose chase? They could have been helping someone else instead of chasing down a cockamamie story.” Ten minutes later he climbed back into the truck.

  “There’s no one in the cab of the truck. The person must be on foot.”

  They crawled along for another ninety minutes before Adam shouted, “Look, Adam, civilization! Lots of lights means a truck stop or gas station. We need gas and coffee. Maybe you can get through to the sheriff from here. Hold on.”

  Adam reached for what Dallas always called the Jesus Christ strap at the top of the door. The truck skidded, spinning around in a complete circle. “I knew that was going to happen. We’ve been driving on ice for some time. No vehicle, and I don’t care how they tout it, is good on ice. It’s not just snowing now. It’s sleeting.”

  The restaurant was almost empty. Six pairs of eyes scrutinized the two men when the door slammed shut behind them. Adam stared them down as he stomped his way to a table, shaking the snow from Nellie’s fuzzy orange jacket. Tom yanked at his bright pink knitted cap and stuffed it in his pocket.

  Adam flagged down a waiter. “Coffee. Can I use your phone to call the sheriff?”

  “Won’t do you any good. We’ve been listening to the scanner all evening. There’s a five-car pileup on 220 and a killer accident on 58. Everyone is out there helping. If you can’t go any farther, you’re welcome to stay here. There’s a gas station a quarter of the mile down the road.” Adam nodded curtly when the waiter smirked at his oversize tangerine-colored sweater that matched the fuzzy jacket.

  “Get directions while I hit the men’s room,” Tom said.

  Adam scanned the menu. “What do you have that we can eat on the road,” he asked as he finished copying down the directions.

  “We’re about out of everything. How does a fried bean sandwich sound?”

  “Awful. I’ll take two and two large containers of coffee.”

  When the waiter brought their food to go and refilled their coffee cups, Adam described Sara and asked the waiter if she’d been in the restaurant earlier. “She’s a doctor,” he added, hoping Sara’s title would jog his memory.

  “She was driving a big old ugly truck,” Tom volunteered.

  “Yeah, she was in here. She left with Gina and Buck. They were gonna show her the way to Alpine Forest. I heard them talking.”

  Adam then described Sandi Sims. “Was she in here tonight?”

  “‘Bout an hour and a half ago. She took a coffee and soup to go—and a Hershey bar. Seems like you’re all going to the same place. Going home for Christmas, huh?”

  Adam sucked in his breath at the news. His gut instinct was right. “Seems that way, doesn’t it?” He tossed some bills on the table.

  Adam and Tom used up fifteen minutes clearing the ice from the front and back windshields. They both cursed, making up words as they went along. “Let’s get this show on the road, Tom. Stop for gas and some deicer if they have it. We don’t have that much farther to go. Be careful, Tom.”

  Tom inched the truck onto the main road. It took him thirty minutes to drive the quarter mile to the gas station. Twice he had to roll down his window to make sure he was st
ill on the road. They used up more precious time going five miles an hour to the turnoff to Alpine Forest. “Where do we go from here, Adam?”

  Adam pulled out the housekeeper’s directions. “Three rights, four lefts, and then another right. Follow that road till you come to a stone pillar with a mailbox. There’s a huge double tree next to it. It’s on the right-hand side of the road.”

  “I hope you have x-ray eyes because I can’t see a thing. I don’t even know if I’m on the damn road. Merry Christmas, Adam.”

  “The same to you, Tom. If I didn’t tell you this before, I want to tell you now. You know, just in case. I’ve had thousands of people in my life, acquaintances mostly, but I never had the time to make a real friend. What you’ve done goes beyond friendship. I just want you to know I appreciate your friendship and everything you’ve done for me and the dogs. According to Dallas, I was never verbal enough.”

  “You’re an okay guy, Adam, when you let your guard down. I think your brother knew that. He probably wanted it to be like when you were kids. Big brother, little brother, that kind of thing. I’m sure he understood that life and business sometimes get in the way of good intentions.”

  “Jesus, I miss him. I wish I could turn the clock back. I wish I could call him up and say, ‘Hey, Dallas, let’s take the dogs and go fishing. We’ll make our own poles and use peanut butter for bait.’ I can’t do that, not ever, and I want to do it so badly I hurt. I hung up his Christmas stocking, didn’t I, Tom?”