Finally she let out a shaky breath. She was getting spooked. Not surprising, maybe. The kitchen was even darker than the living room had been, since its windows faced west, toward the storm. She took a step and bumped into a chair, then put her hand on its back. Funny, how things seemed to switch position in a darkened room—like waking up at night and walking into the closet instead of the hall.
The flashlight was usually kept in the top drawer to the left of the sink. Meredith had pulled it open before she realized it wouldn’t be there. Mom had taken it out the night she died.
She swung away, blinking back the sudden tears that filled her eyes. There was a flashlight upstairs in her bedroom for just such emergencies, but her cell phone would surely give her enough illumination to make it down the cellar steps and find the circuit box. She took it from her bag.
Yanking the cellar door open, she paused. The dim kitchen was nothing compared to the utter blackness of the cellar, and the glow from her phone lit only the first two steps. Going down would be like stepping into black water. She shuddered at the image. Maybe—
The floor creaked behind her, sending her heart into her throat. She half turned, raising the light, but something black was coming at her, like a black bird swooping down, grazing her head, striking her shoulder. She cried out, ducking away from the blow, he’d hit again, she couldn’t protect herself and then she was stumbling backward, feet slipping, falling—
Steps striking her, blackness surrounding her, nothing to grab on to— She hit the floor, stunned.
It took a moment for her brain to start working. She’d landed on her right side on the heavy mat she’d placed at the bottom of the stairs. Not sure she could move, she took a tentative breath. Her lungs still worked, it seemed, although pain seemed to ricochet through her ribs.
Not moving seemed the best idea. If he thought she was dead, so much the better. Surely he couldn’t see her from the top of the stairs. He’d go away, satisfied...
But he wasn’t. Deliberate footsteps sounded on the stairs. He was coming down to make sure. He’d find her, he’d finish the job.
Meredith’s fingers clenched, and she realized she was still holding the cell phone.
Relief flooded through her. She raised it so that she could see to key in the numbers. “I’m calling 911. The police will be here in minutes.”
She could almost feel the indecision emanating from the dark figure. Then the dispatcher was speaking, and even as she stammered out the information she heard the quick withdrawal. Back into the kitchen, an odd thud and then the back door slamming.
“I think he’s gone.”
“Stay on the line with me.” It was Josie’s voice, instantly reassuring. “The car will be there in minutes. Stay on the line, Mer.”
“Thanks.” She muttered the word and clicked off, heedless of the advice. Zach. She had to call Zach.
She pressed his number, relief flooding through her at the sound of his voice. “I’m in the cellar.” She stammered the words. “Somebody attacked me.”
“On my way.” He didn’t waste time asking questions. Crazy, that just the sound of his voice was enough to make her feel safer.
* * *
ZACH FIGURED HE broke the land speed record getting across the street. He hoped the front door was unlocked, or he’d have had to break it in. He tore through the house, calling Meredith’s name, heart pumping with fear.
“Here. In the cellar.” Her voice was shaky but strong.
He reached the door and plunged downward, led by the glow of Meredith’s cell phone. She was sitting at the bottom of the steps, hugging her knees to her chest, her hair swinging forward to half hide her face.
“Merry?” He knelt beside her, lowering his voice, trying to call up the detached sympathy he’d learned on the job. But this was Meredith, not a stranger. “Tell me what happened. Did he hurt you?”
She looked up at him then, and he thought she was making an effort to hold herself together. “Just bumps and bruises, I think.” She rubbed her shoulder. “He swung something at me, but I was turning or it would have hit my head. And then he pushed me down the stairs.”
“It was a man?” He couldn’t help the way his voice sharpened.
She seemed to hesitate. “I...I’m not sure. I just assumed it was, but I didn’t really see anything. Just a dark shape.”
Zach resisted the urge to swear. He touched her head gently. “Sure he didn’t hit your head?” He studied her eyes, looking for any sign of concussion.
She shook her head, still rubbing her shoulder. “If I hadn’t moved... It was just like my mother.” Her voice broke, and the need to take her into his arms nearly overwhelmed him.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’d better call the paramedics to take a look at you.”
“I already called 911. That was what scared him away.” She managed a shaky smile. “Can’t believe I held on to my phone while I was falling.”
She’d called the cops. That was the right thing to do. Sure it was. But under the circumstances, he’d like to have a look around before they got here.
“Why is it so dark in here?” He couldn’t very well try to take the cell phone. She was clinging to it like the lifeline it was.
“The circuit box.” She gestured with the cell phone, and he spotted the gray metal box on the wall. “There must have been a power surge from the storm.”
He rose and went to the box. A flip of the switch later, the lights went on.
In the harsh overhead light, Meredith’s face was pale. She moved slightly, as if to get up, and winced.
He was at her side instantly. “Maybe you’d better stay put until the paramedics get here. Did you tell the 911 operator you needed medical help?”
“Not exactly, but I said I’d been attacked. It was Josie. I’m sure she’d send EMTs.” She grasped his arm. “I’m okay. Just help me up the stairs.”
Clearly she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He lifted more than helped. Meredith wobbled for a minute and then steadied. She managed a wan smile.
“See? I’m okay.”
“I doubt it.” He put an arm around her. “I’d carry you up, but that stairwell is so narrow you might end up in worse shape than you are.”
“I’m fine.” Gripping his arm, Meredith moved, wincing again.
“Sure you are.” He put his arm around her waist and helped her up the first step. “This is a piece of cake.” He looked over his shoulder, scanning the cellar for any sign that someone else had been there. “You really think the storm knocked out the power?”
“What else...” She paused and then looked at him. “You think the intruder turned it off?”
“I think it’s possible.” And if it did happen that way, he’d just put his fingerprints on the circuit box. Great.
When they finally reached the top, Meredith was shaking.
“Sit down.” The lights were blazing throughout the downstairs now. He lowered her to one of the kitchen chairs. “I want to make sure he’s gone.”
“He went out the back. I heard the door slam.”
He was halfway to the door already. “Maybe he left some trace.”
“What’s that?” Meredith murmured the words, almost to herself.
He turned to see her bend, reaching for something under her chair.
“Don’t touch it!” His exclamation came too late. Meredith had already picked up the object.
She held it, staring at it with a frown. “What’s a hammer... Oh. I heard something hit the floor before I heard the door slam. He must have dropped it.”
“Or left it behind deliberately.” He snatched a dish towel from the rack and used it to grasp the hammer. Small, with a smooth wooden handle that looked as if hands had gripped it for generations. He held it to the light, his stomach churni
ng. Those might very well be bloodstains on the head.
“This must be what he swung at me. It’s a good thing he didn’t get my head—” She stopped, her eyes widening, and he saw her thoughts land on the truth. “My mother.”
“Probably.” He wrapped the towel around the hammer, hiding it from her sight. “And unfortunately now it has your fingerprints on it.” First him, now her. Anyone would think they’d set out to incriminate themselves.
The wail of a siren galvanized him. His fingers clenched around the hammer. “If Burkhalter gets his hands on this, he’s going to use it to tie you to your mother’s death.”
He’d have thought she couldn’t get any paler. It seemed she could.
“I don’t know what to do.” Her voice shook. “We need time to think.”
The siren’s wail moaned to a stop in front of the house. There was no time, and she realized it as well as he did.
“Hide it. Please.” Meredith’s eyes widened with panic.
“I can’t hide evidence. I’m a police officer.” Everything in him rebelled at the thought. But if Burkhalter walked in and saw it, he’d arrest Meredith on the spot.
“Then I will.” She took it from him, staggered a little when she rose, and then took two steps to the counter. She yanked out a drawer and shoved it inside.
“Merry—”
“Not for long, just until we have a moment to think. Please.”
The cops were coming in the front door.
He nodded, taking her arm and helping her back to her chair. He’d just have to pray the hammer wasn’t found until he had time to decide what to do about it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MEREDITH’S HEART STUTTERED when Chief Burkhalter and Ted Singer barreled into the kitchen. She tried not to look as guilty as she felt.
“What are you doing here, Randal?” Ted Singer eyed him with obvious suspicion.
“Ms. King called me.” Zach clamped his mouth shut on the words, a silent indication to say as little as possible.
“What happened here?” The chief looked annoyed, as if things were not proceeding as he expected.
“Someone was in the house when Ms. King returned.” Zach moved to stand close to her. Not touching, but near enough that she seemed able to feel his warmth. “He or she pushed Ms. King down the cellar steps.”
Burkhalter scowled. “Let Ms. King tell it. Please,” he added, as if he hadn’t decided on the proper protocol for addressing people he’d known for years and now suspected of murder.
“Just trying to spare her,” Zach said, his tone mild. “She’s had a shock.”
“These stairs?” Singer grabbed the cellar door and yanked it open, thereby adding his fingerprints to whatever else was there.
Meredith nodded and then regretted doing it. The right side of her neck was stiffening by the minute. She massaged her neck and saw Zach’s fingers move, as if he wanted to do it for her.
“When I came back, the power was off.” She tried to organize her thoughts into what to say and what not to say. “I thought the storm had tripped the circuits. That happens fairly regularly.”
Burkhalter nodded. “Ought to have this whole place rewired with a bigger service entrance, that’s what you ought to do.”
For a moment Meredith thought he was going to mention his brother, the electrician, but he seemed to recall himself to the work at hand. “So you went down the cellar. Then what?”
“I didn’t get that far. I came in here to get a flashlight. It was dark, and I groped my way over to the drawer. And then I realized it wasn’t there.” She paused. By this time, Burkhalter must realize what flashlight she was talking about. “I thought maybe my cell phone would give enough light to get down to the basement, but when I opened the door, I realized how black it was down there.” Her voice trembled at the image of that darkness below her, like the dark pool that had claimed her mother. “I heard someone behind me, started to turn and something hit me on the shoulder. It knocked me down the steps.”
Burkhalter looked from her to the cellar door. “You sure you didn’t just trip? Or maybe knock something off a hook in the cellar-way?”
“It was a person,” she said, making her tone low and firm because she wanted to scream at him. “I saw the figure, but it was dark enough that I couldn’t be sure whether it was a man or woman. It—he—came down a couple steps. That’s when I hit 911 on the cell phone. He ran.” She nearly stumbled over the thing she mustn’t say. “The back door slammed.”
Burkhalter looked at her for a long moment, as if deciding how much to believe. Then he jerked his head toward the cellar door. “Go down and have a look around, Singer. The lights are on now,” he observed.
“I turned the power on at the circuit box,” Zach said. “There was no way of knowing if it tripped because of the storm or because somebody threw the switch.”
“So you’ve messed up any prints that were on it. You’re a cop. You should know better than to touch it.”
She could practically hear Zach grit his teeth. “I had to see if Meredith was all right. Did you send for paramedics?”
“I don’t need—” she began, but he cut her off.
“You should be checked out.”
“Josie sent for them. They should be here soon. Or Bennett Campbell is right down the street,” Burkhalter pointed out.
“No.” That came out more sharply than she intended. “Don’t bother him. I’ll wait for the paramedics, but I’m fine.” She wasn’t going to have Bennett checking out her bruises while thinking she was responsible for her mother’s death.
Singer thumped back up the stairs. “Nothing to see down there, Chief. Just the mat rumpled up a bit.”
“Then go out back and see if you can find any trace of an intruder,” Burkhalter snapped.
Something about the way he phrased that made Meredith feel as if he didn’t believe her account of what had happened. Was he picking up on the fact that she hadn’t told him everything? Or did he imagine she’d staged the whole incident to gain sympathy and divert suspicion?
“So you figure this intruder was already in the house when you came back from the station.” Burkhalter pulled out a much-thumbed notebook. “Anything missing?”
She managed not to shake her head, fearing the effect on her neck and shoulder. “I haven’t had a chance to look.”
“You surely don’t think this was a burglar,” Zach said. “It’s obvious he came to attack Meredith.”
Burkhalter shrugged. “Maybe so, but it’s not that obvious to me. Supposing you let us have a good thorough look around the house for anything missing.”
“No.” Zach spoke before she could, and he put a warning hand on her shoulder. “Ms. King will have a look when she feels able, and she’ll call you if anything’s missing.”
Burkhalter glared at him. “I might have to listen to that from Jake, on account of him being her attorney, but not from you.”
By that time Meredith had caught up, and she wasn’t sure where her wits had gone. There was little point in Burkhalter searching the house for missing items, since he wouldn’t know if they were missing. Zach obviously thought he was using this to give himself another chance to search for evidence against them. And that evidence was five feet away from him in the kitchen drawer.
“I’m the only one who would know if something’s missing,” she said firmly. “Zach is right.”
Burkhalter gave Zach a fulminating look and then returned to his notebook. “So why do you suppose someone would want to push you down the stairs?”
“Surely that’s obvious, even to you.” Zach’s temper had apparently frayed to the breaking point. “Someone killed her mother, mistaking her for Meredith. Now he’s trying to finish the job.”
Surprisingly enough, Burkhalter didn’t seem riled by
Zach answering for her. Instead he turned to Meredith. “That how you have it figured, too?”
“I don’t see what else it could be.” She wrapped her arms protectively around herself. “Someone is afraid of what I might find out about Aaron Mast’s death.”
“Well, I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” Burkhalter snapped his notebook closed. “Thing is, as far as I can tell, you’ve been nosing around Aaron’s accident for months now. And nothing happened to anybody until Zach Randal came back to town.”
* * *
ZACH WAS STILL fuming over Burkhalter’s attitude the next morning, but that was a minor annoyance in comparison with his worry over Meredith. At least, once the paramedics had checked her out, Burkhalter seemed convinced that her injuries were real. Whether he believed the rest of what they’d told him—well, that was doubtful.
He hadn’t wanted to leave Meredith last night, but Rachel had insisted she’d stay, and he had to admit that it was probably better for Meredith that way. He’d spent the night feeling queasy every time he thought of that hammer stuffed in a kitchen drawer. A dozen times he’d gotten up, wanting to slip over under cover of darkness and retrieve it. But a glance out the window deterred him.
Like he’d thought, news of the attack on Meredith had spread quickly. Deer Run was on alert all night. Outside lights were on at every house on the street, and an unwary prowling dog knocking over a trash can had brought lights flashing in windows and one man, armed with a shotgun, out into the street.
No, it would be far safer to go out during the day, when kids were in school and the neighbors had relaxed their vigilance. Daylight eased everyone’s fear.
But first he’d check on Meredith. He tapped on the door, and Rachel answered so quickly she must have been watching for him.
“How is she?” he said, stepping inside. Judging by Rachel’s face, she hadn’t slept much.
“Hurting, but she won’t let me take her to the doctor. I finally persuaded her to take a pain pill, and she got a little sleep, at least.”
Marta Perry Page 22
