Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | Bogeyman

Bogeyman
Gayle Wilson


A year after the death of her husband, Blythe Wyndham moves with her four-year-old daughter, Maddie, back to the small town where she grew up.But soon after they move in to their new home, strange things begin to happen. Maddie has disturbingly intense nightmares—so intense that Blythe fears one night she may not be able to awaken her daughter. A psychologist explains that Maddie's dreams are simply the result of her father's death, but Blythe knows something else is wrong. Because she's also heard the ghostly tapping at her daughter's window….Convinced the house is haunted, Blythe researches the town's history and discovers that a little girl had been brutally murdered in the area twenty-five years ago. Could there be some connection between this dead child and Maddie? With the help of Sheriff Cade Jackson, Blythe tries to separate past horrors from present dangers and struggles to distinguish the real from the imagined. But someone is clearly determined to keep a secret—and will kill again to do so.









Gayle Wilson

Bogeyman








This book is dedicated to the strongest, most wonderful group of women I know, with my love, my gratitude and my deepest admiration…

Jill, Kelley, Connie, Lisa, Michelle, Dorien, Peg, Linda, LJ, Karen, Sherry, Geralyn, Stef, Teresa, Diane, Nic, Donna, Julie and Allison.

Thank you for everything!

And a very special dedication to Angelon.

She knows all the reasons why.




Contents


Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Coming Next Month




Prologue


Twenty-five Years Earlier…

She had known he would come tonight. In spite of the rain and the cold. In spite of her praying “Please, Jesus” over and over again since Rachel had turned out the light.

She listened, but there was no sound now except her sister’s breathing, slightly whistling on each slow intake of air. And the rain, of course, pelting down on the tin roof overhead.

It made enough noise to drown out anything else, she reassured herself. Whatever she thought she’d heard—

The sound came again, and this time there was no doubt what it was. She had anticipated this, dreaded it too many nights not to recognize that soft tapping on the glass.

She opened her eyes to the darkness, staring up at the ceiling as if she could see through it to the storm above. Maybe if she waited—if she pretended to be asleep—maybe this time Rachel would hear him and wake up. Or maybe Mama would get up to check and see if they were warm enough.

The tapping came again. Louder. Demanding.

Her sister’s breathing hesitated, a long pause during which she repeated her talisman phrase again. Then the sounds Rachel made settled back into that same pattern of wheezing inhalation followed by sibilant release.

Mama always said Rachel slept like the dead.

Mama…

If she got out of bed and tiptoed across the floor to the door, surely with the noise of the rain, she could open it without him hearing. And if he didn’t hear, then he would never know that she’d told.

If you ever tell anyone…

She quickly destroyed the image his words created. Denied them because she couldn’t bear to think about what would happen if she didn’t go to the window….

She took a breath, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the burn of tears. Please, dear Jesus.

Except Jesus hadn’t answered her prayers any of the other times. Somewhere inside her heart she knew he wasn’t going to answer tonight.

Which meant that nobody would. There was nobody she could turn to. Nobody who could do anything about what he’d told her he would do if she didn’t mind him. Nobody but her.

She opened her eyes, raising her arm to scrub at them with the sleeve of her nightgown. He didn’t like it when she cried. He said it spoiled everything. And that if she wasn’t real careful—

She drew another breath, fighting to keep it from turning into a sob. Then, moving as carefully as she could, she pushed back the sheet and the piled quilts and sat up, putting her bare feet on the stone-cold floor.

By the time he tapped again, she was at the window. As she put her fingers around the metal handles of the sash to lift it, she couldn’t find even enough hope left inside her heart to repeat the words she’d prayed all night. The ones they had told her at Sunday school would protect her from evil.

Now she knew that they, too, had lied.




1


Present Day…

The storm had increased in intensity, rain pounding against the windows as if demanding admittance. Not for the first time Blythe Wyndham regretted the isolation of the small rental house she and her daughter had moved into two months ago.

She’d never been easily spooked—not by thunderstorms or by being alone—but right now she was wondering why she hadn’t taken her grandmother up on her offer to move back into the family home. The hundred-year-old farmhouse, which the Mitchells had occupied since its construction, was almost as isolated as the one in which she and Maddie were currently living. Still, it had been home for most of Blythe’s childhood, and she had always felt completely safe there.

Safe?

Blythe shook her head, wondering at her use of the word. There was no reason to think the house they were in wasn’t safe. She couldn’t ever remember consciously worrying about that before. Why the thought would cross her mind tonight—

“We haven’t said my prayers.”

Her daughter’s reminder destroyed Blythe’s momentary uneasiness. Smiling, she brushed strands of pale blond hair away from the forehead of the little girl she’d just tucked into bed.

No matter what else might have gone wrong in her life, Maddie was the one thing that had always been right. And the reason Blythe had chosen to return to the small Alabama community where she’d been raised.

“Then say them now,” she prompted.

Maddie closed her eyes, putting her joined hands in front of her face, small thumbs touching her lips. “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

Blythe wondered who had decided that was an appropriate prayer for a child. Of course Maddie, who said the words by rote, was probably not even cognizant of their meaning.

Thank God.

“God bless Mommy and Miz Ruth and Delores.” Maddie’s listing of personal blessings that had grown by two since their move to Crenshaw. “And God keep Daddy safe in heaven. Amen.”

“Amen,” Blythe repeated softly.

Her daughter’s blue eyes flew open to catch her mother studying her face. “You didn’t close your eyes.”

“If I did, I couldn’t look at you.”

“But you aren’t supposed to look at me. You’re supposed to bow your head and close your eyes. Everybody knows that.”

As Blythe herself had always been, Maddie was an obeyer of rules. The trait made her an easy child to handle, but Blythe often wondered if it shouldn’t be her role to introduce the occasional urge to rebel into her daughter’s well-ordered existence.

“Sorry. I guess I forgot,” Blythe said, her smile widening at the note of concern in Maddie’s voice.

“You better ask forgiveness. Before you go to sleep. You hear me?”

The culture of the area was obviously making inroads, not only on the little girl’s speech, but on her thinking as well. Blythe could hardly complain, since that was one of the reasons she’d brought Maddie back. That and the fact that the only family she had left in the world was here.

“I will, I promise. And you promise to sleep tight, okay?”

“Okay.” Maddie turned slightly to one side, one hand sliding under the feather pillow, another item on loan from her great-grandmother’s house.

The necessity of that kind of borrowing had also, like it or not, played a part in their homecoming. The little insurance money that had been left after the bills had all been paid, including those incurred by the move, wouldn’t have extended to luxuries like feather pillows. With her grandmother’s generosity, it would go a little further and hopefully keep them solvent until Blythe could find some kind of permanent employment.

“Just don’t say that thing Miz Ruth always says,” Maddie ordered without opening her eyes.

“What thing?”

“About the bugs biting me.”

Blythe could almost hear her grandmother’s voice, its distinctive Southern accent repeating the same good-night wish she’d whispered to Blythe when she was a child. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.

“That’s just a silly old saying.” She bent over to press a kiss on the little girl’s temple. “There are no bedbugs here or at Miz Ruth’s.”

Maddie had quickly picked up on the name by which most of the inhabitants of Crenshaw referred to Ruth Mitchell. Or maybe because that was how her grandmother’s housekeeper always addressed her, and the little girl spent her mornings with the two old women.

In any case, given the growing closeness between them, Blythe had decided that it didn’t matter what Maddie called her great-grandmother. Ruth Mitchell would be for Maddie exactly what she had been for Blythe—friend, confidante and role model. The child couldn’t have a better one.

Blythe pushed up from her perch on the edge of the bed, reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp as she did. The flash of lightning that illuminated the darkened room was followed closely by a clap of thunder.

Blythe glanced down at the little girl in the bed, but her eyes were still closed. Apparently the storm didn’t bother her.

Normally, they didn’t bother Blythe either. There was something about this one, however, that had kept her slightly on edge since the rain had started. If the power went out—

That’s what she had intended to do, she remembered. Locate the flashlight and gather up any candles she could find. Despite having been here for a couple of months, she hadn’t managed to get everything unpacked.

Of course, working at Raymond Lucky’s law office half a day made it hard to get much done at the house. And she couldn’t have managed either the job or the unpacking had her grandmother and Delores not been so eager to look after Maddie for her.

When she’d started with Ray, Blythe had intended to prove herself so invaluable that he’d be forced to hire her full-time. Now she knew he didn’t have enough clients to warrant that expenditure. Although her greatest fear was that Ray would decide he couldn’t afford her any longer, she had already started putting out feelers for more permanent—and more lucrative—positions.

Despite the obvious advantages of her move back home, that was the major drawback to living in this small, rural community. A lack of jobs that related to any of her skills.

Without the required education courses that would allow her to teach, her English degree seemed worthless in this setting. As did the five years before Maddie’s birth that she’d spent as editor of one of Boston’s small entertainment magazines.

Such as they are, she acknowledged.

Denying the rush of bitterness over the turn her life had taken, Blythe flipped the switch for the overhead light as she entered the kitchen, welcoming its glow. Despite her earlier uneasiness, the room seemed warm and familiar.

Safe.

She rummaged through the drawers, searching for the utility candles she knew she’d brought with her. This was where she’d always kept them in the old house. She couldn’t imagine where else she might have put them when she’d unpacked the container they’d been in.

Which probably indicated she hadn’t. And that meant they were in one of the boxes lined up along the wall in what had been the house’s front parlor.

She debated letting the candles go and simply going back upstairs to bed. That way if the power did go out, she’d never know.

Not unless Maddie has another nightmare.

The thought was enough to send her out of the kitchen and into the hall. She stopped a moment at the foot of the stairs, listening for any sounds coming from the little girl’s bedroom. She could hear nothing but the steady beat of the rain against the roof.

She crossed the hall to open the door of the parlor. She kept this room shut off in an attempt to keep the utility bill down. Besides, other than using it as storage, she couldn’t imagine that she would ever need the space.

By force of habit she flipped the switch, remembering only when nothing happened that she’d not yet replaced the bulbs in the overhead fixture. So far, she had only worked in here in the daytime, so that until tonight, there had been no need. And too many other things that demanded her time.

Blowing out an exasperated breath, she walked over to the boxes. She squatted before the first, trying to read the words she’d carefully printed in indelible marker as she’d packed them. Despite the occasional flare of lightning, that proved impossible. Why the hell hadn’t she brought the flashlight?

Because you’re operating on too little sleep and too much stress.

Putting her hand on the top of the box, she pushed herself up. Screw the candles. The flashlight would be enough.

As long as it had working batteries. Given the way the night was going…

She started across the parlor, heading back to the hall. With the lack of furniture in the room, her footsteps seemed unnaturally loud as she crossed the wooden floor. Halfway to the door she realized that wasn’t all she was hearing.

She stopped, tilting her head toward the hallway. For a few seconds there was nothing, and then the noise came again.

Even over the omnipresent rain she could hear it. A low, muffled tapping.

She had heard the same sound a couple of times before, always at night, and always as she lay in that state between waking and sleeping. It had seemed too much trouble to get up and locate the source then, but she’d better figure it out tonight or, combined with her feeling of anxiety about the storm, the noise would keep her awake. If there was anything she didn’t need, it was another night of interrupted sleep.

A shutter? she wondered. Or a branch brushing against the house? Except there didn’t seem to be enough wind to cause either.

She hurried into the front hall, once more stopping at the foot of the staircase. Again she cocked her head to listen.

Other than the rain, the house was now silent. She took a breath of relief. In the middle of it, the tapping came again. Whatever its cause, it was definitely coming from upstairs.

The faint light spilling out into the hall to the den reminded her that she had been headed to the kitchen to retrieve the flashlight. Once she had it, she’d go upstairs and locate whatever was making the racket. When that had been taken care of, she’d check on Maddie and then get into her own bed. Maybe they could manage to make it through one night without any further disturbances.

The flashlight was lying on the counter where she’d put it when she’d started rummaging through the drawers. She picked it up and then walked over to check the dead bolt and chain lock on the back door. Both were secure.

She pushed aside the sheer curtain that covered the glass top half of the door, intending to peer out into the darkness. For an instant her reflection made it seem as if someone was out there looking in at her. Although her realization of what she was really seeing was almost instantaneous, the jolt of adrenaline that initial sensation created caused her to jerk the fabric back over the pane.

Still fighting that ridiculous surge of panic, she turned, taking a last look around the kitchen before she retraced her steps. She hesitated in the doorway, her fingers finding the switch several seconds before they pulled it down. She waited, giving her eyes a chance to adjust to the sudden lack of light.

This was her normal routine. Cutting off the lights down here and making her way up the stairs in the dark. Since she no longer closed Maddie’s door at night, she didn’t want to turn on the light at the top of the stairs and chance waking her.

She hadn’t taken two steps into the hall before the tapping sounded again, seeming louder than before. Maybe the rain had slackened, allowing her to hear whatever was brushing against the house more clearly.

As she started toward the stairs, she pushed the button on the flashlight forward with her thumb. A narrow cone of light appeared before her, but before she could focus it on the bottom step, it blinked out.

“Damn it.” Angry at herself for not making better preparations in case of an emergency, she shook the flashlight. The batteries rattled inside their metal case, and almost miraculously, the light reappeared, this time without wavering.

At least she knew what to do if she really needed the thing. Which she didn’t right now.

She slid the button back into the off position, conserving what life was left in the batteries. Putting her left hand on the banister, she began to climb the narrow stairs. Halfway up, the tapping began again.

This time she didn’t stop to listen. She took the last few risers in a rush, trying to get to the top of the staircase so that she could determine the direction from which the sound was coming. By the time she’d reached the upstairs hall, however, there was only the noise of the rain.

Check on Maddie. Maybe by the time she’d done that, whatever she was hearing would sound again.

She walked down the hall, guided by the nightlight she’d put in Maddie’s room after the first of the terrors. A flare of lightning, turning the night sky as bright as day, illuminated the window at the end of the hallway. It was immediately followed by a boom of thunder that literally shook the house.

Certain that some object nearby had been struck, Blythe waited, her heart in her throat, for the sound of a falling tree or for Maddie’s screams. When neither occurred, she continued down the hall, her eyes fastened on the dark panes of the window at its end.

In the faint light provided by the night-light, she could see her reflection again, distorted by the mullions and the waviness of the old glass. Given the multiple images portrayed in the window, she had to fight the urge to look over her shoulder to make sure she was alone.

She turned into Maddie’s room, expecting the little girl to be as distraught by the storm as she was. Instead, Maddie was lying on her side, just as she had been when Blythe had gone downstairs. Her eyes were closed.

Instead of the relief she should have felt, Blythe’s first reaction was a renewed sense of uneasiness. How could the child sleep through the noise of the storm?

She tiptoed closer to the bed, spending a few seconds watching the regular rise and fall of Maddie’s breathing. The little girl’s lashes rested unmoving against her cheek.

Although her inclination was to pull the piled quilts over her daughter’s small, exposed shoulder, Blythe stepped back from the bed. It would be stupid to take a chance on waking Maddie, who was obviously fine.

And obviously dealing with the storm much better than you are.

Blythe turned, intending to make her way to her own bedroom. If she couldn’t sleep, there was a sack of paperbacks that her grandmother had pressed on her when she’d picked Maddie up after work yesterday. Most of them would be romances, but maybe that was exactly what she needed. Something positive. Life affirming. With a happily-ever-after guarantee.

She had already reached the doorway to Maddie’s room when the tapping came from behind her. She whirled, looking immediately toward the window to her right.

There was no doubt in her mind that something had struck its glass. She walked across the room, leaning over the small secretary she’d placed in front of the window.

Below was the roof of a narrow screened porch that had been added to the original structure. There were no trees. No branches to brush against the house, even if there had been enough wind to move them. And, she remembered, there were no shutters on the windows at the back.

Realizing that she still held the flashlight in her hand, she pushed the switch forward, pointing the beam outside the window. Rain streaked the glass, but there was nothing out there. She leaned forward as much as she could, directing the flashlight in a circle—above, to the right, below the window and then to the left. Nothing.

She straightened, trying to understand how she could have been wrong about the direction of the sound. It had come from here.

Obviously, it didn’t. You were wrong. So what else is new?

Her thumb had already begun to apply pressure to the off switch when the tapping came again. This time there was no mistake. The sound was right in front of her. She could even see the glass tremble slightly in its frame.

The cone of light from the flashlight was focused directly on the window. With a growing sense of horror she realized that there was nothing out there. Nothing touching the window. Nothing moving against it. Nothing that could move against it. Nothing.

Even as she came to that realization, the beam blinked out, leaving her looking at an empty blackness beyond the glass. Despite her success downstairs, she didn’t even try to shake the thing back on.

She backed away from the window instead. Then, without being conscious of having made a decision, she ran across to the bed and pulled back the covers. She scooped Maddie up and had already started to carry her across the room when the little girl’s eyes opened.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “I thought you might like to sleep in my bed. Because of the storm.”

Her voice trembled, but she prayed that, roused from a deep sleep, her daughter wouldn’t notice. The wide blue eyes looked over her shoulder, seeming to fasten for a moment on the window above the secretary.

Then Maddie turned her head, looking up at her. “Don’t be frightened, Mama. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s only the rain.”

Unable to speak, Blythe nodded.

No doubt there was a perfectly logical explanation for what had just happened. Whatever that might be, right now she wasn’t interested.

All she was interested in at this moment was getting Maddie out of this room. And maybe even out of this house.




2


As he entered his utility room, Cade Jackson struck his rain-soaked uniform hat against his leg before he hung it on one of the row of hooks by the back door. Then, sitting down on the bench, he removed his lowtopped boots and socks, both of which were even wetter than the rest of his attire.

The Sheriff’s Department had been asked to help the state troopers work a tanker-trailer wreck out on the interstate. Cade and his deputies had done little more than direct traffic around the area of the possibly toxic spill. The thunderstorm, which had grown in intensity while the highway crews had worked to clean up the mess, had complicated things, dragging out the final all-clear for several hours.

As a result, Cade was cold and tired and hungry. And right now he wasn’t sure which of those pressing needs should take precedence.

Shower first, he decided, standing again to slip out of his yellow slicker. The hotter the better. To be followed by a couple of packets of aspirin powder to put a dent in the headache that had developed as he’d squinted through the driving rain at the oncoming headlights. Once those two things were accomplished, then he could think about taking something from freezer to microwave and out again in a matter of minutes.

He walked into the kitchen, fingers working over the buttons on his shirt. The light on the answering machine that sat on the counter was blinking.

Whatever this was, given the night he’d had, it couldn’t be good. Still, delaying wouldn’t make the news any better. Blowing out a breath, he stabbed Play.

While he waited for the message to begin, he pulled his shirt out of his pants to undo the last of its buttons. He was in the act of shrugging out of the damp garment when Teresa Payne’s voice, with its distinctive nasal drawl, came through the speaker.

“Hey, Cade. Just touching base. When you get in, give me a call about tomorrow night.”

Returning this particular call was way down on his list of priorities. He had run out of excuses to avoid Teresa’s invitations. And he wasn’t up to coming up with anything creative tonight.

So tell her the truth. Tell her you aren’t interested. And that you aren’t ever going to be.

There was enough of his good-ol’-boy upbringing left that he knew he was incapable of being that blunt. At least at this point. If Teresa didn’t figure it out pretty soon, he wouldn’t have much choice. As for tonight…

Carrying the balled-up shirt in his hand, he walked down the hall, not bothering to turn on a light. He’d grown up in this house. He knew every crack and crevice of it. Every squeak of the cross-sawn oak floorboards.

He flipped on the overhead in the bathroom. Dropping the shirt onto the floor, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his uniform pants. He stepped out of those, leaving them on the tile beside the discarded shirt.

With one hand, he reached back and gripped the fabric between his shoulders to pull his T-shirt over his head. He pitched it to lie on top of the pants and shirt. Seconds later, his boxers had joined the growing pile.

He shivered a little in the cold. He should have turned up the thermostat, he realized. If he had, by the time he’d finished his shower, the house would be habitable.

Nude, he stepped out into the hall and pushed the lever up with his thumb. The furnace in the basement came to life with a whoosh, sending heated air through the vents.

He went back into the bathroom, reaching into the shower to turn on the hot water. Given the location of the heater, it would take longer for that to get warm.

Since Maria had come today, the racks had all been stripped bare for the washing machine. As he reached for a clean towel from the stack above the john, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Dampness from the rain had spiked his hair. It glistened like jet in the light of the fluorescent. Even the twin swatches of gray at his temples were darkened by the moisture.

He had shaved around five this morning, but the ever-present afternoon stubble now made him look slightly sinister. And the shadows under his eyes made him look old.

Hell, you are old. Thirty-seven going on a hundred. Especially on nights like this.

As he turned away from the image in the mirror, exhaustion in every aching muscle, he wondered if he could be coming down with something. Probably not that lucky, he decided. The luxury of a couple of days off, spent inside a warm house, would work wonders. Both the cold and the rain were supposed to continue well into next week, and he would have no choice but to be out in them.

He slid back the glass door and stepped in, turning his back to the water. For several seconds he didn’t move, letting the force of the spray pound the bunched muscles between his shoulders. After a couple of minutes, he leaned his head back, eyes closed, to let the shower slough the cold moisture of the rain from his hair.

As his body began to lose the bone-deep chill, his tiredness, too, seemed to ease. He scrubbed every inch of his skin, literally trying to wash a way the day’s tensions.

It seemed to work. When he stepped out of the shower, the bathroom was at least ten degrees warmer than it had been when he’d entered. He grabbed the towel he’d taken from the shelf, using it first to dry his hair and then his body.

When he was finished, he wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door. Steam wafted out into the cooler hall as he headed toward his bedroom.

Left hand on the top of the chest, he fished a pair of clean pajama bottoms out of the second drawer. He sat down on the end of the bed, which was made—the last time it would be until Maria showed up again next week—and put them on.

He stood, pulling the pajamas up to his waist. He went back to the chest of drawers for a clean T-shirt. Now all he needed were the aspirin and something to eat.



Two packets of powdered aspirin, a product everyone in the department swore by, had begun to make inroads on his headache by the time the microwave sounded. Ignoring the baleful light of the answering machine, he carried his dinner, still in its black plastic tray, along with a fork into the den.

He sat down on the couch, putting his food on the coffee table in front of him. Despite the tempting aromas of meat loaf, potatoes and gravy, he used the remote to turn on the TV.

He wolfed down the contents of the plastic tray, almost without looking at them, while he watched a rain-fogged video of the wreck his men had worked. When the local news cut to commercials, he glanced back into the kitchen.

The unanswered phone call would nag at him until he’d returned it. When he had, and had made a final check-in with the department’s dispatcher, he could crawl into bed and forget about the needs of the citizens of Davis County until the phone—or better yet, the alarm—woke him.

He pushed up from the deep cushions of the couch and made his way back to the kitchen counter. He listened to the message again, before he glanced down at his watch.

Decision made, he called up the number on caller ID and then pushed Talk. He listened to the electronic beeps, trying to decide what he was going to say this time.

“Hey, Cade,” Teresa said. “I was afraid you were still out working that mess on 65.”

“Got in about half an hour ago. The state finally decided that whatever the guy was hauling, it wasn’t a public threat.”

“That’s good to know. Hope you all don’t catch pneumonia from standing out in this rain.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He leaned against the cabinet, allowing the silence to lengthen.

Nothing was going to change. He was only delaying the inevitable. He might as well get this over with so he could go to bed.

“About tomorrow night…” he began and then hesitated.

This whole thing was his fault, and he knew it. He should never have opened the door even the crack he’d allowed. When it had started, he hadn’t seen the harm in their friendship. By the time he did, it was too late.

Teresa laughed. The sound was soft, but its bitterness apparent. “I can hear it coming.”

“Hear what coming?”

“Whatever you’ve got on. You’re either working. Or you’ve promised somebody you’ll do something for them. Or help them do something.”

“Teresa—”

“And that isn’t ever going to change, is it? Why don’t you just tell me to quit bothering you?”

“You aren’t bothering me.”

“Oh, hell, Cade. Don’t lie. That just makes it worse.”

“Look, why don’t we—”

“No. No pity arrangements. You and I are a little old for those kinds of games.”

There was nothing he could say to that. She was right. They were both too old for games. He had been for five years. Ever since Jean had walked out on him.

“I don’t blame you,” she said, speaking quickly now. “I just thought that maybe…I don’t know. There aren’t that many singles our age in Crenshaw. I just thought we had a lot in common. At least I hoped we did.”

They did. More than Cade and his ex-wife had ever had.

And look how well that worked out.

At least he and Teresa had had the same upbringing, right here in Davis County. And like him, she wasn’t interested in living anywhere else.

Despite knowing that, there was nothing there. No spark of interest. Not on his part. Knowing himself as he did, he knew there would never be.

He resisted the urge to offer more platitudes. The quicker they got through this, the less painful it would be. For both of them.

“I guess I was wrong,” she added.

“I’m sorry.” Despite his intentions, the apology slipped had out.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her. The fact that he wasn’t interested in a relationship didn’t have anything to do with Teresa. Maybe if he told her that…

“It isn’t you.”

“Oh, Lord, Cade. At least spare me the crap.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And for God’s sake, stop saying that.”

He obeyed, willing himself not to prolong this. Again the silence grew.

“You’re a good man, Cade Jackson,” Teresa said finally. “Even if you aren’t, and won’t ever be, my man. You don’t owe me any explanations, so don’t bother trying to think them up. Just…If you ever change your mind…”

He waited, lips pressed together. She never finished the sentence. Instead, there was a low click and then the dial tone in his ear.

After a moment he put the receiver back on the stand, stopping the sound. Despite his exhaustion, despite the promise he’d made to himself, he didn’t move. Not to cut off the light or to head to bed.

You and I are a little old for those kinds of games. That went along with what he’d been thinking when he’d looked into the mirror tonight. Thirty-seven going on a hundred.

In every way that mattered, Teresa Payne was far too young for him. And he no longer believed he was ever going to find someone who wasn’t.



She had been right last night, Blythe realized. There was no overhanging branch up there. No shutter. And absolutely nothing to bang against that window.

“What are you looking at?”

Blythe turned to find Maddie standing at her elbow, blue eyes shifting from her face up to the bedroom window. The little girl was wearing only her nightgown. Although it was made of thick flannel, with long sleeves and a deep flounce, long enough to brush the winter-browned grass, it offered too little protection against the early morning cold.

“There was something bumping against your window last night. I could hear it. I thought maybe I could see whatever it was from down here.”

She had come downstairs and out through the screened porch as soon as she’d woken up, leaving Maddie asleep in her bed. Or so she had thought.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“You don’t remember?”

“I didn’t hear it.”

This was the same kind of stonewalling with which Maddie replied to questions about her nightmares.

Stonewalling? She’s four. If she says she doesn’t remember, then she doesn’t. She isn’t capable of that kind of deception.

And how does a little girl not remember something tapping against her window? Or dreams that make her scream hysterically?

“Well, whatever it was, it doesn’t seem to be there now,” Blythe said, turning to look down at her daughter with a smile. “How about some breakfast?”

“Egg McMuffin?”

“Not exactly what I had in mind. How about bacon and eggs and toast?” That was the kind of food she never had time to prepare in the mornings as she was rushing to get Maddie ready for Ruth’s and herself ready for work.

“That’s what Delores always fixes.”

Of course. Delores and Miz Ruth couldn’t imagine starting the day without a cooked breakfast.

“So what would you like? Other than McDonald’s.”

“Cereal. Coco Charlies.”

The Egg McMuffin would probably have been a more nutritious choice, Blythe thought. Death by sugar.

Despite the unfortunate choice of words, Blythe managed to hold on to her smile as, hand between the small shoulders, she turned the little girl back toward the house. “Coco Charlies it is.”

“It makes its own chocolate milk,” Maddie said cheerfully, skipping along in front of her.

With its concrete floor and open walls, the screened porch was almost as cold as the outside. The small kitchen, however, had already warmed in the few minutes since Blythe had turned up the heat. This house might have its problems, but at least the plumbing and the furnace were reliable.

Fingers crossed.

While Maddie took her place at the table, Blythe retrieved the box of cereal from the old-fashioned pantry. On her way across the room, she opened the fridge and took out a quart of milk. She set both on the table and reached into the cabinet above the sink for a bowl.

Easier than eggs and bacon. And if the sugar made Maddie hyper, then there was no one to be bothered by it but her.

If Ruth and Delores at their age could put up with her daughter’s energy day after day, then she certainly had nothing to complain about.

Except maybe too many nights of lost sleep.

“So you really didn’t hear anything last night?” She dumped a cup or so of the brown pebbles into the bowl and covered them with milk.

“Rain. And the thunder.”

“You didn’t mind that?”

Maddie shook her head, digging her spoon into the mess in the bowl. She was right, Blythe realized. The milk had already taken on a decidedly brown tinge.

“Do you?” Maddie asked, looking up from under her bangs.

“Do I what?”

“Mind the rain?”

“Not most of the time.”

“Maybe that’s what you heard.”

“I don’t think so.” She didn’t want to make Maddie fearful. “Maybe it was a bird,” she suggested, sticking the milk back in the refrigerator. “Or a squirrel.” She turned back to see Maddie’s eyes come up again, widened with interest.

“Trying to get out of the rain?”

“Maybe. Maybe they were just cold,” she added with a smile.

“Then…would it be all right to open it for them the next time?”

“Open the window?” For some reason, despite the winter sunlight flooding the kitchen, last night’s chill was back.

“So that whatever is knocking can come in.”

In Maddie’s world, the one Blythe herself had created, you took care of those who couldn’t take care of themselves. You fed strays and rescued chipmunks from the neighbor’s cat. And if something was cold and hungry, you let it in.

Except not this time. Even though Blythe couldn’t explain the certainty she felt about that, she knew that whatever had caused the tapping she’d heard last night wasn’t something she wanted to let into her home.

And especially not into Maddie’s bedroom.




3


“Mama! Help me! Somebody help me!”

The screams pulled Blythe out of a sleep so deep that, despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t believe she’d achieved it. After all, she had tossed and turned in Maddie’s narrow bed for what seemed like hours. Listening for the tapping. Straining to identify every creak of the old house. She had finally drifted off, only to be awakened as suddenly as if someone had poured ice water over her.

She scrambled from under the covers, not stopping to pull on the woolen robe that lay across the foot of the bed. She ran across the heart-pine floors, bare feet skidding across their smooth surfaces as she made the turn through the doorway of Maddie’s bedroom and headed down the hall toward her own.

In the cold light of day—when her heart wasn’t frozen with fear or her mind imagining ridiculous scenarios—she hadn’t been able to justify letting the child sleep with her again. But she also couldn’t bring herself to put her back in that bedroom.

She had wondered if whatever she’d heard tapping at the window last night in Maddie’s room could precipitate the night terrors. Obviously, she’d been wrong.

“Mama, wake up. Please, Jesus. Please, somebody help me. Daddy. No. Daddy.”

By the time Blythe reached the doorway of her bedroom, the panicked screams had increased in volume. Following the now-familiar pattern, the little girl’s shrieks were growing so frenzied, words were no longer distinguishable. Piercing and hysterical, the screams echoed and reechoed through the room, even when Blythe turned on the bedside lamp.

As always when the child was in the grip of a terror, Maddie’s eyes were open, their dilated pupils eating up the blue iris. Blythe knew from experience that the little girl was totally unaware of her surroundings, still trapped in the horror of whatever she was dreaming about.

Blythe threw back the covers and then lifted her daughter to hold her against her heart. She rocked her back and forth in a rhythm familiar to them both since Maddie had been a baby.

“Shh. I’m here. I’ve got you. Everything’s all right.”

After what seemed an eternity, the little girl responded, turning her head to bury her face between her mother’s breasts. Through the thickness of her flannel gown, Blythe could feel the sweat-soaked hair. At least the shrieks had faded to whimpers.

Over the top of Maddie’s head, Blythe released a sigh of relief. Her own nightmare was that one night her daughter wouldn’t return from whatever terrifying place the dream took her. Tonight she had, and Blythe sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward.

She had done that far more often since she’d come back to Crenshaw. Prayed. It was something she couldn’t remember doing much of during the last few years. Not even during those terrible months of John’s illness.

Maybe she’d sought divine intervention more often because she had returned to her roots, the town where she’d spent her childhood, which had certainly not lacked for religious instruction. Or maybe, she admitted, it was that she was at the end of her own very human resources in knowing how to deal with what was going on.

Why wouldn’t she be? How could she be expected to know what to do with night terrors so severe she literally feared for her daughter’s life—or her sanity. Or with inexplicable noises that chilled her to the bone.

She leaned back, attempting to put some space between them so that she could look down into those normally lucent and guileless eyes. Maddie refused to look up, clutching her more tightly instead, small fingers locked into the fabric of Blythe’s gown.

“It’s all right,” she whispered again. “It was just a dream. I’m right here, and I have you.”

There was no response. At least Maddie was no longer trembling.

Gradually Blythe’s own panic began to ease. With the light of day, she might again be able to convince herself that this scene, which had been repeated no less than a dozen times in the last few weeks, had not been nearly as frightening as she remembered.

With one hand, she brushed damp tendrils of fine blond hair away from her daughter’s face. In response to the gesture, Maddie finally leaned back, looking up at her.

In the glow from the lamp, the little girl’s features seemed illuminated, as if lit from within. The blue eyes had now lost the look of horror they’d held only moments before.

“What’s wrong?” Maddie’s pale brows were drawn together in puzzlement.

Unsure how to answer the question, Blythe forced a smile. “You had a bad dream. Don’t you remember?”

The child shook her head. She raised a fist, rubbing her eyes in that timeless gesture of sleepiness.

“Don’t you remember anything, Maddie? Not even what made you call me?”

Another negative motion of the sweat-drenched head, and then her daughter leaned tiredly against her chest again. As she did, she put the thumb of the hand she’d used to rub her eyes into her mouth. In the stillness, Blythe listened to the sound of her sucking it.

The psychologist she’d taken Maddie to had advised she not make an issue of this, although the habit was something the little girl had outgrown years ago. Ignore it and everything else, the woman had said.

She had reassured Blythe that night terrors weren’t uncommon in children Maddie’s age. Although there was definitely a genetic component to them, they were usually triggered by stress.

Probably the result of her father’s death, combined with the move, the psychologist had suggested. She just needed lots of love and reassurance that she was safe and that you’ll always be there for her. Other than that, it was better to completely ignore the nightmares.

Blythe had had to fight against her instinct, which was to ignore the advice rather than the nightmares. She wanted to question Maddie about her dreams. To talk to her about them. To find out if there really were, as it seemed, no lingering traces of whatever horror paralyzed her in the darkness.

Instead, she had listened to the expert. About that, as well as about not sleeping with her daughter, which was one bit of advice she no longer intended to follow. At least not right now.

“I think I’ll sleep in here with you the rest of the night,” she said, pulling the covers back.

Obediently the little girl scooted over in the bed, making room. Blythe slipped between the warm sheets, settling the quilts around them again.

Before she reached over to turn off the lamp, she took one last look at her daughter. The little girl had already cuddled down on her side, her thumb back in her mouth. Her lashes lay motionless against the apple of her cheek, her breathing again relaxed and even.

Asleep? Was it possible that she’d already dropped off, despite the state in which Blythe had found her only minutes before? Something she obviously had no memory of.

Thank God, Blythe thought, completing the motion she’d begun. And while you’re at it, dear Heavenly Father, would you please give me that same blessed forgetfulness?

There was no answer to her prayer. At least not an affirmative one. Just as there had been no answer to any of the others she had prayed since she’d returned.



“Land sakes, child. You look like death warmed over. You sickening for something?”

“Too little sleep,” Blythe said, taking the cup of coffee her grandmother held out to her.

As soon as she had it in her hands, she turned her gaze back to the scene revealed through the kitchen window. Maddie was playing in her great grandmother’s sunlit back garden, the one where Blythe had spent so many happy hours during her own childhood.

The tire swing she’d played on still hung from the lowest branch of a massive oak. Maddie’s body was draped through it now, her jean-clad bottom and legs and the soles of her scuffed sneakers all that were visible from this angle.

“She having more of those nightmares?”

Blythe turned to find her grandmother still standing at her elbow, her gaze also fastened on the little girl. In an attempt to hide the sudden thickness in her throat at the genuine concern in the old woman’s voice, Blythe lifted the steaming cup and took a sip. Despite the strong flavor of chicory, a remnant of her grandmother’s childhood in St. Francisville, the coffee warmed her almost as much as entering this house always did.

“Night terrors,” she corrected softly, finding it difficult to believe that the child they were watching was the same one who had trembled in her arms only hours before. “An appropriate name. She’s certainly terrified by whatever she sees.”

“But if she doesn’t remember—”

“I remember. I thought last night—” Blythe stopped, hesitant to put her fear into words, lest doing so should give it some actual power.

“You thought what?” her grandmother asked when the silence stretched between them.

“I’m afraid she won’t come back from wherever she is.”

“Oh, child. You don’t believe that. You can’t.” With one weathered hand, its fingers knotted with arthritis and the blue veins across the back distended beneath the thin skin, her grandmother touched her fingers as they gripped the cup, seeking warmth for the coldness that seemed to have settled permanently in her chest.

“You haven’t seen her. And anyone seeing her now…” Blythe didn’t finish the thought, knowing that she could never explain the gap between the picture below and the events of last night.

“Why don’t you tell me exactly what happens?” her grandmother suggested. “Sit down at the table, and we’ll drink our coffee while you tell me all about it.”

“I should watch her—”

“In Crenshaw? Who you gonna watch her from here?”

The old woman was right. The backyard was as safe as church, to use one of her grandfather’s favorite expressions. There was no reason to fear for Maddie’s safety. That was one of the reasons Blythe had decided to come home.

She’d been reluctant to talk to anyone about the terrors. More reluctant to mention the tapping. The kindness in her grandmother’s voice encouraged her to share her fears, however, just as it always had. Here in this kitchen, she had revealed a hundred secrets during her adolescence.

And this—whatever was going on—wasn’t even a secret. If she could share the particulars of her daughter’s nightmares with some dismissive stranger in Montgomery, surely she could confide in her family. Almost the only family she had left.

“Delores, would you get us some of that pound cake you made yesterday?” Her grandmother took Blythe’s arm to guide her away from the window, apparently taking her silence for consent.

“Yes’m. You all want some preserves to go with that?”

Delores Simmons, the ancient black woman who had looked after the household since Blythe could remember, was almost as old as her mistress. Although the two elderly women were closer than sisters, the traditional formalities that had existed between them for more than half a century were still maintained, even in private.

“Preserves?” Blythe’s grandmother asked, pulling out a chair at one side of the kitchen table and gesturing toward the opposite one. “Or apple butter, maybe. I made both, so I guarantee they’re good.”

Blythe slipped into the place, shaking her head in response to the question. “Not for me.”

“Just the cake, Delores. And make sure you don’t cut none of that sad streak either.”

“Now you know Miz Blythe always likes a bit of sadness with her sweet.”

Despite the fact that the women were talking about a common flaw that left a swath of butter-rich denseness through center of the cake, the words seemed symbolic. A little too apt.

“You said she calls you. That that’s how it starts.”

Surprised by the change in subject, Blythe looked up from her coffee. Her grandmother’s faded blue eyes were focused patiently on her face. “She calls Mama.”

Blythe wasn’t sure when the thought had crept into her head, but since it had, she couldn’t dislodge it. Because she was no longer sure Maddie was calling her. Just as she was no longer sure—

She shook her head, refusing to take the next step. If she did, it might take her down a road she didn’t want to consider.

“And you go to her, of course,” her grandmother prodded, “and then what?”

“That isn’t all she says.”

“Something besides Mama?”

“I don’t know whether or not she says more the longer the dreams go on or whether I understand more each time. Most of it is just…sounds. Screams. No words. But at the very beginning…Before she gets so hysterical…There are words.”

“What does she say?”

“Help me. Mama, help me. Daddy. No. Daddy.”

“If she’s calling for her daddy, then maybe—I mean didn’t that psychologist tell you this was connected to John’s death?”

“Not exactly. She said the stress of his death combined with the stress of the move. But…a four-year-old? How she can be stressed?” Blythe asked. “Does she seem stressed to you?”

“She’s just having a nightmare, baby. Everybody has them.”

“But what does she see that terrifies her so much she can’t get her breath?”

“And she’s crying when she says all that?”

As she asked the question, Delores set a glass dessert plate down in front of Blythe. A thick slice of pound cake, the promised sad streak bisecting its perfection, rested in the center on a paper doily. Despite the presentation, Blythe felt a wave of nausea at the thought of trying to eat it.

“Is she crying? A little. At first. Then she starts begging for somebody to help her. Then…‘Please, Jesus, help me,’” Blythe whispered, her eyes holding on the black ones of her grandmother’s housekeeper.

“That pure don’t sound like it’s got nothing to do with Mr. John, whatever that doctor told you. That baby’s afraid of something.”

Blythe nodded, relieved to have her own conclusion put into words. To find someone who understood the fear she felt as the episodes escalated. “She’s terrified. After a while the words become screams. Shrieks. As if someone is—”

“Hurting her,” Delores finished softly when she couldn’t go on.

“Nobody’s ever hurt that child in her life,” her grandmother said dismissively. “Why in the world would she have a dream about somebody doing it?”

“Dreams ain’t always because of something that’s happened to us. Dreams are sometimes more than what we know in our heads.”

“Don’t you start that nonsense, Delores. Not in this house. We’re Christians here.”

“I’m just as good a Christian as you, Miz Ruth. That doesn’t mean I don’t know things they don’t talk about in Sunday school. Mine or yours.”

Maybe if she hadn’t already crossed this line in her own imagination, Blythe might have ignored the housekeeper’s theory. Some indefinable something about the words and phrases the little girl uttered—something Blythe couldn’t explain to anyone who hadn’t heard them night after night—had already led her to the conclusion that whatever was happening in her dreams might not be happening to her daughter.

“What kind of things?” she asked.

The two old women, squared off for a religious battle they had probably fought a dozen times through the long years of their acquaintance, turned to look at her. Their faces indicated surprise, either over the interruption or her question itself, so she repeated it.

“What kinds of things do you know about dreams, Delores?”

“She don’t know nothing that the rest of us don’t know,” Ruth said. “Dreams are dreams. That’s all they are. Everybody has ’em. Sometimes they scare us, but that don’t mean we have cause to be scared.”

“That angel’s been dreaming the same thing since you all moved down here.” Delores ignored her mistress’s comments as if they were unworthy of a response. “Is that right?”

Blythe nodded and watched the old woman’s lips tighten.

“And she didn’t ever dream this before?” Delores went on. “Or anything like it?”

“I don’t think Maddie has cried out in her sleep since she was a baby. Certainly nothing like this. And believe me, I’d remember. I swear,” she said, turning to her grandmother in an attempt to convince her of how out of the norm this was, “it sounds as if someone’s killing her.”

Despite the opinion she’d just stated so adamantly, her grandmother’s brow furrowed in quick sympathy. She reached across the table to lay her hand over Blythe’s. “Oh, child.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Blythe went on, speaking hurriedly, trying to get the words out before the force of the emotions she’d kept hidden for almost two months overwhelmed her. “I can’t believe this is about losing her daddy. Why would that start now, almost a year later? Why not immediately after his death? And don’t tell me she’s upset about the move. She seems happier here than she has been since John died.”

Her grandmother’s eyes had filled with tears of love and sympathy as she’d talked. Her fingers closed tightly around Blythe’s, adding their own silent comfort. “I don’t have any answers for you, sweetheart. I don’t even know where to tell you to go for answers. Maybe if you took Maddie back to that doctor in Montgomery—”

Blythe shook her head, not bothering to explain the dismissive attitude of the psychologist or her loss of faith in her advice. At first Blythe had attempted to obey her dictate not to try to wake Maddie, but the terrors had seemed to intensify as well as increase in frequency. And if something unnatural was going on at the house to cause them…

Once more the question hovered on the tip of her tongue. Ruth and Delores had lived in this town for more than eighty years. If that house had a history of violence or death, they would know about it.

Are you seriously considering asking them if the house you’re living in could be haunted?

Blythe pressed her lips together instead, knowing how much a question like that would worry her grandmother. In Ruth Mitchell’s world, when people died, they went to heaven or to hell. They didn’t hang around knocking on windows or causing little girls to have nightmares.

Besides, if Blythe really wanted to know what had happened at the place she was renting, there were other ways to go about it. Ways that wouldn’t alarm anyone or make them question her sanity. Something she was doing quite nicely, thank you, all on her own.




4


Ada Pringle had been the librarian in Crenshaw since Blythe was a child. Despite the more than fifteen years since Blythe had seen her, the woman had changed very little.

Her hair and penciled brows were still coal-black, which made Blythe realize that the former had probably been dyed even then. And Ada’s eyes still peered disapprovingly at her over the top of a pair of tortoiseshell half glasses.

Although the library was deserted at this time of the afternoon, the effect of that look was the same as when Blythe had been twelve and asking for help to find information needed for school. As if she had no right to pester Miss Ada with a request for service.

“Good afternoon, Miss Pringle.”

“Blythe Mitchell, as I live and breathe. Heard you was back.”

Blythe waited, expecting the conventional welcome-home comments. None were forthcoming.

“For almost two months now,” she said with a smile.

“Not living at your grandmother’s, I hear.”

“Well, there’s moving home, and then there’s moving home.” It was quickly obvious her attempt at humor had fallen flat. There had been no change in the brown eyes. “We decided to get our own place.”

“Heard you have a little girl.”

“Maddie. She’s four. I’ve been meaning to bring her by. She loves books as much as I did when I was that age.”

“Children ain’t allowed till they start school. Same as it’s always been,” Ada said. “Now what can I do for you?”

Blythe suddenly remembered why, voracious reader that she had always been, she hadn’t enjoyed coming here. And if there were any other option for what she needed, she would be tempted to walk out now.

“As I remember, you have bound copies of the Herald.”

The Crenshaw Herald was a weekly, but it was the only game in town. Most of its pages were devoted to church and club activities and athletic events at the school. The editor had always thoughtfully included anything newsworthy that had happened between issues, although it was probable that everyone might already know all the details through the ever-efficient community grapevine.

“Since the beginning. Most libraries have gone to microfiche, but as long as the pages hold together, I’ll keep the papers themselves,” Ada said. “That’s how I like to read ’em. I figure I’m not the only one.”

“I’d like to see them, please.”

“Of course.” Ada’s words were abrupt, but she lifted the hinged section of the counter she’d stood behind, moving briskly past Blythe and toward the tall shelves at the back of the room. By the time Blythe arrived, Ada was pointing to a row of huge, leather-bound books, each marked in gold on the spine with the words Crenshaw Herald and a year.

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

Accustomed to the anonymity provided by a city like Boston, Blythe hadn’t anticipated the question. Given the objective of her research, she didn’t intend to share that information with a gossip like Ada.

“Just a little local color.”

“Local color?”

“Stories about the people and the community. I have several years to catch up on.”

“You still writin’ those articles, are you?” Ada’s tone sounded slightly disapproving.

Blythe had written three or four short travel essays for one of the regional magazines while she’d been in college. She hadn’t thought about them in years, but she was sure Ruth had made certain everyone in Crenshaw was aware of them. She might even have donated copies of those issues to the library.

“It’s always a possibility,” Blythe said, seizing on the excuse Ada had offered. “If something interesting turns up.”

All she wanted was to be left alone back here with the newspapers. Maybe this was a wild goose chase, but she believed that if there had been any sort of violence associated with the house she was renting, it would be detailed in the Herald.

When she’d dropped her daughter off this morning, she had asked her grandmother to keep Maddie this afternoon as well, pleading the need to investigate a couple of opportunities for employment. She would do that, too, before she picked the little girl up, but only in the most current issue of the Herald, which came out today.

“What kind of ‘interesting’?” Ada prodded. “More touristy stuff?”

The deprecating tone rankled. Granted, Blythe didn’t consider herself a writer, but she had been paid for that work. “Whatever will sell. As I said, something interesting.”

Ada’s eyes considered her over the top of her glasses. “If you’re looking for something that’d make money…”

The librarian ran her finger along the row of books until she found the one she was looking for. “I know it happened this year. Same as the flood in Sanger. My aunt’s house was damaged in that. And I know it was in the winter, so…” She pulled a volume off the shelf and laid it on one of the long empty tables and began flipping pages.

“I’m sorry?” Blythe had no idea what Ada was looking for.

“Sarah Comstock,” the librarian said, glancing up at her quickly before she went back to thumbing through the newspapers.

Blythe hadn’t thought about the Comstock murder in years. She’d been a little girl when it had happened, maybe five or six years old. Just slightly older than Maddie, she realized.

Although no one had talked openly about the murder in front of her, she had known. All the children in Crenshaw had known that Sarah had somehow been stolen from her room, taken from a bed where she’d slept beside her sister, and brutally murdered.

Blythe had come to the library looking for some incident of violent death. Yet for some reason, she had never thought about Sarah Comstock’s.

The newsprint continued to turn under Ada’s long, thin fingers. Suddenly the librarian’s hand stilled. She smoothed the pages on either side of the open book so that they lay flat and exposed.

“December. Thought so, but I wasn’t sure. I’ll get the next one, too, ’cause I know those stories ran for months.”

She turned back to the shelf, leaving the first volume on the table. The grainy picture in the center showed several men in uniform standing in the area the locals had always called Smoke Hollow. There was no body visible in the photograph, and Blythe was infinitely relieved not to have to view even a picture of a child-size corpse. With the sickness that thought created in the bottom of her stomach, she almost reached out and closed the book.

Before she could, Miss Ada laid another beside it. “First few months of this one, too. I don’t think the paper carried the story in depth much longer than that. Not a lot to cover.”

“Thank you.” Blythe set her purse down on top of the picture in the opened volume, as if to claim ownership of it.

“Cold cases always grab the interest of the reading public,” Ada said.

“Cold cases?”

“Unsolved crimes. Particularly murders. Why, you remember Mark Furman, don’t you? Made a mint on that girl’s murder in Connecticut. Don’t re-shelve ’em when you’re done. Just leave ’em out, and I’ll do it. Most everybody gets it wrong.”

“No, I won’t. And thank you, Miss Pringle.” Despite the passage of years and her own maturity, Blythe couldn’t bring herself to call the woman Ada.

“Sorry for your loss.” The librarian’s words were slightly awkward. “Good you came on home, though. Your grandmamma needs you.”

Blythe opened her mouth, trying to think of an appropriate answer. Before she could, Ada had turned and headed back to her counter.

Left alone, Blythe took a breath before she looked down again at the newsprint, sliding her purse to the side to reveal the picture. With her other hand, she found the back of one of the wooden chairs that had been shoved under the table. Without taking her eyes off the story that surrounded the photograph, she pulled the chair out far enough that she could slip into it. As she began to unbutton her coat, her mind was already occupied by the words that had been written a quarter of a century before.



“Time to close.”

Blythe blinked as she looked up. Ada was hovering at her elbow, a black vinyl purse hooked over her arm.

As she’d moved, Blythe had become aware of a stiffness in her neck and shoulders. Not surprising, she acknowledged. If it was indeed closing time, she must have been reading in this same position for hours.

It wasn’t only the gruesome details that had emerged from the yellowed pages of the Herald that held her rapt. She had been fascinated by the microcosm of the rural county’s society the investigation into the little girl’s murder had revealed. Since she had known most of its principals all her life, she had become completely caught up in the unfolding story.

Law enforcement, in the person of Sheriff Hoyt Lee, had admitted from the start that the lack of physical evidence was not only baffling, but virtually insurmountable. The child’s mutilated body, stripped of its nightgown, had been washed clean by the swift, icy current of the stream that cut through the hollow. There was no trace evidence, at least none that the technology of the day had been able to discover. No footprints. And as there appeared to have been no sexual assault at the time of the murder, no DNA had been preserved.

“May I check these out?” Blythe asked.

She couldn’t come back here every afternoon. She had already imposed on her grandmother enough. Lost in the articles on the murder, however, she hadn’t even looked for anything relating to her house.

“The newspapers? Oh, those don’t circulate.”

“I’d be very careful with them, I promise.” The schoolgirl feeling had come flooding back.

“Can’t make exceptions. Then everybody expects them.”

As Blythe debated whether anything might be gained by further argument, Ada reached over and closed the first book she’d taken down. “You should talk to Hoyt.” She juggled her purse as she prepared to lift the heavy book back up onto the shelf. “He’s bound to know stuff that never made the papers. Evidence, I mean.” The three syllables of the word were individually and distinctly pronounced, the accent on the last.

Despite her annoyance at being treated like a child, Blythe had to admit the idea was intriguing, but not because of the Comstock case. The former sheriff would be the ideal person to ask about the house she was living in. Not only would he know if anything had happened there, he would never gossip about her inquiry.

Hoyt had shown her extraordinary kindness while she’d been growing up. Maybe because he’d been friends with her father. Maybe he’d felt sorry for her because of his untimely death. Whatever the reason, he had treated her like a fond uncle, even escorting her once to a father/daughter church banquet.

“That’s a very good idea, Ada. Thanks for the suggestion,” Blythe said, pushing back her chair and gathering up her coat and purse.

The librarian’s eyes had widened at her use of her given name, a reaction that Blythe found surprisingly satisfying.



The Sheriff’s Department had expanded to take in the adjoining buildings in the years she’d been away. Obviously there was a greater need for law-enforcement officers with the growth of the population and the county’s changing demographics.

In the few weeks she’d been back, Blythe had become aware of the problem of meth labs, which seemed to spring up overnight in this mostly rural area. Even the redoubtable Sheriff Lee would no longer have been able to control things with only three or four deputies. Judging from the row of patrol cars parked in front of the building, there were far more than that now.

As she approached the door, her eye was caught by the neat gold letters, all caps, on its top half. DAVIS COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT. And below that, in both lower and upper case, Sheriff Cade Jackson. She had already reached out to grasp the doorknob when memory stopped her hand in midair.

Cade Jackson. She hadn’t thought about the object of her first teenage crush in at least a decade, but the image evoked by his name was still colored by those long-ago fantasies.

The reality would probably be much different. She’d run into a couple of her former classmates, both of whom had succumbed to the dangers of a regional diet heavy on fried foods and starches. Their bellies had drooped over their belt buckles, and one had already begun combing his thinning locks across his pate in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the aging process.

It would verge on blasphemy if that had happened to Cade, she thought. Given that he was still living here in Crenshaw, however, it was probably inevitable.

And why would you care if he’s fat and bald?

She would, she realized. Something about schoolgirl dreams and first loves. Even if Cade had never known about either.

She debated turning around and going back to her car. She had come here to see Hoyt, and it was obvious he was no longer employed by the county. Cade would probably know no more about the history of the house she was living in than she did.

Despite that logical conclusion, she turned the knob and pushed the heavy door inward. The kid at the desk looked to be about the same age as Cade the last time she’d seen him. A high-school senior, he’d soon left the county, heading to Tuscaloosa and a football scholarship at the University of Alabama.

Blythe, who had been twelve at the time, had grieved with all the emotion she’d been capable of. Which, as she remembered it, had been quite a lot.

That had been her first experience with loss. Although the memory of that pain had faded with the passing years and especially with the reality of true loss, within her chest stirred a shred of the apprehension she would have felt as a pre-adolescent had she known she was about to come face-to-face with Cade Jackson.

“Help you?” the young deputy asked.

“Sheriff Jackson, please?”

“May I ask what your inquiry is in reference to?”

At least the kid had been well trained. The question was both polite and efficient. Score one for Sheriff Jackson.

Tell him I’m trying to discover if my house might be haunted.

Since she couldn’t divulge the truth, she said, “I’m trying to get in touch with Hoyt Lee.”

The kid held her eyes a moment, his assessing. Then he reached for the phone on the desk in front of him, holding the receiver in the same hand he used to punch in a couple of numbers.

“Lady out here wants to talk to you about locating Sheriff Lee.”

He listened, lips pursing slightly at whatever was said by the person on the other end of the line. His eyes met hers again as he nodded in response to what he’d been told.

He put down the phone and nodded toward another glass-topped door at the end of a short hall. “You can go on in. Sheriff’s expecting you.”

“Thanks.”

She had taken only a couple of steps when the door she was headed toward opened. A man stepped through it and out into the hall. Although the overhead light cast a shadow on his face, his body in the light-colored uniform he wore was silhouetted against the darkness behind it.

If anything, Cade was leaner than when he’d played quarterback for the Davis County Warriors. The shoulders were still as broad. His height the same, of course.

As he walked toward the well-lit reception area, her mouth went dry. Her first thought was that he hadn’t changed at all, but he had, of course.

The features that had been almost too fine at eighteen had strengthened. The straight nose had at some point been broken, so that a narrow ridge marred its perfection. The lips were thinner, more mature. More masculine, she conceded.

And far more sensual.

She was shocked by the thought. More shocked by the physical reaction that had produced it.

Cade Jackson had been a good-looking boy. He was a compellingly attractive man.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had responded to a man in this way. Other than John, of course. And John had been dead for almost a year.

Maybe this was simply a natural progression in the long process of grieving. Maybe nature had decided it was time she began to notice members of the opposite sex again.

Sex.

Something else she hadn’t thought about in a long time, she realized. And didn’t want to think about right now.

Especially not as the man who had epitomized every adolescent daydream she’d ever had advanced toward her across the room, holding out his hand. If Ada Pringle’s rudeness could reduce her to an adolescent state, what effect would placing her hand into Cade’s have?

“Cade Jackson.”

It was obvious he didn’t remember her. But then, she was very different from the twelve-year-old she’d been when he’d left Crenshaw. Maybe she should have been flattered that he didn’t make the connection.

“Blythe Wyndham.” She put her fingers in his, aware of their calloused hardness.

His handshake was firm and brief, without any of the cheesy lingering hold men sometimes used to prolong contact with an attractive woman.

Because he doesn’t find you attractive?

“Wyndham?” A tiny furrow appeared between the dark brows.

His eyes hadn’t changed either, she realized. Surrounded by thick, dark lashes, they were an unusual blue-green, almost aquamarine. Their paleness contrasted to the darkness of his skin, still deeply tanned despite the season.

“Née Mitchell,” she offered, and then wondered if he would even know what that meant.

“Blythe Mitchell. Of course. I heard you were back.”

She waited for the obligatory expression of sympathy, but he didn’t offer one. Maybe the town gossip hadn’t provided him with the information about her husband’s death. Or maybe he’d forgotten it.

She became aware that he, too, was waiting. After all, she had asked to talk to him.

“I have what may seem a strange request.”

The lips she’d just thought of as being sensual quirked slightly at the corners and were quickly controlled. “I doubt it’s any stranger than most of the ones we get in here.”

He glanced at the kid at the desk, who, Blythe realized, had been hanging on their every word. Despite the convenient excuse Ada Pringle had suggested, Blythe didn’t want it spread around that she was investigating the town’s most notorious murder. That would only provoke more gossip about her situation, something she’d had enough of.

“Do you think we could talk in your office?”

She knew by the momentary hesitation before he answered that she’d taken Cade by surprise. It took only a second or two for him to recover. He turned, using his hand to direct her toward the hallway and the still-open door.

She stepped past him, once again aware of him physically. Of his size. Of the faint aroma of soap or aftershave that seemed to cling to his body along with the scent of laundered cotton.

She wondered who did his laundry. Maybe he had a wife, someone who had taken the time to lovingly put that knife-edge crease into the khaki pants.

Then, concentrating on what she’d come here for, she determinedly banished any thought of Cade Jackson, the man. He was simply the current sheriff of Davis County.

That was the only role she was now interested in having him play in her life. She had long ago outgrown the other.

His office was small, but neat. There were only two chairs, a battered leather swivel on the far side of the desk—obviously Cade’s—and a straight-back wooden one, very like the chairs in the library, on the other. Blythe waited until he entered behind her, leaving the door open. She watched as he crossed the room to stand behind his desk. He gestured, indicating that she should sit down.

“Jerrod said you want to get in touch with Hoyt Lee.” He had waited until she was seated before he settled into his own chair. “That doesn’t seem such a strange request to me, although I would think Miz Ruth would have been able to help with that.”

“Actually, I didn’t realize he wasn’t sheriff anymore. I came here thinking I could talk to him.”

“Would you like for me to call him? Set up an appointment?”

“No. You’re right. My grandmother will have Hoyt’s number. Actually…” She was repeating herself, she realized. Of course, she’d never been very good at prevaricating. “I do freelance articles for magazines,” she began again. “At least I did.”

“And you want to write an article about Hoyt?”

Cade’s elbows were on the arms of the chair, long brown fingers tented so that their joined tips touched the slight depression in the middle of his chin. It wasn’t deep enough to be classified as a cleft, but it had always fascinated her. It was a little disconcerting to realize that it still did.

She wondered if she should just tell Cade the truth. Wouldn’t he be bound by his office to keep anything she told him confidential? If she’d been willing to confide in Hoyt, why not in the current sheriff of Davis County?

“My grandmother suggested that doing so again might provide…a source of income.”

His brows lifted slightly. “And…”

“I’ve spent the afternoon researching the town’s history. Reading back through the old issues of the Herald, trying to find something that might be interesting to the outside world.”

“Did you?”

“Ada reminded me of the Comstock murder. And that it’s still unsolved.”

“That’s right.”

Judging by the shortness of his answer, she wondered if Cade disapproved of what she said she’d come here to do. Again she fought the urge to tell him the truth. He might believe she was an idiot, but at least he wouldn’t think her a ghoul.

“Was that a case where the police knew the killer, but couldn’t prove it?”

“Not in my opinion.”

“Then you’ve read the file?”

“I read through all the unsolved cases when I took office.”

The sheriff of Davis County was an elected official. Blythe wondered what credentials Cade had brought to the job other than some long ago prowess on the football field. Of course, in this state that might have been recommendation enough.

“May I look at it?”

“Why?”

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me.” He lowered his hands, resting them on the edge of his desk. “Now I’d really like to know why you’re so interested in a murder that happened twenty-five years ago.”

“Cold cases catch the public’s attention,” she said, repeating Ada’s words. “And maybe editors’.”

“So you’re thinking of a book deal?”

“I really haven’t gotten that far. Besides, there may be nothing there—”

“There’s plenty there. For the curious. There’s just no evidence. Certainly not enough to lead to an indictment. And no way you’re going to be able to come up with the murderer.”

“I’m sorry?”

“What kind of story would you have without a conclusion?”

She relaxed a little, believing that she understood his objection. “I’m not trying to solve the case, Sheriff Jackson. I don’t have the skills to do that. I assure you I’m interested in doing exactly what I said. Writing an article. Preferably one I can sell,” she added.

There was another of those thoughtful silences. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

When Cade began the sentence, she had believed he was about to apologize for giving her a hard time. By the time he finished it, she realized that he had connected John’s death with the article. He obviously believed she needed the money. Which was the truth, she acknowledged.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll have Jerrod get you the file. There’s an office across the hall you can use. I can’t let you take anything out of course, but there’s a copier in the reception area.”

Cade stood, indicating that their conversation was over. Except she hadn’t asked him anything she’d come here to find out. She had been morbidly fascinated by the Comstock murder, and it had provided an excuse for her research, but what she really needed to know…

“Are there any other…” She hesitated, unsure how to phrase what she wanted to ask.

“Murders as gruesome as Sarah’s?”

Again she sensed his disapproval. “Acts of violence,” she said, finishing her interrupted question. “Other incidents of violent death.”

“A few brawls and farm accidents. Are those the kinds of things you’re looking for?”

“Not really. Someone mentioned that something violent had happened in the house I’m renting. It’s the two-story frame house at the end of Wheeler Road.”

“Not that I’ve ever heard of. However, your grandmother or Hoyt would be a better source for that kind of information than I am. Both have lived here all their lives.”

“You’re right,” she said, finally getting to her feet. “I’ll check with them. Thank you for your time.”

She turned and walked through the door of his office, aware that he was following her. The kid watched as they came into the reception area. She smiled at him as she passed the desk.

“Jerrod, would you get Ms. Wyndham the file on Sarah Comstock, please?”

Realizing that she had been about to walk out without looking at the material she had professed to want to see, Blythe turned, making a point of glancing down at her watch. “Actually…” Again. “Would it be all right if I come back another day and read through the material? I’m late picking up my daughter. They’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.”

“Of course. Whenever Ms. Wyndham is ready, Jerrod.”

“Yes, sir,” the deputy said. “Anytime, ma’am.”

“Thank you. Thank you both.” She started to the door.

“Good to see you again,” Cade said. “And since I didn’t say it before, welcome home.”

She smiled her thanks. A smile he didn’t return. Cutting her losses, she opened the door and escaped those considering blue eyes by stepping out into the cold twilight.




5


Her first thought was it was too soon. It had been only four nights ago that Maddie’s screams had awakened her, and now—

Not screams. Whatever she was hearing didn’t follow the normal pattern of the nightmare. And then, in a blood-chilling flash of recognition, she knew the sound for what it was.

Smoke alarm.

There was only one, located at the top of the stairwell. She’d meant to buy another for the kitchen, but with everything involved in the move and with what had been going on since—

She threw off the covers and leapt out of bed, adrenaline flooding her system. She was halfway to the door of the second bedroom before she encountered smoke. As she ran, her mind analyzed the possibilities. None of them were comforting.

It was thicker in the hall, but she didn’t slow. As long as whatever was burning didn’t keep her from getting to Maddie, she wasn’t concerned with it right now. Once she had her daughter, she’d think about the terrifying reality that in the middle of the night her rented house was filled with smoke.

As she neared the door to the main bedroom, where Maddie had been sleeping since Blythe had heard the tapping on the window, she fought her panic, reassuring herself that despite the density of the smoke there was enough breathable air….

The little girl was sitting up in bed, her eyes wide as the alarm continued to sound its warning. “Mama?”

Blythe threw back the quilts and scooped her up off the bed. Maddie clung to her neck, her legs automatically wrapping around her waist.

She carried Maddie into the hall, heading toward the stairs. In the darkness, framed by spindles at their top, she could see the glow of flames, already licking up the stairwell.

The most immediate danger was the smoke, which was already thick in the upstairs hall. Toxins would be released by the burning furniture, and the smoke itself would rapidly eat up the life-sustaining oxygen.

How long did that give her? Blythe wondered, reversing course. How long would there be air for them to breathe? How long did she have to try to find a way out?

Running now, she carried Maddie toward the window at the end of the short hall. One look at the two-story drop below it made her rethink that solution. She turned away, glancing over her shoulder at the glow from the stairwell.

Mentally she reviewed the windows on this floor. The one where she’d heard the tapping overlooked the roof of the screened-in porch. And apparently the fire had started on the other side of the structure….

She hurried into what had been Maddie’s bedroom. She leaned over the secretary, putting her forehead against the cold glass. Below stretched the gently peaked roof of the addition.

She bent, setting Maddie on the floor. “Lie down and stay down,” she ordered, in her I-mean-it voice.

She jerked the desk away from the wall as if it weighed nothing. Even if she decided the drop to the roof below was too great, once she opened the window, they would at least have fresh air.

She turned the metal latch at the top of the sill and then tried to push up the sash. No matter how much pressure she applied, the window refused to budge, not even when she bent, using the muscles of her thighs and buttocks. Either moisture had caused the wood to swell or it had been painted shut.

She looked back toward the hall, which was now thick with smoke. There had to be another way. Another window. Some other access to the roof.

Even as she mentally sought other possibilities, she knew there were none. The other windows on this floor offered a straight drop to the ground two stories below. And there was no guarantee that any of them would be easier to open than this.

Her eyes fastened on the small desk chair that had been shoved into the keyhole of the desk. When she’d moved the secretary, it had carried the chair with it.

Coughing, she jerked the chair free, holding onto the back of it with both hands. It seemed incredibly light, far too fragile to accomplish what she needed it to do.

“Keep your head down,” she ordered Maddie.

She moved back to the window, swinging the chair at the bottom half, the part without the wooden mullions. The first time the legs and seat hit the broad pane of glass, they bounced off.

The second time she swung the chair with all the strength she possessed. The glass cracked, and when she struck it the third time, it shattered.

She took a deep breath of the cold night air rushing in through the opening. Behind her, the fire crackled and hissed with the renewed flow of oxygen. The sound destroyed her sense of euphoria, replacing it with another burst of panic.

Using the chair and her hands, she broke out the shards that clung to the frame. Then she turned, picked Maddie up off the floor and started back to the window.

“Mama? What are you doing?”

“It’s okay,” Blythe said. “We’re going out the window. Just do what I tell you, okay?”

Against her body she felt the little girl’s nod.

Dear God, don’t let me lose her, too.

The broken window loomed before her. For a moment she couldn’t decide if she should drop onto the roof and then have Maddie jump down so she would be there to break her fall.

It took only a second to realize too many things could go wrong with that plan. She could be knocked unconscious by the fall. Maddie could refuse to jump. The fire could reach her before—

She destroyed the thought as she set Maddie on her feet. Then, putting her arms around the little girl’s torso, Blythe locked her hands around her back. She lifted her daughter and lowered her body through the open window.

The roof below looked much farther away than before. She would have to drop the little girl on the right side of the peak so that when she fell, she would roll down into the valley formed by the wall of the original house and the roof of the addition. If she dropped her on the other side, Maddie might roll off and onto the ground below.

Blythe edged nearer the right side of the window, ignoring Maddie’s sobs. One chance to save her daughter’s life. If she blew it…

She bent as far out as she could, so that her belly was pressed against the bottom of the frame. She could feel a piece of the broken glass that had clung to it slice her skin, but she ignored the pain, carefully positioning Maddie for the drop.

Blythe’s shoulders screamed for relief from the weight they held, but she ignored them, too. Instead, her left arm still around Maddie’s back, she managed to slide her right hand up until it was fastened around Maddie’s wrist. She closed her eyes, anticipating the strain on her shoulder as she held on to the small, dangling body with one hand while with the other she completed the same maneuver to grasp Maddie’s other wrist.

She thought she could feel the heat of the fire behind her. She could definitely hear it. Despite the length of the drop and the chance of injury, she had to release her daughter and let her fall.

Only chance…

“I’m coming, Maddie,” she said, pitching her voice to carry over the noise of the inferno behind her. “I’m coming. Just stay there, and I’ll jump down beside you.”

Opening her hands to let Maddie go was the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life. Heart in her throat, she watched as the small body, clad in its white flannel gown, fell. The little girl rolled over twice, coming to rest in the protection of the valley, just as Blythe had planned.

She waited just long enough to see Maddie raise her head to look up at the window. The intensity of the heat behind her allowed no further hesitation.

She put one leg over the frame, turning so that she could hold onto the inside edge of its sill with her fingers. That would allow her body to extend to its full length before she let go and dropped to the roof. Through the pall of smoke in the bedroom, she could see the glow of the conflagration that was now consuming the upper hall.

Only chance…

She let go, falling hard onto the side of the peaked roofline. As she slid down into the valley between the two rooflines, she tried to slow her progress by grabbing at the shingles, scraping her hands as well as her hip.

“Mama.”

She turned to find Maddie looking up at her, her eyes wide. In the moonlight, which seemed bright as day, there were no visible injuries. Even if there were…

“We’re okay,” Blythe reassured.

She pushed onto her feet, putting one hand on the wall of the house to keep her balance as she moved toward her daughter. She tried to keep her right foot in the center of the flashing, which, compared to the roof itself, was relatively flat.

She held out her free hand. “Come on,” she ordered as she pulled the little girl to her feet.

Afraid of what she’d see, she refused to look up at the window through which they’d exited. As she moved toward the front of the addition, she listened instead for the wail of fire trucks. There was nothing but the sound of the fire, devouring the rich heart pine from which the little house had been constructed.

Please, God, let me get her down. Don’t take her away from me. I’ll do whatever you want, if you just won’t let anything happen to Maddie.

When she reached the edge of the roof, holding tightly to Maddie’s hand, she stooped to look out over it. The concrete patio that had probably been constructed at the same time as the screened porch was directly below them. There was no sign of the fire here at the very back of the house. If she could get them down, they should be safe.

But there was no drainpipe. No conveniently placed tree. Nothing.

She couldn’t remember how close the trees on the other side of the addition were. She knew there were a couple, however. And shrubbery. But they would have to go over the peak of the roof to reach them.

She shifted her grip on Maddie, so that she held her wrist rather than her hand. It would be too easy for those small fingers to slip away from her.

“Where are we going?”

“To the other side.”

Maddie shook her head, tears welling. “I’m scared, Mama.”

Me, too, baby. Me, too.

“I’ve got you. I won’t let go. It’s going to be all right, Maddie. I promise.” As she made the pledge, she started up the incline.

Although she had to bend in order to maintain her hold on Maddie’s wrist, she managed to reach the peak with relative ease, using her free hand on the shingles for balance. Only when she reached the top did she realize that the real danger would be going down. How could she ensure that she wouldn’t slip on that slanting surface, carrying Maddie with her?

She eased down so that she was sitting on the peak of the roofline. She drew Maddie to her, relishing her small, solid warmth. The little girl was trembling like someone in a chill, but the act of comforting her gave Blythe hope. And it renewed her determination. After all, they had made it this far.

She looked again at the downward slope. Although it wasn’t steep, for someone barefoot and guiding a terrified four-year-old, it would be treacherous.

“You remember when Daddy used to ride you piggyback?” Blythe leaned back, sweeping Maddie’s bangs from her eyes, as she looked into her face.

The little girl nodded.

“Think you can do that again?”

“Up here?”

“Hold on around my neck and put your legs around my back. I’m going to scoot down on my bottom.”

In the silence that followed, Blythe could hear the fire again. She had no idea how long it had been since the alarm had awakened her. It felt like an eternity, yet there were no fire engines. For the first time she realized they might not come until it was too late.

With that incentive, she brought her other leg over the peak and, still holding onto Maddie, scooted down perhaps a foot. Her nightgown rucked up under her, but there was nothing she could do about it. The shingles would abrade her buttocks and thighs, just as they had her hands.

“Piggyback,” she said, trying to position the little girl behind her without losing the grip she had on her arm. “Put your legs around my waist and hold on.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to, Maddie. You have to.” Again she made her voice hard. Demanding.

She knew the child was at a breaking point, but she couldn’t deal with hysterics. Not up here. She had to get her off the roof now, even if it meant dropping her over the side as she had dropped her out of the window.

“Get on my back,” she said, pulling sharply on Maddie’s arm. “Do it now, Maddie. Do you hear me?”

Trembling arms fastened around her neck, almost choking her. She reached down and lifted her daughter’s legs to wrap them around her body. She had to push the constriction of the little girl’s gown out of the way, but finally the child was in position, clinging to her back, her cheek resting against Blythe’s neck.

She could hear Maddie sobbing, but she ignored it. She ignored everything except what she had to do.

Using her palms and her feet, she inched down the sloping roof. Given the size of the addition, it was a matter of less than a minute before her toes were at the edge. Then she realized that she wasn’t sure how to proceed from there.

Try to position herself, with Maddie still on her back, to dangle from the roof as she had from the window? But there was nothing here to hang onto. Even if there had been, she wasn’t sure that her arms could support their combined weight—not even long enough to extend her body over the edge.

Drop Maddie, as she had done before? The grass below would be softer than the roof, and she’d suffered no serious injuries from the previous fall. Of course, working on the slanting surface would be much harder than standing on the floor of the bedroom and lowering her out the window had been.

Her eyes searched the area below. Stripped by the winter of their leaves, the foundation plantings looked like stakes, pointing upward, ready to impale them.

The ground then, she decided. Even the dead brown grass would offer some cushion. And what choice did she have?

She glanced up and back. Tongues of flames shot out of the window she’d broken. They had only a couple of minutes at most before the fire would involve the rest of the house, including the place where they were sitting.

“I’m going to swing you off the edge, just like we did before.” She reached up, trying to pry Maddie’s hands from around her neck.

“No. No, Mama. I don’t want to.” The child’s denial was mindless. Panicked.

Blythe didn’t have time to reason with her. Ruthlessly, she pulled at the child’s right wrist, breaking its hold. In response, Maddie’s legs tightened around her waist as she clung like a limpet to what she perceived to be safety.

“Maddie, let go. We have to get down.”

A wail answered her. The wrist she’d captured was ripped from her hold as Maddie again locked both arms around her neck, threatening to cut off her supply of air.

“Look at it. Look up. Do you see the fire? We have to get off the roof, damn it. We have to.”

Uncertain whether her words would have any impact against the child’s fear, she reached again and pulled the clenched hands apart. This time she didn’t let down her guard and allow Maddie to free her wrist. This was life and death. And it was up to her to make sure the choice was not the latter.

Ever mindful of how near the edge they were, she tried to drag the child around in front of her. Realizing she wasn’t going to be able to do that one-handed, Blythe lifted her other hand off the roof, using it, too, to try to manhandle the little girl off her back.

Now beyond any threat that might coerce her to obedience, Maddie struggled desperately to maintain her position. Eventually Blythe’s superior size and strength won out. She wrestled the child forward, breaking the hold of those trembling legs.

As soon as she realized what was happening, Maddie lunged upward toward the peak of the roof, trying to escape. Blythe was forced to turn to keep hold of her daughter. As she did, her foot slipped on the shingles, sending her sliding toward the edge of the roof. Although the distance she traveled was small, her left foot dropped over, almost unbalancing her.

She let go of Maddie, throwing herself prone in an attempt to stop the downward slide. Moving carefully, she pulled the dangling foot back onto the roof and, then using her feet and hands, painstakingly inched her body up the incline.

Although the exertion required had not been great, she was panting, breath sawing in and out of her lungs. When she finally felt secure enough to move again, she turned her head, searching for her daughter.

Maddie was sitting halfway up the slanting roof. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, which had been drawn up to her chin, her nightgown draped over them. Her eyes were the only dark spot in a face literally without color.

In the sudden stillness between them, Blythe was aware of heat beneath her body. The fire had apparently reached the porch. Once it broke through…

“We have to do this now, Maddie. You can’t fight me or we’ll both fall off.”

Or worse. She couldn’t say that, of course. The child had clearly moved beyond the reach of reason. Reminding her of the fire would only drive her further into hysteria.

Blythe pushed up, still moving carefully after the near disaster. She reached one hand out imploringly to her daughter.

For a long moment nothing happened. She had begun to despair when the little girl finally moved. With the same crab-like motion Blythe had used to make the descent, she edged down the incline.

Blythe took the child’s left wrist in her right hand. “I’m going to swing you off and drop you down on the grass. Bend your knees when you hit. You’ll be fine. I swear, Maddie, you’ll be fine.”

She expected resistance. Arguments. Something. The little girl nodded instead.

There was no time now to do anything other than swing her over the side and then let her go. One chance. One chance.

She took Maddie’s other wrist, pulling her around in front. Then, fighting to keep from falling off the roof, too, she swung the little girl over the edge, her shoulders screaming again with the strain.

She bent forward, her breasts touching her knees, in an attempt to hold Maddie away from the house. She took a final glance at the ground to verify that her daughter would fall onto the thick zoysia below. Then she closed her eyes for a final wordless prayer, before she allowed her fingers to release, dropping the child to the ground.

Blythe’s eyes followed her descent. For a long heartbeat, Maddie lay where she had fallen. Then slowly, more slowly than Blythe believed she could bear, she began to sit up.

“Maddie? You okay?”

Another eternity before the small blond head moved up and down. Blythe stifled the sob, knowing there was no time for tears, not even of relief.

“You have to run,” she said.

Despite the moonlight, the woods that stretched behind the house seemed dark and frightening. But if she sent Maddie toward the front, she wouldn’t be able to see her. She couldn’t be sure that the child wouldn’t go back inside the house to find a toy or because it had once been a place of safety.

“The woods,” she said. “Can you run to the woods and wait for Mama?”

“I want to wait here. You said you were coming.”

“I am. I’m right behind you. But you need to get away from the house. Away from the fire. Go on, Maddie. Just to the edge of the woods.”

She watched as her daughter reluctantly climbed to her feet. As soon as Maddie moved out of the way, she would jump down. Even if she broke an ankle, she’d still be able to get away from the fire. Even if I have to crawl…

“Go on, Maddie. To the edge of the woods and wait for me.”

As Blythe said the words, she raised her eyes to the thick pine forest that marked the property line. Something in the trees caught her eye. A shape, darker than the trunks themselves, was moving along the edge of the woods.

She blinked, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. When she looked again, whatever she’d seen seemed to have melted into the shadows. Still…

A movement below drew her gaze from the forest. Looking like a small, white ghost in her pale nightgown, Maddie was running across the back lawn toward those woods. Just as Blythe had told her to.

And she was running directly toward whatever—or whoever—had been moving there.




6


Eyes straining against the darkness, Blythe searched the property line again. There was nothing there now but the trunks of the trees, standing stark against the moonlight.

She knew in her heart that she hadn’t been mistaken. Something had been moving among them. Something upright. Too tall to be an animal.

That thought was almost as unnerving as the other. Whatever was out there, she had to stop Maddie and then get the hell off this roof. In that order.

“Maddie? Maddie,” she screamed.

The little girl didn’t slow. Maybe she couldn’t hear above the noise of the fire, which seemed to have grown louder in the last few seconds.

Blythe looked down at the place where she’d dropped her daughter. The quickest way off the roof—and the quickest way to get to Maddie—would be to jump.

Behind her a whoosh erupted. A flare of heat, strong enough to be painful, assailed her back.

Without looking around, Blythe scrambled to her feet. Her body poised on the edge of the roof, she tried to remember everything she’d ever read or heard about how to fall.

Bend your knees when you hit. Roll. There was nothing else. That was the sole store of her knowledge. Too little. And way too late.

She bent her knees, mentally as well as physically preparing herself, and then leaped out over the edge. The ground rushed up, giving her no time to be afraid.

For a second after she landed, she was aware of nothing. Not of pain. Not even of the impact itself. All she knew was that she was lying on her side on the cold, wet grass.

Then everything seemed to flood her consciousness at once. The burning house, flames and sparks shooting upward into the night sky. And the more frightening realization that Maddie was running toward whoever had been standing in the woods.

Blythe rolled over onto her hands and knees. When she put her weight on her right foot to push off the ground, she realized that she hadn’t escaped the jump unscathed. Even if her ankle was broken, it wouldn’t be enough to keep her from getting to Maddie.

As she got to her feet, her eyes found the small, ghostly figure. Maddie was almost at the edge of the forest, the white nightgown outlined against its darkness.

Blythe began to run, too, her speed hampered by her injury. She didn’t waste breath on shouting, knowing now that she couldn’t be heard above the fire.

Far enough, Maddie. Stop and look back. Look at me.

Even as Blythe willed her daughter to stop, the little girl drew closer and closer to the line of trees. Blythe’s gaze searched them, trying locate again whatever she’d seen before.

When she did, terror squeezed her chest. Although the shadowy form she’d spotted from the rooftop had been moving away from the property, that was no longer the case. The child in the pale gown and the dark shape moving among the trees now appeared to be on a collision course.

“Maddie. Stop, Maddie.”

The words had no effect. As Blythe’s eyes shifted to the other figure, she realized that it at least had stopped. Watching her?

Ignoring the agony in her ankle, she tried to increase her speed. Surely Maddie wouldn’t go into the woods. Surely she had understood…

“Maddie!”

Despite the awkwardness of her hobbling run, Blythe was gaining on the little girl. Encouraged by that realization, her eyes again lifted to search for the figure in the woods.

The shape was no longer in the place where she’d last seen it. Her gaze trailed along the edge of the forest, trying to find that dark anomaly.

Eyes on the trees instead of the ground in front of her, she stumbled, pitching forward despite her frantic efforts to regain her balance. Even as she broke her fall with her outstretched hands, she looked up to locate her daughter.

Perhaps emboldened by her fall, the shadowy figure at the edge of the woods seemed to once more be moving toward the little girl. The light of the fire clearly illuminated what was happening.

Blythe scrambled to her feet, again screaming her daughter’s name. Finally—unbelievably—the little girl turned, looking back across the yard. Looking directly toward her. Slowing. Stopping just short of the woods.

Still Blythe ran, adrenaline pumping so fiercely through her veins that she was conscious of nothing but getting to Maddie before he could. She caught the little girl in her arms, holding the small body against her own as she turned to run back toward the fire.

Its known horror was less now than the unknown that lurked at the edge of the forest. She threw a glance over her shoulder, but the shape seemed to have again melted into the shadows.

Then Blythe, too, heard the sound that had undoubtedly driven him back into the darkness from which he’d materialized. Faintly from the distance came a wail of sirens.

Finally. Finally.

By the time she’d reached the gravel driveway beside the house, which was now totally consumed by the conflagration, the first of the fire trucks had arrived, their sirens drowning out the noise of the blaze.



When the sheriff’s cruiser pulled into the drive, probably twenty minutes after the first of the firefighters, Blythe was sitting on the open back of the paramedic’s van. Someone had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, but she couldn’t remember who or when that had happened.

Perhaps it had been while they’d checked out Maddie, which she had insisted they do first. Or maybe it had been before the paramedic, who seemed hardly more than a kid himself, examined her ankle. He’d told her that he didn’t think it was broken, but she’d need to have it X-rayed to be sure.

Now her daughter was huddled in her lap, her legs again wrapped around Blythe’s waist. Despite the activity that swirled around them as the men fought a losing battle against the fire, the little girl hadn’t lifted her head from her mother’s shoulder.

Although Blythe had pulled the blanket around them both, Maddie’s body was occasionally racked by tremors. Not the result of the cold, but of the incredible stresses of this night. As soon as they got to Ruth’s, Blythe told herself, Maddie would be okay.

Okay. Incredibly, they both were. Considering that the house where they’d been sleeping was now engulfed in flames, that was a miracle.

Thank you, Father.

She glanced up at the sound of a car door slamming. As she watched, Cade Jackson walked up her drive. Although she couldn’t see his face beneath the uniform Stetson he wore, she realized she would have recognized that distinctively athletic walk anywhere. Anytime.

She hadn’t expected Cade to show up out here, but she should have. This was his county. His responsibility.

He stopped to speak to one of the firemen. The man pointed toward the van where she and Maddie were sitting. It had been pulled toward the back of the yard, well away from the house.

To express his thanks for the information, Cade touched the brim of his hat. As ridiculous as it might have seemed to outsiders, there was something about the gesture that was touching. Crenshaw had been caught in a time warp as far as the traditional courtesies were concerned, and she liked that.

Cade was moving more quickly now that he had a location. He would be here before she’d had time to prepare for the questions he would ask. Right now, she didn’t want to have to think about what had happened tonight. Or why.

Despite the fear the memory still evoked, she also didn’t want to talk about the figure in the woods. Either Cade wouldn’t believe her, making her feel like a hysterical fool. Or even worse, he would.

That would make it real. More frightening, somehow, than the fire.

“Ms. Wyndham.”

As he said her name, Cade again touched the brim of his hat.

Tears started at the back of Blythe’s eyes. She blinked to control them.

“Are you okay?”

The deeply masculine voice, its accent comforting, was full of concern. And that, too, touched her emotions, which were battered and too near the surface.

“We’re alive.”

Bottom line. And all that mattered.

“Thank God for that. Any idea what happened?”

She shook her head. “The smoke alarm woke me. I ran to Maddie’s room to get her, and by the time I had, the staircase was on fire.”

She hesitated, trying to think if there was anything else about what had occurred while they were inside the house he should know. At the time, she hadn’t been thinking about anything but finding a way out.

“That’s where the alarm was,” she added. “I had meant to put one up in the kitchen, but…” She let the sentence trail, again feeling as if she’d done something wrong. As if she hadn’t made a great enough effort to protect her daughter.

“So the fire was already at the staircase when the alarm went off?”

“I…I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head again as she tried. “There was smoke in the upstairs hall. Actually, the alarm is up there. At the top of the stairwell. By the time I got Maddie and was back out in the hall, I could see the flames coming up the stairs.” The words ran down, as she was overwhelmed by having to relive those moments of sheer terror.

“What did you do then?”

“I broke a window in the other bedroom and dropped Maddie out onto the roof of the screened porch.”

Cade’s eyes widened slightly. Not questioning, but apparently surprised.

But then, she was telling this in fits and starts. It probably made no sense to someone who wasn’t there.

“There’s no other way out from the upstairs,” she explained. “I didn’t believe we could get down the stairs. I didn’t want to try. Not with Maddie.”

“Good thinking. And then after you dropped her out the window, you climbed through and…?”

“We crossed over the top of the roof of the porch, and I dropped her onto the grass on the driveway side. I couldn’t think of another way to get her down.”

“And then you followed.”

She nodded.

“Any idea how it started? You leave a coffeepot on or something? Light some candles before you went to bed?”

“No candles. No open flame. The furnace is gas, but…” She shook her head. “We haven’t had any trouble with it. Or with anything else here.”

“We’ll get the fire chief to check it out. I just thought you might have some idea. A place to start. I’ll tell him what you’ve said.”

His right hand started upward in the gesture she’d already seen him make twice. Halfway to their target, the long dark fingers changed direction. He leaned forward, bending to put his hand on the top of Maddie’s head. It rested there a moment, but the little girl didn’t respond.

“She okay?” The aquamarine eyes lifted to Blythe’s, the question in them as well.

“Physically.”

There was a moment’s hesitation. “Kids bounce back from things like this quicker than adults. You’ll be surprised.”

She didn’t answer, but her eyes held his. Of course, he couldn’t be aware of everything that had gone on in the little girl’s life. Losing her father. The move. The nightmares. And now this.

After a moment, he nodded, clearly a dismissal. He had already begun to turn away, no doubt intending to talk to the fire chief as he’d indicated. Before he’d taken two steps, the words she wasn’t sure she had wanted to say had been launched into the air between them.

“There was someone here. Standing at the edge of the woods.” She turned her head, glancing toward the dark trees.

When she looked back, she realized that Cade’s gaze had followed hers. He regarded the woods for several seconds before his eyes returned to hers. Again they were questioning.

“Someone?”

“A shape. That’s all I saw.” Now that she’d decided to tell him, the words spilled out. “It was too tall and upright to be an animal. I think…I’m sure it was a person. He was standing at the edge of the woods looking toward the house.”

“He?”

Examining her memory, she realized she couldn’t have determined that based on what she’d seen. “I shouldn’t have said that. I assumed it was a man, but…There was nothing that defining about what I saw. It was a shape,” she reiterated, trying to stick to the facts. “It was different from those around it. And it moved. That’s why I noticed it.”

“How do you know that whoever was out there was looking at the house?”

She wasn’t sure why she’d said that either. She certainly hadn’t been able to see features of whomever she’d seen.

“I don’t. It just seemed to me that he was. Or that he had been.”

“I would think anyone who saw a house on fire around here would come to help.”

As a general comment about the community, that was probably accurate. Still, she knew what she’d seen. That kind of logic wasn’t going to change her mind about it.

“Whoever was out there didn’t come to help. I’d sent Maddie toward the woods after I dropped her off the roof. I wanted her away from the fire. I looked at the trees to see how distant they were, I guess. To judge whether that was a safe place for her. And…there he was.”

“Watching Maddie?”

She examined her memory, trying to see if that fit. “I don’t think so. I think he must have begun moving when she started that way.”

“As if he didn’t want her to see him?”

“I don’t know.” Unconsciously, she shook her head again, the movement slight. “I don’t know what he was doing out there. Or what he was thinking. I only know that I saw someone standing in those woods watching my house burn.”

The hysteria she’d managed to deny up to this point had crept into her voice, and she hated it. For as long as she could remember, she had considered any loss of control a failure of will. It seemed especially important now that she be strong for Maddie.

“Then there should be footprints out there,” Cade said, “as much rain as we’ve had.”

There should be, she realized, which would be proof of what she’d seen. To give Cade credit, however, she had detected no trace of doubt in his voice. No skepticism, despite her emotional outburst.

“That’ll have to wait for morning,” he went on. “I don’t want to go blundering around out there with a flashlight and obliterate whatever signs are there.”

“Thank you.”

She wasn’t sure he would understand her expression of gratitude. After all, he was only doing his job. The fact that he was doing it on her word alone meant more than she could say.

“I’ll need to make sure the area is taped off. After that, I can take you to the hospital. Unless you’d prefer to ride in the ambulance.”

“I’d prefer not to go at all. The paramedic doesn’t believe anything’s broken. I don’t either. I ran on my ankle to get to Maddie.” A hobbling effort, but still a run. “Surely if something were seriously wrong—”

“Adrenaline can mask injuries, even severe ones.”

He said that with the surety of someone who knew firsthand. Of course, an injury was why his football career had ended prematurely. Or so she’d heard.

“The safest thing to do is have it checked out,” Cade finished.

“I’ll get it checked out first thing tomorrow, I promise. Right now…Right now I just want to go to my grandmother’s. I need to get Maddie back to bed.”

Cade hesitated before he turned to look over his shoulder, probably searching for someone to drive them over to Ruth’s. His job was here, especially considering what she’d told him.

He turned back, looking down on Maddie. “I’ll take you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Doug can hold down the fort. We aren’t going to be able to do much out here until daylight, anyway. In any case, I need to go back to the office and call the state fire marshal.”

“The fire marshal?”

“Since someone was lurking at the back of your property, at approximately the same time a fire broke out in your home, we’re going to need to check for arson. That’s the state’s job.”

Despite the figure in the woods, the thought that someone might have deliberately set the fire that had destroyed the rental house had never crossed her mind. Things like that didn’t happen. Not in Crenshaw.

“Do you really think—”

“It’s a possibility we can’t afford to overlook.”



“Warm enough?” Cade glanced over his shoulder into the backseat of the cruiser.

“We’re fine,” Blythe lied.

Maybe he’d been right about the effects of adrenaline. Although the sheriff had insisted she keep the paramedic’s blanket, she had begun shivering shortly after they’d gotten into his car, and she hadn’t been able to stop.

Even Maddie’s solid warmth, still pressed against her body, hadn’t helped. Since there was no child restraint seat in the police cruiser, Blythe had fastened the seat belt around both of them. Hardly an ideal situation, but in light of everything else that had happened tonight, it seemed a small enough risk.

She hated to wake her grandmother. She glanced to her left, trying to gauge time by the sky. A thin tinge of yellow hovered just above the horizon, not yet strong enough to lighten it, but surely a precursor of dawn. By the time they’d driven the remaining five miles or so to the house, Delores would probably have breakfast started.

“You want me to call?” Cade asked, glancing back again.

“I’m sorry?”

“You want me to call your grandmother and tell her we’re coming?”

The offer was tempting. Even if Cade explained, Blythe knew she would still have to answer the questions of the two old women. It would be better not to worry them until she had to.

She shook her head before she realized he wouldn’t be able to see her. “She may not be up. Let’s let her sleep as long as possible.”

She wasn’t sure how her grandmother would react to the news of the fire. Right now, she wasn’t sure about anything.

She and Maddie had nothing left, not even a change of clothes. The little that had remained of John’s insurance had almost been expended in the move. Like it or not—and she didn’t—she would be dependent on her grandmother’s hospitality for a while.

There was no doubt in her mind that Ruth would welcome them without reservation. Her grandmother’s feelings had been hurt that Blythe had wanted her own place. And truthfully, that had been a decision Blythe herself had not been completely sure of.

Now that decision had been taken out of her hands. She had no choice but to move back into the family home. No choice but to allow herself and Maddie to sink back into the comfortable existence she’d known as a child. Her grandmother would pet and pamper them both. Delores would feed them, look after their clothes, and pick up after them if Blythe let her.

That was the thing she had feared most when she’d decided to come home. That the cocoon of family would again create the deadly inertia she’d had to struggle against after John’s death.

She had been determined to make her own way, even here. Although the idea of writing again had been only a cover story provided by Ada’s misconception, it had generated an undeniable sense of excitement. The thought of being able to make a living for the two of them by doing that…

“Is that where you got the idea to write about Sarah Comstock?”

Cade’s question seemed to fit so well into her internal dialogue it took her a few seconds to realize that, unless he was psychic, he couldn’t have known what she’d been thinking. Which made her wonder what he was talking about.

“I’m sorry?”

“The house. Living there.”

There could be only one meaning for the combination of those two phrases. Despite having reached it, she still didn’t understand. “Why would you think that?”

“Then it wasn’t? Somehow, when you came to the office the other day I thought it might be.”

“You’re talking about the house that burned. Why in the world—” Some premonition of what Cade must have been about to say stopped her breath.

It would explain so much if there was, as he’d intimated, a connection between the house they’d been living in and the murdered child. It wouldn’t explain everything, of course. Not unless you were willing to believe that the dead maintain some bond with the things of this earth, but still…

“From what you said that day, I thought maybe you knew. Audra Wright grew up in that house. Lived there until she married Abel Comstock. Old Miz Wright lived there until her death, maybe sixteen, seventeen years ago.”

“Audra Comstock,” Blythe repeated softly, beginning to realize the implications.

“Sarah’s mother.”

And the Miz Wright Cade had mentioned would be Sarah’s grandmother, Blythe realized, thinking of the strength of that tie. In her experience, an unbreakable bond. Especially in this locale, where family was the cornerstone of one’s existence.

All this time she and Maddie had been living in the home of Sarah Comstock’s maternal grandmother, and she hadn’t even known it. Not until the same night that house had been reduced to ashes.




7


Blythe had been wrong about the impending dawn. Delores’s old Chevrolet wasn’t yet parked in the driveway of her grandmother’s house. Nor could she see any lights on inside.

“Doesn’t look like Miz Ruth’s up.” Cade’s comment reinforced her own assessment.

“What time is it?” She leaned forward to look through the windshield as he pulled the cruiser parallel to the front steps.

“A little before five.”

“Delores should be here soon.”

Neither of them said anything for several seconds. Finally it dawned on her that Cade undoubtedly had other things to do.

Like put a call in to the fire marshal.

“We’ll get out and wait on the porch. My grandmother will be awake in a few minutes. She always gets up to unlock the door for Delores.”

Blythe could remember her mother arguing that the housekeeper should have a key to the house “just in case.” Neither her grandmother nor Delores had wanted that. She suspected that what they primarily objected to was any proposed change in the way they’d done things for so long.

“Actually, I’d rather you all wait inside the car, if you don’t mind.”

“Why?” Blythe’s fingers were already wrapped around the door handle in preparation of getting out.

There was a slight hesitation before Cade answered her. “Because right now I don’t know what went on out at your place tonight. Until I do…I prefer both of you to be where someone can keep an eye on you.”

The idea that they might be in danger hadn’t crossed Blythe’s mind, despite the shadowy figure on the edge of the woods and Cade’s mention of arson. Was he suggesting that whoever had been out there might have followed them here?




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