In Shadows (13 page)

ANDI RACED BACK THROUGH
the pouring rain to the car, carrying two soft-serve vanilla cones. She kicked twice on the door, and Pierce leaned over to open it for her. She made a squishing noise as she dropped into her seat.

“Here you go,” she said, slipping the cone into Pierce’s waiting hand. He licked greedily as one long drop formed, running down his chin.

“Damn,” she said.

She patted his knee to let him know she’d be right back. Then she raced back inside and returned with a pile of paper napkins, only to find that it was too late. Pierce’s T-shirt was splotched with ice cream, and he was obliviously crunching the cone. He chomped his way down until the only thing left to do was lick his palms. He had to have an ice cream headache the size of Manhattan. She dampened a napkin and handed it to him, but there was no way to clean up all the mess.

She took his hand and signed.
You jump in the tub when we get home.

She made certain his seat belt was tight—even though he frowned at her—and still licking her own cone, she backed out and headed home. By the time she’d finished her ice cream she’d dripped some on her pants, as well.

“Guess we’ll both need hot baths,” she muttered, watching the wipers splash across the windshield.

She drove slowly down Route 26, following the river that had already spilled out of its banks in several places. The Androscoggin was one of those muddy waterways that had been domesticated by a hundred mills over the centuries, but never really tamed. Crowley Creek fed into it, as did a thousand other tributaries, and the river meandered through a hundred villages and towns on its way to the sea. In most places it wasn’t deep enough to be navigable except by canoe, but in a flood it could roar across farms and fields like a river four times its size.

Like almost every township in Maine, Crowley had its share of flood zones, but Mandi and Pierce lived on higher ground. At least it was high enough that the house had never been inundated since she’d lived in it. But if the Androscoggin flooded—like it had the year before—the junction of the valley road and Route 26 would be closed, and they’d be trapped.

As she approached the intersection, she couldn’t help but glance at the police tape in the trees where the girl’s body had been discovered. How could two horrible murders happen in such a peaceful place in such a short time? How could they happen anywhere? In the seat beside her Pierce rode blissfully along, unaware of the scene of horror they were passing.

The gravel in her driveway was turning to muck, and she had to put the Subaru into four-wheel drive to avoid sliding off into the trees. By the time she and Pierce negotiated the ramp into the house they were both soaked to the skin, and
he was shivering. She signed for him to strip down while she ran him a hot bath. Then she toweled herself off and donned her bathrobe. She turned off the water and let Pierce know it was ready. He wouldn’t take off his briefs if he knew she was in the room, so she headed for the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea.

Inexorably her thoughts were drawn back to Jake, and she bit her lip as the old hurt welled up again. It had felt so good and so bad at the same time to see him with Pierce. She loved Jake as much now as she ever had, and she knew that she always would. But he was carrying around a bunch of hidden demons that she didn’t know how to deal with, and she didn’t want to expose Pierce to that. He’d suffered enough in his life.

It was probably best not to see Jake anymore while he was here.

ARBARA’S
LEGS BURNED LIKE FIRE
where they hung down through the busted floor, and an equally impressive heat radiated around her hip. She stared at Oswald, sitting on his chunky haunches in the dark hallway.

“Are you stupid? Or don’t you give a shit?” she hissed.

Oswald gave no sign that he understood the question or that he cared to answer.

“Help me!” she shouted.

The dog rose, spun on its heels, and pattered away into the gloom.

“Fucking mutt!”

When she got out of this predicament she was going to trade the little shit in for a poodle. Only getting out didn’t look to be happening. Her energy level had drained to almost nothing, and she had stopped struggling when she realized that no matter what she did, movement only made things worse. But if she didn’t do something soon, she was going to die.

At least the damned whispering had stopped.

“Come back here, you ratshit dog!” she shouted.

Calm down. Oswald isn’t Lassie.

Right. Bring me the crescent wrench, Oswald. No. That’s the monkey wrench. The crescent wrench. Good boy.

“Well, I have to get out somehow,” she muttered, smirking at the image in spite of her predicament.

The last time she’d moved, the beam beneath her had creaked so loudly she’d frozen in place. It was an ominous sound, half crack, half rotten crunch, and the floor supporting her was so spongy it bounced around like a wooden trampoline.

I’ll bet I could fall right through.

Right. And what if it’s twenty feet down?

Don’t be silly. It’s a crawl space. The dirt floor is probably an inch from my toes.

And if it’s not?

If it’s not I’m going to die here, anyway.

She took a deep breath and kicked, ignoring the stabbing pains that struck her in both thighs. Her feet touched nothing but air, and the cracking noise grew louder as the floor swayed rhythmically up and down. The whole room danced to the beat of the straining beams. The dim gray light filtering through the rain and dust created silver ghosts that swirled before her eyes.

“Screw it,” she muttered, shifting her weight and rocking even harder.

She was jumping up and down now, the pain in her thighs flashing up her hips into her back. The floor gave one last rise, and then it felt as though she dropped lightly through a ripped sheet, the beams and floorboards cracking and groaning, lowering her gently to the dirt below. The beams fell away to either side, and she wobbled to her feet. She leaned back against a tilted section of floor, studying her legs. Her hose looked like scarred battle flags, and they were blood-soaked
to boot. Her skirt was ripped in numerous places, and one of her shoes was buried somewhere under the debris. Splinters as long as her fingers protruded from her thighs, and she jerked at them, wincing as she withdrew each one, although the real pain in her legs now was the blood returning.

The cellar was deeper than she had imagined. But the wooden crater formed by the busted floor wouldn’t allow her to explore it even had she cared to. She glanced up, measuring her chances of making the climb. Other than tiny gaps between the rotten floorboards there was nothing for a handhold, and even if there had been stainless steel handles for her to hang onto, she couldn’t imagine that she had the strength to make the climb back out.

Oswald yipped and peeked over the lip of the floor. She managed a smile for him.

“Come back with the crescent wrench?” she asked.

He took a tentative step forward, but hastily withdrew his foot when it slipped on the sharp incline.

“Stay back,” said Barbara, waving at him.

He whimpered as though he might disobey.

“What? Are you getting guts in your old age, or are you just hungry?”

He whimpered again, glancing nervously back toward the corridor, and for the first time Barbara noticed that the whispers had returned.

RAMER STARED AHEAD INTO THE DOWNPOUR.
“Memere would tell you there really
are
monsters. Sounds to me like you know that. The boy was running from something when he stole the car.”

“Kids get spooked. And it wasn’t a monster that killed Albert. You saw that shoe print.”

“Which doesn’t prove the man who was wearing that shoe did anything but step in some blood and then leave a track on an old newspaper.”

“Come on. That’s a little thin.”

“Just saying.”

Jake caught Cramer’s eye. “What did you see in the woods?”

Cramer took a minute answering. “I told you, I couldn’t get a good look at it because of the shadows.”

“Then maybe it was just shadows.”

“You don’t say that like you really believe it,” said Cramer, studying Jake closely. “You said your father never struck your mother before that night.”

“That’s right.”

“What did
you
see on the beach?”

“What’s the beach got to do with anything?” said Jake quickly.

“You tell me. I’m just trying to add things up. You don’t want to talk to Pam. You get pissed at me for bringing Mandi up. You spend fourteen years away from this place. Then eight men get killed under . . . strange circumstances, and all of a sudden you’re on a plane.”

Jake sighed. “It was dark and stormy. Torrio’s men were trying to kill me.
I
was killing people. It was crazy. I can’t tell you what happened while I was in the water.”

“So you didn’t see anything strange at all?”

“Maybe . . . just a shadow.”

Cramer nodded. “And the night your mother was killed?”

“I was ten years old.”

“But you said you heard whispers.”

“Maybe.”

The wipers slapped noisily. Alongside the road water streamed from the balsam limbs.

“This is Barbara’s drive,” said Jake, sounding relieved.

“The crazy old lady that wants to hump my brains out?” said Cramer.

“Yeah,” said Jake.

Cramer frowned. “Why don’t we skip Barbara?”

“Why? You scared of a little old lady? You didn’t want to skip the Murphys.”

“I’ve met hookers with less hormones,” said Cramer.

Barbara’s home had a blue metal roof, fading gray stain on the clapboard siding, and blue trim. There were lace curtains in the windows.

“Lovely place. Probably has cats,” muttered Cramer.

“Goldfish,” said Jake.

“Lynx more likely.”

“What do you have against lynx?”

“I don’t like the way it’s spelled,” said Cramer, shielding his head under both hands as he climbed out of the car. They raced up onto the front porch.

Jake rang the bell and peered through the window at a fat little dog dancing in the foyer and barking up a storm.

“Feisty little mongrel,” said Cramer. “They’re the ones that will bite the shit out of your ankles.”

“Nobody home,” said Jake, ringing the bell again.

“Duh,” said Cramer.

“You are definitely getting me down. You want to go back to Pam’s?”

“No. I’m having way too much fun.”

“I can always tell when you’re enjoying yourself.”

“How’s that?”

“Your sense of humor improves.”

“No kidding. Come on. We got places to be.”

“You think that mutt is acting weird?” asked Jake.

The dog was running around in circles and yelping, and running around didn’t look to be an everyday activity for the fat mutt. Jake stared at the dog, waiting for it to calm down, but it gave no sign of slowing. After a couple of minutes he began to wonder if the dog wasn’t going to give itself a heart attack.

He knocked on the door this time and shouted. “Barbara? Is anybody home?” He shrugged at Cramer. “Check the garage.”

“Sure,” muttered Cramer, heading down the steps into the rain. “I jus’ paddle de pirogue over dere.”

Jake paced the length of the front porch, peeking in every window. The dog followed him from the foyer to the dining room, never stopping its whirling dervish imitation or its high-pitched yaps.

Cramer stomped back up onto the porch, shaking off like a wet hound. “Her old clunker’s in the garage.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Jake. “Want to break in?”

“With that guard dog?” said Cramer.

“Look for an open window,” said Jake.

Cramer turned, stepped back to the front door, and opened it. The dog ran into the foyer and stood like a statue, waiting.

“You
told me no one locks their doors around here,” said Cramer.

“I forgot,” said Jake, sticking his head in the door and shouting for Barbara again as Cramer slipped past him into the house.

Jake followed. The place smelled of lavender, and disinfectant, and maybe garlic. Jake wrinkled his nose, and Cramer laughed. As they followed the dog down the hall, Jake stopped at an antique side table, staring at the gilded oil lamp atop it. He ran his fingers along the ornate base, staring at the bas-relief floral shapes.

“What?” said Cramer.

Jake shook his head. “There was a lamp just like this in our house. Outside my parents’ room.”

“You think the old lady stole it?”

Jake shrugged. “The house has been sitting up there empty a long time.”

“Maybe Pam gave it to her.”

“Maybe.”

“What was that?” said Cramer.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“I thought I heard somebody whispering,” said Cramer.

Jake listened to the rain on the roof. There
did
seem to be another sound beneath that one. An undercurrent. A hissing. But as they entered the house the sound seemed to die away.

The dog gave them a haughty look and took off into the next room. Cramer and Jake followed, hurrying through the cluttered parlor. Jake pointed as the dog’s tail disappeared into the dark passageway ahead. When they emerged in a small shed, Cramer immediately sidestepped, grabbing Jake before he could fall head over heels into the hole.

The old woman lay facedown on the sloping floorboards below. Jake noticed a bald spot on the top of her head, and he wondered if Barbara was aware of it.

Cramer sighed. “We have to get down there.”

“How the hell are you gonna do that?” asked Jake, surveying the wreckage. Barbara’s plummet to the lower level had turned the shed floor into a funnel. There was barely enough room on the planking and joists along the perimeter for the dog to work its way around to the far side. The mutt stared down at the old woman as though trying to decide whether to make the leap to the dirt below.

“Slide down, I guess,” said Cramer.

“You’ll break your neck.”

“You see another way?”

Jake reluctantly shook his head. Cramer bared his teeth and locked viselike fingers on a bare stud. Then he eased himself into the hole. When his feet were halfway down he released his grip and crashed to the bottom.

“Careful,” said Jake, grimacing as Cramer caught a jagged-looking splinter in his hand.

“Right,” said Cramer, tugging the sliver out with his teeth, spitting it into the dirt. As he reached for Barbara’s shoulder, she rolled over as though she were a mummy that had suddenly been revived. Cramer jerked.

“Come to save me?” she asked weakly.

“Something like that,” said Cramer. “Did you break anything?”

She glared at him. “My floor.” She stretched, and a wide grimace twisted her face. “Maybe my shoulder.”

“Nothing else hurt? No neck injuries?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You should lie still until the paramedics get here.”

“Like hell,” she said, rising shakily to her feet. “I’m not having those morons tracking mud all over my house and trying to give me CPR. Now get me out of here.”

Cramer steadied her as she wobbled like a porcelain doll in his hands. When she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and smiled, Cramer looked to Jake for help, but Jake was busy stifling a grin of his own.

“You’re so strong,” said Barbara.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I think if I hold onto the wall here, I can reach down and give you a hand,” said Jake.

“Okay,” said Cramer uncertainly. “Come on in.”

Jake slipped his fingers around the doorjamb. Then he slid carefully down toward Cramer. Cramer placed one hand under Barbara’s arm and reached for Jake with the other. It took two lunges for them to connect. For just an instant the outcome seemed in doubt as Jake’s shoes lost their grip on the slope, but Cramer had enough momentum to gain the top. Jake leaned back and pulled them toward the door.

The three of them huddled on the lip of the hole for a moment, catching their breath. Oswald pattered his way around to greet each of them with a yap and a sniff at their feet.

“We ought to get her to the hospital,” said Jake.

“Took a genius to figure that out,” said Barbara, slipping out of Cramer’s embrace and dusting herself off. But she made a face when she bent to straighten what was left of her skirt, and her eyes glazed when she stood back up. Cramer caught her by the shoulders.

“I heard voices,” she whispered. “I came in here to find out who it was.”

“Voices?” said Cramer and Jake at the same time.

“I thought I heard whispers. Then this old floor just gave out on me. Damn near killed me.”

“No one whispering around here now,” said Cramer, a little too jovially. “Let’s
fais-do-do
into the house, and everybody can lick their wounds.”

He strode into the dark passageway with his arm wrapped around Barbara’s waist, Jake taking up the rear. As the gloom surrounded Jake he was suddenly certain he was being watched. Goose bumps crawled up the back of his neck, and cold sweat broke out on both palms.

Their passage seemed to take forever. The sense of being watched became one of being
probed
, as though some unseen presence were testing him in some way, searching through his brain like invisible fingers flipping through a Rolodex. By the time they exited the narrow corridor into the little book-lined parlor, Jake was ready to scream. He shifted past Barbara, edging to one side of the door, staring back down the long tube of darkness.

“What’s up?” whispered Cramer, sliding in beside Jake, instinctively keeping his bulk out of the line of the open doorway.

Jake shook his head. “Just a hunch.”

“I like your hunches. What’s the matter?”

“I felt like something was in there with us.”

Cramer leaned around Jake to peer down the hallway. “No room for anybody else in there.”

“I guess it was nothing.”

“Want to check it out?”

More sweat broke out on Jake’s palms. “No,” he said, nibbling his lip. “It was just nerves.”

Cramer frowned. “We ought to get the old lady to the doctor, then.”

“Right,” said Jake.

But as they led Barbara down off the front porch and eased her into the backseat of the car, Jake could have sworn he heard the vaguest of whispers. He glanced at Cramer, who was staring into the woods.

“Ready?” said Jake.

Cramer started the car and jerked it into gear without comment. But all the way down the drive Jake had the nasty feeling they were still being watched.