Wooden stairs descended into darkness. She could feel the cool, damp air wafting up toward her. It was a refreshing change from the heat and humidity of the day, especially what she’d endured in that church during the funeral, and the earthy smell was equally inviting. Only the dark put her off. This cabin didn’t have running water or electricity, like Cain’s new place. She needed a flashlight.
Returning to the kitchen, she went through cupboards and drawers until she came up with one. The beam was dim, which meant the battery was low, but a weak beam was better than no beam at all. She took it with her as she went back into the lean-to and descended into the dank, dark space beneath the cabin.
Karen tried to jerk away, but John was too strong. “You must think I’m an idiot,” he said.
She didn’t know where Robert was. She didn’t see him. She just reacted. Raising the shovel she was carrying, she swung it at him like a bat.
The metal end made a sickening sound as it struck him in the head. Obviously, she’d surprised him. His eyes widened, then rolled back and he crumpled to the ground.
Karen had no idea how badly he was hurt. But she couldn’t risk having him wake up and grab her, so she turned to flee—and ran right into Owen as he was coming across the grass.
“Stop! What’re you doing?” he cried.
Tears rolled unheeded down Karen’s cheeks. She knew she looked like a maniac. She’d dropped the shovel when she hit John and was desperate to escape. “He—he tried to kill me!” she shouted. “He tried to kill Sheridan Kohl, too! I—I found his mask and the—the shovel, and he…he hit me last night!”
She was spilling it all out, but maybe she wasn’t making any sense. Owen didn’t seem as shocked as she’d expected. He frowned as his gaze dropped to his fallen father, then he beckoned her toward his truck.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you to the police.”
Handmade racks lined the cellar walls, racks that held wine, preserves, canned tomatoes and pickles. Sheridan was pretty sure Cain hadn’t canned the food himself. He’d probably bought it from Ron Piper, who owned a farm on the outskirts of town. Ron grew more food than his family could eat, so his wife and kids sold produce all summer via a little stand on the highway. What they didn’t sell, Sandy and her girls preserved. Some of her recipes were becoming legendary, so she’d taken to selling the canned goods, too.
Sheridan picked up one of the jars and held it in front of her flashlight. Sure enough, it bore the Piper Farms label. Cain had obviously raided these shelves—there wasn’t a lot left. Or, more likely, the boys who’d found the rifle had broken some of the jars just for the hell of it. The smell down here suggested spoiled food.
Angling the beam of her flashlight into the corners, Sheridan tried to figure out where the gun had been. Perhaps Owen had simply leaned it up against the shelves. But that didn’t make sense. Wouldn’t he try to hide it?
And then she saw a patch of dirt where there’d been some digging. Maybe the rifle had been buried. It seemed possible, considering the recently disturbed earth. But why would two teenagers start randomly digging in a cellar?
The floor above her creaked. Wondering if she’d imagined that noise, Sheridan held her breath and listened. Because of what had happened to her already, she knew she was jumpy. But discounting her reaction didn’t stop the chills that ran through her. Did she have company?
No. She had an overactive imagination.
But then she heard another creak and another.
Yes. Someone was walking across the kitchen.
Karen didn’t know she was in trouble until Owen steered his truck right instead of left as he drove out of his father’s neighborhood.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He locked the doors. “We’ve got a problem.”
She knew they had a problem. His father was homicidal. They needed to go directly to the police station. Instead, they were heading into the mountains. Why? There was nothing out this way except wilderness.
And then other details began to occur to her. Owen had left his father lying on the ground without even attempting to get help, without even stopping to see if John was still breathing. He’d heard what she had to say and hadn’t questioned it, even though it must have sounded crazy. And he’d picked up the shovel she’d dropped and put it in the back of his truck.
Turning, she saw it vibrating in the bed of the truck as they drove. Maybe that should’ve alarmed her from the beginning, but she’d been so shaken by what she’d just discovered, she’d thought Owen had the same idea she did—that the evidence needed to be shown to the authorities.
“Take me back to town!”
He didn’t look at her. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
She glanced at the shovel again. She was sure it had been used to dig Sheridan’s grave. Was it now intended to dig her grave? “Why not?” she asked.
“Because you’ve been snooping around, haven’t you, Karen? You’ve been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“That was your mask.”
No answer.
“You put those things in your father’s workroom so they wouldn’t be on your own property.”
“It’s not like I was setting him up,” he said, as if he was more offended by that accusation than the accusation of attempted murder. “I just didn’t think anyone would look there. I mean, who’d ever suspect him of hurting anyone?”
She had. She’d seen how John had reacted to the news about her and Cain and assumed the worst.
“Who’d think twice about any of the junk in that mess?” he went on. “I don’t know how he functions in such a chaotic environment. He and Robert.” He shook his head.
“And Cain?”
“Cain’s not like the rest of us. He’s not related.”
“Is that why you didn’t mind setting him up?”
“He deserved it. He asked for it.”
She wondered how quickly she could unlock the door and get it open. Would she have any chance if she jumped? They were gaining speed, going at least forty miles an hour. But he’d have to slow down once they hit the winding part of the road. That was probably her one opportunity. There’d be rocks, branches, pinecones, trees and stumps all along the shoulder. But if she got lucky, if she hit a soft patch, she might survive the fall.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said mildly.