LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

in her basement.

      And yet he didn’t see that he had much of a choice in the matter.

      He tossed the clothes into the basement, then went back to the porch to get the bottles of water, the chicken and the rolls from the cooler, and took those back with him. His list of earthly possessions was growing. He had clothes now. He had food and water, and he had shelter. He also had a knife with a six-inch, razor sharp blade and his assailant’s fingerprints, he hoped, preserved on the handle. He’d wrapped it in a rag he’d found along the roadside to keep the prints from being smudged. A plastic zipper bag would have been better.

      This time, when he crawled underneath the porch, he kept on going, through the missing window, into the cellar.

      Turning, he wondered if Rex would try to come in, too. If he did, and she came home, the dog would surely give him away. But Rex was happily curled up on his dog bed, already snoring.

      

      Dawn came out of the laundry room with an overflowing basket of clothes. She tended to let her laundry pile up at the dorm, so she’d brought it all with her to wash during the holiday break. And this was the last of it.

      Everyone had been watching her too closely today. It made her want to cut and run, but she kept reminding herself it was only because they cared about her. Still, the searching looks, the leading questions—it was wearing thin.

      She walked through the living room with her basket of clothes, and felt the chill as soon as she entered the room. That chill—it wasn’t a normal one. It only came when one of them was close, and Dawn’s entire body tensed with anticipation.

      Beth stood there, talking to a man as a woman stood nearby. The man was tall, slender, dignified looking and soft spoken. He had a worried look about him, and his shoulders nearly slumped from whatever weight they were carrying.

      The woman…oh. Her again.

      She was semisolid, her white nightgown stained with soot and black spots, as if it had been burned. So was her face, for that matter. One side of it was twisted and scarred. She held a baby in her arms, wrapped in a scorched, sooty blanket, and she stared. Not at Beth, or at the man, but at Dawn.

      Dawn’s fear turned to anger. It was one thing for them to harass her, entirely another to get within a mile of her family. Screw this. She set the basket down on the floor and marched forward, making her stride aggressive and sending the dead woman a look meant to chase her off.

      Beth turned, and Dawn plastered a more pleasant expression on her face, but not before Beth had seen her.

      “You feeling all right, Dawn?”

      “Fine,” she said. And she beamed a smile at the man who was looking her way.

      “This is Dr. Melrose, Dawn,” Beth said. “He’s taking a room for a couple of days.”

      “It seems silly, my living only an hour from here,” he said. “But then again, driving back and forth until my business in town is finished would be even sillier.”

      “Dawn Jones,” she said, taking his hand, which was so icy it nearly made her pull hers away. “Welcome to the Blackberry Inn.”

      “Thank you.”

      “So you’re a doctor.”

      “Psychiatrist, actually.”

      Dawn shot Beth a look, wondering just for a moment if this was some kind of setup. Had she managed to convince her birth mother that she was losing her mind? Hell, why not? She was half convinced of it herself.

      She glanced past the man. The dead woman was gone.

      For now.

      5

      When Jax came home from work that afternoon, her father’s four-wheel-drive pickup sat in the driveway with the tailgate down. Her front door was unlocked, and when she went inside, she found her house brimming with…stuff. A brown velour sofa stood in her living room, with a glass-topped coffee table in front of it. A television set sat opposite. It wasn’t a floor model, so it looked odd there. There were a couple of mismatched, overstuffed chairs, too. A burnt orange one big enough for a linebacker, and a pale blue rocker-recliner. Underneath all of it, a big, braided, oval area rug covered the floor.

      Her parents had been busy.

      She moved through the dining room, which still held no furniture, and into the kitchen, where her mother was stacking plates in a cupboard and her father was carefully applying caulk to the windowpane in the back door.

      “You guys are going to spoil me, aren’t you?” Jax asked, leaning in the doorway and folding her arms over her chest.

      Her mother looked up, a kerchief over her hair, and beamed a bright smile at her. “Give the independent streak a rest, Cassie. I couldn’t have you living here without the barest essentials. Honestly, I don’t know how you got by last night—the place was Spartan.”

      “I didn’t need to do anything but sleep, Mom.” Jax moved across the room to give her mother a hug, then looked past her into the cupboard, which was stocked with plates, bowls, saucers, coffee cups and glasses. She opened another door to find mixing bowls and measuring cups, and yet another where cookware and bakeware filled the shelves. There was a small kitchen table—metal legs, red Formica top—in the center of the room, with old-fashioned chairs around it—metal frames with padded red vinyl seats and backs. She opened the fridge, found it clean, fresh smelling and stocked with food. The red cooler sat empty on the floor. She wondered briefly if they’d noticed the box of castoffs on her porch as well, but got distracted when she realized the light in the fridge had come on when she’d opened the door.

      “Power’s on?” she asked, needlessly.

      “Phone lines, too,” her mother said, pointing to the brand-new cordless telephone resting in its base, which was mounted to the wall. They had to have bought it for her.

      “What happened to the window?” her father asked. “You have trouble out here last night?”

      Jax sent him a bright smile, one designed to hide the lie. “Trouble? Hell, no. Who in their right mind would give me any trouble? I was clumsy. I, uh, was carrying some wood in, from the pile out back, and I slipped. A log flew out of my hand and smashed right through the window.” She shook her head and then moved on to a new subject. “Dad, you didn’t see a dog outside when you arrived, did you?”

      He shook his head slowly, wiping the caulking knife on a rag and dropping it into his tool belt. The windowpane was repaired and perfect. Her father was just as capable with a hammer and nails as he was with a scalpel and clamps. Just as comfortable in a pair of overalls as he had once been in an expensive suit or surgical scrubs.

      “No, I didn’t see any. Did see the box of stuff we sent home with you…” He smiled. “I see you helped yourself to a few things. It was considerably lighter when I took it to the Goodwill. So are you expecting a dog?”

      She nodded. “That stray we spotted here the first day. It’s been hiding out under the porch sometimes.” Her father frowned, and she rushed on. “He’s all alone, Dad. Doesn’t seem aggressive at all, just wary. I left some food for him and he ate it.”

      Ben nodded. “I saw the empty bowl. You shouldn’t get too close until I’ve had a look at him. Make sure he’s all right.”

      “I’ll be careful. Wait till you get a good look at him, Dad. He’s kind of scrawny, a little rough around the edges, but underneath all that, he’s gorgeous.” She found the fugitive’s face, not the dog’s, creeping into her mind. “You can tell he’s something special. Frankie says he’s been making a nuisance of himself for a while, but no one’s been able to corner him.”

      Her dad’s lips pulled into a rare smile, not a full one, kind of sad, like all his smiles were. “You thinking of making a pet out of him?”

      She was startled by the question, considering where

Скачать книгу