Page 31 of High Country Escape

“No. I was in Junction,” Kara said. “Doing some shopping.”

“What time did you get home?” Shane asked.

“Maybe twenty minutes ago?” She turned to Roxanne. “I saw your car pull in, then leave again. And then the sheriff’s deputy arrived.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Shane said. “If you think of anything else that might be relevant, give me a call.” He handed her a business card. “Right now, I need you to return to your home.”

Kara leaned close to Roxanne. “We’ll talk later,” she said, then left.

“Let’s take a look around,” Shane said to Roxanne.

To Dalton, the place looked undisturbed. He had to look closely to see that the lock had been smashed. They followed Shane into the house. “Don’t touch anything, but just looking around, can you tell me if anything is missing?” he said.

Roxanne turned a slow circle, eyes scanning the room. From their spot in the middle of the room, Dalton thought he could see almost every part of the structure. “There’s nothing obviously missing,” she said after a moment. “My laptop is still here. Someone who wanted to rob me would take that, I’d think.”

Shane nodded. “I’d like you to take a look upstairs,” he said. “There’s something upstairs that seems out of place to me, but I’d like your take on it.”

Roxanne hung back. “If it’s a dead animal or something like that, I don’t want to look.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Shane said. “It’s just...confusing.”

She took Dalton’s hand. “You come, too,” she said.

“Do you want me to go first?” Dalton asked.

“No, I can do it.” She straightened her shoulders and started up the narrow staircase. He followed closely, heart pounding in anticipation.

“Don’t touch anything,” Shane called up after them. “Just look.”

She stopped at the top of the stairs and gasped. Dalton squeezed in beside her. There, in the middle of the queen-sizebed, sat a large doll with blond pigtails in a pink dress. Bethany had had a similar doll when she was little, with all kinds of clothes and accessories, and even a book that told the doll’s story. But someone had painted over this doll’s features with garish makeup—a slash of red lipstick outside the lines of the plastic lips, and bright blue eye shadow and heavy eyeliner and false eyelashes.

A note was propped against the doll, the bold lettering, written with a black marker, visible from the doorway: “Mary, won’t you come home and play with me?”

Roxanne stared atthe doll and swayed slightly. Dalton’s hand on her back steadied her, but she couldn’t shake the dizzying feeling of being pulled back in time. Back into a nightmare. She was breathing hard—not quite hyperventilating but close—and she bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. Dalton’s grip on her tightened, then his breath brushed her ear as he spoke. “Let’s go back downstairs,” he said.

She let him guide her down the stairs, though all of her awareness was still on the threshold of the bedroom—the image of the doll, and the note with it, flashing in her head like an old film strip.

Shane was waiting by the front door. “Who is Mary?” he asked.

Roxanne walked past him, out the door. The two men followed and she led the way to a wooden picnic table situated under a tall pine tree a short distance from the tiny home, beneath the glow of a string of white lights. She sat at one end of the table and Shane sat at the other. Dalton went to stand behind Roxanne.

“You saw the doll?” Shane asked.

“Yes.”

“Does the doll belong to you?”

“No.”

Shane’s eyes met Dalton’s as if to ask if Roxanne was always this terse or this was her reaction to shock. She didn’t miss the exchange, but didn’t comment on it. She was in shock, but she was going to push past that. Dalton put one hand on her shoulder, a solid weight that made her feel more connected to her body, less floating on waves of fear. “Do you think whoever broke into the house left that and the note behind?” Dalton asked Shane.

“I don’t—” Shane began.

“Mary was the name William Ledger gave me after he kidnapped me,” Roxanne said, interrupting him. “You know who William Ledger is?”

“Yes.” Shane’s expression was grim. “You think he was the person who ran you off the road ten days ago?”

“Yes.”