Page 12 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow

Nine

The Smitses are leaving. Sheriff Smits insisted on doing an hour-long walk of the property, which I begged off from to get some work done.

They didn’t find anything, but Josie still promises to do a daily sweep, over my objections.

After her dad is in the truck, she comes back to where I’m outside the cottage, watching them go.

“You okay if I still bring that pie later?” she says. “I know you’re working.”

“I don’t have set hours. I just need to get my time in. Pie would be great.”

Her face lights up. “Mom makes the best.”

“I remember that.”

“Good. Then I will be here with pie, which is totally a good-neighbor-plus-business call and not because I’m desperate to talk to another woman under thirty.”

I choke out a laugh. “Your dad wasn’t exaggerating then? About all our generation leaving?”

“He was not.” She leans one hip against a tree. “The town is fine economically—in the summer, we’re booming more than ever. But if all the young people leave…?” She shrugs. “We get a lot of retirees moving in these days. It’s not the same.”

“I can imagine.”

“Even the tourists are aging up. People our age can’t afford time off work plus vacation expenses.”

“I hear you. This will be my first getaway since college. And I’m still working.”

“We get some young families,” she says, “but those moms aren’t exactly hanging out at the bar, chatting up socially starved local girls. So, if I come on too strong, let me know. I just…” Another shrug. “I probably remember you better than you remember me. So I may get a little overeager.”

“No worries.” I wave at my ankle monitor. “With this, I won’t be hanging out in the bars either, but I could use some company.”

“Good. I can provide that. But yes, the under-thirty-five crowd here is pretty much me and Ben, and he still treats me like I’m twelve, so it does get lonely.

” She lowers her voice. “And that was an awkward segue to the subject of Ben. Please don’t listen to my dad.

Ben’s a good caretaker. I don’t know the details of his deal with your grandfather, but even if Ben resents it, he does his job. The shed was an oversight.”

Guilt strums through me, and I hedge with, “I’m not even sure he left the shed open. Gail or I might have.”

“I’ll mention that to my dad. Get him off Ben’s back.

” She glances over at the car. “I should go. I’ll see you this afternoon.

I really am looking forward to having you back, Sam.

I have good memories of those times, chasing after the older kids, especially you and—” She stops short and flushes. “Well, you know.”

I nod somberly. “I do. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

I have good memories of those times, chasing after the older kids, especially you and—

I know what Josie had been about to say, and why she’d cut herself off.

Especially you and … Austin Vandergriff.

Ben’s little brother.

How much does Josie remember? How much did she understand back then? Not enough, I realize.

And I’m glad of that.

To her—to everyone—Austin Vandergriff had been my friend. Always part of our group of kids, hanging out with me, always with me.

But it hadn’t been like that.

It hadn’t been like that at all.

I work alongside Gail until Josie comes by late in the afternoon.

Then we both take a break. Gail seems ready to leave us alone, but Josie insists she join us for pie and coffee, and the three of us have a good time, settling in and maneuvering around awkward first-time conversation to find points of contact and relax into them.

Before Josie goes, she suggests coming by at the same time tomorrow, doing her round of the property and then we can finish off the pie.

I happily agree. Josie isn’t the only one starved for company her own age.

When I moved away from Chicago, I left behind all my college and work friends.

In Syracuse, I hadn’t had time to make new ones—too busy with work and Mom, letting Gail fill the friendship gap.

But it’s nice to chat with someone who isn’t related to me, and when I say I’ll look forward to seeing her tomorrow, I’m not just being polite.

After Josie leaves, it’s shopping time. I’ve made up a list for meals. And that’s when Gail and I have our next fight.

“No, I’m not coming along,” I say. “I don’t want to take a chance leaving the property.”

“And I don’t want to leave you here with some barefoot drifter sleeping in the shed.”

“There was no sign that he’s been sleeping in the shed.”

“What about the other cottages? Did they check those?”

I pause. “No one thought of it.”

“Right. So he could be in there. I’m not leaving until we’re sure he’s gone.”

“Then we’re going to starve, Gail, because I can’t risk being two minutes late getting back and have Ben Vandergriff jump to call Ms. Jimenez, and I lose out on ten million dollars because we got stuck behind a tractor.”

Her mouth firms in a hard line. “This business with the Vandergriff boy is ridiculous.”

“Ben isn’t a boy. He’s only six years younger than you.”

She continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “I want to explain the situation to the lawyer. You are trapped here, and your jailer is a man who apparently holds you responsible for something your father did.”

“What my father did was murder his brother.” I catch her flinch. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right. I’m not saying Ben doesn’t have a reason to hate our family, but neither of you should be forced into this situation. I will speak to Ms. Jimenez.”

“And get Ben fired? Lose the pension his dad receives if Ben sticks this out?”

“Well, maybe Ben should have thought of that before he was rude to you.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. “Rudeness is not a capital offense, Gail. If I complain to Ms. Jimenez, then I seem like exactly the spoiled brat Ben expects. And if I cost him his payout, he has more reason to hate me … and retaliate.”

“So we’re stuck with him?”

I squeeze her arm. “Let’s see how this goes. As for the groceries, it’s better that you leave while it’s still early and full light.”

She hesitates.

“Even if I didn’t see anyone in the shed, it doesn’t mean no one else is on the property, Gail. It’s three hundred acres with a mile of beachfront. Those piddly signs at the gate aren’t stopping anyone who really wants to hike or camp here.”

“We should start patrolling.”

“And if we find someone? We tell them it’s private property, and they say so what?” I shake my head. “Let’s leave patrols and possible confrontations to the armed deputy.”

“I think you should learn how to use my gun.”

“Okay.”

Her eyes narrow. “Don’t humor me, Sam.”

“I’m not. I agree. For now, while you go shopping, I’ll stay locked in the cottage with the windows shut and the curtains pulled. Worst case?” I waggle my phone. “We have excellent cell service here. I’m not stranded in the middle of nowhere.”

She exhales. “Fine. I’ll go. But you’re staying inside.”

“Only if you promise to bring back s’more fixings and have a bonfire with me tonight.”

“Deal.”

Gail has been gone for almost an hour when a footfall hits the front steps. My head jerks up from my laptop. I didn’t hear her car drive in.

A floorboard on the deck creaks. I get up to go meet her, help with the groceries. Then I pause.

I promised to be safe. That means not rushing out when I can’t see through the window—the perils of having shut the curtains.

I wait for the sound of her key in the door. When it doesn’t come, my heart speeds up, and I pull out my phone to check my friend tracker. It spins for a second. Then I see her emoji at the gas station in Paynes Hollow.

I tilt my head. Had I really heard someone out there? A footfall and a creaking board aren’t exactly proof of life. I’d been working away, oblivious to my surroundings. Maybe I just heard a random noise.

A board creaks again.

Someone is there.

On the porch. Not knocking on the door. Just standing there.

I rise and creep toward the front window. I’m hoping to sneak a peek, but Gail pulled both the blind and the curtains. Making sure no one can see me alone inside also means I can’t see anyone on the porch.

Yet I can tell someone is there. A shadow darkens the blind, visible only from this close.

I swallow and back up to the kitchen, where I take a knife and wrap my fingers around the handle. Then I return to the window and ease the side of the curtain until I can see.

A man stands on my porch, with his back to me. All I can make out is what looks like a dark gray T-shirt. Then he turns, and I fall back, dropping the blind and banging into a chair.

“Samantha?” he calls.

I pause. “Ben?”

“Open the damn door. I don’t have all day.”

I have the door halfway open before realizing I’m still gripping the knife. I go to put it down … and then reconsider. Just because it’s Ben Vandergriff doesn’t mean it’s okay.

I think about the person in the shed. The dead rabbit. Intellectually, Ben Vandergriff makes an excellent suspect, and yet my gut says no. He doesn’t match the figure in the shed.

I tug open the door, and his gaze goes straight to the knife in my lowered hand. “I hope you’re not trying to cut vegetables holding it like that.”

“You ever think of knocking?”

“I did knock.” He leans toward the screen. “You know what I didn’t do, though? Leave the fucking shed open.”

I push the screen door, making him step back as I join him on the porch. “I never said you did.”

“Yeah? Tell that to Smits. Guy called to tear a strip out of me.”

I set the knife on the railing. “I never said you left it open. In fact, I told Josie that I didn’t think you did. I’m sorry if the sheriff called you. I’ll straighten that out.”

“Better yet, don’t be calling Smits when you get spooked. Taking care of this place is my job.”

My brows shoot up. “One, you never left me any contact information. Two, you made it clear what your duties are and that you don’t do more.

Three, I did not ‘get spooked.’ There was someone in the shed—there’s still a footprint.

I didn’t call the sheriff after that either.

I called him after I found a dismembered rabbit stacked in front of the stairs. ”

His face screws up. “What?”

I explain about the rabbit. When I finish, he shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back, muttering under his breath.

“It was deliberate,” I say. “By the time Sheriff Smits arrived, it’d been disturbed—by a turkey vulture and then me covering it to protect it from turkey vultures. So it looked like a random pile of parts. Sheriff Smits thought it was a bald eagle kill.”

Ben snorts. “Craig Smits is a cop, not a forest ranger. Eagles pick up rabbits and carry them off. You’d find blood and fur. Maybe not even that much. We had coyotes until the hunt, but there could still be a few. They don’t kill like that either.”

“The rabbit was dismembered. And not eaten.”

“Hmph.” He looks around. “You hear anything last night?”

“No.”

“But you saw someone in the shed.”

“Yes. There aren’t any signs of squatting, though. Just a bare footprint.” I peer up the road. “Gail mentioned checking out the other cottages. Make sure someone isn’t staying in them.”

Another grunt. Then he starts down the stairs. “Come on.” A pause. “Bring the knife.”

I can’t tell whether he’s joking, and I don’t care. I grab the knife.