Page 81 of You Shouldn't Have Come Here

“Close the door,” he said.

I didn’t want to but I did as he asked. I hoped it wouldn’t be a mistake.

41.

Grace

Sheriff Almond was seated on the end of the bed, taking notes on a small pad of paper. His eyes were shifty like he didn’t believe anyone, and he was right not to. We were all lying.

“And you’re sure he didn’t hurt you?”

“No, he just scared me.” I grabbed the glass of water from the nightstand and sipped. It went down like I was swallowing a potato.

He nodded and scribbled in his notepad. “When do you leave, Grace?”

My hands shook as I placed the glass back on the coaster. “The day after tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“Good?” I questioned.

“It’s just better you leave. I’ve got a sixth sense for trouble, and this ranch reeks of it.” He squinted his eyes, punctuating his warning to me.

“Am I safe here?”

The sheriff sucked on his front teeth, trying to decide on what to say, what the right answer was, if there was a right answer. He couldn’t go around throwing accusations he had no proof of.

“You’ll be all right,” he finally landed on. Sheriff Almond closed up his little notepad and slid it into the front pocket of his shirt. He stood, pulling a card from his belt. “If you need anything, and I mean anything, call me,” he said, handing over his business card.

I flipped it over several times in my hand, deciding if I should tell him anything more. Was what Joe said true? Was Calvin driving the night Lisa was killed? Had he framed his own brother? Joe said he didn’t remember anything, so how would he know? And what had Charlotte told him? Whatever she said could have been a lie. She was so hurt by Calvin rejecting her, she’d probably do just about anything to hurt him back. Then, there was the missing woman. I looked up at the sheriff.

“What about that woman? Have you found her?” I asked.

He furrowed his brow. It was clear he hadn’t, and I could tell it pained him. He looked haunted by the unsolved case.

“Not yet, but we will.” Sheriff Almond twisted a thick strand from his mustache. “Have you noticed anything unusual around here?”

I considered his question. The words sat at the tip of my tongue—the clothes in the dresser, the woman’s scream, the locked basement door—but I swallowed them. “I’m from New York. Most everything here is strange to me,” I landed on.

He folded in his lips and nodded. “If you do notice anything, you have my number.” The sheriff turned on his foot and walked to the door. “Want this open or closed?”

“Closed,” I said.

He tilted his head and left the room, shutting it behind him.

I turned the card over and over in my hands. He didn’t say I was safe here. He said I’d be fine. Fine. I plucked my book from the nightstand and slid the business card inside of it.

I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I repeated it over and over until I started to believe it.

Outside, the roar of engines startled me. Peeking out the window, I saw Joe seated in the back of a police cruiser. The vehicle pulled out, then Sheriff Almond’s, and then Calvin’s truck.

Without thinking, I swung my legs out of bed, tiptoed toward the door, and listened for a moment. When I heard nothing, I slowly opened it and stuck my head out, peering down the long hallway. The house was quiet. The floorboards creaked beneath me as I crept across them.

“Calvin,” I called out. “Are you here?”

Silence.

I’ll befine.

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