Page 21 of Dark Roads
“Of course. Sorry.”
I got up quickly, my knees hitting the table and the chair sliding out loudly behind me. Lana winced, probably thinkingabout her wood floors. I washed my plate, refilled my coffee. I glanced over my shoulder. Lana was watching me with a concerned expression. My tone had been too abrupt. She might tell Vaughn I was rude. He might find some new way to punish me.
“Do you need any help with chores?”
Her face brightened. “That would be wonderful.”
We did laundry, changed all the bedding. She vacuumed while I dusted. We even washed the windows, which she was thrilled about. “Vaughn loves coming home to a clean house.” It already seemed clean to me, but I smiled and kept scrubbing. Lunch passed, and I ate a sandwich while I hung sheets up outside in the sun. I kept looking at the shed. I wanted back inside.
I was wiping the shelves in the fridge when I bumped into the new jug of milk and it fell out onto the tiled floor. It flowed everywhere in a white tidal wave.
I dropped to my knees with a cloth. “I’m so sorry, Lana.”
“It’s okay.” She crouched beside me and wiped at the cabinets. Cash had run over when he heard the noise and looked at me accusingly.
“You spilled my milk!”
“We’ll go to the store,” Lana said. “I need a few things for dinner anyway.”
Perfect. She’d be gone for at least an hour. I kept my expression flat and worked on soaking up the puddle of milk.
Cash wandered back out of the kitchen, flopped onto the couch. “I want to stay here. I’m watching my show.”
Lana got to her feet. “Do you mind? It would give me a chance to run a few errands, and I’d love to stop by the salon and get a manicure.”
Shit. Of course she’d want time alone. Going anywhere for a couple of hours without a kid was probably a luxury vacation for her. I tried to think of an excuse, but I had no good reasonfor not being willing to hang out with Cash for a while. No school. No other job.
“No problem.”
I made Cash popcorn, poured some juice, and checked how far he was into his movie. I’d watchedCarsso many times with him I almost had it memorized. There was an action scene coming up. If I moved fast, I should be able to get back inside before he needed anything.
“Hey, Cash. I’m going out to weed the garden for a bit, okay?”
“Okay.” He dipped his hand into the popcorn bowl and didn’t look up. Good. I grabbed some gloves, Lana’s bag of garden tools, and dropped them in the flower bed.
A glance over my shoulder, a minute to pick the lock, and I was inside. The camera was still in the same spot. I pulled it down and played the video. Vaughn sitting at his desk. His shoulders were hunched, and he was wearing a ball cap. He moved in quick motions, flipping his laptop open and typing in his password with one hand. I paused the video and typed the series of numbers and letters into notes on my phone. They didn’t form a word or code that I recognized.
Something filled his screen, a website or photos, dark colors. He took his camera out of the case, which was sitting on the desk, and plugged in a cord. He was transferring photos.
I tried to make out the images, but all I could see were the thumbnails, and they were too small. He plugged something else into the computer. Maybe a portable hard drive.
After a few minutes, he removed it and closed the laptop. He never checked emails or made a phone call. Never opened a file cabinet. All he did was transfer those photos. His large shape moved toward the door. He paused and looked back, and for a terrifying moment I forgot he couldn’t see me. This wasrecorded video, not live. The screen went black. He’d turned off the light.
I sat in his chair and typed the code into his laptop. His desktop screen came into view. It worked! Now, which folder to try first? I clicked on a few. Taxes, banking info. One of the files was labeled “birds.” I opened it and found a series of other folders. Numbered—no names. My heart had begun to beat fast, my mouth dry. What if it was dead bodies?
My hand hovered over the tracking pad, then I clicked. Thumbnails. I opened one and a hazy black-and-white image filled the screen. Like from a video still. I wasn’t sure what I was looking at, then I realized it was a bathroom—and the photo was aimed between a woman’s legs.
On autopilot, I clicked through more photos. Women’s legs, underwear pulled down, a flash of a tattoo on someone’s lower stomach, bright colors, the hollow of a belly button. No faces were ever shown. I click opened another folder labeled with numbers. New images appeared. A girl sleeping in a bed, the shots grainy and blue. Then I recognized the bedding.
My heart stilled, no longer able to keep up its frantic beat, exhausted from shock. I clicked through the photos. My face was never visible, like he hadn’t wanted to seeme, just my body. My white tank top, nipples showing under the thin material, my bare legs kicking out. My underwear, the shadow between my thighs. The shots were taken from above, at an angle. I couldn’t see the window or the dresser or the closet. The camera was only aimed at the bed.
There were shots of me riding my bike, close-ups of my butt on the seat, my bare legs, the back of my thighs. And in the bathroom. I’m undressing, pulling off my T-shirt, stepping out of my underwear. Drying off after my shower, the towel draped loosely around my chest, my wet hair on my shoulders.
Others showed me in the distance. Sitting on the shore ina bikini, looking down, my face in shadow. The lake in the evening light. I peered closer. Jonny stood on the wharf with some of the guys. Was he wearing those shorts the night of the bonfire, when Vaughn picked me up?
I opened the next folder. Amber and me on the picnic table—not our faces—just our mouths pressed together, hands in each other’s hair, towels around our waists, breasts touching.
A loud slam echoed across the yard—the back door. I jerked to my feet.
