Page 26 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
“Eye color?”
I remember those eyes, dark and liquid, reflecting like an animal’s. I can’t say that. “It didn’t register. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just be sure to keep the shed locked, and tell the Vandergriff boy to do the same.”
I don’t say that the door seemed to have been locked. I probably should, for Ben’s sake, but I can’t give Smits any more reason to think I imagined it.
I’m sure that’s what he does think already. Just like he thinks the dead rabbit was killed by a predator. I really should have taken a picture. By the time he saw it, the poor creature was nothing but a jumble of guts and body parts. Had I found it like that, I’d never have called him.
Had I found it like that, I would never have flashed back to—
I wrap my arms around myself to stop my shaking.
I didn’t know what to expect from Sheriff Smits. All I recall ofhim is a taciturn man who reminded me of a cowboy, rangy and rawboned, with his sheriff ’s Stetson. Even that impression fades behind the overwhelming memory of him behind a table at the station, his elbows on it as he leans forward to get down to my level. I’m shivering uncontrollably despite the summer heat, and Mom’s there with her arms around me as Smits asks me to tell him what I saw.
I suppose, looking back now, he’d been kind, gently and patiently walking me through my statement. To me, though, he’d been huge and terrifying.
Now he is again being kind and patient, but I know he’s humoring me. So I can’t admit the door was latched—and probably locked. In the daylight, I can see that there are no holes big enough for the intruder to have entered through. But I know what I saw, and I saw a person.
“Dad?” Josie says from across the shed.
He clears his throat meaningfully. She rolls her dark eyes. “I’m not calling you ‘Sheriff ’ in front of Sam. That’s for the tourists.”
He grumbles but walks over to where she’s bent, shining her flashlight beam on the dirt floor.
“Huh,” he says.
“A footprint,” she says as I come over. “Large enough to be a tall adult male.”
I crouch where she’s indicating, and see with relief that she’snothumoring me, pretending a smudge in the dirt could be a print. It’s a very clear footprint.
“It’s from a bare foot,” I say.
“Hmm,” Smits says.
Josie says, “Yeah, that’s not good. A boot could be Ben. A shoe could mean someone was poking around, looking for something to steal. Or just passing through, wanting a place for the night. A bare foot is more troubling.”
“But it is summer,” I say. “Bare feet aren’t that unusual. And he could have removed his shoes to sleep.”
She wags her flashlight at me. “Don’t downplay this. Yes, you make a good point, but we don’t want you presuming your intruder is just a hapless camper… and finding out otherwise.”
“I know. A lack of footwear could suggest mental issues. Gail is a social worker.”
“Ah. Good. That helps.” Josie straightens. “So someonewasin here. Hopefully, they’re long gone, but you do need to speak to Ben.”
“Tell him to get off his ass and earn his pay,” Smits says.
“Dad…” Josie says.
“Don’t ‘Dad’ me. That boy is paid very well to take care of this place, and what does he do? Lets two of the cottages rot and leaves the shed open for squatters.”
“I think the cottages rotting was my grandfather’s idea,” I say.
Josie passes me a grateful look. There’s clearly friction here, between Josie, her father, and Ben. Are Josie and Ben a couple? And her father disapproves?
“Maybe so,” Smits says. “But you still need to ride his ass and tell him to do his job. And don’t look at me that way, Jo. Every other kid in this dead-end town gets out as soon as they can, and he stays. Not a lick of ambition, that one.”
“I’m right here, Dad.”
