Page 33 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
“See what someone might have been searching for.”
He snorts. “Knock yourself out. I’ve got work to do.” With that, he climbs through the window and walks away, leaving me behind.
When we reach the cottage, Gail’s back and panicking because she didn’t find me inside, where I was supposed to be. Seeing me with Ben doesn’t exactly calm her fears. Nor does the fact that he just walks past her without even a greeting and continues down the road.
“What was that about?” she asks when he’s gone.
“Ben heard about the guy I saw in the shed. He wanted to check it out. Then we looked in the other cottages, to be sure no one was squatting in them.”
“And?”
I grab a grocery bag from the hatchback. “Uncle Mark’s place is boarded up. So is Grandpa and Grandma’s. Except theirs had the boards removed from a window.”
She stiffens.
“It wasn’t recent,” I say as I pick up a second bag. “A bush had grown over the opening. We still went inside. No sign of anyone in there for years, but when someone did break in, they’d torn up floorboards in the bedroom.”
She frowns over at me as we head to the cottage. “Looking for what?”
“No idea. I thought you might know.”
“I can’t even imagine.” She waits as I balance a bag on my knee while I open the door. “No, Icanimagine actually. Someone probably thought your grandfather stashed money there and didn’t come back for it. Everyone around here figured the Paynes were rich.”
“Uh, they kinda were. Still are, compared to the locals.”
She flushes. “Right. That was insensitive.”
I hold open the door for her. “No, I get what you mean. They thought the Paynes were still loaded rather than middle class stretchingtoward upper. It might not even have been locals. The whole town is named after us, after all. Someone hears the Paynes abandoned their cottages in a hurry, after a family tragedy, and they might think we left something valuable behind. But whoever went looking, Ben thinks it’d have been years ago, which means it’s not connected to our trespasser.”
“Good. Now if you want to get dinner going, I’ll do a little more work and then give you a shooting lesson.”
“Sure.”
She eyes me. “Is that a ‘yes’ kind of sure, or an ‘I’m agreeing but plan to distract you later’ kind of sure?”
“It’s a yes. At the very least, the sound of gunshots should scare off anyone on the property.”
“Good point. All right then. Dinner. Shooting. Bonfire. Our evening is planned.”
Eleven
After my shooting lesson, we reach my favorite part of the plan: the bonfire. I’d made an easy dinner—mac and cheese with sausages—and gathered kindling while it cooked. Gail had picked up a load of firewood. The kids apparently really are children, who weren’t home, but their mom said she’d tell them we’d like to buy in bulk. That means I don’t really need the hatchet I brought from the shed earlier, but I use it anyway, splitting some logs and chopping up kindling before the brief lesson. Now we have a full-on bonfire going, which is a little warm for the weather, but we’re enjoying it from a distance. I’m popping s’mores like I didn’t just eat dinner a couple of hours ago. I’m also on my second canned cocktail. Yep, this is how I handle stress—sugar and booze.
We’ve been out there for an hour before I realize Gail’s beer is nonalcoholic.
“Whoa,” I say, lifting the can. “Did you grab this by mistake?”
“No.”
My brows shoot up. She’s silent long enough that my heart races.
“Gail? Is everything okay?”
“I booked the appointment this morning,” she blurts.
My heart thuds so hard I struggle to breathe. “You’re sick?”
“What?” She peers at me through the dancing shadows. “Sorry! That came out wrong. I booked the IVF appointment.”
