Page 103 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
Smits admits he said something that pissed Ben off, so I can see Ben not answering his call. But he’ll answer mine.
His phone rings straight to voicemail.
I chew my fingernail, staring down at the screen. Then I text. It doesn’t even show that it’s been delivered.
“Can I ask what you two fought about?” I say carefully.
“Wasn’t a fight.” Smits slumps onto a kitchen chair. “Earlier, you heard me tell him I don’t much like how he’s suddenly worried about you. It’s not his style. When we were out there alone, I was a little blunter. Said he’d damn well better not be expecting a big payout if you get through this.”
I wince.
“Well, I mean it,” Smits says. “The only person who should benefit is you, and that’s not just because you deserve the money. It’s for your own safety. No one else should have a stake in whether you stay. If they do, you can’t trust they’ll tell you to leave when you should.”
Fair point. I can also see why Ben would have reacted. Because heisgetting a payout.
Am I naive if I think that’s not the only reason he’s sticking around?
My sense is that Ben needed that money as an excuse. He couldn’t admit he needed answers about Austin. He sure as hell couldn’t admit he cares what happens to me. Is that immature? Yes, but Ben Vandergriff is a very damaged person who hasn’t properly processed his trauma. And I say that as someone who can squeeze into the same boat with him. I thought I’d overcome it. I hadn’t. Neither has he, and his is a lot more guilt-layered than I realized.
But he promised me he wouldn’t take off again, and now he’s not answering my call or my text.
Am I overthinking this? It’s not as if Ben is an old friend. He might be someone who can make a promise like that, only to forget it when he’s in a mood. God knows, he can get in a mood.
Smits lowers his voice. “If you’re worried, Sam, we can go look for him.”
I peer out the front window. It’s only five. Hours of light left.
“I’d like that,” I say. “I take it you didn’t find any trace of the camper?”
“No, but there’s a lot of ground to cover. How about you and I do that while also looking for Ben?”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“I’ll join you,” Josie says. “Three sets of eyes are better than two.”
“’Fraid not, hon. I need you back in town.” He lifts his phone to show her something. “Got another report of someone lurking around the kids’ camp. I need you to take a look.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not a pedo, Dad. It’s the same thing it was last time—a parent checking on their kid by lurking in the forest.”
“We don’t get to choose which reports we follow up on. That’s why I came here to look for this camper. It’s why Sam and I are going to hunt for Ben. And it’s why you need to check this out.”
She huffs but says, “I’ll do that and come straight back.”
“Your mother’s making dinner for you and Sam. She’ll have that ready at seven thirty.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll check the kids’ camp and pick up dinner.”
Thirty-One
Josie is gone, and Sheriff Smits is getting a glass of water before we go. I’ve called Ben again and left another message. I’m sending him a new text when Smits says, “What’s this?”
I glance up to see him lifting the old journal. Josie had shoved it aside, but we hadn’t exactly hidden it.
I hold my breath as Smits flips through a few pages, but his expression stays somewhere between distracted disinterest and mild curiosity.
“We found it in one of the crawl spaces,” I say. “It seems to be a journal from one of my ancestors. I was showing it to Josie. Neither of us can make heads or tails of it. I think it was translated from Dutch, and it’s not a good translation.”
Smits nods in what is obviously a show of polite interest. He’s already put the book down and is finishing his water. He sets the glass in the sink. Then he looks at my bare legs and feet.
