Page 20 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
“Was the door unlocked?”
“I used the key in the padlock, but I didn’t check to see whether the hasp was fastened.” I pause. “No, if someone shut the door from inside, the latch couldn’t have been shut, and it was. There must be another way in.” I fidget with the keys. “I definitely saw someone, Gail. I wasn’t imagining it.”
“I never said you were.”
“I thought it was a squirrel moving around. Then I heard a gruntthat sounded human and saw a human figure and eyes. That’s when I ran.”
“Thank God,” she says, coming over to squeeze my forearms. “You’re right. It’s probably a squatter. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. Living in the shed? What the hell is that caretaker doing?” She shakes her head.
“The question is what arewegoing to do,” I say.
“Call the police, of course.” She takes out her phone.
“Do we really want to do that?”
Her brows rise. “Uh, yes. There’s a stranger living on our property.”
I lower myself into a kitchen chair. “If you think that’s the best way to handle it, go ahead. But my guess is that the guy’s long gone, and the local law enforcement is Sheriff Smits, who is not going to appreciate being called out at this hour for a squatter.”
“We met Sheriff Smits at the funeral, right? If he was there, he can’t hold a grudge for what happened here.”
“He was there because his wife used to be friends with my mom. I could never get a read on the sheriff. I just know that I don’t want him writing me off as a hysterical city girl… and ignoring my call if I really need help.” I pause and give myself a hard shake. “That’s silly. You’re right. We should call him.”
Gail envelops me in a hug. “No, I get what you’re saying. It’s awful being back, but at least we can hole up here, shop in the next town and not need to interact with the locals. I’m sure most of them are sympathetic, but you don’t want to take any chances. Not after that asshole caretaker.”
I tense. “Ben—”
“—is the brother of Austin Vandergriff, and I’m being unkind. Uncharitable, too. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, Sam, but whatever Ben has gone through, his behavior toward you was unacceptable. I can understand him blaming you when he was a teenager, but he’s a grown man now. My point is that if you don’t want to call in the police for this, we won’t call them.”
She walks to the door. “We’ll lock up tight, and keep our phones handy. I also…” She glances over her shoulder. “I brought a gun.” Before I can react, she says, “I’ve had one for a few months. I didn’twant to tell you, but remember when I was having problems with that client? I… may have downplayed it.”
“What?”
She waves a hand. “It wasn’t a big deal, but my coworkers said it was finally time for me to get a gun. So I did, and I brought it here.” She glances toward the door. “It’s in the trunk.”
“I don’t have any problem with you owning a gun, Gail. I do have a problem with youneedingone, though.”
“It’s over. He moved out west.”
“Okay, well, if you brought a gun, I’m going to suggest that maybe keeping it in your trunk kinda defeats the purpose.”
Her lips quirk. “You think?”
“Nah, it’s fine. If we’re beset by angry townsfolk, we’ll just ask them to wait while you find your car key.”
She rolls her eyes. “My keys are right…” She turns and scans the counter. “Uh…”
I point to the ring, hung on the coatrack. “Bring your gun case inside. I just hope you don’t have a key for that, too, or we’re really in trouble.”
She swats my shoulder, retrieves the keys, and heads out to her car.
I’ll be sleeping in my old bed. I hadn’t wanted to do that, but the only other option was my parents’ bed. It’s a two-bedroom cottage, built back at a time when you could expect all the kids to bunk down in one room, at least for the summer. I’d considered the sofa bed, but it wasn’t comfortable even back then, and if I’m going to be here for a month, I’ll need to get used to my old room. The problem isn’t how difficult that will be—it’s how easy it is. I settle in, and the sheets smell of the laundry detergent we always used. It’s my actual old bedding, too—plaid flannel sheets with a quilt made by my grandmother.
I keep thinking of how much work my grandfather went through to reconstruct my childhood summer home, how long he’d been planning this. He must have had the linens professionally stored, and he even made sure they were washed in the right detergent after they were taken out of storage.
I’m going to stop mind-boggling at that, and instead, I’m going to find satisfaction in it. All that painstaking work, and it’s not going to make a difference. He said he wanted me to remember “the truth,” and maybe that’s what all this is for. He’s convinced that if he immerses me in sensory memory, I’ll recall some critical fact.
Oh my God, I was wrong all along. I saw my dad burying a dead deer, and mistook it for Austin Vandergriff ’ s body, which happened to also be on our property, murdered by a crazed camper! It was all a horrible coincidence!
