Page 6 of A Heart So Haunted
Still, I shut the door. Locked it, as if that would prevent anything that might have come in from reentering. There were no animal prints in the thick layer of dust and dirt. No smudges. No flat tires, either. I moved on, skimmed a stack of paint cans on a work bench in front of the car.
The Beetle wasn’t the only thing layered in dust—there was no telling how long it had been since Aunt Cadence had been in the garage. She only bought the gardening things because of me. The arthritis had eaten her hands so much over the last ten years, and I’d been traveling for work so much, things just … fell away. I could practically feel the grime sifting over my tongue with each inhale—
“Lanny,” Sayer snapped, throwing open the door to the garage.
I flinched. My hands flew up to cover my throat out of reflex—and slammed into the paint shelf and the trunk of the Beetle at the exact same moment Sayer flipped the light on with his elbow.
“Are you asking for an insurance claim? Walking around in the dark?” His eyes skated the walls, the opened bags of bird seed. Plastic pots piled in corners and rows. “Did you find anything?”
I hissed, rubbing my knuckles. “Someone has to conserve the electric bill.”
Especially when I wasonlyworking with life insurance money. Aunt Cadence had a decent policy, but it wasn’t a lot, and I needed as much of it as possible for renovations. Plus, I’d postponed jobs to get Harthwait ready.
Sayer took a tentative first step into the garage. “It’s cold in here.”
“It’s a garage.”
“It’s June—everything sweats this time of year. I bet the AC unit swims in perspiration.”
My eyebrows arched. “Is that fear I smell on you, Sayer? You’re supposed to be the fearless best friend.”
Sayer’s nose crinkled. He picked up a box of mason jars. They clinked together. “Fearless was not in the job description when I signed up to—”
A bang ripped the air behind me.
I jumped.Sayer screamed as I clambered away from the Beetle. More scrambling—but not from Sayer or me. A nail on metal sound—coming from the other side of the car.
Sayer slipped on the step. He toppled forward with a shriek—I grasped for anything, a shirt, an arm, a belt loop, and ended up with a fistful of Sayer’s shirt hem. His knee hit a shelf, which sent him into a sprawl, and I with him.
We crashed with the box of mason jars in a heap. Sayer took the brunt of the fall and I landed on my side. Glass shattered. Four or five jars escaped, rolling in different directions, all over the glittering shards on the floor.
The banging continued. Rattling. Furious, uncontrollable rattling.
“You’re on my hand,” I grunted, struggling to sit upright. At least my head hadn’t hit the floor.
“Well, your hand is in my kidney.” Sayer pushed at my back.
I rolled away like a wet tangle of laundry.
He straightened his glasses then planted both hands on the garage floor. Dust coated his shirt. “That trashcan is moving—”
I glanced back just in time to see the feed bags beside the door wiggle. They bumped against the tin trashcan—making the same knocking sound from earlier. Something was under the feed bags this whole time and—
A raccoon wriggled from behind one of the bags. It plopped onto the garage floor, all rounded body and tiny, clawed feet. And froze.
There was a raccoon in the house.
“Let it out!” I reared upright with panic. They could carry diseases, right? When was the last time I’d seen a raccoon in broad daylight? The thought sent adrenaline rocketing through my body.Rabies.Rabies made animals do things out of character—like crawl out in broad daylight and hide in someone’s garage, maybe?
“Youlet it out!” Sayer tried to retreat. He slipped on the slick floor, glass tinkling.
“You’re closer!” I tried to get up. Heat stung my shin and my fingernails, but I didn’t dare look down. Blood made me queasy, especially fresh blood.
Sayer glanced from the door, closest to the raccoon, to the garage door opener, nearest to us. With a grumble and flushed cheeks, he hurried to the button and smacked it with his palm.
The overhead garage light popped on.
The door jerked two inches up—and stopped.
