wobbly metal bookcase. There she precariously stood, praying the damn thing would hold her up without tipping over. With the bracket piece she’d found, she tried to unscrew the frame around the fan box. But the screws, once she’d located them, didn’t move easily. In fact, at first, they didn’t budge. Moira’s fingers ached from putting so much pressure on the bracket piece until each screw began to turn. The apparatus’s sharp edges kept cutting into her finger and thumb.
It seemed to take forever extracting the six screws from the rusty metal frame. And after all that work, the stupid fan still stuck to the wall. Moira tried to pry it out with the bracket, but the frame wouldn’t budge. Finally, she shoved the bracket piece in her jeans pocket, grabbed the dusty fan blades, and started tugging. “Please, God… please…” she whispered. She was so tired and hungry and scared.
After a few more tugs, she started to get angry. “Damn it, you son of a bitch, move!” Moira frantically pulled at the fan blades until they started to bend. At last, she heard something snap, and she felt the fan piece shift. Her hands and arms were so sore—and her back ached from balancing herself on the rickety shelving unit. But she was suddenly filled with a renewed determination.
She grabbed another pair of blades and yanked at them until the fan box started to give. It sounded like pebbles rattling inside the wall, and Moira knew she was so close. She kept tugging at the fan until the contraption finally let out a loud creak and popped out of the wall.
But Moira lost her balance and fell. She landed on the mattress, but the impact knocked the wind out of her. It was too dark for her to see the metal bookcase teetering, and with an earsplitting clatter, it came crashing down—just missing her. The sound seemed to echo in the cold, tiny room.
Moira caught her breath and listened for his footsteps. He certainly would have heard that noise if he was anywhere in the vicinity.
She waited, her heart racing against her chest. She didn’t hear anything—just the wind and that constant flapping noise outside.
A dim light seeped through the slats on the other side of where the fan had been. From plaster-caked cords and wires, the fan contraption loosely dangled against the wall. It swayed back and forth like a pendulum.
Moira kept waiting for the footsteps—or that dreaded clanking sound on the other side of the door. But there was nothing.
She was alone.
He was gone—probably hunting down his next victim.
Susan heard a car coming up the driveway.
She got up from the easy chair and glanced over at Mattie. Curled up on the sofa, he didn’t stir. Her windbreaker still covered him, and he had Woody tucked under his chin.
The pellet gun in her hand, she tiptoed past the locked sliding glass door and peeked outside. Moths and bugs fluttered around the porch lights. The sailboat gently rocked on the silver-rippled inky water.
Susan continued on toward the front of the house. She noticed the glare of headlights through the sheer curtains of the living room windows. She glanced out and saw the red MINI Cooper pulling up beside her car in the driveway. “Thank God,” she murmured.
Susan hurried to the door and unlocked it. But then she remembered what the deputy had said about Tom living like a hermit, and how no one had seen the inside of Tom’s house in years.
She’d been taken in by his good looks and his charm this afternoon. But perhaps her first impression of him at the Arby’s in Mount Vernon had been more accurate. She’d specifically told him not to come here. Yet, here he was, being overly solicitous again.
With one hand on the doorknob and the other holding the pellet gun, she wasn’t sure what to do. At this point, even if Allen pulled into the driveway, she wasn’t sure she could welcome him without some qualms. With all his secrets, she didn’t think she could ever trust him again. Right now, the only person she really wanted to see was the deputy—and maybe another cop who could escort Mattie and her to the Smugglers’ Cove Inn.
Better yet, she wanted someone to come here and tell her Allen was fine and she could take Mattie home. She would have gladly endured the two-hour drive at night if it meant going home right now. It was strange, that ideal scenario didn’t include Allen. How could her feelings for him change so much during just part of one weekend?
She listened to the car door open and shut.
Susan took a deep breath and then opened the front door.
Tom looked very handsome. He’d changed into a sports jacket, a white shirt, and khakis. He came up toward her, but stopped just a few feet short of the front stoop. “Hey,” he said with an uncertain smile. He seemed to read the apprehension on her face. Then his gaze shifted to the gun in her hand. He let out an awkward chuckle. “Wow, you’re packing heat….”
Susan kept the barrel pointed down—not at him. She nodded. “Yes, it’s on loan from the local police force,” she explained. She decided not to tell him that it only discharged pellets. “There have been some new, strange developments since I saw you last.”
“What happened?” he asked. “Are you okay? Is Mattie okay?”
She gave him a tight smile. “We’re all right, just shook up a little.”
“Well, what happened?” he pressed. “You don’t seem all right to me. You—you’re acting like it’s Arby’s all over again, like you’re not happy to see me.”
She just shrugged uneasily.
He let out a long sigh. “Listen, Susan, I know you told me not to come here. But I called your cell number and kept getting this automated recording. So I started to worry.”
“Well, that’s very nice of you,” she said. “I appreciate it, Tom, I really do. The deputy should be here soon. They’re getting Mattie and me a room at one of the inns in town. So we’re okay, thank you.”
He glanced down at his feet for a moment and then at her. He cocked his head to one side. “Is that your polite way of saying ‘get lost?’”
She gave him a halfhearted nod. “For now, yes. I’m sorry, Tom.”
“I’m sorry, too,” he murmured. “Did I do anything wrong?”
She wanted to say,
“No, Tom, you didn’t do anything,” she said finally.
“So—be honest, on the creepy scale, where am I right now?”
“I just wish I knew you better,” she admitted. “That’s all.”
“I’d like to know you better, too,” he said with a guileless smile. “Can I at least call you later?”
“Of course.” She wasn’t sure if she’d answer the phone. She wasn’t sure of anything right now. Even though she was asking him to leave, Susan didn’t really want him to go.
“All right, I’m out of here,” he said. “Can’t I do anything for you, Susan?”
“We’re fine,” she replied, stepping back from the doorway. “Thanks for stopping by, Tom.”
He nodded, then turned and lumbered back toward his car.
Susan stood there by the threshold. She watched the red MINI Cooper back into the turnaround and then head out the driveway. She hated not being able to trust him.
She’d thought once he was gone, she’d feel relief.
Instead, she only felt more scared and alone. And she wondered if maybe her last chance of being rescued had just driven away.
Deputy Corey Shaffer didn’t quite believe everything Jordan had told him.
The last known person to see Allen Meeker today was this once-troubled teenager, and he seemed to be covering something up. Jordan had said he’d gone to the old Chemerica plant this afternoon—less than an hour after running into Allen Meeker at Rosie’s Roadside Sundries—just to “explore,” “hang out,” and “kill time.” Corey wasn’t buying it. That squirrelly kid wasn’t telling him the whole story.
That was why the deputy now sat at the wheel of his patrol car, headed down the cracked, potholed access road to the Chemerica plant.
It had been nearly an hour since he’d issued that APB on Allen Meeker’s black BMW, and so far no response. He had a feeling Meeker hadn’t left Cullen on his own steam. Perhaps he’d never left at all.
The squad car’s headlights cut through the darkness and illuminated the little shack that was once a guard
