Although, technically, he didn’t need to break in. Dr. Nance had told him where he could find a spare key in case his grandmother’s house was unlivable. Still, it was best to avoid getting jammed up with local law enforcement, so Adam had watched the water and waited.
Sure enough, a little while ago, Tom Brannon and his officers had come back out to the cabin to take another look around. Adam had lingered on the dock, tracking their movements by the bobble of their flashlights. One of them had come down to the bank and shone his light across the water, catching Adam in the beam. Adam had lifted his hand in a brief salute and stubbornly stayed put while the light washed over the dock and climbed the stairs behind him.
After the cops drove off, Adam had climbed down into the fishing boat and started the outboard. Seated at the tiller, he’d navigated across the dark water using the faint shimmer of moonlight from behind thin clouds to guide him.
Now he let the prow run aground beneath a thick curtain of Spanish moss, then hopped out of the boat and grabbed his flashlight. He had no idea what he might find in the cabin. He didn’t even know what he was looking for. The notes and files that Dr. Nance had mentioned during their last phone call? The sheriff and his officers would have bagged and documented any evidence they’d come across, but Adam knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d been through the cabin himself.
He climbed the steep steps, glancing over his shoulder now and then to scour the water and the surrounding woods. He could see the silhouette of his grandmother’s house across the lake and, farther down the bank, the twinkling lights on Ellie Brannon’s antenna. This time of night, she would probably be in her tiny studio, getting ready for her radio broadcast. Adam had listened to her show once or twice since he moved in. Midnight on Echo Lake, she called it. Strange show. Strange callers. Not his thing. He had no interest in the supernatural, but he had to admit if any place could be haunted, it would be Echo Lake. If souls could be trapped, they would surely linger inside the Ruins.
The bullfrogs on this side of the lake had gone silent upon his arrival. The woods seemed darker than usual and eerily quiet. Adam missed the noises of the city. Squealing tires, blaring horns. An endless cacophony of sirens. On the day of the shooting, the same uncanny hush had settled over the residential street where he and his partner had gone to serve a warrant. No kids on the sidewalk. No garbage trucks, no yard crews. Adam remembered standing at the top of the porch steps and looking out over the street as he took in that strange silence. A split second later, all hell had broken loose.
He shook himself out of the past, running a hand over the top of his head as his gaze traveled across the lake and along the bank. Nothing moved. Nothing so much as a stray breeze stirred, and yet he couldn’t shake a vague premonition that something was wrong.
He searched the darkness for a moment longer before he climbed up to the deck. Locating the key beneath the seat cushion of an old blue rocking chair, he let himself in through the French doors and paused once more to gather his bearings. Then he turned on the flashlight and moved the beam slowly around the space.
The cabin was small, with the kitchen to his left, the living area straight ahead and the bedroom and bathroom to his right. He crossed the room and glanced out the front window. Dr. Nance’s Jeep was parked in the gravel driveway. Adam went out the door and down the porch steps to check the vehicle. The doors were locked. He shone the light inside and then walked slowly around the vehicle, checking for body damage or bloodstains.
Finding nothing suspicious, he switched off the light and stood listening to the night. He could hear the distant putter of an outboard motor somewhere on the lake, but the boat seemed to be moving away from the cabin. He waited for another moment before heading back inside to search each room.
A closed suitcase rested on the bed, but smaller personal items like Dr. Nance’s wallet, phone and keys were nowhere to be found. Either they’d been confiscated as evidence or they had fallen into the water when the boat capsized. Or someone besides the police had taken them. Adam made fast work of the tidy closet and chest of drawers, and then returned to the main area of the cabin.
A well-worn recliner was positioned near the fireplace so that in the winter Dr. Nance could enjoy a crackling blaze while admiring the sunset. The side table was piled high with books and magazines. A small desk occupied the opposite side of the room. Adam quickly went through the drawers and then searched the kitchen cupboards. He even checked the refrigerator and freezer before returning to Dr. Nance’s recliner. After glancing at the address label on one of the magazines, he thumbed through the pages and then scanned the book titles. The reading material varied, everything from fishing magazines to crime thrillers to World War II nonfiction. Even among that eclectic collection, one of the titles leaped out at him: The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha.
There was nothing strange about a man who enjoyed classic literature. Dr. Nance appeared to have been a voracious and curious reader. But that particular title stopped Adam cold as his mind raced back to their last conversation. If you get here and decide I’m just a delusional old coot tilting at windmills...
Maybe he was reaching, Adam thought. Maybe he was the one tilting at windmills, but he’d never been a big believer in coincidences. Had Dr. Nance used that particular phrase for
