finger on what it was.
There were no visible restraints on the rocking chair, but there could just as well have been. Holly refused to budge, but her tearful refusal did nothing but strengthen Joanna’s determination to somehow entice Holly out of the house.
Suddenly, she remembered what Isabel had told her earlier, about Holly wanting to see the top of the dump. Maybe that would serve as enough of a temptation. “Would you like to go up on the dump?” Joanna asked.
Joanna’s educated guess was right on the money. Holly’s rocking ceased abruptly. A look of heartbreaking eagerness settled over her face.
“You could take me up there? Really?”
“Yes. And you wouldn’t have to climb, either,” Joanna answered quickly. “That’s too dangerous. I could take you in my car, in my Blazer. I’m sure, if I called ahead and asked, the P.D. watchman would give us a tour.”
“Yes, please,” Holly Patterson said avidly, staggering to her feet and then swaying back and forth as though about to black out from the sudden effort. “I’d like that very much.”
“Then we have to move quickly,” Joanna cautioned. “Down the back stairs. I’ll lead the way.
Follow me, and stay close to the wall so the stairs don’t creak so much.”
Once Holly was out of the room, Joanna relocked the door and returned the key to its place on the table while Holly stood in the middle of the hallway, watching her in a state of confused bewilderment.
“This way,” Joanna said, taking her by the arm. “Hurry.”
As they started down the stairs, Joanna realized the whole house now echoed with sudden, deafening silence. The ever-present sound of the rocker was stilled. In its absence, the creaking floors, many times amplified, seemed to echo off the 4walls and ceilings.
What if we’re caught? Joanna wondered worriedly. It was bad enough to have two of her deputies charged with false arrest in the Kansas Settlement case. It would be far worse to have the new sheriff herself up on similar charges.
When they stepped outside, Joanna was shocked by how cold it seemed. Running up and down the stairs had left her overheated and winded, but she at least had the wool blazer. Holly had been sitting in a very warm room, and she was wearing nothing but loose-fitting sweats and a pair of bedroom slippers. They were barely out the door when Holly shivered and hunched her thin shoulders against the cold.
“Here,” Joanna said, shrugging off her blazer.
“Put this on. The car’s this way.”
But instead of heading in the way Joanna pointed, Holly Patterson set off determinedly in the other direction, winding her way down through the terrace, heading toward the towering dump, gliding along like a sleepwalker, drawn forward by some invisible and inexplicable force. Joanna darted after her. “The car’s over here,” she insisted.
When Holly still ignored her, Joanna grasped her arm and tried to turn her bodily in the right direction. It was no use. Holly Patterson, headed straight for the dump, was as unstoppable as a loaded freight train on rails. She shook off Joanna’s grasp and continued forward with single minded focus.
“Where are you going?” Joanna asked.
“I’ve got to see if he’s up there,” Holly answered with surprising animation. “I’ve got to know.”
“If who’s up there?” Joanna demanded.
Behind them, a door to the house slammed open, then closed. “Hey!” Amy Baxter shouted. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Come back.”
The sound of that distinctive voice seemed to galvanize Holly Patterson. Her eyes widened. She leaped forward like a startled hare. Joanna was momentarily left behind by Holly’s first sudden burst of speed.
Part of Joanna’s difficulty lay in her bare feet.
Holly Patterson’s house slippers, poor as they were, gave her somewhat better mobility and traction.
Joanna’s feet were cold and bleeding. The rough surface of every bit of gravel cut painfully into her soles. She whimpered with every step.
She considered stopping and giving up, but Holly Patterson was still hurrying forward, and Amy Baxter was coming across the backyard toward them at a dead run.
Joanna turned and limped after Holly. She caught her when they reached the tightly strung fence at the bottom of the dump. Holly stood there, tugging desperately on what seemed to be a bathrobe that had somehow become entangled in the tightly strung wire.
“Go on through,” Joanna urged. “Hurry. If you want the robe, I’ll bring it.”
With the familiarity of a country-raised child, Holly wiggled through the fence. Naturally, one barb caught on Joanna’s blazer and left a jagged rip down the center of the back, but that barely slowed Holly’s forward motion. And as Joanna wormed her way through the fence, she tore her own blouse in the process. As promised, she wrenched the robe loose from the fence and pulled it on over her shoulders, grateful for some covering to ward off the bone-chilling cold.
By the time Joanna reached the bottom of the dump, Holly was already scrambling up the steep incline. Conscious once more of her painful, bleeding feet, Joanna paused, but only for a moment before she, too, began the difficult ascent.
“Holly!” Amy Baxter’s voice commanded from behind them, from the other side of the fence.
“Come back!”
Joanna saw it happen. It was as though an invisible choke chain were being pulled taut around Holly’s neck. She slowed her desperate flight.
