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Excerpt from With a weak smile, Lynette motioned for Russ to follow and led him into a small kitchen, as abundant with flowers as it was with food. Sure enough, the refrigerator practically overflowed with meats, casseroles, vegetable trays, cakes, and other assorted dishes—all very simple, very southern, he thought. He selected a couple of pieces of fried chicken and some coleslaw, figuring that this and the scotch would hold him for the night. Lynette sat with him at the table and sipped bottled water, eating nothing and saying little while he worked on his supper. His sister's eyes were far away, and he knew that, for the moment, his presence barely registered. Only when he had finished and carried his plate to the sink did she look him in the eye again. When she did, her expression nearly chilled him. Behind her sadness, he saw a disturbing mélange of anger and terror. “When I found Rodney,” she said slowly, “I thought he must have been hit by a car and dragged. His body was so terribly mangled, his arms and legs almost...gone. But then I saw it wasn’t like a car accident. He had been burned. And it looked like some animal had...gnawed on him.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “Maybe dogs or something...after he was dead.” She shook her head. “That’s what the coroner thought at first, but then he concluded the wounds had been made while Rodney was still alive.” Her voice trailed away and she stared vacantly into space for a time, her tears exhausted. Finally, she said, “The bite marks did not come from a dog. Or a wildcat. Or a bear. Or anything else that lives around here. No one knows what it could have been.” “So it wasn’t a person who killed him.” “We don’t know for sure. The burns. What could have caused the burns? Everyone’s baffled.” “Are the state police involved?” She shook her head. “The sheriff has no interest in calling them in unless…” “Unless something else happens?” “Pretty much.” Copeland downed the last of his scotch, and Lynette started to take his glass to get him another, but he waved her away. “You’re shot, my dear. Get some rest. I’ll fetch my bag, unpack, and hold the fort. Tomorrow’s not going to be easy.” “I know. The wake last night was bad enough.” She shot him a questioning look. “Oh, by the way. I didn’t ask you to be a pallbearer since you and Rodney never really knew each other. I’ve got some adults he knew well from school and from church. I hope you don’t feel slighted or anything.” “No, not at all. It’s better this way.” She nodded, satisfied. “There’s a room for you upstairs. Get your bags, and I’ll take you up.” When he went back out to the car, the sun had fallen beyond the steep mountainside that pressed close to the back of the house and the air had grown noticeably cooler. He had to admit that Lynette lived in a beautiful place, for he had never a seen a violet sky so clear. A light, clean breeze whispered appealingly through the trees that surrounded the house. No sounds of traffic infringed on the quiet evening; only soft, musical birdsongs and the melancholy chirping of crickets from the woods. For a brief moment, his mind zoomed back to his nearly forgotten childhood, when he could take for granted sweet, peaceful nights such as this in his mom and dad’s comfortable, country home. So different from his present suburban dwelling, which, even though separated from the worst of city bustle and clamor, scarcely served as a retreat from the rigors of metropolitan life. And since he and crazy Megan had split up a couple of years ago, “home” felt too big and too empty, required too much effort to maintain, and bit too deeply into his finances. He had been threatening to downsize his domicile for a long time but simply hadn’t; inertia, he supposed. After this trip, he would buckle down and deal with the situation. But now was not the time to think about his personal issues; not with the tragedy that had befallen his sister, leaving a host of unanswered questions. In comparison, his own troubles were trifling. He removed his two suitcases from the trunk and started toward the front door, only to pause in mid-stride as the world around him suddenly stopped. For several uncomfortable moments, he wondered if he had actually lost his hearing, for the birds, the insects, the breeze, all had gone abruptly silent as if cut off by a switch. Then a rustling sound crept from the bushes that lined the porch on the left side of the house—an animal, no doubt, but something larger than a squirrel or rabbit or a raccoon. A dog, perhaps. Then he recalled his sister’s remark about something having gnawed on her son’s body, and an urgent, unfamiliar sense of paranoia suddenly compelled him to hurry back to the safety of the indoors. When he pushed his way through the front door, he was already chiding himself for having succumbed to a ridiculous, childish, and inappropriate impulse, but at the same time, he realized how far out of his element he felt in this remote quarter, which he had left by design so many years before. However, the atmosphere of impending threat remained even when he was again standing inside the little foyer, the door securely closed. The stillness seemed strangely exaggerated, overbearing, and even his awareness of being far safer here than on any given Chicago street failed to dispel his anxiety. Only when the grandmother clock in the living room began to chime eight o’clock did his surroundings seemed to return to normal. He realized he was holding his breath. “Anything wrong?” Lynette stood in the kitchen doorway eyeing him with concern. He absently shook his head and lifted one of his bags. “Wanna show me where to stow these?” She gestured for him to follow and headed up the stairs. At the top, she turned right and led him to a small bedroom with two windows, one facing the dark pines at the northern end of the house, the other facing the night-shrouded back yard. The décor was neutral, so he knew this had not been Rodney’s room, for which he felt a moment of sincere relief. “Well, make yourself at home. The booze and anything in the kitchen are yours for the taking. There’s clean towels and stuff in the bathroom—second door down on the right. If you’re okay, I’m going to try to get some sleep. Anything else you need?” “Not a thing,” he said. “You sleep. I’ll probably crash before long.” He gave her another hug and kissed her on the forehead. She smiled weakly, said goodnight, and softly closed the door behind her. The window hung open, admitting a pleasantly cool draft. Copeland opened his bags and began stowing his clothes in empty dresser drawers and in the closet. Outside, birds and insects chattered blithely, and he now found some reassurance in their energetic voices. He made up his mind to forget his momentary attack of paranoia; the whole thing seemed stupid anyway. Still, when for one brief moment the crickets ceased to chirp, he stiffened involuntarily. As he was putting away the last of his clothes, he noticed a light snap on outside his window. Through a gap in the evergreen boughs that pressed close to the house, he saw an illuminated window of the adjacent house, and someone moving inside. At first, he paid the figure scant attention, but when he realized it was a woman—a very attractive one, at that—he knew there was nothing to do but take a closer look. She was a slim, well-proportioned brunette, her hair barely shoulder-length, her face rather angular, her eyes dark and narrow. She also appeared to be putting clothes in drawers, perhaps having finished a load of laundry. She wore jeans and a light-colored sweater—thank God! Had she been wearing less, the will to turn away might well have eluded him. Voyeurism was far from one of his usual tendencies, but under the circumstances, he felt in no hurry to draw the curtains. The young woman was probably so accustomed to the room across the property line being empty that the prospect of someone watching her from it never occurred to her. If she should look up, though, she would quickly notice his spying eyes. With a sigh, he moved away from the window, wondering if it was in time to salvage at least a shred of his decency. * * * * * *
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