Читать книгу When the Flood Falls - J.E. Barnard - Страница 5

For a long, frantic minute Dee shook and whispered at Lacey, but her friend didn’t stir. She had to wake up, to listen and look and scare away the footsteps on the deck. Unless it was all another horrible trick of Dee’s overworked imagination, a side effect of the pain meds and the stress, and there was nobody out there at all. Dee crept to the nearest window and slid the handle over slowly, slowly, willing the wood not to stick or squeak. As soon as the frame opened enough to admit a thin line of nighttime air, she stopped. Bending down, she edged her ear to the crack, pulling back her hair to hear better. Anything? Anyone?

There! Another footstep. A man’s boot heel, surely. She sagged against the windowsill, torn between relief that she hadn’t imagined this and terror at the confirmation that the prowler was real and outside right now, maybe trying to get in. After a slow, deep breath, she slid the handle back over to block out the night and shuffled the two paces back to the bedside.

“Lacey! There’s someone on the deck. Please wake up!”

“What? I’m awake.”

Dee repeated herself. This time Lacey seemed to take it in. She swung her legs out of bed and reached for the lamp. Before flipping the switch, though, she stopped. “This has happened before, hasn’t it? Is this why you really wanted me out here tonight?”

“Not the only reason, but yes, I’ve heard someone other nights. Never seen anybody.” Please believe me, please believe, please go look and make them stop.

“Okay.” Lacey’s face was a white blur in the dark room. “Here’s what we do. Don’t turn on the lights just yet. You got your cellphone up here? Take it and lock yourself in your bathroom. If I’m not back in five minutes, or you don’t hear me calling out to you and you think somebody has entered the house, call the police. You have 911 out here?”

“Of course.” Dee wanted to explain that it would take ages for them to get here, but Lacey was already halfway to the stairs, her borrowed pajama pants flapping against her legs. She swung around the newel post and paused, one hand on the banister.

“Any weapons in the house?”

Dee shook her head, then realized she’d only be another shadow in the deep dark of the guestroom and said softly, “No.”

“Lock yourself in,” Lacey repeated and sank away, her footfalls mere whispers on each carpeted stair.

Left alone in the blacked-out upper hall, Dee lowered the hand that she had stretched out after her friend without realizing it. The night crowded her, squeezing the breath from her throat and swallowing the last shreds of comfort left by Lacey’s presence. She crept to the top of the stairs and crouched, listening with all her might to the faint sounds of movement through the house. Lacey must be peering out the doors and windows before she stepped outside. With a thrill of horror, Dee realized she had not told Lacey where to find a key. Would her friend open a door, walk outside, and risk being locked out, at the mercy of whoever was out there? Or risk leaving a way in for a prowler intent on reaching Dee?

She couldn’t just lock herself in the bathroom, leaving herself no escape route. She could go down, give Lacey the keys, then hide on the main floor, where there were at least three ways out if she needed them. More if she counted windows.

“Lacey?” she whispered down the stairs, as loud as she dared. But of course there was no response. She crept three steps down, peering into the gloom below. No hint of starlight filtered through her drapes, which were drawn shut obsessively well. No way to know if someone was outside any particular window or door except by moving aside the drape. How many nights had she done just that — crept downstairs to peer out while trying not to move the cloth noticeably, always dreading being confronted by a face peering in?

Her ankle twinged, a reminder to keep moving or sit down. Which would it be: go downstairs and stand ready to help Lacey, or go hide and let someone else face the terror she was shirking?

Dee Phillips, she told herself fiercely, crouched in darkness on the third stair, You have survived broken bones, a broken marriage, law school, and the most cutthroat profession in the so-called civilized world. You will not hide while someone else defends your turf for you. She stood up straight, clutched her cellphone tight and the railing tighter, and descended, step by cautious step, into the abyss.

Lacey peered out past the curtains on the kitchen window, the last one on her circuit. Nothing moved that she could see. And surprisingly, she could see plenty. The circling spruces made a dark palisade, but the open spaces gathered what light sprinkled down from the stars and the sliver of moon. Her night vision was operating at full strength after her long grope through the blacked-out rooms. Three stubbed toes, a smacked and stinging elbow, and one fast grab at a lamp that had teetered as she reached past it. That was all she’d gained so far. Was it time to turn on the outside lights, assuming she could find the right switches? She moved toward the mudroom, bumping her hip bone on the black granite countertop, and let her fingers drift along the wall. Switches — which ones did what? She didn’t press any to find out.

She slid aside the blinds on the mudroom’s exterior door. Still nobody. Just the furniture on the deck and the hanging baskets above. A few shadows large enough to hide a man, or a deer, if it stood quite still. She could walk outside and yell for whoever it was to show themselves. Say the cops were on their way. They probably should have called the police right away, but if it was only a deer going after the flowers, she’d feel like a fool. And an even bigger failure. Only a few weeks off the Force and she couldn’t handle walking around a house at night? She’d have been laughed off the job, if she were still on it. But there was a difference, a confidence, to walking a perimeter with a heavy flashlight, heavy boots, a heavy vest, and a dispatcher on the other end of your radio. Here, she’d be walking out in Tweety Bird pants and T-shirt and bare feet, if she couldn’t find her workboots in the dark, strange house. The dogs still hadn’t made a sound. She couldn’t tell from this angle if they were asleep in their shelter or lying drugged — or worse — by the gate. Going out there was the next logical step. Or rather, putting on her workboots was. She tied the laces in the dark, tucking in the trailing ends in case she had to chase down a prowler.

Hoping Dee was doing as she was told, Lacey opened the door. The river’s roar ran like ice water down her spine. A scant second later, the dogs’ howls split the silence, letting her know just what they thought of an interloper daring to open a door of their mistress’s house. Which made it an even bigger mystery: if someone really had been prowling in the yard, why had the dogs remained silent?

Behind her, Dee’s voice calmed the dogs.

Lacey spun. “What are you doing down here? I told you to wait upstairs.”

“I decided I couldn’t hide out and let you defend my turf for me.” Dee sounded half defiant and half scared out of her mind. “Did you see who it was?”

“I didn’t see anybody. Or any movement at all until I opened the door and the dogs freaked out.” Lacey peered hard at Dee, but the dark within the room hid her friend’s expression. “Are you 100 percent sure you heard somebody on the deck? Because the dogs are obviously fine, and they’re very much defending the place right now.”

“Oh god,” said Dee. “Not again. Please, Lacey, can you just walk around the house? Make sure nobody’s tampered with the windows or anything? I’ll tell you everything when you come back in.”

“All right, but I want the outside lights on. I’ve tripped over enough stuff already.”

Lacey stood silent on the deck, eying the ring of ominous darkness beyond the terrace lights. The dogs, vigilant in their pen, watched not the dark treeline, but the interloper on their deck. Likely they sensed her tension but, obedient to Dee’s shout, they didn’t make a sound. She was thankful for that much. Five minutes outside, examining each door handle and window latch by the strong beam of a flashlight, showed that nothing had changed since her afternoon’s perimeter check. No scrapes or scratches, no smudges save those she had left herself when trying to peer in earlier. She made a thorough job of it again, circling the garage and the dog pen, conscious with every step of the dogs pacing her inside their wire fence. The river’s menace washed louder over her nerves. She shivered and didn’t try to tell herself it was just the midnight chill on her bare arms.

As she came in the mudroom door, she called out, “Just me.”

Dee was making tea, her silhouette edged by the light from the stove hood. She poured the boiling water with intense concentration. “You didn’t see anyone.”

“No sign of anybody.” Lacey locked the door and drew the blind, but left the outside lights on. “You ever think of getting motion-sensor lights? They’d be a deterrent.”

“They’re on the garage, pointing down the drive.”

Impossible to read her emotions from that clipped sentence. Lacey prodded for another response. “More of them would be good. On the deck or over the backyard?”

“Animals would set them off all night. And I can’t afford them, anyway.” Dee’s voice was strung tighter than an off-key violin. Her hand shook as she pulled mugs from the cupboard. “You want canned milk with your tea? I bought some special, just like the old days. It’s in the fridge.”

“Heavenly,” said Lacey, as she reached for the glossy black refrigerator handle. She kept her eye on Dee, though, and saw well enough when her friend blotted her eyes on a cloth napkin. Dee, crying? It was almost unthinkable, like the Hoover Dam springing a leak. “Hey, now, take it easy. We’ll figure this out. Sit down, get your foot up, and tell the big mean ex-cop all your troubles. For real this time.”

It took a good few minutes before Dee looked up from crumpling the napkin between her fingers. “It might all be my imagination, although heaven knows I listen hard enough. And tonight I was sure I heard boot heels on the deck. Not just once, but from my room and again from yours. Maybe I’ve been staying awake too much, stressing, and my mind is playing tricks on me. God knows I need a decent night’s sleep. I don’t think I’ve had one in months.”

“What is it that keeps you awake? Pain in your ankle, job stuff, fear of a prowler?”

“It’s not just a fear,” Dee snapped. “Somebody is prowling around my house at night. Somebody the dogs don’t bark at.”

Lacey’s domestic violence meter clicked up another notch. The blinds had indeed been an early clue. “Neil? The dogs wouldn’t bark at him, would they? Did he ever hit you, Dee? Or threaten you?”

“Never. He might have thought about it a few times, but he’d have worried about breaking a nail.” Dee pressed the napkin to her eyes again. Her voice came out muffled under the drooping cloth. “He left me in the most humiliating way possible, and he has nothing to gain by sneaking back here at night. In fact, since I pay him spousal support, he might even lose by being so stupid.”

Potential gain wasn’t the reason most men stalked their exes. It was blind, irrational rage that motivated such behaviour. Lacey had seen that all too often on the job. Women who were stalked, terrified, beaten. Killed for the crime of leaving. For an instant Dan’s face flashed up, those nights when she’d shoved a dresser across her bedroom door in case he tried to get into the house while she was asleep, before she had the locks changed. Why did Dee blithely assume Neil was any safer? Lacey took a breath and a sip of milky tea, refocusing. Go back to the evidence. See what was there.

“Okay, you’re sure someone has been here some nights. You’ve heard footsteps when there shouldn’t be any. Has there been any concrete evidence afterward?”

“The first time I heard them, a few months ago, there were boot prints in the snow the next morning. Down from the path in back, past the dog run to the porch, and out the same way. I hadn’t looked the day before, so I don’t know if it was a neighbour walking by that way to see if I was home, or if it happened that night.” Dee lowered the napkin. “But I heard someone.”

“I’ll accept your word on that. And the next time?”

“Another time there was dried mud on the deck when I woke up one morning. I hadn’t come in that way, so it might have been done the day before.” Dee’s eyes, red-rimmed and etched around with fine lines, flickered over each of the tightly curtained windows. “Not conclusive, I know. But another time I very distinctly heard footsteps right on the porch. I wasn’t even asleep yet, just lying in bed in the dark, watching the moon over the snowcaps down south. I lay there wondering if I’d heard what I thought I heard. Then they started up again. I ran to the window first, didn’t see anyone, so I ran downstairs. Whoever it was had gone by the time I got the lights on. Or they were hiding in the trees, watching me.” Dee shuddered. “I went out for a good look around at first light, but I couldn’t see anything unusual. No mud, no snow to leave footprints in.

“Now I stay awake night after night listening for them to come back. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone from window to window, like you did tonight, looking out, always afraid I’d see someone looking back. I telecommute as much as possible rather than come home to an empty house. Especially after dark.” Her voice rose. “I’ve been getting away with it because the museum opening is so close, and it’s my job to make sure our corporate sponsorship is well managed. But that excuse is going to run out in another week, and then my real job will be on the line. If I lose my salary over this, I’ll lose the house, too. Everything.” She clutched Lacey’s hand. “I need to know, 100 percent, if it’s in my mind or if there really is, or has been, a prowler. Please say you’ll stay with me. At least until the Centre’s big opening gala.”

“I’ll stay,” said Lacey without hesitation, “until we’ve sorted this out one way or another. Now, drink your tea. If there was someone out there tonight, they will have realized that you’re not alone, and they won’t come back. In the morning I’ll have a good look around, and we’ll talk over everything, identify anybody who might think they have a reason to creep around here at night. The lights can stay on for tonight, and tomorrow I’ll see if Wayne has any spare motion sensors he can loan me.”

“You won’t tell him why? I can’t have people at the museum site talking about me. I can’t look weak right before the opening.”

“I’ll tell him there’s a bear or something bugging the dogs at night. Okay?” Lacey lifted her mug and paused. “You do have bears out here, right?”

“Bears, cougars, other predators.”

Including humans, Lacey thought, but she didn’t say that. Neither did she say just how disturbed she was by Dee’s near-hysterical fear of a possible prowler. Either Neil had left her more afraid of him than she was willing to admit, or she was utterly overwhelmed by her job, her divorce, her injury, and now the crush of the museum’s grand opening. The stress of any two of those might bring on some paranoid imaginings to a woman living alone in the forest. Dee was never one to be crushed that easily, but she’d carried this terror alone since there was snow on the ground. If she cracked now, it wouldn’t be surprising at all. That wouldn’t happen, though. Lacey would be here to keep her fear at bay until the museum was successfully opened for tourists.

As she followed Dee up the stairs a few minutes later, having very visibly rechecked every door and window, she thought that Dee might never sleep again if she ever shared the third possibility that sprang to mind: that someone might be prowling out there, careful not to leave evidence, not trying to enter or to do obvious harm, but deliberately playing on the frayed nerves of an isolated woman recovering from an injury. But gaslighting someone needed a motive. Who stood to gain if Dee fled back to the city and sold her log McMansion at a loss?

The following morning, Dee surprised her again, this time by saying, as Lacey followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen, “You know, I never realized how crazy I would sound until I heard myself trying to explain it to you. I’ve been alone with this for so long I’ve lost all perspective. Thanks for not telling me I was nuts last night, but I kind of am. So I’ve got an action plan.”

That was more like the old Dee: action plans at an hour when other people were barely able to open both eyes at the same time. Lacey accepted the offered mug. “And your plan is?”

“First, I’m going to refill my prescription for anti-anxiety meds. I was taking them for a bit after the accident but they ran out months ago. Second, you’re going to — if you will, that is — help me get my bike down from the garage rafters. I always used to go running or biking to burn off the stress, but I’ve gotten away from the habit. My physiotherapist even suggested I try biking again, but I was busy and just put it off. Now I know I need that stress busting, and after yesterday I realize running is still a long way off. So biking it is.”

“Those ideas both sound sensible. Er, do you still want me to stay for a few days?”

“God yes! You’re the first breath of sane air in this house for months. Do you have a mountain bike? If not, I can borrow one for you.”

“Mine’s at Tom’s. I can bring it out tonight when I fetch more clothes.”

“Great.” Dee slapped the top on a travel mug. “I’m off to the office. But I’ll be back by eleven for a press conference at the museum. See you then.” She headed for the back door, then paused to un-clip a secondary ring from her car keys. “You’d better have a door key. I’ll get my spare back from the neighbour if I get home before you. House is the maple leaf one and the square, plain one is for the garage. Mi casa, su casa. Just like old times.” She flashed a smile so confident, so at odds with last night’s fright, that Lacey couldn’t quite stifle the idea that Dee had been a bit too deep into the prescription pills already.