Chapter 6 Ilsa #2
“I’m fine. I still have power and water. And they closed the school all week, so I have nowhere to go.”
Mom hummed, a sound I’d heard a thousand times. The sound she made when she was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Really, Mom. I’m good. I promise. It’s actually been fairly productive. I think I’ve got most of the house cleaned. The only drawback is being alone with my own thoughts.”
She didn’t laugh at my joke. “I want you to call the county office. Make sure they know they can’t wait too long to get that road opened up.”
“I will. As soon as it stops snowing.”
Another hum.
“Mom, relax.”
“When you have a daughter trapped in a cabin like the one where you’re living, you’ll know there’s no chance I can relax.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, you will be fine. And I’ll be calling you daily until that road is open.”
“That’s too expensive.”
“I’ll spend my hard-earned money however I want, thank you very much.”
“Okay.” I smiled. “I’d like that.”
“Have you talked to Troy?”
My shoulders slumped. “A couple times. He’s been busy.”
I had no idea how the meeting of Lori’s parents had gone. When the phone rang last Sunday, for the first time, I hadn’t answered. I’d stared at it while it rang and rang with my hands tucked in my jeans pockets.
It should have been harder to ignore him. It should have been agonizing to hear it go quiet.
Yet the moment the last chime had faded to nothing, I’d exhaled and gotten back to work cleaning the bathroom. That I’d prefer to scrub a toilet over talking to my best friend was proof enough our relationship was falling apart.
“Is he still dating that girl?” Mom asked.
“Yes. Her name is Lori. She’s nice. Pretty.”
“Not as pretty as you.”
“You’ve never met her. And you’re biased.”
“Yes, cutie. I sure am. But I also know there aren’t many girls in this world as pretty as mine. And he’s a fool if he doesn’t see that too.”
I wasn’t the only person who’d thought, eventually, Troy and I would find our way together when the timing was right. Even though I’d always told Mom that we were simply friends, she’d always seen through the lie.
Mom adored Troy, but her patience was running thin.
“I wish I was there to give you a hug,” she said.
“I wish you were too.”
“You know I’d get in my car and drive to Montana if you asked.”
“I know.” Maybe if I hadn’t learned about Dad’s special friend, Donnie, I would have asked Mom to visit Dalton. For her own good, more than mine.
Mom had a lot of heartache wrapped in this town and part of me wondered if a visit would help her heal old wounds.
At some point in her life, she’d been enchanted enough by this small town to live here for a decade. Most of that enchantment had been centered around Dad. He’d been ruggedly handsome. The strong, silent type. Moonbeams to her sunshine.
I wanted her to find closure. To say goodbye to Dad too. But if she came here and learned about Donnie, it might only make the pain worse.
For better or worse, her heart belonged to Ike Poe. It would crush her to realize he’d moved on.
Literally.
The boxes in this cabin had stumped me from the moment I’d walked through the door. Mostly because their contents were . . . normal. Well, except the cans. Dad had packed up his clothes. Photographs. Tools and tackle boxes.
Dad had packed up his life.
To move. It was the only explanation I could come up with.
He must have been moving in with Donnie. He’d fallen in love with a woman and planned to share the rest of his life with her. Until she’d died.
Maybe I had it wrong. But I had a hunch I was right. Dad had packed up his life to be with Donnie. To leave this cabin for her when he wouldn’t for Mom and me.
Granted, Donnie had lived in Dalton. Still, it was another wound that I hoped wouldn’t leave a scar.
I wasn’t sure why he’d never unpacked. Maybe it had been too heartbreaking. Maybe he’d gotten lost in his grief and that’s when the strange behavior had begun.
Was that why he’d scribbled that letter for Jerry to deliver?
Find the atlas and the key
The Truth is Beneath a tap dance
“Mom, can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
I closed my eyes, steeling my spine. “Does an atlas or a key or a tap dance make any sense to you?”
She was quiet for a few minutes. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” I muttered. “Just some strange notes I found in the cabin. Wondering if they meant anything to you.”
“No, sorry,” Mom said. “You know I hadn’t talked to your dad in a long, long time.”
Not since she’d invited him to my college graduation and he hadn’t shown. That was the last time she’d called this number until today.
“It’s okay,” I said, hopping off the counter. “It was a strange note.”
“I don’t know about the atlas or a key. But the tap dance. Maybe he was talking about when you were little.”
“What do you mean? I’ve never tap danced.”
“Well, you have but you were tiny. You probably don’t remember.
When you were two or three, there was a dance teacher who moved to Dalton.
She only lasted about four months. But while she was there, she did a little dance class for girls around town.
Tap dancing. You were so adorable. Your dad would push the furniture aside so you could have the whole living room to practice. ”
My gaze whipped to the coffee table.
“I didn’t remember.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Thanks. I’d better let you go.”
“All right. I love you. Please stay safe.”
“I will. And I love you too, Mom.”
“Call the county about that road. Right now.”
“I will. Promise.”
She made a kissing noise in the phone. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Bye.” I returned the phone to its cradle, then faced the coffee table.
I hadn’t moved it while cleaning the living room. There was plenty of space beneath its legs to mop and sweep without having to shift it out of the way.
With a few long strides, I was across the room, sliding it out of the way. I stared at the wooden floor, not sure exactly what I was searching for.
A tap dance?
“This is ridiculous.” I closed my eyes and did a tiny dance, clicking the heels of my boots on the floorboards.
There was nothing. No mystery to unfold. Just me looking like a fool as I danced around my father’s living room.
I sighed and reached for the coffee table’s edge to pull it back into place. But as I tugged, the leg caught on the lip of a board.
“No way,” I whispered, dropping to my hands and knees.
At first glance, it was identical to the others, stained brown and marred with a few knicks here and there. Except at the end, that raised edge, there were two small notches equal distance apart. Notches that reminded me of the hammer I’d put in a kitchen drawer with a few of Dad’s other tools.
Scrambling to my feet, I rushed to get the hammer and bring it back. The claw end fit perfectly in those notches.
My heart leapt into my throat as I carefully pried the board up from the floor.
The scent of earth and wood filled my nose as I lifted the board, just enough for me to slip my hand underneath. My pulse raced as I carefully splayed my fingers, hoping I wasn’t going to lose all five by reaching into a hole beneath the house.
I touched something soft, smooth and cold stashed beneath the floor. With tentative movements, I picked it up, letting its familiar weight and shape settle into my hand, exhaling when I realized it was a book.
Except it was a leather-bound journal, not a book, that I fished out from beneath the floor.
When I reached beneath the floorboard again, the only thing I touched was dirt, the loose grains wedging beneath my fingernails.
Pulling my hand free, I wiped my palm on my jeans, then freed the journal’s snap button, flipping the cover back to fan through the book.
Dad’s handwriting filled the beginning. Newspaper clippings were glued onto a couple pages, and on another, a Polaroid of a woman with dark hair was tucked into the spine. Was that Donnie? Why would he hide a journal beneath the floor?
The feeling of being watched made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A shiver rolled down the length of my spine, and I twisted to the windows.
A person wearing a black ski mask stood on the other side of the glass.
My gasp was instant. A yelp escaped my throat as my hand flew over my mouth. Then the masked figure was gone, disappearing from the window’s frame.
For a moment, I sat frozen on the floor, eyes locked on the window, expecting the figure to appear again.
Then terror took over and I scrambled to my feet, running across the house to the front door, where I slid the deadbolt into place.
The moment it was latched, I dropped to a crouch, crawling into a corner where I was hidden from sight.
Someone had been watching me. Someone had been outside this house.
For two weeks, I’d convinced myself I’d imagined it the first time. But it was real. Someone in a black mask was watching me.
My body trembled as I lifted up enough to see through the kitchen window. The only thing outside was snow.
Snow that had me trapped in this cabin.
I was stranded out here, alone. “Oh God.”
A whimper tore from my lips as I dropped to my hands and knees, crawling through the kitchen to the phone. With trembling fingers, I pushed the rubber buttons and dialed the sheriff’s office.