Chapter 4
Chapter Four
T he tall, dark figure was close enough that I could hear him breathe. My hands tightened around the wooden handle of the hoe. My earlier confidence about the garden tool disappeared as I pictured it breaking into a million splinters as I swung it at the menacing figure behind me. My heart was beating so fast, I could feel it in my throat.
"Put the hoe down," the voice said calmly. It had a nice, silky quality that, if I weren't so terrified, I would find appealing. "Wait," he said. "Scottie? Is that you?"
It would take time for my heartbeat and pulse to return to normal, but the friendly tone brought me some relief. I leaned the hoe against the wall. As I turned cautiously around, I caught another glimpse of the reflection behind me. His eyes were familiar, familiar enough to send a little tremble through me.
In the flesh, as opposed to the wavy glass in Nana's front window, he looked far less menacing and just as handsome as I remembered. Only the tall, gangly boy had filled out into an impressive set of shoulders. He'd grown even taller than I'd imagined (and yes I'd spent a ridiculous amount of time imagining stuff like that when it came to Dalton Braddock).
His familiar smile sent a little rush of air my direction, only there wasn't any breeze. It was one of those smiles you could almost miss if you weren't paying attention. Back in school, I was always paying attention… to Dalton. It wasn't a big, toothy movie screen grin. It was subtle, just a turn of his lips, which created an entire domino effect of small lines creasing the sides of his mouth and eventually flowing into a long dimple on his right cheek. His left cheek didn't have a dimple. Somehow, that made the one on his right even more attractive. It was one of those flaws of nature that was an embellishment rather than a detriment.
"Scottie, I'm relieved to see you," Dalton said. He pushed his gun into the holster on his belt. "Sorry about the weapon. I wasn't expecting to see anyone out here."
"I only just talked to your uncle. How on earth did you get here so fast?"
"My uncle?" He shook his head. "No, Miss Redmond down the street called. She said she heard yelling and some noises at Evie's house earlier this evening. I was called up to the resort. I just got back to town and thought I'd come check in on her."
"Nana," I said, being shot back to the reason I was standing on Nana's porch. I pulled the keys out of my pocket. "I need to go inside. She called me, and she sounded scared. Almost as if someone was chasing her."
Dalton's fingers brushed my palm as he took the keys. "I'll go in first." He rested his other hand on the butt of his gun as he turned the key. He motioned for me to step aside. I pressed my arm against my stomach to stop it from churning with fear. Neither of us had any idea what might be waiting on the other side of the door. I had to tamp down all of the numerous and horrifying scenarios.
Dalton pushed open the door, slowly. "Evie?" he called into the house. "It's Ranger Braddock. It's me, Dalton."
The only response came from the chimes of her mantle clock, one loud clang that startled both of us and let us know it was half past eleven. The snail's pace might have been police protocol, but I no longer had the patience for it.
"Scottie," Dalton called as I raced past him to the kitchen.
The kitchen was clean and still smelled of something delicious. Nana's lentil and sage soup, if my nose was correct. All the dishes had been put away and the stove wiped clean. Her favorite blue tea cup sat on its saucer, drained down to the last drop. She'd only taken one bite of her vanilla cookie, her favorite nighttime snack. She said it went perfectly with honey chai tea, just the right blend of mellow and spice.
Dalton stepped into the doorway of the kitchen. He filled the opening impressively with his shoulders and height. "Anything out of place?" he asked.
"It's not like her to leave her tea cup on the table. She drank the tea but something?—"
"Something must have interrupted her snack," he noted.
"The bedroom," I said hastily and with a nervous laugh. "She's probably fast asleep in bed." I tried to sidle past him, but he took up too much of the doorway. On top of that, he put up an arm to stop me. His brow arched.
"This time we'll do it my way. You may follow but stay behind."
"You got way bossier after middle school," I chided.
He pointed to the silver badge on his belt. "This gives me bossy authority."
I followed closely behind. Close enough to get a nice whiff of his aftershave. It was pleasant.
"Evie?" Dalton called into the bedroom.
"Nana," I pleaded from behind. I nearly bit through my teeth waiting to hear her respond. Not even a clock this time. Dalton's hand smoothed along the wall and switched on the light.
A small sob burbled from my lips. I thought it was quiet enough that Dalton would miss it. He turned to me, his dark eyes filled with the glassy sympathy I needed at that moment. I couldn't remember the last time John had given me an ounce of comfort or sympathy.
"Don't worry. Evie is like a superhero around here. She's fine. I don't see any evidence of foul play or a struggle."
Dalton was right. Nana's purple violet quilt was still tucked neatly around the bed. She'd turned down the top corner and removed her decorative pillows, indicating she was close to bedtime.
"Her robe. She must be wearing it. It's usually hanging from the hook on the closet door. And her slippers. They're always sitting right at the side of her bed."
Dalton backed out of the room and checked the bathroom and second bedroom, my bedroom. Nana had reluctantly turned it into a painting studio. She'd kept it as my bedroom long after I'd left for Europe to study baking. I practically had to beg her to move her easel and paints from the old shed out back and into the spare bedroom. A family of rats had moved into the shed helping push the decision forward. Nana didn't mind having the audience, with their twitchy noses and beady eyes, but they liked to chew on canvas and no one wanted to pay money for a half chewed oil painting.
"She's not here." I could hear the edge of hysteria in my tone, but that wasn't going to help the situation. I took a deep breath. "It sounded like she was outside. She keeps a big flashlight under the kitchen sink."
We headed through to the kitchen. The sight of the empty tea cup gave me a pang of heartache. Just hours before, Nana had been sitting at the table, wrapped in her baby blue bathrobe, dipping a vanilla cookie into her chai tea. What caused her to go outside?
I reached around under the sink until my fingers clamped the cold metal end of the flashlight. Nana kept it handy for power outages and whenever there were noises in the backyard. It was almost always a bear. They were harmless garbage scavengers. They had little interest in a woman wrapped in baby blue terry cloth.
I flicked on the flashlight. A strong beam of light glanced off the kitchen window. "Is it all right if I hold the light, or is it not protocol?" I teased.
Dalton reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver penlight that was impressively bright. "Brought my own." He opened the back door and pushed through the screen. It snapped shut behind us.
Almost as if it had been choreographed, the two beams of light swept around the backyard. Nana had a striped bench that glided back and forth when you sat on it. It looked tattered and torn after years of use. In summer, we spent hours sliding back and forth while drinking lemonade and laughing about everything and anything. Nana had built a vegetable and herb patch, opting to grow things she could use in the kitchen. Bean plants twirled haphazardly around bean poles and bright red tomatoes glistened in the flashlight beam.
Everything looked as it should. At least that was what I'd concluded until I noticed the small gate at the side of her yard was open. It hung precariously on its rusty hinges, dangling in a state of shock at having been opened. The gate passed between Nana's and Mr. Ramsey's yard. Herbert Ramsey was a grouchy, unpleasant man who was a master at complaining. 'Evie, your weeds are spreading to my side of the fence. Evie, shut your windows when you're playing that loud music. Evie, tell your granddaughter to keep her toys on that side of the fence.' I'd lost several good balls, including my favorite red and white soccer ball, on Ramsey's side of the fence. Once they ventured across the fence line, they were never heard from again.
"Nana never opened that gate. She wanted nothing to do with grumpy old Herbert next door." Our lights lit up only portions of the landscape as we made our way across to the open gate.
"By the looks of it, she had a hard time getting it open." The gate had mowed down the tall weeds growing in front of it. Ramsey's side was clear of debris. "Why would she open it the hard way, pulling it through all the tall weeds?" Dalton asked.
"Unless she didn't open it. If I were going through a gate that swung both ways, my first instinct would be to push. It's less work than pulling."
Dalton nodded. "You'd make a good detective. You're right. It seems whoever was coming through didn't pay any attention to the tall grass, they just pushed, and pushed hard, according to the state of these hinges. The top one is barely holding on."
"So, they were in a hurry," I noted. "They didn't have time to reason that pulling the gate would be easier because it's clear of debris on that side."
"Another good point." He was wearing a hint of a smile.
It was strange how easily we'd slipped back into being two familiar friends, even though we hadn't seen each other for nearly three decades. Along with other silly trivia I'd kept stored in my teenage brain, I knew that Dalton had just celebrated his forty-first birthday. I also knew I was exactly one month and three days older than him. I didn't have the hours and minutes in my Dalton Braddock trivia pack, and that was only because I had no idea what time he was born. I did, however, know that he liked to celebrate his birthday with chocolate cake and rocky road ice cream.
"But why would Herbert Ramsey burst through the gate to Nana's yard?" I asked.
"Maybe he heard something too. Mrs. Redmond heard yelling and noises. Maybe Mr. Ramsey was coming over to help."
A laugh spurted from my lips. I pressed my fingers against my mouth. "Sorry but have you met Herbert Ramsey?"
Dalton nodded. "It's true, it would be out of character for him, but maybe we're not giving him enough credit. Maybe in a drastic situation, he can be different, you know, human."
I grabbed his wrist, then just as quickly let go. "Do you think something drastic happened to Nana?"
Dalton reached back for my hand. "No, no, I don't think so. Your grandmother's house is all in order."
"Then where is she?" A terrible thought grabbed me. "What if it was Herbert? What if he was mad about something, and he came over here to shout at Nana and things got heated? My grandmother is kind and gentle, above all else, but she never backs down from an argument when she considers it worth fighting." As I said it, the light on my flashlight flickered, then sputtered, then went out entirely. I shook it a few times. "Battery is dead."
Dalton aimed his penlight, our only source of light, into Ramsey's neat and organized yard. Much of his backyard was cement and gravel, but he did have a row of hedges, his only nod to nature, running along his back fence and halfway along the fence that bordered Nana's yard. The hedge looked as if it had been recently trimmed. There was only one light on in the house. It seemed to be coming from a back room.
"Stay here," Dalton said, and I immediately traipsed along behind him, keeping close enough that I smacked right into him when he stopped abruptly, apparently to ask why I was following.
I lifted my chin and looked directly into his mesmerizing gaze. "This is Nana we're talking about. I'm walking to that house with you."
He nodded. "Stay close."
I glanced around. There was just enough natural light from the moon and stars and the glow from down the mountain to make the surrounding wild landscape look like shadowy monsters. I had no doubt there were a few hungry predators around as well. "No problem." I scooted closer as we crossed the lawn and patio cement to the back of the house. The patio door and screen were wide open.
Dalton shook his head. "You should have stayed behind." He pulled out his gun and called into the mostly dark house. "Mr. Ramsey? It's Ranger Braddock. Everything all right?"
Only a slight echo rolled back to us.
Dalton turned to me. "This time I'm going to insist. I'll have a look. Stay here."
I huffed. "Right."
Dalton went into the house. I peered inside, following the stream of light as he disappeared down the hallway toward the one light that was on. "Mr. Ramsey," he called again. More lights came on. "Ramsey?" Dalton returned. "He's not here. Everything looks to be in its place. It seemed he was about to go to bed too."
I shook my head. "None of this makes sense." I wandered absently to the edge of the patio and stepped down past the brick planter lining the side of the house. A tall, thick evergreen forest bordered both properties. "We need to start a search." I headed toward the line of trees.
"It's too dark, Scottie. We'll start at first light. I'll see if I can get some help from the surrounding towns. It's warm tonight. There's no chance of hypothermia."
His voice faded behind me as I headed toward the trees. "Nana!" I called. "Nana! You're safe. Come on out." Bits of my composure were tearing away. Something was terribly wrong and nothing made sense. I took a few more steps. The shadows grew darker. My foot caught on something. I pitched forward and stumbled several steps before landing on my knees.
"Scottie," Dalton said urgently as he raced toward me.
"I'm fine. Just clumsy old me." I pushed to my feet and brushed the debris off my knees. I looked down at my knees. "Nothing broken. Just a few scrapes. Dalton?" I turned as it seemed he'd grown strangely quiet behind me. My eyes followed his stunned gaze and his beam of light to the ground.
"Mr. Ramsey." I staggered back a few steps. Nana's neighbor was lifeless and limp on the ground. A long piece of wire was wrapped tightly around his neck, and his eyes bulged from his face, his very dead face.