Chapter 16
FOX
I take my time walking around to the passenger side, trying to focus on shoving a whole truck-bed full of anger deep down, so I don’t explode in front of Wren.
I open the door for her, and she slides off the seat then winces.
I turn my back to her. “Piggyback,” I tell her, crouching down. “Hop aboard.”
She puts her arms around me and giggles into my neck.
When we get to the porch, she pokes me and points to a smashed cigarette butt on the grass next to the steps. “Someone was smoking here. Does Ned or Danni smoke?”
“Never seen them smoke.”
I climb the steps and set her gently down. She sticks her key in the lock to the front door, then stops and looks at me, her head cocked to the side. “Something’s not right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Something just feels off.” She bites a lip. “Monster. He’d be at the door the second he heard the key. Or before that—when I step onto the porch, I can always hear him bounding down the hall.”
“Maybe he’s sleeping?”
She turns the key and pushes the door open.
The cottage is silent. “Monster!” Panic flits across her face.
“He’s not here. And the kitchen light’s on.
I didn’t leave it on. Danni could have stopped in, but—” She glances down at the umbrella stand, knocked on its side.
She reaches for it, then winces in pain.
“How about we trust your instincts. If you think something’s off, maybe it is.” I swoop her up and carry her back down the stairs, toward the pickup.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“You’re going to stay in the truck. And I’m getting your things and looking for Monster.”
“I’m not leaving without Monster.”
I stride to the truck, happy that she’s not kicking and screaming. I open the door and slide her onto the bench seat then walk to the driver’s side, start the pickup, and yank the air conditioner up. “Lock the door. Honk the horn if you need anything. I’ll be back.”
I quietly circle the cottage, looking into each window, until I get to the screened-in back porch.
There’s a big, Monster-size hole in the screening.
Monster is lying outside, next to it, belly up, obliviously snoring.
I pat my leg, and he opens one eye, then bounds over to me.
When I lead him to the pickup, Wren sobs and hugs him.
“He was outside the back porch, taking a nap.” I tell her.
“How did he get out?”
“He ripped through the back porch screening.”
Her eyes widen, and she covers her face, shaking her head slowly. “Just great.”
“There probably was a small hole or slit in the screen, and he must have been determined to get out. Maybe he saw a squirrel or raccoon.” I shrug. “It’s not the end of the world. Ned’ll fix the screening.”
“Even when there are raccoons or even Gigi outside, she barks but she has no interest in chasing them.” She pauses then frowns. “But he wasn’t on the porch when I left. And I keep the door from the kitchen to the porch closed and locked when I’m gone.” She bites her lip. “Was the inside door open?”
“Don’t know. I didn’t get that far. Keep Monster in the pickup. Keep the air conditioner on. I want to go back to the cottage and look around. I’ll throw some things in a bag for you.”
She wraps her arms around her chest and stares at the cottage, then nods.
I make a slow, careful circuit through each room, noting the closed door leading from the kitchen to the back porch.
Someone could have gotten in the house and purposely lured Monster out to the back porch and closed him in there.
But there are no signs of disturbance in the cottage.
I find an empty bag in her bedroom closet—the only thing in there besides a pair of old sneakers.
The small pile of clothes in her dresser fits in the bottom of the bag.
Seeing how little Wren brought with her hits me hard.
Anger swirls in my gut, followed by an even more intense desire to walk out the door and take Wren in my arms. I can’t imagine what it’s like to always be looking over your shoulder.
In the cane bedside stand, there’s only one thing in the drawer.
A bookless dust jacket possibly left by another cottage occupant.
A Cain Hale thriller. I leave it in the drawer and return to the kitchen and search for a bag of dog food to bring for Monster.
In the pantry, there are several fifty-pound dog food bags stacked on the floor.
When I slide one toward me, it catches on a floor plank.
The plank pops up. I heft the bag out of the way.
Under the dislodged plank, a shoebox is tucked in a small, square hole in the floor.
“Hot damn,” I murmur. “The secret compartment.”
I pull the shoebox out and put the plank back. After another round of the house, I return to the pickup, toss the dog food in the bed and return for the shoebox, locking the house on the way out.
Wren’s eyes search mine. “Did you see any signs of anyone being there?”
I shake my head. “The door from the kitchen to the back porch was closed.”
She bites her lip, her brows furrowed. “I wouldn’t have left Monster out there.
I don’t even keep any food or water for him in the screened area.
” She shakes her head slowly, rubbing her forehead.
“Unless I forgot he was out there when I left. I was fiddling around with the pots.” She frowns hard.
“I don’t think I would have just...” She groans in frustration then throws both hands up in defeat.
“Hey. It’s all okay. Monster was perfectly fine. Sure, Ned’s going to have to fix the screening, but it’s no big deal.”
She’s staring past me, squinting at a bush. “I just remembered something. Ned has cameras facing all the paths to the cottage. It was probably my own stupid mistake, but do you think he would look to see if anyone was here, just for my own peace of mind?”
“We’ll call him. Does he know your… situation?”
She nods. “He knows I’m here for shelter.” Her eyes search mine. “I’m so sorry I got you into this mess.”
“I’m not.” I hold her gaze until she looks away, her eyes glistening with tears again. I slide the shoebox onto her lap.
“What’s this?” She fingers the box. “Some really old shoes to go with my new hat?” She smiles shakily at me.
“I found your secret compartment.”
Her whole face lights up. “You found it?”
“Didn’t mean to. I hope I didn’t ruin it for you? Do you want me to put this back so you can find it?”
“Don’t you dare!” She cradles it to her chest like it’s a baby.
“When I was pulling the dog food out of the pantry, it got caught on a loose panel. That old, dusty shoebox was under the panel.”
She grins down at it. “This is a small, good thing.”
“You going to open it? Maybe it’s not a small, good thing. Maybe it’s a dead mouse.”
“Nope. I’m going to savor the anticipation.”
“Not even a quick peek?”
She slips a finger under the lid and peeks. “Shoot.”
“What?”
“It’s a dead mouse.”
Monster noses up between us, and she tucks the lid back on securely.
“Too bad. I was hoping it was a treasure map.” I say.
“I think it’s letters. Maybe love letters.”
“Or hate mail.”
She laughs.
I dial Ned’s phone number while we bump down the rutted path toward the exit from Heaven. Ned doesn’t pick up his phone, so I leave a message asking him to check the footage for any traffic to Wren’s cottage today. “Call us. Tell us what you see,” I tell him, then glance over at Wren, and she nods.
When I hang up, she rests her head against the window, while I wonder how long I can keep her at my place. And how long I’m going to be able to keep my hands off her.