Chapter 9
Nine
CASSIE HOBBLED behind Joel into what had been an office.
“Stan’s dad kept a yardstick in here,” Joel said. “The guy was always woodworking and preferred a yardstick to a tape measure. That might work, though a cane or walking stick would be far more stabilizing.
She stepped farther inside the room, taking in the file cabinets with a thick layer of dust on them, the globe on the desk, pictures hanging on the wall. “Why did no one take this stuff to the new lodge?”
Joel poked around in the closet but glanced over his shoulder at her question. “It’s kind of a sad story.” He straightened and moved for the corner on the right side of the desk, riffling through fishing poles.
“Odd place for those.”
“Frank, Stan’s dad, was odd.”
“Oh.”
“When his wife, Mariel, passed away, Frank sort of died too. He wandered around the empty lodge and was really absent-minded.”
“Dementia?”
“The docs said no. Apparently when people have been married a long time, it’s really hard on the other spouse when one passes.
He refused to move out of the lodge and sort of let it fall to ruin.
The new lodge was built, but he wouldn’t budge.
It was really hard on Stan. Anyway, Frank passed not long after, and Stan hasn’t had the heart to come deal with all of this yet, so it sits. ”
“You weren’t kidding. That is really sad.”
“Here you go,” he said, handing her a walking stick. “Like I said, even better than a yardstick. I knew Frank had some around here. The guy loved to hike. Always took a walking stick with him.”
She gripped her glove fingers around it. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
She’d smiled. She loved his scruff-covered, chiseled jaw . . . his strong physique, his even stronger character . . .
“You with me?” he asked, somehow smack-dab in front of her.
She ached with everything in her to be with him.
But her stalker had given her the gravest ultimatum: walk away from Joel on what was to be their wedding day, or watch Joel die at his hands.
Tell Joel and he’d die. So she’d stayed silent.
Let the man she loved more than life believe she didn’t love him.
Not even enough to tell him instead of letting him stand up in front of all their family and friends—alone.
“Cas?” Concern creased the corners of Joel’s blue eyes.
She blinked. “Yeah. Sorry. My brain is still waking up.”
“You sure you don’t want to rest in the parlor?”
“I’m sure.” She’d take all the time with him she could get while her stalker was far away, because once she was back home, or even back at the cabins, he’d be watching. She’d never be free. But Joel . . . He could have a happy life, find and marry someone new, and go on without her.
His eyes narrowed. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” Maybe if she told him, he’d help again, but he’d worked the case for nearly a year. Worked himself into the ground, but the stalker still eluded them. She wasn’t putting Joel back through that either.
It was like the man was invisible—no prints, no fibers, nothing to prove his presence except the letters he left and the hint of Irish Spring.
“I think we should hit the kitchen next,” Joel said, thankfully not noticing her delving headlong into her nightmare.
“Sounds like a plan.” She forced a smile on her face and followed him into the hall, shadows dancing along the walls above and behind them.
She cringed. The stalker’s first message came rushing back with brutal backlash.
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me.
Your Shadow
A shiver snaked up her spine at the way he twisted one of her favorite childhood poems. Pressure wrapped around her throat. She cough-choked.
Joel turned, the flashlight on her face.
She held up her hand to shield her eyes.
“Sorry,” he said with a sheepish smile. He lowered the light. “You okay?”
“Yep,” she lied. So many lies between her and the man she loved, but what was she to do?
Let the red laser scope on the center of Joel’s back in the pic the stalker sent come true?
Her stalker wouldn’t hesitate to go through with his plans if she “disobeyed.” The one time she hadn’t listened and went out on that second date with Joel, her dog had nearly died.
She’d come home earlier than planned thanks to some bad fish and was able to get Barley to the vet in time to get his stomach pumped, but she hadn’t taken any chances after that.
She even gave her mom Barley for safekeeping in Montana.
Joel shifted his weight. “What’s going on, Cassie?”
She swallowed. “I wanted to tell you . . .” So many things.
“Yeah?”
She bit her bottom lip. “It can wait.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. Let’s finish checking this place out and then we can chat. We’re not going anywhere for a while.”
“True,” he said quickly, but he studied her eyes slowly.
“What are you two doing?” Nat huffed. “I thought you were searching the inn?”
“We are,” Joel ground out.
“You’re not getting very far.”
“What do you need, Nat?” Joel asked, clearly not trying to keep the impatience from his voice.
“The ladies are asking about facilities.”
“Oh.”
“Do they still work?”
“Let’s find out,” Cassie said, and Joel led the way.
Ten minutes and thankfully a surprisingly working restroom later, he and Cassie moved into the kitchen to continue their search.
“How about I take the cupboards working this way . . .” He pointed right. “And you take the drawers working left.”
“On it.” Cassie nodded.
“Candles,” he said, not long into his search.
“Matches,” she said, tossing the small matchboxes on the countertop right below the knife block. Five silver handles glinted in the light of Joel’s propped-up flashlight.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“One knife missing.” She shrugged.
He stepped to her side and observed, “Who knows how long ago that went missing.”
“True.” She tried to force a chuckle, but it wouldn’t come.
Heath’s slasher flick comments were getting to her.
But her stalker was not here. Unless he was part of the group on the copters, there was no way for him to be out here.
And he couldn’t be one of their group. A chill washed over her. Could he?