Page 75 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Chapter Forty-One

Knock, knock. Standing on Pete’s front porch the next morning, Molly heard her stomach rumble as the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon drifted in the air from the warm container of cookies in her hands. The heavenly smell mingled with the earthy fragrance of the lake, moss dampened by rain, and wood smoke from various cabins and houses around the lake.

She breathed in deeply, a peace flooding her body as the heavenly aroma lifted her mood along with the thought of blessing Pete with her cookies. She knocked again, harder this time, and patiently waited, hoping he wasn’t taking a nap because there was no way he could sleep with the racket she was making.

Several more moments went by, and Molly put her ear to the door, hoping to hear something—anything—other than silence. “Come on, Pete, I promise it will be worth it,” she muttered.

Two more minutes went by, and Molly considered the fact that he might not be home. Scurrying down the steps of the front porch, she hurried around to the side of the house where she could peer through a dirt- and dust-crusted window into the garage by standing on top of a cement block. Squinting hard, she didn’t know if she should be relieved or worried to vaguely make out the shadow of Pete’s car.

“Okay, mister, you need to eat a cookie before they get cold,” she mumbled, marching right back around to the front door to knock again.

Still nothing.

Huffing out a disgruntled sigh, she looked around the porch, checking beneath the mat for a key and under the flower pots that had long since expired. She finally looked up and spotted the bare edge of something on top of a shutter, and shuffling the rocker over beneath the window, she climbed up to retrieve a key, her concern for Pete growing by the minute.

“Pete?” she called when she unlocked the door, holding it ajar to yell into the house.

No response.

No lights.

No peace.

“Pete?” She opened the door and stepped inside, hoping he was just deaf and hadn’t heard her come in. “It’s Molly,” she called loudly, “and I brought cookies.” She waited a few more seconds, and then tiptoed halfway across his living room en route to the kitchen. She paused and wrinkled her nose, the closed knubby curtains, rustic knotty pine walls, and moldy smell attesting to the fact that Pete had never redecorated the cabin which had once been his parents summer getaway. “Pete?”

She spied a roach skittering across the black and white linoleum in the kitchen, and she hopped back with a squeal, jitters skittering down her spine as well. Sucking in a deep breath of stale air, she gingerly stepped into the kitchen, where the muted sun from an overcast sky at least shed some light into the room. “Pete? Are you—”

An arm jerked her neck from behind, locking a scream in her lungs. Her heart stopped along with her breathing when someone smashed a bunched-up towel over her nose and mouth, cutting off her air. The container of cookies crashed to the floor as Molly struggled to breathe, panic and dizziness warring in her brain while she clawed at the arm choking her neck.

The towel slipped, and the foul smell of body odor, cigarettes, and beer curdled her stomach, causing bile to rise as an evil voice whispered harsh in her ear. “Well well now, you’re that real nosey neighbor of Uncle Pete’s, aren’t you? Always buttin’ in where you’re not wanted. Well, allow me to introduce myself, sweetheart. I’m Pete’s nephew Harley, and I warned him you’d be trouble if he cozied up to you, a-sittin’ out on his porch like he used to. And shore enough, here you are, buttin’ in where you don’t belong.” His eerie laughter ricocheted off the grease-stained walls, defiling the deadly silence of Pete’s house. “So, looks like I’m gonna have to stop you myself …”

“Your training, Molly …” an inner voice said, and fighting her fear, she followed both the voice and her instincts to wrench the attacker’s arms down hard. With two hard elbows to his side, she felt her adrenaline flow like fire as she stomped his foot hard, unleashing a curse from his mouth. Whirling around, she punched him in the gut with everything she had while the rhythm of self-defense pounded in her brain—right fist, left fist, left vertical to forearm. With a harsh grunt, she finished off with a bludgeon of her boot into his flabby abdomen that sent him flying onto his butt with a loud oomph!

Heart slamming against her ribcage, she flew to the front door, not even bothering to look back as she bolted down the porch steps to her car, slipping on loose gravel that sent her flying face down on the cracked driveway. God, help me!

“You’re going to die!” the monster shouted, stumbling down the front steps as obscenities peppered the air.

Jumping up, she raced to her car, sweat trickling between her breasts as she fumbled with the door. Hands clammy, she finally hurled it open and got in, choking on her own breath. She slammed it closed just as he reached her. Body shaking, she rammed her finger on the lock button, closing him out.

She cried out when he pounded on the glass with both fists, a stocky man in his thirties with eyes crazed and face bulging with fury. Grappling for the keys she’d slipped in her pocket, Molly rammed them into the ignition, hands quivering so hard, it took three tries to get them all the way in. She ground the ignition and crushed her foot against the accelerator, too panicked to even put the car in gear. The engine roared viciously.

Right before it died.

Watching in horror, she saw the maniac thunder over to the side of the house to pick up the cement block, terror quivering from her lips. “Oh, G-God, n-no …” Her pulse pounded in her ears as she cranked the ignition over and over, but it only stuttered along with her whisper.

Flooded!

Her blood ran cold when he hoisted the cement block high and headed toward her car. Fingers quaking, she grappled under the seat for her Glock, and the cold steal slipped in her sweaty hands before she even got it raised.

Mere feet from her front fender, he hefted the cement block high. She launched to the passenger side just as glass exploded into the car. The rage in his eyes was demonic as he thrust a meaty hand in to unlock the door. She leapt from the car and aimed the Glock point-blank at the creature’s savage face, body rigid and arms extended. “Get away from my car or I’ll shoot.”

His sinister laugh iced her skin as his lip curled into an evil smile. “You don’t have the guts, skank,” he said in a hoarse slur. He grinned as he slowly rounded the car, his leering gaze a frightening mix of diabolical and insane.

And that’s when she saw it. The burn on his lip. Dilated pupils. Runny nose. Aggressive behavior. Feeling Invincible.

Cocaine.

She jerked the pistol higher as she slowly backed up. Sweat grazed both her palms and her lip. “I’m warning you—I’ll shoot!” she shouted, throat so dry, her words came out hoarse like his.