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DAY 4
Lorna Bea had written in her notebook half the night, pouring out her anger toward her daddy for locking her in her room. Why come to this lake and force her to stay inside instead of playing or exploring the woods? He’d said they might go swimming, but so far all he’d done was leave each day. And when he returned, he paced and growled like a wild animal.
Even Nana seemed to notice and had been on pins and needles.
When she woke this morning with the sun streaming through the window, Lorna Bea checked the door. Still locked. She kicked it then shuffled back to the window and looked outside. Cade and Betsy were chasing the kitty in the grass, their parents enjoying a breakfast picnic with them.
She wanted to join them, to laugh and play and eat pancakes on a sheet on the ground. But her daddy didn’t do picnics.
Fighting tears, she opened the window and climbed onto the tree branch with her notebook.
Cade looked up at her and waved then shouted. “Come down and play!”
Her pulse jumped. Did she dare? “I can’t,” she called to him.
He looked puzzled, but his father motioned to him with fishing rods in his hands and Cade strutted up beside him. Betsy’s mother clasped Betsy’s hand and they walked around collecting wild flowers, humming as they went.
A hollow emptiness welled inside her. The stories Cade had told her about the lake stirred her imagination. And she’d read even more about the ghost sightings in that book.
A story simmered in her mind as she wiped at beads of sweat on her neck, and she wrote a horror story about the city of people who’d been buried during the flooding. She made up names of families and how they were trapped by the sudden flooding.
Her hand moved as she scribbled:
They clawed for help, screaming as they were swept below the surface. Gallons and gallons of water swallowed them. The force pushed them deeper and deeper. They tried to hold their breath. Pumped their arms and legs to reach the surface. But another blast of water knocked them down again. Kids reached for their mothers. Mothers cradled their babies. The murky darkness swirled around them. Pain shot through their chests as their lungs burst.
Suddenly a noise at her door jarred her and she tucked her notebook inside her shirt and hurried to climb back inside before it opened. She was too late.
Her father strode toward her. “I told you to stay inside.”
“I was just in the tree,” she said.
“I don’t care. Inside means inside.” He snapped his fingers and she climbed back through the window.
“But it’s pretty today, Dad, and the other kids are playing and you said we’d go swimming—”
“It’s too dangerous out there.” He stalked from the room and came back a minute later carrying a box of aluminum foil and duct tape.
She stared in shock as he ripped off sheets of the foil and taped it over the windows.
“But Daddy, it’s not fair,” she cried. “Why are you doing this?”
“To protect you.” He whirled on her. “If you can see out, they can see you.”
EIGHTY-THREE
CROOKED CREEK POLICE DEPARTMENT
Coffee in hand, Ellie met Derrick, the sheriff and Deputies Eastwood and Landrum at the office for a briefing.
The whiteboard was filled with information but she had no proof any of it was connected. “Last night Ranger McClain discovered several small graves at a point called Black Snake Cove. Dr. Whitefeather determined the bones in the graves belong to animals. There are no human bones among them.”
Landrum rocked back in his chair. “Could be a hunter who decided to bury his kills instead of dressing them.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Lab came back with results on the blood at the Hooper woman’s house. It belonged to a deer.”
Thank goodness it wasn’t human. “That fits.” Ellie forced her voice to remain calm, although her mind was racing with sinister suspicions. “I think we may be dealing with another serial predator,” she said. “Often killing animals is practice for taking a human life.” She paused for effect. “There were eight graves that we found at this point. Who knows if there are others scattered along the AT.”
