“True enough.” I closed the bedroom door. If I was taking him to my father’s bed-and-breakfast I needed more than a jacket and shoes. I yanked out jeans, socks, a real shirt, and a bra. I felt as if I were arming myself for battle. Because I was.
I knew in my head that I could no longer be sent “back,” but in my heart I felt my father still kind of wanted to. I might have stopped talking to the specters in the presence of anyone but myself, but he remembered. I think I’d freaked him out too much for him to ever forget.
Whenever he was around, I tiptoed. Not literally—much—but I was always afraid I might do something wrong. Even more afraid I wouldn’t quite know that I had. No matter how hard I tried, I didn’t fit in here because I wasn’t being myself. I couldn’t be.
As a kid I’d been uncomfortable in my own skin, forever awkward, and the vultures—I mean teenagers—sensed it and pounced. I didn’t get picked on often, but I did get picked on well. The taunts of “Stray Raye” still drifted through my head more often than I liked.
I stepped into the living room, retrieved my cell phone and keys, took a fortifying chug of my wine then offered the glass to the detective.
“No, thanks.”
We stepped onto the landing and I locked the place behind us.
“Should I follow you?” he asked.
“Don’t have a car.”
He laughed, then he saw I was serious. “Why wouldn’t you have a car?”
“Everything I need is in walking distance.”
“I heard it snows here.”
“A lot. So?”
“Then what do you do?”
“Wear boots.”
“But—”
“I don’t melt in the rain, or freeze solid if the rain turns to snow. I know how to dress for the weather and a car would only sit on the street and rust. I’m a teacher. It’s not like I have money to burn.”
“You don’t ever leave town?”
“Of course.”
“How?”
“Other people have cars, and I have family. Friends.” Make that friend, but Jenn had a car. I just had to really want to go somewhere badly to get in one with her. She drove a lot faster than she walked. “There’s also this fabulous new invention called a bus. Lots of people can ride in it!”
“Very funny,” he said, though he didn’t appear amused. “Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll drive myself. You don’t have to come.”
“I don’t mind. It’s not that far.”
“Then I should definitely be able to find it.”
“Maybe. However, you can’t just walk up to the door and rent a room.”
His forehead creased. “Why not?”
“It’s my parents’ house. A big house, which is why there are rooms to rent, but my father isn’t going to let any nut job off the streets inside.”
“Are there a lot of nut jobs on the streets?”
“Apparently more than we thought.”
“Touché,” he said, and I caught again that hint of France, which intrigued me far more than it should. Could he speak French? Would he?
I climbed into the passenger seat, and he got behind the wheel. “I’ll bring you home as soon as you vouch for me.”
“Not necessary.”
He shifted into drive. “What about the maniac?”
“I imagined him. Her.”
“It,” he finished, taking the right turn I’d indicated. “There’s a dead woman in town who begs to differ.”
“Dead women don’t beg,” I said.
He cast me a quick glance. “You’re lying again.”
What could I say? He was right.
*
Raye’s directions led into the damn forest. Did the place seem farther than far because of that? Or were distances different in a place so vast?
Bobby’s low-slung mid-sized rent-a-car scraped along the dry, rutted trail between towering pines. He should have upgraded to the SUV, but he’d figured at this time of year that would be a waste of money.
He’d never seen trees this tall. They had to be older than God.
Something clanged against the undercarriage so loudly Bobby held his breath and waited for the car to die, but it didn’t. Lights flickered ahead, materializing into the ground-floor windows of a very large house.
“Were your ancestors lumberjacks?” The place appeared big enough to house Paul Bunyan; the barn would have sheltered his blue ox.
“I don’t know my ancestors.” She got out of the car. “I’m adopted.”
He bit back his automatic I’m sorry. Why would he be?
Because she’d sounded so sad. He thought again of those bruises on her arm and hustled after her, reaching the foot of the steps just as she knocked. Why was she knocking on her own front door?
The porch continued around both sides of the house. Several rocking chairs sat near handcrafted tables, perfect for holding a glass of iced tea or a chess set. Bobby could imagine relaxing here on a sunny afternoon. Except the woods were so thick and the trees so high the sun might only shine in this clearing for an hour at midday.
The door opened, and the silhouette of a man appeared; the lights at his back were so bright Bobby’s eyes ached.
“Father.”
Who called their father “Father” anymore?
“I brought you a guest.”