worried about his dad coming back to live with him, would he hide out to try to prolong going home? Worse yet, would he run away?
Rick beat a hasty retreat back to the pavilion, trying not to jump to conclusions. They were dealing with a nine-year-old. The thickly wooded area around the camp would let in only a minimal amount of starlight...a pretty scary place for a kid to tackle alone.
“Still no Howie, huh?” Rick’s quick headcount answered his question.
Tara shook her head, worry tightening her eyes. “Neil’s gone down to the beach.” She kept her voice low. “He thought maybe Howie stayed behind down there while we were counting.”
Rick understood leaving no stone unturned, but Howie had never broken the rules about where they could hide, and the beach—or anywhere near the water—had always been strictly off-limits.
Rick scanned the area, deciding how to divide up the space for a search. “Where’s Summer?”
Tara pointed in the general direction behind the cabins. “The last time I saw her, she was looking for him over there.”
“I know where she is.”
The small voice beside them caused Rick and Tara both to look down in surprise. Lucy looked at them wide-eyed and shrugged. “I didn’t want to be a cheater, but I thought if I followed Howie, maybe I could win this time.” She sighed dramatically. “But he went into the woods, so I told Ms. Summer. She’s gone after him.”
“Which way did she go?” Rick’s fingers gouged into the skin on his hips as his grip tightened involuntarily.
Lucy pointed to the dark path beyond Rick’s cabin. “I’m supposed to tell you she’s going toward the busy place.”
“The busy place?” Rick looked to Tara for a translation. “What does that mean?”
“The busy place.” A whine entered Lucy’s voice. “The old house where the foxes live.”
“The Byassee place!” A coldness gripped Rick’s insides as he remembered the dead fox kit and the broken whiskey bottle.
“That’s what I said.” Lucy pointed toward the path that snaked through the dark woods.
Rick walked casually in the direction Lucy pointed.
But once within the trees and under the cover of darkness, he ran. His legs pumped furiously, working to keep up with the frantic beating of his heart.
* * *
SUMMER DIDN’T HESITATE WHEN she reached the turnoff to the Byassee place, but she did slow to a walk purely out of necessity. Trying to move fast in her costume was like swimming against the tide. A stitch in her side caught on every intake of ragged breath.
“How-wie?” she called, trying to coax the child out of hiding, and trying to warn anyone hanging out at the Byassee place she was on the way in, giving them a chance to grab their whiskey and make a quick exit.
Any other time, the sounds from the frogs and cicadas would be welcoming. Tonight, she wished they’d shut up. The small beam of light helped, but vision was still limited. It would be her hearing that would alert her to Howie’s presence—she cleared her throat of the dry lump—or anyone else’s.
She reached the clearing and stopped. The ramshackle old cottage stood before her, swathed in shadow. A barely crescent moon gave little illumination...and yet, too much. She’d never considered how the two empty windows on each side of the doorway might take on the appearance of staring eyes and a mouth gaping in horror.
Fear tightened the muscles at the back of her throat, and swallowing didn’t help much. Would Howie come this far? They’d been here often, so he was familiar with this area, but it seemed over the top, even for the little attention-seeker.
A movement behind the house brought her to a stop. Just a fleeting shadow, but enough to drag a cold finger up her spine. Maybe an animal. Maybe her imagination. Or maybe the child...hurt...scared?
“Howie? Is that you?” She inched around the front corner of the house. “You can come out now. The game’s over.” A rustle in the woods brought her to attention and she flashed the beam that direction. She strained, but her eyes couldn’t discern anything beyond the edge of light. Keeping her palm pressed against the wall, she began to move again, hesitantly, toward the back of the house.
The glint of moonlight on metal stopped her shy of the back corner. A truck. Parked in the driveway. Painted in camouflage.
She smelled him before she felt him, a sickening mixture of body odor and whiskey with undertones of pot. Her mind screamed at her to run, but her