Forsaken An American Sasquatch Tale - By Christine Conder Page 0,33
Before she turned the engine over, she passed the phone and stylus to Liberty. “How did it go? Did you talk to him?”
She typed and handed it back.
“Not there?”
Liberty shook her head.
“You think it was someone human?”
She nodded, typed, Someone there took clothes.
“Damn. You think Adrian even made it?” Concerned furrowed Becky’s brow. “Do you think he’s okay?”
Liberty thought for a moment, then shrugged. She didn’t know his story for sure and couldn’t begin to decide what the right thing to do was. But she knew she needed to confide in Nathaniel. And soon. This was a fiasco. She was a mess. And trying to say it all with a pine-needle stylus was wearing on her.
She emitted a low growl.
“Whoa, missy.” Becky put her hands up, one still held the can of mace. “Don’t think about getting all Incredible Hulk on me.”
Liberty saw a flash of fear in Becky’s eyes and felt ashamed. She quickly nodded, motioned for the phone. I’m sorry.
Becky read it, eyed Liberty like she may be a poisonous mushroom, then smiled. “It’s okay. Guess I’m not used to you acting so salty.” Becky passed the phone back and sat for a minute, stared out the windshield lost in thought. Finally she said, “So, what do we do now? Are we still on for the Jenkins’?”
Liberty didn’t bother to type, just nodded and settled back as Becky started the engine and pulled away. She went over the events in her head. Tried to imagine what might have happened at the rendezvous.
Maybe Adrian had gotten caught when he’d tried to sneak out. Or, maybe he’d made it to the rendezvous, but hunters chased him away. She hadn’t sensed death, a body, so she didn’t play too long with the idea he’d gotten mistaken for a bear and been shot. It was possible some random person or the property owner had gotten lucky and discovered the cave. From the clothes they’d be able to tell somebody frequented the space and so set up the camera to catch the interloper. She doubted it was the property owner, seeing how they were—-according to Mitch—older than dirt and feeble as hell.
She sighed. She could play the what-if game all day long, and still never know.
Becky spoke as they passed their woods. “We’re almost there. A few more miles.”
Liberty looked out the side window and saw the farmhouse through the foliage, perched up on the hill. Idyllic, she thought, the way the willow branches swayed on either side of it, and how the moonlight shone against the roof. She never saw it this way. Her view was from the rear, and only from the kennel’s basement windows.
When Mitch and Ellie moved in, they renovated the outside. Added siding and a breezeway that connected the garage to the house. They also refinished the basement, which when he still lived there, was where Kevin spent most of his free time. Though they never hurt for money, thanks to some wise investments on, first the uncle, then on Mitch’s part, Kevin found he desired his own. To do with as he pleased. Except he made his in possession of narcotics and ended up doing time downstate. When he’d gotten out of prison, he hadn’t gone home.
Liberty turned away. Speeding past the old farmhouse on Little Church Road, no one would know a widowed old man lay dying inside. Catching a glimpse of the happy, red barn-shaped mailbox with its flag up, you wouldn’t know it acted as death’s concierge, escorting letters back and forth to oncologists, funeral directors, and hospice on the daily.
And you couldn’t tell there was a whole world just below the grassy knolls in the woods. Did the other houses they’d passed have secrets, too? She figured a better question to ask was, didn’t they all?
Chapter Ten
Ten minutes later, Becky pulled the truck off the dirt road and killed the engine. Liberty’s eyes got huge when she looked out the window. The tires were inches from a rather deep ditch. At least if someone flew over the crest behind them they wouldn’t plow into the back of the truck.
Liberty wondered how merciful it might be if a big milk truck, like the ones that regularly flew up and down Rimrock Hill, would come out of nowhere and bash into the back of the pick-up. No more worries, no more what-ifs.
Where had that come from? Ellie had died in a similar type of car accident. Died without ever knowing what would become of her