Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce Page 0,44

he moved around the copse, over a small hillock, he reached a portion of the forest that seemed thinner. The trees here were still large, but a few were planted in a way that suggested uniformity, intentionality.

He wrinkled his nose. These trees were young, small, saplings. His eyes darted forward: a dirt trail. He took a few steps from the trail and glanced up. Then stiffened, and flashed his light over what he’d seen.

An orange glow was emanating from a small single-story cabin between the trees.

“Hello there,” he murmured softly to himself.

The Sergeant moved up the trail, cautious, careful. He didn’t have his service weapon with him. He’d been here on a volunteer basis and hadn’t wanted to alarm the other searchers.

Now, though, he was starting to wish he’d brought it.

As he moved closer toward the small, single-story cabin, a quiet chill crept over his shoulders. “And who might you be?” he murmured, still speaking to himself.

In front of the cabin, there were all manner of small plants and trees. It was like a nursery in the forest. Someone clearly spent a lot of time gardening here.

Past the small trees, through the window, where there were no curtains, he saw a woman about his age. She was moving, her motions like dancing. Each of her steps seemingly an intentional foray toward vitality.

She reached into a cupboard and withdrew a colander, then moved to a stove. She seemed to be listening to something, though, which the Sergeant couldn’t hear. Her head tilted back, and she loosed laughter. He could just faintly make out the final vestiges of the noise. A crystalline, lively noise.

The Sergeant found himself staring through the window at the woman, a small smile inserting itself beneath his curly mustache. He stood there for a few moments, just watching as she danced around her small cabin, moving things or setting things down.

Then he realized what he was doing and what it must look like, ogling a woman through a window in a private home; he felt a flash of embarrassment. He could feel his cheeks heating, and he muttered to himself, “Don’t be a weirdo.”

He stalked up past the garden. As he glanced at the plants, he supposed the woman likely had planted the array. She had a clear talent for it. Small saplings were growing next to patches of flowers, and curling, ornamental plants twisted up a path toward the front of the cabin.

He reached the front door and gently tapped against the frame. He heard faint voices from inside, more laughter. She was with someone. Stunningly, this filled him with a sudden sense of embarrassment and despair.

Why should that bother him? A stranger in the middle of the forest was no better or worse than two strangers. Well, perhaps in the former, it would be more difficult for him to be overpowered without his weapon. Still, he felt a flash of disappointment.

He knocked a bit louder.

The voices stopped. Then he heard dainty, tapping footsteps. The feet of a dancer.

The door swung open.

Warmth and orange light extended into the dark cold night to greet him. A similarly warm smile radiated from the woman’s face. She was even more beautiful up close. Not a single hair out of place. Auburn streaked with the grays of wisdom. She was smiling at him, and there wasn’t a note of fear. “Hello,” she said, gently. “Can I help you?”

The Sergeant was taken aback. For someone alone in the woods, to be approached by a stranger, it would normally alarm or terrify most people. The woman, though, didn’t seem scared at all.

“Hello,” said the Sergeant. He spoke quick, gruff, not pausing for a response. “My name is Joseph Sharp. I’m part of a search force looking through the forest. There have been some disappearances recently, and we’re trying to find missing people. Do you have a moment to talk?”

The woman’s smile didn’t change one iota. She nodded and stepped back, sweeping with a gallant hand into the cabin.

“Please,” she said, “you’re welcome, Joseph Sharp. My name is Gretel Klose. Would you like some tea? I brew it myself.”

The Sergeant shook his head politely and dusted his feet off. He stepped foot into the small, single-story cabin.

It was as small as it had looked from the outside. There was only one room separate from the main area. A bedroom, he guessed. Or perhaps the bathroom.

“Thank you, Ms. Klose,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Mrs.!” called out a voice from the kitchen section with a laugh.

The