Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce Page 0,67
She only spotted a single room. A bed next to a fireplace and an oversized table with too many chairs next to the kitchen.
The chairs gave her pause. “How many of you live here?” she said.
The man chuckled. “Just the two of us. We like guests though, so we’re optimists. We keep the chairs in case anyone comes through.”
“Right,” she said. “That’s a lot of chairs, even for an optimist.”
The man’s smile didn’t shrink one watt. “Thank you,” he said. “We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything. Like I said, you’re welcome to join us for dinner.”
“I think I’m fine. You mind if I look in that room back there?” Adele said.
“Help yourself,” the man called over his shoulder, already moving with his wife toward the kitchen. They held hands as they moved, and the woman sort of rocked and swayed as if dancing to some unheard music. She giggled as her husband whispered something, and she kissed him again.
Again, John raised his eyebrows at Adele. But again she ignored him. He might not be convinced, but Adele could smell something off. The cooking in the kitchen wasn’t the only thing that stank. She moved toward the door and gestured toward John.
“I’ll be around back,” he called out.
As he spoke, she glanced toward the couple. But his words didn’t seem to arouse anything as far as worry. Adele reached the door and turned the handle.
The cabin felt quiet, and a prickle crept across the Adele’s spine as she turned the door handle. The metal lever was cold beneath her hand, and she pushed open the door, stepping into the room beyond.
The swell of expectation was met with an enterprise of disappointment.
A bathroom.
She glanced around the small, contained room. A single window, also with no curtains, revealed the backyard and the garage. Adele spotted John moving toward a van parked in front of the makeshift garage. Though, perhaps to call it a garage was generous. More like a shed made from plywood.
The bathroom itself was cramped, with a standup shower, sink, and toilet.
After a cursory glance, Adele left the room again, dejected.
She stepped back out into the main portion of the cabin, scanning the small area once more. Her eyes flitted from the bed to various portions of the floor, scanning for a trapdoor, for anything that might descend to a lower level.
She looked toward the kitchen again, watching as the older couple dished out food for themselves and then set four plates at the table, clearly expecting the agents to take them up on their offer of hospitality.
They were so at ease. Adele stared at them, frowning, framed in the doorway of the bathroom.
It was as if they didn’t have a care in the world. And yet, that struck her as unusual. Even if they had clean consciences, most folks were wary of police. But, as she thought about it, she’s was certain that people like this, who distanced themselves from society to go live off-grid, would have an even bigger helping of dislike for law enforcement. And so why was her presence disregarded? Why did they seemed disinterested in the two agents searching their home?
Was it because they had nothing to hide? Or because they were certain they hid it so well?
“I’ll be outside with my partner,” Adele said, marching toward the cracked front door.
Mr. Klose waved in her direction, while his wife swayed back and forth in that same dancing motion.
Troubled, her stomach twisting, Adele moved back out into the cool night, facing the dark forest. Now that she stood in the frame of the door, before the open, glowing window, the shadows cast toward the woods seemed longer. It was one thing to be moving from the dark toward the light, but another to be standing in the light facing the dark. Things seemed clear from here, and the trees were more detailed; she could make out the grooves in the bark, the scattering of twigs, the various plants in the garden, and the young saplings still pushing through the cold ground.
“Adele,” came a voice from around the side of the cabin.
Adele took the two steps down the patio and moved along the edge of the house. She reached the back, where she had spotted John next to the plywood shed.
“Anything in there?” Adele asked.
The tall agent had his head up against a window, peering into the small shed. “Nothing,” he said. “Dirt floor, no ladders, no trapdoors.”