Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11) - Linda Castillo Page 0,76
they couldn’t sleep, but the stairs were bare.
Where had the odd sound come from? What had broken?
Miriam went back to the kitchen and looked around. The sight of the hole in the refrigerator froze her in place. She didn’t know much about guns, but her datt had been a hunter; she’d been around enough shooting to recognize a bullet hole when she saw it. The realization slammed into her like a jagged block of ice.
Frightened, she ran to the living room. The curtains were open, darkness peering in. A hole the size of her thumb marred the glass. And she knew he’d finally come for them.
Spurred by panic, Miriam bolted to the stairs, ascended them with the speed of a woman half her age. At the top, she darted left, tore down the hall, threw open the first door and dashed to the beds. Bonnie and Irma slept soundly, snoring softly.
“Miriam?”
Gasping, she spun, saw her husband silhouetted against the door, still wearing his coat. She rushed to him, went through the door, closed it behind her. “Someone shot through the window,” she said.
“What?” His eyes widened. “When?”
“Just now.”
Even in the dim light of the gas lamp, she saw his face pale. “The children—”
Not waiting for him to finish, Miriam hurried to the next room. Her legs went weak with relief when she found her two sons sleeping and completely unaware.
Ivan met her in the hall, his eyes frightened and large. “The girls are fine,” he said. “Sleeping.”
“It’s him,” she whispered. “He’s come for us.”
Ivan stared at her, saying nothing. He didn’t have to. He knew, just as she did.
“Lock the doors and windows.” He started toward the stairs.
Miriam choked out a sob, set her hand over her mouth. “Go to the phone,” she whispered. “Call Chief Burkholder.”
* * *
I’m on my way home for a shower and a few hours of sleep when the call comes in. I’m expecting Tomasetti; uneasiness ripples through me when I recognize the number of the prepaid cell I left with the Helmuths.
“Chief Burkholder!” Ivan. I can tell by the breathless cadence of his voice that something’s happened.
“Someone shot into the house,” he says. “We need you to come.”
“Is anyone hurt?” I ask.
“No, but we’re afraid. The children!”
“I’m on my way,” I tell him. “Stay inside. Stay away from the windows.”
I make a U-turn. The engine groans as I crank the speedometer to sixty and blow back through town. I call Skid. “I got shots fired at the Helmuth place.”
“Holy shit. Chief, I’m there. Goat Head Road. Didn’t see a damn thing.”
“I’m ten-seven-six,” I say, letting him know I’m en route. “Drive the block. I’ll meet you.”
“Roger that.”
I pick up my radio. “I’ve got a ten-forty-three-A,” I say, giving the ten code for shots fired. I recite the address. “Ten-seven-six. Expedite.”
It takes me three minutes to reach the Helmuth farm. I barrel up the lane fast, slide to a halt a few yards from the back door, and I hit the ground running. Ivan stands on the porch, a lantern thrust in front of him.
“Get inside,” I tell him as I take the steps two at a time to the porch.
He leads me through the mudroom and into the kitchen. Lantern light reveals terror on their faces. I spot the hole in the refrigerator door before Ivan can point it out.
While a stray shot is always dangerous, in Painters Mill most often it’s from a hunter. In light of recent events, I don’t believe that’s the case this time.
“How long ago did this happen?” I ask.
“Less than five minutes. There’s a hole in the front window.” Miriam is already striding that way.
Ivan and I follow. The window covering is open about a foot. Sure enough, a bullet hole big enough for me to put my finger through stares back at me. The surrounding glass is cracked, but not broken, typical of a gunshot.
I check the angle, realize it could have come from someone sitting in a vehicle on the road in front of the house. Or more likely the woods across the road.
“Where were you when this happened?” I ask.
“Kitchen table,” Miriam replies.
“I was walking in from the barn,” Ivan says.
“Were the curtains open?”
“Yes,” Miriam tells me.
Which means the shooter likely saw her, but she couldn’t see him.
“Stay away from the windows.” I start toward the kitchen. “Do not go outside until I give you the go-ahead. Do not turn on any more lanterns. I’ll be back.”