The Puzzle (6 page)

Of course, that’s exactly the strategy that might prove dangerous, but I had my fingers crossed that nothing would happen to me in such a quiet, reserved town. Someone was obviously playing a game of cat and mouse, while I was now playing the game of wait and see. For the time being, I figured I was pretty safe, that is, until…

Well, I would just have to wait and see, wouldn’t I?

Chapter 10

Caught Off Guard

December finally arrived. I spent the dark evenings in front of the fire with my laptop, where I could concentrate undisturbed, and feel somewhat in control of my fate while trying to decipher my notes, Stephen’s conversational riddles, and add any new information I had latched on to.

One evening, I kicked off my shoes, shrugged off my jacket, and dropped into my favorite chair, exhausted from a particularly long day at the store. I devoured my take-out food in minutes and felt my eyes closing before I’d even opened my laptop.

The ringing of my cell startled me awake.

I looked down at it. Caller ID blocked.
Hmm
. It was most likely telemarketers. They were persistent, once they had my number, constantly leaving me voicemails. I was annoyed by the intrusion. Apparently, they loved ignoring the ‘
Do Not
Call
’
list I was currently on.

“Hello,” I answered impatiently.

“Samantha?” a raspy voice whispered.

“Yes?” I answered cautiously. This was no telemarketer.

“You know what I want.” Was that voice a
man’s
or a woman’s? It was impossible to tell.

I sat up sharply, wide-awake and completely alert. “Who is this?” I demanded. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play games with me.”

“You must have the wrong number,” I said, trying to sound indignant but knowing I only sounded terrified.

This was no wrong number either.

Whoever the caller was, he or she had hung up. I stared at the phone in my hand, frustrated and rattled. Who was that? How did they get my unlisted number? But I realized if a telemarketer could get my number, why not them? I was upset they hadn’t revealed any more information that might help me identify who it was. I set down the phone
.

Now what? Check my locks again and wait.

This was not a surprise, really. I’d known for weeks they had found me, whoever
‘they’
were. Something was bound to happen again. It was just a matter of time. I shoved off from the chair, upset and disturbed. After some pacing back and forth, eventually, I headed upstairs to bed, taking my cell with me, but I did not receive any more calls that evening or the next. Days went by and still no word from my mystery caller.

I was majoring in the art of being patient. They wanted from me what they thought I knew, which at this stage, was absolutely nothing. Would it go beyond threatening calls and the mail? Were they trying to unnerve me?

If so, they had accomplished their task and then some. This incident was starting to poke holes of doubt in my misguided plan and so-called strategy. The worst thing was, I couldn’t confide in anyone. Who would I possibly choose? Who could I really trust at this point? The answer to that was easy.

No one.

Chapter 11

A Walk On The Wrong Side

My eyes grudgingly opened when the sun invaded my sleep zone. Between the unforgiving glare and some birds squawking loudly nearby, my hopes of sleeping past noon were history. It was ten o’clock. Without even raising my head off the pillow, I caught sight of the mountains across the way that bordered the valley below. Small pockets of meadows came into view after I dragged myself out of bed and pushed open the window. It didn’t feel like a typical December morning, as uncommonly temperate breezes greeted me.

It looked like the perfect day to explore those lower meadows. Momentarily I considered taking the car, but with the warm weather I figured a hike was in order. That would allow me to take a closer look at some of the area without raising any questions about my nosing around. Who would be suspicious of a hiker? Besides, I felt
well-rested
and didn’t have any immediate responsibilities vying for my attention. It was Sunday. No calls. No notes. No news.

Dressing quickly, I sprinted down the stairs and flung open the French doors to check out the temperature. It was already seventy degrees according to the porch thermometer. I’d heard on the news the night before that it would be unusually warm, but later would turn extremely cold with possible storms. It was an unexpected opportunity that I was promptly going to take advantage of. My shop was in Martha’s hands for the day, and if I left as soon as possible, I could return before that cold front arrived. So, with that weather forecast conveniently shoved to the back of my mind for later retrieval, I grabbed my backpack, several snacks, and some water, and headed for the front door.

My house, partially built into the side of the mountain, was held up in the back by huge upright wooden poles. It gave me the illusion of living in a unique tree house because the branches were constantly swaying at eye level. So there was no choice, but to exit by way of my front door. I aimed directly for the side of the house, following an old deer path that sloped down sharply toward a lower dirt road that led to the valley.

As I made my way along the dusty road, I noticed numerous trails veering off in different directions. They looked intriguing, but I kept on walking. Hidden driveways suddenly appeared and then disappeared far into the dense brush. A friendly dog drifted by, checked me out, sniffed around, and moved on.

After wandering for some time, satisfying my curiosity, I finally approached a curve in the road and arrived at a broad clearing in the valley. There, across the meadow, was an old farmhouse with a broken down, picket fence.

Against my better judgment, I ventured closer, my curiosity getting the better of me. I cautiously opened the rusty-hinged gate and passed through. With its shutters askew, broken steps, and paint peeling off the sides in various spots, I felt the odds were in my favor that it was probably abandoned.

I carefully made my way toward the rear, relentlessly snagged by thorny shrubs and razor-sharp tall grasses. Initially, I was startled by the harshness, but kept going, refusing to be deterred by the inhospitable gardens. I was in an optimistic mood and definitely not looking for the ugly side of things as I mentally tried to picture the property, beautiful and meticulously cared for.

An aromatic scent floated in the air around me. Curious about what it was, I scanned the gardens. Everything appeared dried out and dead.

How odd.

I felt a cool breeze and looked up, aware of several dark clouds slowly making their way across the clear blue sky. I figured I was okay for a little while longer and walked over to a set of French doors nearby. I normally wouldn’t look inside, but the temptation was too much. I cupped my hands to help cut the glare from the intermittent sun and peered in. Apparently, I was wrong. Someone did live there.

Inside was a gorgeous old library, complete with a dark wood and leather-topped desk. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses sat propped on some old, worn, leather-bound books. I was glued to the glass, absorbing all the striking details before me, completely oblivious to everything else. It was too late by the time I heard the rustle of leaves behind me.

“Let me know if you see anything interesting,” a voice said menacingly.

I froze, and spun around to find a dark-haired man towering over me. Although good-looking, he had an angular, overbearing appearance, cat-like greenish eyes, and he wore a black knit shirt and a black leather jacket. Like a vulture eyeing its prey, he seemed ready to pounce. My ears picked up on a low rumble that echoed from afar. A whiff of earthy dampness swirled by from a passing breeze. My eyes traveled to the ground, and sure enough, he wore black leather boots. No farmer here. I registered a flash of surprise, which was followed by my stunned silence.
Who was this man?

“Not talking, huh?” he asked, moving in.

I nervously sidestepped, not quite sure how to handle this, but made a decision to assert myself. I was determined to show some self-confidence. “And you are?” I demanded with false bravado.

“I think I should be the one asking questions here,” he shot back, glaring at me. He edged in closer and I back-peddled another step.

“I…I…was out for a walk,” I explained, as firmly as I could. “I didn’t realize someone lived here. …The old house seemed…Well, maybe I better get going. It’s getting colder and I should head back.” I started edging away from him.

He barred my path, and with one hand, grabbed hold of me. “I don’t like strangers lurking around my property and invading my privacy,” he said testily.

I looked down at my wrist and back up at him, caught off guard by this sudden physical confrontation.

He followed my gaze down to his tightly laced fingers on my arm. He relaxed his hold, and finally let go, but stood his ground, still blocking me. Alarm bells weren’t ringing in my head quite yet, but they were dangerously close. I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry I trespassed. As I said, I didn’t realize someone lived here. The house looked deserted. But there was something about it that drew me. I was captivated, for some crazy reason I can’t quite explain.” I turned to look toward the doors I had been staring through, and turned back to him, wishing I could somehow make him understand something I didn’t quite comprehend myself. “It just drew me in.”

To my surprise, he broke into a smile, a look that transformed his whole demeanor. “I know just what you mean,” he said, nodding. “I felt the same way about the old place when I came back after all these years. I was caught off-guard by my own reaction.” His spontaneous admission lessened some of my uncertainty, as his eyes slowly traveled over the house and property before finally concentrating back on me.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I know I shouldn’t have trespassed. Let’s start over. I’m Samantha Jamison. I moved here several months ago. I am your extremely nosy neighbor from up there.” I turned and pointed in the general direction of my house, hoping I had my bearings right.

He extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Samantha. I’m Clay Masters. Sorry if I startled you. As you can see, I’m very protective of the place I inherited from my aunt. She held onto it, thinking that eventually it would give me a sense of home because I was always such a restless spirit.” He laughed. “I hate to admit it, but she was absolutely right.”

I was surprised by his candor and friendliness, and began to reassess my initial impression of him.

As cold air flashed by, I looked up at the darkening clouds, remembering the weather warning, and zipped up my jacket. “The temperature seems to have taken a dive since I started out. I better get home.” Dressed warmly enough, I wasn’t all that concerned. I was getting used to a lot lately, including loneliness, deception, and just about everything else.
So what was a little storm front moving in?
Still, I wasn’t stupid. It was time for me to leave.

 
“How about I give you a ride back to your place? Or would you prefer I call someone for you? A husband, maybe?” he asked teasingly.

Stronger gusts coursed between us, carrying a raw, cold energy with them this time. I shuddered involuntarily. “My husband can’t help me now, he’s dead.” Pain and anger took hold unexpectedly. “But I’m perfectly capable of hiking back up that mountain. Thanks for the offer, though.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he replied, apologetically, then stared up at the thickening layers of clouds that were shoving their way across the sky. He looked back to me, all business this time and tried once more. “It’s supposed to turn frigid, pushing through sometime later, but it appears it’s ahead of schedule. Are you sure? It’s no big deal, giving you a lift.”

“No, it’s okay.” I didn’t trust him to take him up on his offer. “I really don’t have that far to go. Besides, I have plenty of time.”

He looked at me, about to argue, but instead he said, “Have it your way, but if I were you, I’d be very careful. Take some free advice for what it’s worth. Watch your step. Choosing the wrong path could get quite risky.”

I eyed him, suspicion kicking in hard.

Was that a warning?

“Don’t worry,” I replied sarcastically. “I think I know exactly what’s out there.” Then I turned and promptly headed for home.

I hustled along eventually reaching the steep mountain deer path and started the climb. Going downhill was easy compared to my return. Leaning into the wind, by the time I reached the edge of my property and caught sight of my house, I was out of breath. The thick cloud cover quickly closed in, creating an eerie darkness as I narrowed the distance.

I had about fifty yards to go when all hell broke loose. Large pellets of water began slapping my face, thunder boomed overhead, and lightening lit the sky all around me. The temperature seemed to plunge with every step I took. Once on level ground, I raced for the entrance, barely making it in before becoming totally drenched. Gasping for breath, I slammed the door shut and slid the dead bolt in place.