both hands, peered around the corner, taking one last look at each of
the rear windows to be sure no one was looking out of them.
The cicadas had stopped singing.
What did their sudden silence mean?
Before she could call that new development to Benny’s attention, he
flung himself forward, out of the concealment of the woods. He bolted
across the patchy, dead brown lawn.
Propelled by the electrifying feeling that something murderous was
bounding through the shadowed forest behind her-was reaching for her
hair, was going to seize her, was going to drag her away into the dark
of the woods-Rachael plunged after Benny, past the rocks, out of the
trees, into the sun. She reached the back porch even as he was
hunkering down beside the steps.
Breathless, she stopped beside him and looked back toward the forest.
Nothing was pursuing her. She could hardly believe it.
Fast and light on his feet, Benny sprang up the porch steps, to the wall
beside the open door, where he put his back to the logs and listened for
movement inside the house. Evidently he heard nothing, for he pulled
open the screen door and went inside, staying low, the shotgun aimed in
front of him.
Rachael went after him, into a kitchen that was larger and better
equipped than she expected. On the table, a plate held the remnants of
an unfinished breakfast of sausages and biscuits. Soup cans and an
empty jar of peanut butter littered the floor.
The cellar door was open. Benny cautiously, quietly pushed it shut,
closing off the sight of steps descending into the gloom beyond.
Without being told what to do, Rachael hooked a kitchen chair with one
and, brought it to the door, tilted it under the knob, and wedged it
into place, creating an effective barricade. They could not go into the
cellar until they had searched the main living quarters of the cabin,
for if Eric was in one of the ground-floor rooms, he might slip into the
kitchen as soon as they went down the steps, might close the door and
lock them in the dark basement. Conversely, if he was in the windowless
basement already, he might creep upstairs while they were searching for
him and sneak in behind them, a possibility they had just precluded by
wedging that door shut.
She saw that Benny was pleased by the perception she’d shown when she’d
put that chair under the knob.
They made a good team.
She braced another door, which probably opened onto the garage, used a
chair on that one, too. If Eric was in there, he could escape by
rolling up the big outer door, of course, but they would hear it no
matter where they were in the cabin and would have him pinpointed.
They stood in the kitchen for a moment, listening.
Rachael could hear only the gusty breeze humming in the fine-mesh screen
of the open kitchen window, sighing through the deep eaves under the
overhanging slate roof.
Staying low and moving fast, Benny rushed through the doorway between
the kitchen and the living room, looking left and right as he crossed
the threshold. He signaled to Rachael that the way was clear, and she
went after him.
In the ultramodern living room, the cabin’s front door was open, though
not as wide as the back door had been. A couple of hundred loose sheets
of paper, two small ring-bound notebooks with black vinyl covers, and
several manila file folders were scattered across the floor, some
rumpled and torn.
Also on the floor, beside an armchair near the big front window, lay a
medium-size knife with a serrated blade and a point tip. A couple of
sunbeams, having pierced the forest outside, struck through the window,
and one touched the steel blade, making its polished surface gleam,
rippling lambently along its cutting edge.
Benny stared worriedly at the knife, then turned toward one of the three
doors that, in addition to the kitchen archway, opened off the living
room.
Rachael was about to pick up some of the papers to see what they were,
but when Benny moved, she followed.
Two of the doors were closed tight, but the one Benny had chosen was
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