Hidden Motive (6 page)

“No, I just hopped on the bus for a joyride,” Simmons snapped. “What do you think?”

“So where are you headed?” Murph kept his voice conversational, blaming the man's irritability on fatigue.

“Home to Fayetteville,” Simmons said at last. “My mother's dying in the hospital there, and my sisters called me yesterday to tell me to hurry.” Simmons still sounded resentful, almost belligerent, and Murph wondered if he was telling the truth.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Murph said. “Maybe this ice will clear up and we can get you on your way before long.”

“And you?” Simmons asked. “You and Sable are friendly enough. Could be you were hoping for a lot less company.”

Murph didn't reply as he climbed onto the top bunk and lay on his side facing the room. He allowed himself to relax into the pillow, and reached upward for his real source of strength.
Lord, you brought me here for a reason. Now please guide me, guide Sable and heal our hearts. Help us depend on you alone…

He was still hesitant to sleep, but even this dinky bunk bed felt seductively comfortable. He could hear Simmons's breathing, hypnotic and deep, its rhythm like a metronome, blending with the whisper of the rain outside….

A
low rumble of thunder burst from the darkness and reverberated through Murph's chest, jolting him awake. His legs cramped, and he remembered he was in an upper bunk with a Detonics Pocket 9 pistol strapped to his chest so tightly it felt as if it had embedded into his flesh.

He'd fallen asleep in a room with a man he didn't trust. The pain reassured him that the gun remained in place. He reached up, feeling the cotton fabric of the shirt he'd rummaged from a box of old clothing in the attic last night. Good. He was covered.

The rumble came again. It wasn't Simmons snoring—no sound came from the lower bunk. It couldn't be thunder, because outside the window an invisible sun had turned the shrouded sky from pale gray to brilliant blue. The storm had passed.

The rumble became recognizable as the familiar sound of a dog's growl. Murph tossed back the warm blankets and climbed down from the top bunk. Simmons was already gone.

Shivering, Murph opened the door to find the German shepherd standing guard three doors down along the unlit hallway. Sable's room. The dog whirled around with a snarl when Murph stepped out.

“Quiet, boy.”

Dillon's pointed ears relaxed.

“What is it? Do you need to go outside?”

Dillon whined and wagged his tail, then trotted over and thrust his wet nose into the palm of Murph's right hand.

“Okay, but let me get my shoes and socks on. I don't have as much fur on my feet as you do.” With Dillon shadowing his steps, Murph returned to the bedroom to see if his socks had dried overnight. They hadn't. He'd have to dry them.

With shoes and socks in hand, he stepped over to the uncurtained window and looked out. The winter scene stunned him. Eighteen-inch icicles clung to the eaves of the house like sharpened spears. The dim shapes of crystal trees and rock cliffs hovered over the valley, like a picture on an Ozark postcard, all hills and valleys at sharp angles. Every inch was coated in ice.

Dillon growled again.

“I'm coming.” He trailed downstairs after the dog, who waited patiently for Murph to spread his socks on the hearth.

Only a few live coals glowed amid the ashes. The temperature in the house must have dropped overnight into the low sixties, maybe lower. Murph restocked the fireplace with wood from a rack beside the hearth.

Meanwhile, Dillon sniffed at the basement door at the end of the wide hearth. He pawed at the door, then looked at Murph.

Reminded of an old Lassie show, Murph opened the door.

The dog leaped down the narrow steps, and with a growl disappeared into the darkness. Murph grabbed a flashlight from the shelf at the head of the stairway and joined the dog, who hovered at a short, open doorway about three feet square at the far end of the large concrete basement. Past the doorway was the gaping mouth of the cave.

Murph's love of caves had always attracted him to Missouri, which boasted more caves than any other state. More important right now, this cave seemed to be a source of fascination for Dillon.

Murph looked down at his bare feet, then back toward the entrance. His feet were tough.

He dropped to his knees and crawled through the cave mouth, shining his light ahead. A sound of shuffling reached him from the darkness, but before he could identify the source, Dillon barked.

Murph turned. The dog still hovered at the cave mouth, hackles raised. The sound didn't come again. Bats, maybe? Was there another entrance to this cave? Sable had said the cave would provide an escape if necessary.

A few feet farther, he discovered that the narrow mouth opened into a wide cavern. He straightened, inhaling the moist air while playing his light over gray-and-white formations. He studied the path, scoured by footprints in the solid, limestone floor. The path wandered past a regal column of white to a ledge of stone about twenty feet ahead. This natural wall blocked his view and cast the cavern into patches of shadow that undulated with the movement of the beam.

The sound came again from behind the rock ledge, a shuffling noise…like the cautious tread of a human foot.

“Hello?” Murph's hand tightened on the flashlight.

No answer.

“Sable? It's me. Murph. Are you back there?”

Silence.

He reached beneath his shirt and slid the holster into position, then crept forward, ducking beneath a stalactite. The shadows fell away as he stepped past the rock ledge, and the cavern opened into another room.

Someone darted out from the shadows of the ledge and stumbled against a boulder. Dillon barked.

The sudden glare of a flashlight split the darkness. The broad-shouldered figure straightened. Simmons.

“Out for a morning stroll?” Murph asked.

Simmons trained his light on the dog, who had joined Murph in the cave. “You got a problem with that?”

“Did you ask permission to come down here?”

There was an annoyed silence. “Did
you?
”

“Not unless you count Dillon's invitation.” Murph leaned against a boulder and aimed his light around the walls of the cave. “Interesting place, isn't it?”

“Weird place,” Simmons muttered. Murph noted the muscles that bulged beneath the long-sleeved T-shirt Simmons had found in the attic last night. He was probably about five-ten, which was three inches shorter than Murph. Murph guessed he weighed about 190, without an ounce of fat.

“I love caves,” Murph said, aiming his light at some soda straw formations to the far right of the room. “It amazes me what God can do even in the absence of light.”

Simmons gave a sudden snort. “You like to hang out with bats and talk about God?”

“If you don't like bats, what are
you
doing down here?”

Simmons brushed his fingers through his curly brown hair, which had frizzed from the moisture in the cave. “Think any of the passages lead anywhere? You know, like to civilization?”

“No one mentioned it last night, but it wouldn't hurt to ask. You must be in a hurry to get to the hospital.”

Simmons aimed his flashlight up the side of the cave wall.

“I hope your mother's doing okay.” Murph battled another frisson of discomfort, perhaps because of the way Simmons avoided meeting his gaze straight on. “I'm sorry you're stuck here, when you need to get out so badly.”

Simmons lowered his flashlight, giving a long, deep sigh. “I wish I'd driven instead of taking that bus.”

“Maybe we'll have a quick thaw, and you can be on your way.” Nothing would make Murph happier.

“Guess we could go prospecting while we wait.”

“Prospecting?”

“You know, for silver. Think there's anything to that story?”

“I doubt it. Missouri isn't known for silver mines. You know how easily stories get started.”

“Wouldn't hurt to look, though, would it?”

Murph shrugged. “With permission from the owners.”

Simmons raked the sides of the cave with his light once more. “Like I said, this place is weird.” He stepped over some scattered rocks and onto the path, then left.

Dillon whined, looked up at Murph, then lowered his head, perked his ears and followed Simmons from the cave.

Murph nodded. “Good boy. Go to Sable. I'll be out in a moment.” But first, he wanted to check out a pit he had seen in the beam of Simmons's light. He stepped cautiously along the rock-strewn limestone. The pit seemed to swallow light, except for the jagged boulders around the rim, like teeth in the mouth of a giant serpent.

The mouth was big enough to swallow a small car. Murph's light barely touched the rocky bottom, about thirty-five feet below. Instinctively, he took a step backward. Anyone who fell down there could be badly injured—even killed.

“Better be careful over there,” came a man's voice from behind him.

He spun around and saw Craig Holt in the cave entrance.

Murph picked his way carefully back toward the path. “That's quite a drop.”

Craig shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and strolled forward. “If there's a drought, it's dry, if it's rainy or we have a lot of snowmelt, it's filled with water.”

“You grew up with the Chamberlins?” Murph asked.

Craig nodded. “My sister and I used to come over all the time when we were younger. Sable and her brothers visited a lot, even before they moved in with Josiah. Whenever they were here, they'd call my sister and me, and we'd come over and help them get into mischief.”

“You weren't afraid of the ghost?”

Craig laughed. It had a tight sound, as if he wasn't as relaxed as he wanted Murph to think. “Even as kids, we knew that rumors spread easily across these Ozark hills.”

Murph peered back along the passage into the inky darkness. “Is the cave large?”

“We thought it was. We could spend a whole day down here and not cover it all.” He glanced down at Murph's bare feet, and his black brows drew together. “Plan to do some exploring?”

“Not at the moment, but later, maybe. Spelunking is a favorite hobby of mine.”

Craig turned and strolled ahead of Murph toward the house. “It's one of Sable's, too.”

Murph thought he detected just a hint of possessiveness in the man's voice. He grimaced as Craig knelt to crawl out of the cave. This forced confinement was proving to be less and less comfortable.

S
able was falling, her feet sliding down an icy ledge, and she couldn't stop the descent. She screamed into the darkness, and her eyes flew open to a sunny stream of light coming in through the window sheers.

She gripped the comforter to her chest and waited while her heart slowed. She didn't often have nightmares, and this one had been more a memory than a dream.

In spite of the cold air, perspiration dripped from her face and neck in tiny rivulets. She looked across the room at the pile of discarded clothes she had worn last night. From the front pocket of her crumpled slacks, a corner of the folded letters peeped out at her.

What was the surprise Grandpa had hinted about? Why did he have to be so obscure?

Tossing back the covers in frustration, she looked out the window beside her bed, where a bright sky was punctured by the bare, frozen branches of the old maple tree that grew beside the house. To her dismay, a bank of dark clouds formed a foreboding wall on the western horizon, creeping closer. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly noon. From experience, she knew that the sun would melt the ice just enough to make travel impossible today.

Her bumps and bruises protested when she climbed from bed, reminding her all too well of the past eighteen hours.

“Oh, Lord, protect me,” she whispered into the silence of the room on her way to the window. “Protect all of us here.”

She was new to the habit of prayer, but she had a feeling that she was about to get accustomed to it in the days to come—she'd never felt so helpless and lost in her life.

As she stepped between the gauzy blue curtains at the window, she gasped in wonder at the frozen, ice-white landscape below. Sparkling crystals coated even the slenderest of branches, making the trees look like the glass figurines she had admired in the gift shops in Branson.

Even the strongest oaks hadn't escaped damage from the weight of ice. Branches of all sizes littered the forest floor—falling branches were another danger for anyone who ventured outside.

As she marveled over the side-by-side beauty and destruction, a board creaked in the hallway. She stiffened and turned from the window. Hearing another creak, she recognized it. The sound came from the attic steps. This old house and its squeaky floorboards and settling timber…over the years she had learned the distinctive sound of each one.

She pulled on a terry robe and rushed to the door. When she turned the knob, the mechanism clicked. By the time she stepped out into the hallway, all she saw was a slender, gray-haired, female form disappear around the corner. Audry.

Something soft and fuzzy brushed against her leg, and she bit back a cry. A cold nose pressed against her hand. Dillon.

She knelt and hugged him, accepting a kiss from his wet tongue. “So you and Audry are friends, huh? I hope you didn't allow anybody else past this door. Go on downstairs. I'm up and on the alert again.”

After dressing in old, faded jeans and a warm, sky-blue turtleneck that fit a little too snugly after eight years, Sable drew the blankets and the pink rosebud comforter over her pillows. She'd slept in her comfortable, private room on her solid bed while Murph and Simmons had squeezed into bunks. Perry had taken the rickety, uncomfortable cot in the sewing room.

She surveyed the room she had decorated last summer. The pale blue walls and silver-gray Berber carpeting were a perfect complement to the carved bureau, the antique lantern and washstand. She would probably be using the washstand. With no electricity, the only source of water was the hand pump in the kitchen. Someone would be kept busy carrying water upstairs.

Downstairs, a fire glowed in the hearth and the sound of footsteps reached her from the basement stairs. She hated the fear that made her heart beat faster and her muscles tense. But Dillon didn't bark. He didn't even react to the sound. Craig Holt entered, his thick, black hair tousled, soot on his chin, apparently from stoking the wood furnace.

Craig grinned at her. “What's the matter, sleepyhead? You look like you should've stayed in bed a couple more hours.”

“And good morning to
you,
” she said with the sarcasm that had always characterized their banter.

“Who's fixing breakfast? I'm starved.”

Sable shook her head sadly. “Almost thirty and still looking for someone to fix your breakfast.”

“Have your cooking skills improved?” Craig teased.

“Not much. Is there any food left in the freezer from the funeral dinner?”

“Some. Your mom took a couple of casseroles with her to Randy's, and she sent the fried chicken home with Peter. She gave me the roast.”

“It's at your house, I guess,” she said.

He shrugged. “I hadn't planned to move in down here.”

“Great. What are we going to feed everybody?”

“Plenty in the pantry, and there's a lot of unprepared food in the freezer. As long as we don't open and close the door too much, it shouldn't thaw too fast.” He glanced up the stairs. “Anybody else up? I saw Murph and Simmons earlier—they seemed to have an interest in the cave. And I thought I heard someone bumping around in the attic earlier this morning.”

That must have been Audry.

Craig gave Dillon a quick scratch on the ears as he passed. “I fired up the wood furnace in the basement. Fortunately, there are plenty of limbs down outside. I'm going to draft some help chopping after breakfast.”

“Good. I'll enlist someone to cook breakfast.”

“Not you, I hope,” he called over his shoulder as he stepped into the room he occupied. He closed the door before Sable could think of a proper retort.

Paul Murphy came from the basement, wiped his bare feet on the mat and gave her a nod. She couldn't help staring.

“Size twelve,” he said, grinning at her. “Good morning.”

“Craig reminded me it's almost noon. I think he's expecting someone to fix breakfast.”

“Can't he cook?”

“Not if I can stop him before he does any damage.”

Murph gestured toward the pair of socks on the hearth next to his shoes. “Sorry about the laundry in the middle of the living room.”

“Does it take two men to tend the furnace?”

“Craig found me in the cave, so I decided to learn how the furnace worked while I was down there.”

“You went spelunking with bare feet,” Sable said incredulously. “Now
that's
what I call macho. No compliment intended.”

“None taken. Dillon found the cave door open this morning. I couldn't resist a look.”

Sable gave Dillon another pat and turned toward the kitchen. “Did you find out what Simmons was doing on the bus?”

“He says he's going to his mother's funeral.”

“Poor Simmons. And now he's stranded.”

“Yes,” Murph said slowly. “That would be especially hard, since he got on the wrong bus.”

Sable's movements stilled.

“Our bus wasn't going to Fayetteville.”

“You think Simmons lied?”

“I'm not sure what I think right now,” Murph said. “But you may want to avoid being alone with him.”

“You're staying in the same room with him.”

Murph followed Sable into the kitchen, his bare feet silent on the brick floor. “I'm bigger than you.” He walked over to the woodstove. “You know how to cook on this?”

“That depends on what you call cooking. If you mean the act of placing different foods together in a palatable form, all of us could starve while we're waiting for the weather to clear. For breakfast, I'm good at cereal and milk, and maybe scrambled eggs. Home economics was not my favorite class.”

“That's okay, as long as you passed science and math.”

“Those, I can handle,” she said. Her eyes were drawn once again to Murph's bare feet. “How far into the cave did you go?'

“Just back to that ugly-looking pit. I'd imagine you know that cave pretty well.”

“Yeah, I've logged quite a few hours down there, exploring passages. Have you been outside?”

“Not yet,” he said. “It's like a war zone with all those branches coming down.”

“I saw that. I bet the ice is two inches thick on the ground.” She took a clean pitcher from the cabinet above the sink, and placed it beneath the spout of the water pump.

“The icicles on the eaves of the house could pass for javelins.” Murph grasped the wooden handle, and pumped it up and down. When water trickled from the spout, his eyes widened like those of a child with a new toy. “Hey, this thing really works, doesn't it?”

“Yes, and it's a good thing, because otherwise we'd have to melt ice for water. There's also plenty of food. And do you feel the warmth of the bricks?” She pointed down at the floor. “The furnace is directly below the kitchen.”

Murph gave a low whistle of admiration. “Your grandpa knew how to prepare for the worst.”

Sable opened the side door of the heavy, cast-iron stove. She struck a match and held it to the papers and kindling wood inside. Flames flickered and spread through the compartment. She tossed the match in and closed the door with a thump.

She opened the refrigerator and took out eggs, sausage and milk. Everything was still cool, but if the power stayed out, the contents of the fridge would go outside.

Murph picked up a package of sausage and handed it to Sable. “Form this into patties while I mix up a batch of biscuits. Where are the flour and baking things?”

Sable pointed to the proper cupboards, then took the sausage from him with a wry grimace. “You're a cook?”

“My mother was an army cook. You did say there was enough food for everyone.”

“There's plenty, believe me. There are always rows of canned goods in the basement. Mom grows a huge garden every year and cans food until it's coming out the eaves of the house. There's flour, sugar, powdered milk in the pantry, and chicken, beef and fish in the freezer. The freezer will keep the meat for several days.” Sable formed the first patty and placed it in the hot skillet. The meat sizzled and spattered, sending a smoky aroma through the kitchen.

The first guest soon arrived. It was Audry, her short gray hair combed back from her face in a casual style. She wore a white turtleneck and brown slacks that belonged to Sable's mother.

“They look great on you, Audry,” Sable said.

Audry snorted. “Honey, beneath this glamorous exterior lurks the body of a prune. I snooped in your attic this morning. I'm a sneak and an antique freak. Mind if I take another look around later?”

“Of course not. I'm sure the others would like to look for more clothes.” As long as they didn't linger up there. Sable had a search to conduct, and she couldn't do it with an audience.