Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) (38 page)

Edge of Time
230

Twenty-one

Over the course of the next few days Deputy Rogers regained consciousness and strength and it looked as though he would make a full, if slow, recovery.

“Well, who shot him?” Genie asked, hands, as usual, planted on her hips.

“The sheriff still doesn’t know,” Craig replied, taking a si
p of his so-called-coffee. “Jesus
, Genie that’s hot!”

“Doesn’t know? Did Deput
y Rogers not see the man
?”

Craig just shrugged, pushing the mug of hot liquid away.

“It’s not that bad,” Marissa said
,
testing the contents of her own cup as she smiled at her tired husband.

“Then you drink it.”

“Are the two of you even listening to me?”

“What?” The couple asked in unison.

“Oh.” Craig shifted in his straight backed chair. “Genie, all Rogers knows is that he saw something in the woods and went over to check it out. It was black as pitch so all he saw was a muzzle flash, and the next thing he knew, he woke up two days later in the hospital.”

“Damnation!” Genie slumped onto a chair and held her head in her hands. “What am I going to do? I can’t go home because there is some madman cavorting about my woods shooting people!”

Rising, Marissa moved to her friend and wrapped sympathetic arms around her. “I know this is hard, but Sheriff Hudson and the other deputies will catch a break soon.”

*     *     *

“I
said
I am coming with you.” Marissa stood, arms folded, tapping her foot agitatedly.
Men
she thought.

“And I said you’re staying home.” Craig stood with equal adamancy before the door. “You need to stay home and rest.”

“Why?” Marissa shot, showing no sign of backing down.

“Because,” Craig was at a total loss. “Because I said so.”

“Hah! You don’t even have a good reason why I can’t come.”
Because I said so, indeed.

Craig threw his hands up in the air. “I said you’re not coming. You’ve only been feeling better for a few days and I just want you to rest. Please?” Attempting a change of tactics he looped his arms about her waist and pulled her close, cajoling. “What if I tell you it’s doctor’s orders?”

“I am not an invalid, and I’m bored. I don’t care what you say or how much you beg I’m coming with you and that’s final. That poor woman probably needs some good, old-fashioned girl-talk.” Breaking out of his arms she stomped past
him and threw over her shoulder.
“Are you coming or not?”

“Women,” Craig muttered, following after her in defeat.

“I heard that.”

The buckboard had been readied in front of the house and they were headed out of town to pay a visit to a woman prescribed bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy. Considering his wife’s delicate condition, Craig would’ve preferred she
not
see a woman undergoing pregnancy complications, but when Marissa set her mind to something it was like trying to stop a hurricane or other force of nature.

In companionable silence, listening the creaking of the wagon, they rolled through town and along the road that passed by Genie’s farmhouse. Suddenly, a sharp snap sounded from somewhere beneath the wagon and it lurched to the side as the left back wheel groaned in protest. Drawing the horse to a stop, Craig set the brake and swung to the ground.

“The axel broke,” he called from ben
eath the wagon. “Damn. Well,
Genie’s barn is just up the road so we’ll have to go see if there is another wagon we can borrow until I can get some supplies out here to fix this one.” He stood,
brushing the dust from his trousers
before lifting Marissa from the seat and unhitching the horse from the traces. “Do you want to walk or ride old Joe?”

Marissa wrinkled her nose. “I’ll walk. You know I can’t ride without a saddle.”

“Right,” he said, leading the horse. “I forgot you have fancy
cars
in the twenty-first century.”

T
wenty minutes
later
they were cutting across the field toward the barn. The perpetual swirling eerie mist of the woods came into view and Marissa couldn’t fight a sense of unease. With any luck they’d be out of there in ten minutes, and moreover, nothing had happened out here in weeks. It was presumable the killer was gone. After Rogers was shot, the sheriff and his deputies had found a stash of loot and bodies, but no one to blame.

As they passed the chicken coop, the old rooster, Toughie, glared and Marissa stopped to toss him and his harem a few a handfuls of dried corn.

“I don’t know why Genie hasn’t beheaded that monster,” Craig grumbled shooting the old bird a wary look. “
The first time I came out here
a few years ago I thought the damn thing was going to kill me. I’m glad Genie keeps him penned up now.”

Marissa laughed. “I think she likes him. If you haven’t noticed, Genie has a Toughie story for every day of the week.” As they walked into the barn Marissa continued, “If I remember correctly there should be a little cart behind the barn door and it’s just about the right size for two people.”

The cart was exactly where she remembered and a quick survey revealed that it would be more than serviceable for the remainder of their errand. As Craig pulled it out and turned to secure old Joe into its traces, the animal whinnied and backed nervously toward the door.

“Easy, boy,” Craig murmured soothingly. “Easy.”

With a sense of growing unease, Marissa turned a slow circle, surveying the interior of the barn. She jerked around at a sound that came from... where? The horse bucked again and tossed his head wildly, dragging the long leather reins through Craig’s fingers.

“Did you hear that?” Marissa whispered.

“No,” Craig ground out, as he struggled to hold the quivering horse. At that moment Toughie began to crow with fervor, which only served to further aggravate the horse. A metallic scraping followed by a loud crash sounded from the hay loft, fully terrifying old Joe. He reared, his sla
shing his hooves narrowly missing
Craig’s head.

“Watch out!” Marissa screamed as a large barrel rolled from the hayloft and collided sickeningly with her husband’s head. Dodging the flailing hooves of the horse as he thundered from the barn trailing the reins, she rushed to Craig’s side. Dropping to her knees, she gingerly lifted his head onto her lap. Her stomach lurched as his head lolled lifelessly to the side and a dark trickle of blood ran from a deep gash in his scalp just below the temple.

Another metallic scrape and the heavy thud of footsteps sounded in the hayloft and Marissa searched frantically for some sort of weapon. She spied a heavy pitchfork. Feeling as though she’d stepped into the climax of a bad horror film she laid Craig’s head down gently and ran as silently as possible to lift the weapon to protect Craig, cursing that he’d neglected to bring a sidearm on this particular outing.

“Hello, lady doc,” a gravelly
voice said from the shadows.

Marissa jumped, gulping back a scream as she tucked the pitchfork behind her.
Oh, please God, no
she thought as the man, who was almost totally obscured in darkness, stepped over the motionless form of her husband and into the light from the open barn door. It took her less than half a second to recognize Paul Christenson.

Craig had been right all along.

“I’m tired of you snooping around out here.”

“Wha-what?” she stammered, silently praying that Craig would begin showing some signs of life.

“My life would have been so much easier if I’d got you
and the doc the last time you were
in my woods.”

Ice cold dread washed over Marissa as the full realization of his words dawned on her. She cast an apprehensive glance toward Craig looking for some means of distracting Paul Christenson before he could finish what he’d started. “Your woods?” she said, her voice too high. “Those are Genie Harris’s woods.”

“Genie’s old man and me had a good thing going here
until he up and got kilt. I was
carryin’ it on just fine until you and the law started pokin’ around in my business.” His mouth contorted into a menacing sneer. “It’s only a matter of time before people figure out it’s me working in those woods. I’ve wanted to get rid of you all for a long time, before the sheriff gets any closer, but I couldn’t do it right in Charleston. I’ve been biding my time, watching, waiting for you to come back out here.”

He pulled a gun from his pocket. “Prepare yourself little missy, cuz after I shoot Langston here I’m going to have a little fun before sendin’ you to meet the almighty with your pretty faced husband.”

Convulsively she gulped. “He’s already dead,” she blurted, desperately trying to buy more time. “You killed him
with that barrel
.”

For a moment the man seemed to consider her statement as he gazed down at Craig’s inert form. “I don’t really care if he’s dead or alive. I just want to shoot the bastard and finish what I started before.”

“What?”

“Who do you think shot him in Charleston, Missy? I’d thought to do away with him while everyone thought he was a Yankee.” A cruel grin twisted his lips as he cocked the pistol hammer. “Third time’s the charm, eh?

Her mind spun as she began to realize how closely he’d been watching them. She needed to buy some time. “Do you work alone out in those woods?” Hastily she took a step back, finding the pitchfork again with one hand, but
frantic to find a better weapon
. The pitchfork wouldn’t be enough. “
There are ghosts out there, you know.
”

“What?” the madman barked. “What ghosts?”

“I--I, there are stories. You must be brave if you work alone.” Clutching the pitchfork behind her back she plunged on, desperate to distract him. “Your
work
is very, um, complicated, I’m sure. Do you manage it alone or do you have a
nother
partner?”

With a superior leer Paul ambled a few steps away from Craig. “I hire help when I need it and then I dispose of them when their services are no longer needed.” He tossed his head back to laugh. “Your uncle was the only partner I ever had.”

Uncle?

Her heart went cold. “You mean Jim Harris?”

Pa
ul grinned.
“Of course Jim Harris. I needed access to the bog behind the house. I think the bog is a part of hell, or mayhap purgatory.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, still stalling for time.

“Fer fifteen years Jim and me been stashin’ loot and bodies back there, but them woods is haunted, jes like you say, or bloody cursed or something cuz we’d bury our loot and sometimes it’d be there and other times it’d be like a shovel had never touched the dirt.”