Page 13 of A Cry in the Dark
“I absolutely do.” Violet’s eyes lit up, a little on the bluer side, and she met up with him at the tree line. She retrieved her cell phone as they entered the heavily wooded area, and her thumbs worked the keyboard. “The last thing I need is Ty asking for votes on if I’m dead or not,” she muttered then growled. No cell service.
“He’s...” What was the best word choice? “Comical.”
“He’s hiding his big fat brain behind it.” She ducked at a low branch.
“That your professional diagnosis?”
“Maybe.” A hint of mischief tugged at her lips. “It’s probably some deep-seated issue, but I told myself I wouldn’t diagnose my colleagues unless they asked. Though sometimes, it’s difficult not to shrink them.”
The path wound uphill and curved into a yard. An old sunken-in cabin with a decaying porch came into view. In the trees beyond were remnants of a kid’s play world or an intricate deer stand. Rickety rungs climbed an old tree and led to a shelter, maybe a tree house. A rope bridge connected from that tree and ran about a hundred feet to another small, uncovered platform. John glanced from the contraption to the ground. Had to be around fifty feet or so. Maybe less. John would never let Stella go up there to play.
The overgrown yard was littered with rusty toys and dozens of beer cans. A faded and torn sofa rested on the saggy porch, some of the boards rotted away.
“Secondary crime scene?”
“Perhaps.” Violet moved to the wobbly wooden porch steps and switched on her cell phone flashlight. The sun was quickly fading. Most of the windows had been broken or cracked. The house radiated ominous vibes. Wonder what it would say to Violet?
“Be careful. Boards look weak.”
She tested the planks, then moved forward a slow step at a time. “It’s sturdier than it appears.”
Yeah, well, John outweighed her by a hundred pounds if he had to guess. Keeping fit came with the job, and he needed to be healthy, but after Callie’s death he spent extra time at the gym. His stress reliever. A time to work out his feelings. Wrestle with the pain and the anger.
Deal with the guilt over the circumstances that arose before Callie went undercover. John still blamed himself in some ways and allowed that last heated argument to torture him.
They could have worked through the turmoil surrounding their marriage. Turned back to their faith earlier. But it had taken the tragedy to bring John to his senses and back to the God he once loved and served.
Why did it have to always be tragedy?
“John, you okay?” Violet stood at the open door, studying him.
“Yeah. Yeah.” He shook out of the past and grinned. “You’re not standing there profiling me, are you?”
“Do you want me to?” One sculpted eyebrow rose.
“Not particularly.” He stepped through the door ahead of her.
“What happened to ladies first?” she asked, but he noted her easy tone.
“Safety over chivalry.”
She followed him inside. “That also seems chivalrous.”
Since she appeared to be talking to herself he ignored her.
The stale air mixed with urine and the stench of decay. Old furniture had been toppled, and the stuffing was protruding from an armchair. Looked like animals had made nests. No sink. No light switches. Not uncommon in the hills and hollers of Kentucky. Many had no electricity or running water. John had been born and raised in Hazard, so he knew a thing or two about Appalachian living.
The cabin was less than a thousand square feet if he had to guess. One living area that opened into a cramped kitchen minus a sink or electrical outlets. No kitchen table. Only two rickety chairs hinting there once had been. John searched for any evidence suggesting the victims had been brutalized here. Wooden walls and floors carpeted in dust, debris and wood shavings.
“Hey, look at this.” John motioned toward the ribbons of wood. “Isn’t this odd?”
“Wood in a log cabin with a bunch of other junk? No.”
Frowning, he examined them closer. “These are from whittling. Who is going to come into this dilapidated place and sit down and whittle?”
Violet flipped her hair from her face and stared at the droppings as if she were bored to tears. “The killer? Whittle while you work,” she quipped.
Before he had a chance to laugh, her eyes grew wide and she clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shoot me now, I’ve been around Tiberius too long.”