Appalachian Peril Read online

  She hit Send, and then immediately typed a second one: Hurry.

  She watched until the gray bar on the text screen read Sent and then Delivered. Good. She’d follow up with a phone call once she’d locked herself in her room. But before she even reached the bedroom door, the phone vibrated in her palm. Beth waited until she was safely tucked into her room before reading the message.

  On my way. Lock yourself in your room. Don’t open it for anyone but me.

  Thank heavens he’d responded so quickly so late at night. Yeah, she could lock herself up. But what about Abbie? She couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. Beth wished she had Abbie’s phone number to warn her of the danger. A sudden thought clutched at her heart: Had the intruder tied and gagged Abbie? The longer the silence, the more convinced Beth grew that it must be the case.

  She padded to the window and peered through the slats. Abbie’s car was still in the driveway. The girl was in as much or more danger as she was. No way Beth would cower in her room and let Abbie come to any harm. What if the intruder decided to kill her when he’d finished his business?

  Before losing her courage, Beth again tiptoed out of her room. She’d grab the poker by the fireplace as a makeshift weapon. Dad used to keep a firearm in his bedroom, but she doubted Cynthia still had it. She’d always claimed that having the gun made her nervous.

  Slowly, slowly, slowly Beth descended the stairs, vigilant for any noise or shifting patterns in the darkness. Another faint rustling of papers came from the study. At least she knew where the man was. Hastily, she scurried to the fireplace and clasped the poker. The cold, hard metal in her palms allayed her fear only an iota. If the man had a gun, the poker was useless. Still, it was better than nothing if he tried to rush at her.

  She surveyed the den, seeking a bound and gagged Abbie, but the sofa and chairs were empty, and there were no signs of a struggle. Beth walked softly out of the room and went on to check the downstairs bedrooms, bathrooms and dining room. Nothing, nothing and nothing.

  How much longer until Sammy arrived?

  Could she have missed seeing Abbie somewhere in the kitchen? If Abbie were lucky, she’d have seen or heard the intruder and slipped outside to the patio, probably caught unawares without a phone or car keys. Even now, she might be out in the cold, shivering and frightened. First, Beth would check the kitchen, and then proceed outside.

  A murmur emanated from the study, and her heart slammed in her ribs. Was the man talking to himself? More murmurs, an exchange of different pitches in the low warble of the voices.

  There were two of them.

  Her hands convulsed against the poker, and her eyes flicked around the den. A swish of fabric sounded as someone moved toward the kitchen. Whoever he was, his steps were deliberate and unhurried. She glanced over her shoulder, eyeing the distance between where she stood and the comparative safety of the hallway. It seemed to stretch as long as a football field.

  No time to retreat. Beth ducked behind the sofa and prayed they were heading for the back door and leaving as quietly as they had entered.

  Her nose prickled—the involuntary tingling of an oncoming sneeze. No! Not now. Fear danced in her gut. She splayed a hand across her nose and mouth, trying to suppress the telltale reflex. A muffled explosion escaped her mouth.

  The fabric swishing stopped.

  “What’s that?” one of the men asked, his voice so near that horror chilled every inch of her flesh.

  “Someone there?” another man called out.

  Elliptical beams of headlights and a dizzying blue strobe pierced the glass panels lining the front door. Judging by the profusion of colors, more than one cop car had arrived at the scene.

  “Damn it!”

  “Let’s get outta here!”

  The two men raced toward the back patio and jerked open the French doors, flinging them aside. Glass exploded with a crash. Shards rained down with a loud, scattered tinkling, and a cool burst of air swept through the room, chilling her arms.

  She was going to live through this nightmare. Now to find Abbie. Beth rose, still clutching the poker. “Abbie?” she called. “It’s safe now. Where are you?”

  A high-pitched cry exploded through the open patio door. Abbie was alive.

  Beth ran forward. “Abbie? You all right?”

  Abbie ran in the door, her red hair sprinkled with snow and her arms clasped around her waist. Blood dribbled from a cut in her forehead, and she shivered violently.

  “They hurt you!” Beth cried. She grabbed a woolen afghan from the sofa and draped it over Abbie’s shoulders. “You must be freezing. You’re safe now. Let the cops in the front door while I lock the patio doors.”

  Outside, the stygian atmosphere wholly absorbed any sight of the trespassers. The intruders’ dark clothing had allowed them to slip into the black velvet of the night. Hastily, she pulled the door shut and fastened the lock. More glass splintered and crashed to the floor. One good kick and the whole glass door would completely shatter. Hardly did any good to secure it shut, but maybe it would buy a few seconds’ time if the intruders returned and had to kick the remaining glass.

  “Beth! Are you okay?”

  She swiveled at Sammy’s shout, surprised at its underlying sound of concern.

  “We’re good,” she called.

  He entered the den, his eyes immediately fixating on her face. She pointed at the door. “They ran outside.”

  Footsteps trampled in the hallway as more officers entered. Sirens blared, signaling that more were on the way. Beth rubbed her arms, suddenly conscious she was clad in an old T-shirt and pajama bottoms.

  Sammy stood beside her, draped a blanket over her shoulders and wordlessly guided her to the sofa. Abbie was already seated nearby, speaking with an officer.

  His kind brown eyes calmed her as he waited, letting her catch her breath. Old memories suddenly resurfaced. Instead of seeing Sammy as an emblem of the great divide in her life that had spiraled her fortune downward, Beth remembered her teenage crush on him. He was Aiden’s close friend, several years older and totally out of reach. During their summers at Blood Mountain, she’d attended every baseball game he and Aiden played, secretly thrilling at his muscular physique in uniform, the speed with which he ran bases, the skill and power with which he batted.

  The house suddenly blazed with swirling blue lights from every window. Out back, a floodlight flicked on and illuminated the yard all the way to the mountain ridge. The rooms buzzed with the cackle of two-way radios and men shouting orders as they spread through the house, guns drawn. Beth dropped her gaze from Sammy, pushing the memories away. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

  “I told you to call whenever you needed me. I’m glad you did.”

  She looked back up, studying the gentle and determined set of his face. The chaos surrounding them melted away, and only his dark eyes remained. For the first time all day, she felt warm and safe.

  Until he opened his mouth.

  “How well do you know this Abbie girl?”

  She shrugged, surprised at the question. “Well enough, I guess. She’s worked two or three years for Cynthia, and we’ve talked a bit during my brief visits. She works part-time here and goes to community college. Why? What about her?”

  “Do you even know her last name?”

  Sheepish, Beth glanced down at her bare feet. “Honestly, no. But what does that matter? She’s always—”

  “It matters plenty,” he cut in, his tone rough with suspicion.

  Beth gave Abbie a quick glance. The girl’s forehead was already beginning to swell and bruise. Someone had handed her a tissue, and she blotted at the trickle of blood still seeping from her wound. Beth already sensed Sammy’s answer, but she had to ask anyway. “What’s Abbie’s last name?” she whispered.

  “It’s Lambert.”

  Chapter Four
r />   “Lambert?” Beth’s body recoiled in surprise.

  Pretty much his reaction when he’d checked up on the girl this afternoon. “Actually, it’s her maiden name. But yeah.”

  “She doesn’t look old enough to be married.” Beth studied Abbie from across the room.

  “Married at seventeen, divorced at twenty-one. Legal name is Abigail Lambert Fenton.”

  “I had no idea. Cynthia couldn’t have known that either when she hired her.”

  “To be fair, Lambert’s a common name in these hills. Dorsey was originally from Ellijay, only thirty miles from here. Man’s got plenty of extended family in the area.”

  “Seems I ran straight into the lion’s den,” Beth said with a snort. “Should have stayed in Boston.”

  “Could be her relationship to Dorsey is distant, and this is all a coincidence.” Not that Sammy believed that for a minute. Abbie Fenton was probably involved up to her freckled little neck in this mischief. With any luck, he’d put a stop to it all this evening. No more threats and break-ins.

  “She seemed so nice.” Hurt chased across Beth’s eyes.

  “You know what they say. Got to watch those quiet ones,” he said, attempting a smile to alleviate her worry. “Woman even volunteered to stay the night with you. Call me jaded, but that rang an alarm in my mind. I’d intended to come back this morning and have a chat with her. Imagine my surprise when I got your text.”

  Beth’s gray eyes widened. “You don’t think she had anything to do with those intruders, do you? I mean, she’s hurt.”

  “A superficial cut on the forehead. Could be self-induced. And at first glance, I see no signs of forced entry. Officers are checking all the windows and doors as we speak.”

  “Surely you don’t think... Are you saying Abbie let them in?”

  “We’re not ruling anything out at this point. Now tell me everything that happened tonight. What first alerted you—”

  Beth shoved the chair from beneath her and strode to where Abbie sat with an officer. The woman’s mouth opened in surprise when she spotted Beth headed her way. Abbie’s eyes hardened, and she stiffly drew up her slight frame, clearly signaling she expected a confrontation and was prepared to dig in her heels.

  “Did you let those men in my house?” Beth asked, voice tight with anger.

  A sullen Abigail lifted her chin and refused to respond. She looked older now, a certain sternness in her features that hadn’t been there earlier. Officer Graham raised a quizzical brow at Sammy.

  Quickly, Sammy rushed to Beth’s side. “Let us ask the questions,” he admonished.

  Beth ignored him. “Well, did you?” she persisted. “Why? What do they want?”

  Abbie kept her face averted, eyes focused on the patio door, her mouth set in a grim twist.

  Sammy took Beth’s elbow and steered her to the kitchen. Beth still wasn’t through. “How could you do such a thing?” she called over her shoulder. “We trusted you!”

  “Let Officer Graham ask the questions and do his job. In the meantime, I want a statement from you.”

  “Can I at least put on a sweater and start coffee?” she grumbled.

  “Be my guest.” There was no hurry. He’d stay here all night if necessary. He wouldn’t rest until the intruders had been found and Abbie had confessed to her role in tonight’s invasion. More important, he wouldn’t leave Beth alone in this house until he knew she was safe.

  She hurried from the kitchen, nearly colliding with Officer Markwell. Both officers watched as she slipped from the room.

  “No signs of forced entry anywhere,” Markwell reported without preamble. “No open or broken windows, no damaged doors and no footprints around the sides of the house. Point of entry appears to be the patio door, where we found several sets of footprints leading to the woods at the back of the property.”

  “No damage to the patio door locks?” he asked.

  “None.”

  The two-way radio at his belt crackled, and the voice of Officer Lipscomb cut in. “No sign yet of anyone on the property. Heading to the road below to see if there are any tracks.”

  “Ten-four,” he answered before turning to Markwell. “Sweep through every room. Make sure they’re empty and mark any signs of disturbance.”

  Markwell left, and Sammy stared at Abbie. Her lips were pinched together, and her chin lifted in stubborn defiance. She was going to be a tough nut to crack.

  Beth reentered the kitchen wearing a long, loose cardigan sweater. She’d also donned a pair of thick woolen socks. Without sparing him a glance, she poured water into the coffee maker. “Want a cup?” she asked, her back to him.

  “No, but I’ll take a soda if you’ve got one.”

  “In the fridge. Help yourself.”

  He got out a can and opened it, taking a long swallow as he watched Beth. Her hands trembled as she pressed the machine’s buttons. Now that the shock had worn off, the reality of what had happened was settling in. He’d seen it many times before.

  “We won’t leave until we’re sure your place is locked up tight,” he assured her. “And we’ll keep a patrol outside, too.”

  She looked up, and her lips trembled before she offered a tight smile. “Thank you. Really. I don’t know what might have happened if you hadn’t arrived so quickly.”

  For the first time in ages, Beth gazed at him without a trace of acrimony. The air between them crackled with an electrical charge, one not caused by animosity. That was certainly new.

  The aroma of coffee filled the air, and she jerked her gaze away, busying herself with retrieving a cup from the cabinet. After she’d fortified her nerves with the brew, he’d walk with Beth to the downstairs study and ask her to check for any missing items.

  What had those men been after? This went way beyond the scare tactics of menacing mail. And if it had been a robbery, they would have gone after electronics or searched for jewelry and money. Beth’s purse hung on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, apparently undisturbed.

  “Check your bag,” he said. “See if anything’s missing.”

  Beth gasped and went to her purse. “Didn’t even think of that.” After riffling through it and opening her wallet, she shook her head. “Everything’s here—my credit cards, cash and driver’s license.”

  No simple burglary, then. Of course, he’d known that anyway because of Abbie’s obvious connection with the Lambert clan. But what had they been after? Again, his gaze drifted to the recalcitrant, unremorseful Abigail. Doubtful she was going to volunteer any information.

  Did she and other members of Dorsey’s disreputable family really believe that Judge Wynngate had been corrupt? Had they planned tonight’s invasion to search for evidence to back their wild claims?

  It was the only explanation that made sense. As Beth sipped coffee, he strolled to the kitchen window, watching snowflakes sift quietly to the ground. Had the men found what they’d come to collect? Would they return? If they did, it would be incredibly stupid, but no one said criminals possessed the brightest brains.

  Returning would be a grave mistake on their part. There’d be no more Abbie to silently open the door and allow them easy access. Still, he should probably convince Beth that she wasn’t safe here, that the best thing she could do was return to Boston as soon as possible. At the very least, she needed to spend the rest of her visit with her stepmother in Atlanta—whether Cynthia Wynngate wanted her there or not.

  Sammy quashed the small dash of disappointment that arose at the prospect of Beth leaving. She intrigued him, even all those years ago when she’d sat in the stands watching him and Aiden playing baseball. But their age difference had seemed too great then, and she was his friend’s sister, after all. Back then, Aiden’s friendship had been important to him. Aiden...a solution popped into his mind.

  “Maybe it’s time you paid a visit to Aiden,” h
e suggested. “At least until we’ve made an arrest and it’s safe to return. How long were you planning to stay on vacation, anyway?”

  She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “No idea. I like to play things by ear. Keep it fluid. I’m free until after the New Year, when classes start up again. I teach art to middle schoolers.”

  Aiden had mentioned that Beth had an “artsy” job teaching children. He’d said it with a smile that Sammy couldn’t decipher, either proud of his sister’s occupation or indulgent in a patronizing way.

  “So what about visiting your brother?” he asked again, aware she’d sidestepped the question.

  She lifted the cup to her lips and took a small sip before answering. “Maybe.”

  He didn’t push. His peripheral vision picked up Officer Graham motioning to him. Sammy started in his direction, and Graham met him halfway.

  “The suspect’s refusing to answer questions. How about I take her to the station?”

  A change of environment might loosen her tongue, especially when faced with the chill starkness of an interrogation room. Members of the Lambert family were no strangers to a jail’s ambience, but perhaps Abbie was young enough never to have witnessed it outside of family visitation days. Being questioned and held in a cell didn’t compare to the inmate guest experience.

  “Yep. Get her out of here,” he told Graham. “And don’t release her unless you check with me first.”

  Graham returned to the den, took Abbie by the arm and guided her toward the foyer. She pointedly kept her face averted to avoid Sammy’s gaze. Or Beth’s. Either way, Sammy took it as a sign of guilt. If Abbie were innocent, she’d be pleading her case to Beth.

  “Glad she’s gone,” Beth muttered. “I hope to never see her again.”

  “You won’t have to. Next time, Cynthia needs to be more thorough in hiring help.”