Wendy returned the emerald to its packaging as best she could and stuffed them back in the suede bag, which she tucked into the hip-pack. She took a Nutri-Grain bar with her, and the water, but left everything else on the table. She’d get her dad or her aunt and let them figure out what was going on.
She went out through the porch, figuring she’d explain to the owners later what had happened and fix the door she’d broken.
But she didn’t go back down to the lake. The kayak was no use. The other lake house wouldn’t have a working phone, either. And it was farther away—the wrong way, too. She’d be faster on foot—she’d reach her grandparents’ house before she could paddle back across the lake.
She walked up the dirt driveway to the road. She didn’t hear any cars, or anyone yelling, or any thrashing.
What had happened to Ham?
A slight breeze stirred atop the huge maple tree at the corner of the driveway, most of its leaves still green. Wendy’s teeth were chattering now. She hoped she wouldn’t get hypothermia—she’d had basic first aid and knew the signs. But she didn’t dwell on the possibilities.
Patting the old maple’s rough trunk, as if somehow it could comfort her, protect her, she forced herself to start down along the road, staying within the cover of the woods, in case she had to hide. She only wanted to see her dad or her aunts and uncles, her grandparents—Matt. It wasn’t that far to the cabin where he had his camper, to the lane back to her grandparents’ house. Someone would be around to help her. Help Ham. And she’d been gone a long time now. She wouldn’t mind so much if her father had sent out a search party for her.
Low, dead pine branches poked at her, but even with no one in sight, she refused to go out onto the road. Her hair caught on a thorny Japanese barberry, an invasive species, and her eyes teared up, but she didn’t cry out.
Not that far to go.
She pictured Teddy shaking himself off after an autumn swim in the lake and fixed that image in her mind, and kept moving.
Nineteen
Ethan waited for Juliet out on the side yard, next to a wooden trailer loaded with pumpkins and decorated with dried corn stalks. Sam Longstreet hadn’t caught their niece sneaking out of the attic or seen her at all that morning. Neither had Matt Kelleher, a temporary employee who’d apparently taken a liking to Wendy. Now Juliet was inside calling big brother Joshua. Ethan didn’t envy her that one.
Kelleher approached the trailer, picking up a couple of pumpkins from the hundred or so laid out in the side yard. “No word yet on Wendy?”
“Not yet,” Ethan said.
“She’ll turn up. She wouldn’t stay out and get everyone worked up.”
“I hope so. Kids that age don’t always think things through.”
“That’s for sure.” Kelleher placed the pumpkins on the trailer and stood back, appraising his handiwork, but the display looked exactly the same to Ethan. “I only started work here a few days ago, but I gather she’s had a hard time. Her mom, her dog, then that business in New York. She’s got to be reeling. Sometimes, all you want to do is escape your own skin.”
Since Kelleher’s words described what Ethan had been doing for most of the past year, he understood, but he said, “Nobody’s judging her. They just want to find her.”
Spaceshot, the family’s chubby mutt, roused himself from the driveway and nudged Kelleher, who patted the dog. Kelleher’s shaved head was bare, but he had on a heavyweight black sweatshirt over a dark red turtleneck, jeans and trail boots. He was fit, agile. He’d told Ethan he’d hit the road after his wife’s death, fulfilling his promise to her. Smarter, Ethan supposed, than diving into the world he had since Char’s death. Murder, extortion, illegal weapons, spies, federal agents. Except for his weeks in Night’s Landing, he’d seldom slept in the same place for more than a few nights.
But he’d met Juliet, who spoke her mind and liked her work and had energy and optimism and a strong, beautiful body. That bad things happened every time he showed up in her life was something they’d have to work on. Unless he just was snakebit. Then—he didn’t know.
Kelleher straightened, Spaceshot flopping down onto his feet. “I heard on the radio that the guy in New York escaped last night. You don’t think Wendy knows?”
“I doubt she’d have taken off if she knew.”
“He’s not—” Kelleher rubbed the back of his neck, as if he didn’t want to show any sign of panic. “The police don’t think he’s headed here, do they?”
Ethan shrugged. “They don’t tell me what they think.”
“He’d be stupid to show up here. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but these Longstreets don’t come small—except for Wendy.” Kelleher winced, his humor falling flat, even for himself. “I’m glad she wasn’t here to hear that. She told me she sometimes feels like a mutant because she’s so small.” He quickly changed the subject. “This your first trip to Vermont?”