Bad Games

30



The time that passed before the sheriff returned to the Lambert’s cabin after his search had been agonizing. Every click or crack heard from outside caused Amy and Patrick to flinch. Worse yet, Norman had yet to return with the kids.

“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Lambert, but there isn’t a soul in that house,” the sheriff said. “No signs of forced entry either. Truth be told, it even looked as if they cleaned up and shut down for the season.”

Patrick, Amy, and the sheriff stood on the Lambert’s front porch. The sheriff’s previous skepticism to the whole ordeal (which, for a fleeting moment earlier, Patrick hoped was gone; he and Amy had finally managed to convince the sheriff that something foul was indeed afoot, and perhaps Sheriff Holmes might actually find something beyond the tip of his whiskey-reddened nose) was now back. Back and seemingly fixed in steel, going nowhere.

“Shut down?” Amy said.

“Sure,” the sheriff said. “Summer’s gone, autumn’s here, and more than half the folks around the lake will disappear until decent weather returns. Gets cold and dark up here sooner than you’d think.”

“Did you go inside the house?” Patrick asked.

“Yep.”

“How?”

“How?”

“Yes. How did you get inside the house?”

“Through the cellar ’round back,” the sheriff said.

“It was unlocked?” Patrick asked.

“That’s right.”

“Well doesn’t that tell you something?” Amy said.

“Like what?”

“Well if these people were leaving for the winter as you suggested, then why would they leave their home unlocked for six months?”

The sheriff smiled. “This isn’t the city, Mrs. Lambert. People tend to be a bit more trusting up here. It’s one of the advantages of living out here in the sticks I suppose.”

Patrick believed the sheriff had enunciated “sticks” as if the man felt he was a minority amongst bigots—seemingly certain that Patrick and Amy had frequently used such terminology in jest to describe the place he called home.

“Besides,” the sheriff continued, “it’s not uncommon for families to leave a door unlocked to have a service come through for maintenance during the winter months. Leaving a cellar door open is actually quite common. In fact, it was the first door I checked before entry. To tell you the truth though, I even wondered if it was necessary—I didn’t even spot a car in the driveway.”

“Maybe it was in their garage,” Amy said.

The sheriff snorted. “Closest thing you’ll find to a garage at Crescent Lake is a carport, Mrs. Lambert. And you can see right into those. Of course it doesn’t matter much cuz these folks didn’t even have one.”

Patrick’s frustration was now past courtesy. He spoke from the hip with zero concern for subtleties. “You searched that entire house?”

“Sure did.”

“And found absolutely nothing?”

The sheriff pursed his lips, breathed deep through flared nostrils. “Yes, sir. Like I already said, that house is empty, whether you want to believe it or not. I even called in a little background check. Place belongs to a Maury and Lois Blocker—older couple in their sixties. There were positively no signs of them in that house whatsoever.”

“Then they left. They knew you’d be coming and they left. We told them we’d be calling you,” Amy said.

“Looked to me as if they left a long time ago,” the sheriff said.

“I’m not talking about the owners; I’m talking about the two a*sholes we saw. They knew you’d be coming, so they ran.”

The sheriff glanced around, bored now.

“These guys are smart, sheriff,” Patrick said. “They’re having fun with us. With you too.” Patrick’s last comment was a desperate attempt to bring the sheriff onto their playing field. The sheriff, unfortunately, took the comment the way Patrick feared he might. He looked as if someone kicked his ego in the nuts.

“Nobody’s having fun with me, son. If I’m telling you there’s no one in that house, then there’s no one in that house. Got me?”

“Well you can’t possibly think we’re making this up can you?” Amy asked. “What in God’s name would we have to gain by doing something like that?”

The sheriff shrugged. “I never accused you folks of making anything up. But you asked me to check the place out and I did. And like I’m telling you now for the third time, there were absolutely no signs of forced entry, or of persons recently occupying that cabin.”

“I don’t believe this.” Amy threw up her hands. “So what are you going to do?”

The sheriff spit more tobacco and adjusted his hat. He was back in control, bored again. “I can send my deputy down to patrol the area if that will help you sleep better.”

“Don’t bother,” Patrick said. “You said you’d do that last night, and a hell of a lot of good it did. Besides, we’re not staying the night. We’re waiting for Norm to return with our kids and then we’re getting the f*ck out of here.”

The sheriff raised an eyebrow at Patrick’s language. Patrick continued undeterred.

“And I’ll tell you something else, sheriff. I’m not quite sure how you got your badge, but I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if you ordered it off the back of a f*cking comic book.”

The sheriff’s flicked the tip of his hat up with his middle finger. His bushy gray eyebrows were now a sharp V. He took a step towards Patrick and got in his face. Patrick smelled the tobacco and cheap after-shave.

“I’ll tell you this much, Mr. Lambert. Maybe you and your wife made this whole thing up; maybe you didn’t. I can’t be sure. Maybe it’s something you city folks like to do to entertain yourselves way out here in the sticks with us ignorant country folk…”

Oh we’re going there again, are we? Patrick thought.

“But what I can tell you, Mr. Lambert, is that us country folk have jail cells that are just as uncomfortable as the ones you got in that big city of yours, and you’re about one more wrong word away from finding yourself spending the night there instead of headin’ on home with your wife and kids.”

Patrick stayed quiet. He was angry but not stupid. The sheriff continued.

“Now, my suggestion is to go back inside, pack your things, and wait for Norm to come back with your kids. Once that’s done, I suggest you do exactly as you said, and get the f*ck out of here.”

Patrick took a step back and swallowed his rage. He waited until the sheriff had walked back to his cruiser, out of earshot, before saying, “You got it, dickhead.”

He guided Amy through the front door then slammed it.