Lineage

He twisted harder, trying to keep a hold on the small grip within his sweat-slicked hand. Just like the handle above it, there was no give to the old-fashioned key, no matter how hard he turned it.

His irritation came rushing back, and without thinking, he stepped back and kicked out at the door, releasing his fury in one movement. He heard the flat smack of his foot meeting the cool surface of the door, but instead of the satisfying sensation of wood buckling and flying away from him, he felt himself hurtling backward.

He landed on his ass in the middle of the room, his kick having propelled him farther than he expected. He scrambled to his feet and stared at the door. It mocked him, the dark grain pattern curling into grins of smugness, the knots becoming eerily mirthful eyes.

Lance turned and looked at the horizon through the bay windows—the sky was graying in the east. The rational portion of his mind told him to call the authorities, let them in on the fact that one of their local fools was committing a felony. He could almost hear them now, asking if he could ID someone or if he could describe them. He could see himself struggling to make the invasion sound credible and the disbelief on their faces. Instead, he made his way up the stairs, pausing only to throw a look at the door as he passed. After he had dressed, he went back through the house turning off lights.

As he locked the door behind him and strode to the dark smudge of the Land Rover in the drive, he repeatedly flipped the keys over in his hand. The name of the man he was going to see reverberated in his head while he started the SUV and tore away from the watching house.



John Hanrahan’s home wasn’t hard to find. Lance recalled Carrie saying something about the caretaker living just a mile south on the right-hand side when he had gone to her office for the closing.

His headlights shone across a hand-painted silver mailbox, the dark letters of J. Hanrahan just visible beneath a layer of dirt and sun damage. The drive ran straight away from the highway and, after a quarter mile, opened up into a small clearing. A tidy-looking one-story house stood at the back of the yard. Its clapboard siding appeared to be dingy white, and in some places the paint had yielded to the elements by tearing loose and curling like dry blisters. A small one-stall garage sat at an angle off to the right. The windows of the house were dark, save one in what Lance assumed was the kitchen near the front door. He couldn’t see any figures moving in the dim light, but he felt sure that someone watched him arrive.

He stopped the Land Rover a few yards from the door of the garage and swung his feet out onto the gravel, which crunched beneath his shoes. His mind scanned the different accusations that he could use to shock the old man into confessing his part in the intrusions, but then a thought he hadn’t considered reared its head and he nearly turned and went back to his car. What if John was married or had children still living at home with him? What would they say when they opened the door to his bedraggled appearance, his hair standing up from sleep, and words of anger spewing out of his mouth?

He decided that he really didn’t care. John was the only other person besides himself who had keys to the house. He was the only one who seemed to have a problem with him buying the property in the first place. Before he could rethink it further or quell the animosity within, he found himself standing on the narrow porch, his fist rapping against the storm glass.

There was almost no hesitation before the inner door opened and the caretaker’s tired face peered out at him with concern. John opened the screen, removing the barrier between them.

“What’s the meaning of this?” John’s voice sounded as though he had gargled with some of the gravel from his driveway, and again the faint smell of spirits hung about the man.

“Show me your keys,” Lance said, his voice a blade in the early morning air. The caretaker wrinkled his nose and stepped farther out of the house, causing Lance to take a short step back.

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