“I used the tunnel,” he whispered.
Mercy and Truman exchanged a look. “The tunnel?” she asked. “Where is that?”
“It starts in the woodshed. You have to move a small stack of wood near the back, but I left it open,” he wailed. “Ned always told me to be certain that it was covered back up with cut wood so no one could find it.”
A tunnel. Mercy was impressed.
“Why’d he have a tunnel?” Truman asked.
“So he could escape when the feds came for him,” Toby answered.
Mercy wondered what the old prepper would have thought of her, a fed, trying to solve his murder.
“I ran out the front door,” Toby moaned. “I left that open too. I don’t want to go back and close it. But Ned’s going to be so mad that I left it open.”
“Ned’s dead,” Mercy said gently. “He’s not angry with you.”
“He’s in there,” Toby insisted. “He said he’d haunt me and now he’s doing it. What if the ghost got out and followed me home? What if it’s in my house right now?” he wailed.
“Toby, Mercy and I are on our way. Do you trust us to take care of the ghost?”
Wet hiccups sounded from the speakers.
“We’ll go to Ned’s and then we’ll stop by your house and tell you what we found. I don’t believe Ned’s ghost would be interested in haunting you. He’d be more interested in playing pranks on Leighton Underwood, right? Why would he want to upset you when you helped him out around his place for so long?”
“True . . .”
“We’ll be there soon. Let me talk to your mom again.”
Sharon came on the phone.
“I’m going to stop by the Fahey house,” Truman told her. “Have you noticed any activity going on there?”
“I haven’t seen any ghosts,” she snapped. “Toby gets a thought in his head and he won’t let go of it and upsets the peace of everyone around him.”
“We’ll talk to him after we check out the house. We’re ten minutes away,” Truman said. He ended the call.
“What a horrible woman,” Mercy muttered. “Poor Toby. Do you think he really heard a voice?”
“I believe he heard someone ask for help.” He looked at Mercy. “I hope that person turns out to be your sister.”
“But it was last night,” she whispered, her mouth drying up. “A lot can happen in twelve hours.” Her brain spun with possibilities. Did he really hear a human? Could Rose be there?
Truman’s answer was to press on the accelerator.
She picked up her phone, her mind racing, her hope building. Please let it be Rose. She latched on to the new information and felt a positive energy grow in her chest. For the first time since Levi’s confession, she felt hope. “I’ll let Eddie know where we’re going. He’ll inform the rest.”
Hang on, Rose.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Rose took another sip from the bottle of water. It was her last one. She’d used the other bottle to bathe. It seemed wasteful to use drinking water for something as unimportant as cleanliness, but she’d been desperate to remove the essence of Craig Rafferty from her body.
Now she was clean, but the burn between her thighs and the pain around her neck reminded her of what he’d done.
I’m still alive. That’s more than Jennifer and Gwen.
He’d left her two bottles of water, a bucket, a towel, and a chocolate muffin.
She counted her blessings.
As she removed the plastic wrap on the muffin, she recognized its scent from the Coffee Café. Kaylie made it. The thought of her niece nearly brought her to tears, but none came because Rose didn’t have any tears left. Craig had ripped them out of her over the course of several hours during the night. The room stank of him. The bed stank of him. Her hair stank of him.
I’m still alive.
He’d told her in great detail what he and Kenny had done to Jennifer Sanders and Gwen Vargas. Words she could never unhear. Then he’d strangled her, whispering that her life was over as he tightened his grip around her neck, a loud buzz overtaking her brain. But just as she lost consciousness, he removed his hands and her hearing returned. Then he did it again. And again.
She lost count of how many times he took her near death.
“I hold your life in my hands,” he crooned with his fingertips on her neck, his lips near her ear. “Literally, your life is mine.”
He’d played stupid games, asking how many fingers he was holding up, what expression was on his face, or if he was the best-looking man she’d ever seen. She’d been slapped for not answering so she’d answered, throwing out random numbers and stroking his ego. He’d forced her to compliment him over and over. To her surprise, her words made him as happy as real compliments. He’d turn joyful after she’d told him how strong he was, thank her for noticing, and then talk about the men he’d fought.