The Hollows(14)

‘People there are talking about what happened twenty years ago.’

‘I bet.’ She stared at me for another moment – it was the kind of stare that made me want to confess to crimes I hadn’t committed – then she sighed. ‘So what’s it like, the resort?’

‘You haven’t been to check it out?’

‘I don’t go into the woods much these days. Not if I can help it.’

It was as if she were talking about some awful city slum or a nightmarish shopping mall, not the beautiful area that was right on her doorstep.

‘Maybe you should,’ I said. ‘The place is impressive and there are a lot of people staying there. There’s no internet or TV, so it seems like the kind of place you’d find a lot of customers.’

‘You think? When they reopened the campground, turned it into a fancy resort, they told us it was going to save Penance. Provide jobs. Bring people to the area. They’d all come to town, spend money, make this place thrive again.’ She gestured at the empty shop.

‘It’s only been open a few days,’ I said. ‘Maybe if you hand out flyers at the resort . . . Let people know you exist. And get a true-crime shelf for the dark tourists.’

Her frown returned.

‘I guess you were here when it happened? The murders?’

‘I was a kid,’ she said. ‘But yeah, I remember that summer. We all remember it.’

Without saying anything else, she went behind the cash register, disappearing into a back room. She came back out a minute later carrying a book.

‘There you go,’ she said, handing it to me. It was a copy of A Night in the Woods. ‘I don’t sell it. But I’ve read it.’

From the book’s tatty condition, it looked like it had been read, or at least flicked through, many times. The cover showed the clearing where the murders had happened. Inset was a photo of Everett Miller.

‘You can borrow it,’ she said.

‘I’m . . . Thank you.’ I touched the picture of Miller. ‘Did you know him?’

‘It’s a small town. Everyone knew him.’

‘And you were a teenager when it happened?’

‘Fifteen.’

‘What was he like?’ I asked.

‘He was all right. People around here treated him like he was trash because he dressed different, listened to “freaky” music. But he wasn’t a freak. At least, he didn’t seem like one.’

‘Some people are saying he’s still around,’ I said, wanting to gauge her reaction. ‘Living in the woods.’

She smiled thinly. ‘Or Canada.’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Great minds, huh?’ She gave me a look that momentarily made me speechless. Was she flirting with me? It had been such a long time that I wasn’t sure I was reading the signs correctly.

‘So you really think he went to Canada?’ I asked, stumbling a little over my words. Her eyes were a striking shade of green and she had a tiny scar above her lips. I had to force myself to break eye contact.

She shrugged with one shoulder. ‘That’s where I would have gone.’

‘And do you think he did it? Murdered those teachers.’

‘Well, he never liked school much.’

It was my turn to laugh.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. She wasn’t smiling. ‘I’m just tired of hearing about it. It’s been twenty years. Am I going to get someone coming in here every day asking about it, now the resort’s open?’

I was trying to think of a good response when there was a high-pitched chirruping sound and a huge cat came strolling out of the back room and leapt up on to the counter. A tabby with a tail as thick as my arm.

‘That’s the biggest cat I’ve ever seen,’ I said, stroking it.

‘This is Cujo. He’s a Maine Coon,’ said Nikki, smiling at the cat like a proud mother.

‘Cujo?’

‘Well, I thought it was funny.’

The cat rubbed his head against my hand and chirruped again.

‘He’s beautiful,’ I said.

‘And he knows it.’

I petted the cat for a minute. Finally I said, ‘Does Everett Miller have any relatives left in Penance? Any friends?’

‘No, he doesn’t.’ Her frown had returned. ‘Why are you asking all these questions? Are you a reporter or something?’

‘I am a journalist, yeah.’

Her smile vanished. ‘In which case, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’

She escorted me to the door before I had a chance to protest. I thought she was going to snatch back the copy of A Night in the Woods she’d lent me, but instead she just held the door open. A little sheepishly, I went out.

‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave it. Stop asking questions.’

I must have looked confused.

‘Sooner or later, you’ll bump into somebody less friendly than me.’

She shut the door and locked it behind her.

Meet someone less friendly than her if I kept asking questions? Okay, now I really was intrigued.





Chapter 7


Monday


There was something on the ground in front of the Butlers’ cabin. I stood by the kitchen window, peering out and wishing my eyesight was as good as it used to be. I was tired. Jet lag had prevented me from getting to sleep, so I’d stayed up late making notes for the article I was now sure I wanted to write.