Wolfhunter River (Stillhouse Lake #3)(15)

“I can help you with some state agencies to call, if that’s what you’re asking, but you’d better be ready to tell them what your problem really is,” I tell Marlene. “First, are you in any physical danger right now?”

“I . . . I don’t think so. But it’s just . . . it’s hard. I don’t know what to do about it, or where to go. I just don’t want to get myself in worse trouble than I’m already in.” She sighs heavily. “I’m a single mother, and my girl, she’s a handful, you know? I got no people here. Nobody to help out. I got to be careful. It’s real complicated.”

It always is complicated, from the inside. People on the outside looking in seem to think it’s simple to cut ties, walk away . . . but there are so many ropes holding a person down. Children. Extended family. Friends. Jobs. Money. Obligations. Guilt. And fear, so much fear. The most dangerous time in any woman’s life is when she’s separating from a partner, particularly an abusive one. Women instinctively know that, even if they’ve never seen the blood-drenched statistics. Sometimes it feels safer to endure the devil you know.

“I know it can feel like you’re in a trap with no way out,” I tell her. “But that’s not true. You always hold the key to your own cage, okay? You just need to find the courage to use it. Is the problem with your husband?”

She sniffles, as if she’s on the verge of tears. “No. He’s dead.”

“A boyfriend? Someone you dated?”

“No.”

“Okay.” That’s pretty new. Most calls I get are about husbands or domestic partners. Occasionally about unknown stalkers. “So specifically, who is threatening you right now?”

“It ain’t . . . it ain’t threats. Not exactly. And I can’t say no names,” she says. “It’s just . . . if I tell somebody, and it comes back on me and my daughter, it’ll be real bad, you know? And if I don’t tell nobody . . . I don’t know how I live with that.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. Gently as I can. “But I’m not a therapist, or a lawyer, and whatever you tell me might cause legal problems for you in the future if you’ve been part of something illegal. Understand? If you want to talk about something that frightens you, but isn’t a crime, let me put you in touch with a psychologist or psychiatrist—”

“I’m not going to any shrink!” She sounds offended. Small, rural towns haven’t exactly embraced talk therapy.

“Okay, if you think it might be criminal, Marlene, why do you think you can’t go to the police?” She doesn’t answer that. Just silence on the line. “Are you afraid of them?”

“I’m afraid of everything,” she says.

“What about the state police?”

She sucks in a breath, then lets it out. “Maybe. Maybe that’d be okay, I guess. Not sure if they’d believe me about this, but I could try.”

“Then I urge you to make that call. Sometimes lives can be lost if you wait, and then you have to carry that responsibility forever.” My mind is racing to fill in the blanks: Is she talking about a neighbor under threat? A friend? Something else? I can’t tell.

“Yeah,” she says. I can hear her pacing restlessly. “Yeah, I know that. But this is a small place. Hell, half the town is related. I guess I have to figure this out myself and—” She stops on a dime, and I don’t even hear breathing. When she talks again, it’s in a hushed, rushed whisper. “I got to go. Sorry.”

“Marlene, if you can’t tell me what’s going on, I don’t know how to help you.”

“Come up here,” she says. “Come up here and I’ll show you everything. It ain’t far where they buried the wreck. You decide what to do about it.” The wreck? Buried? That doesn’t make any sense.

“You mean, come to Wolfhunter? No. I can’t.” No way am I going to some isolated rural location. Armed or not, ready for a fight or not . . . No, the risk isn’t worth it. Not anymore. “Call the state police. Will you do that?”

She doesn’t answer. With a quiet click, she’s gone. Call ended. I shake my head as I hang up. It’s unsettling, but I don’t know what I could have said or done differently. Whatever’s going on with her, it’s strange, and I can’t help but be suspicious. I just found a snake in my mailbox. Now a mysterious caller is trying her best to get me to drive off into the lonely hills.

I’m not getting drawn into a trap. I’ve got enemies.

Today only confirmed that.

I linger near the phone, waiting for a callback, but it doesn’t come. I finally head toward the office. I stop along the way and pop my head into Connor’s room; he’s reading, which is exactly what I expected, and I don’t bother him. It’s hardly a surprise to find that Lanny is texting, and she barely glances up when I knock on her open door.

“Hey,” she says, “who was it calling?”

“Someone who wanted advice,” I say.

Her fingers stumble and pause, and she transfers her attention to me. My daughter’s pretty, but more than that, there is character in her face, and strength. A fair bit of sharp stubbornness too. Can’t imagine where she gets it. “What did she want?”

“Honestly? I’m really not even sure. She doesn’t seem to be in too much trouble, though. Not in fear of her life, at least not enough to really accept help.”