The Stranger Next Door. Joanna Wayne
even worse in the dark than it did in the daylight, if that was possible. Most of the shutters were missing, part of the railing was off the narrow porch, and the edge of the bottom step had rotted away.
“This is it,” Langley said, turning the truck so that his headlights illuminated the front door. He adjusted the delay on the lights so they’d stay on until Danielle had time to maneuver the dilapidated stairs.
She stared at the cabin. “Milton lived here?”
“He did. Right up until the day he died. But then, your uncle didn’t seem to require much in the way of creature comforts. He liked to fish and he liked to raise cattle. Actually, the ranch buildings are in much better shape than his cabin.”
“That’s Uncle Milty for you.”
But in spite of her flippant reply, her step was hesitant as she climbed down from the truck. Langley studied her profile, the bruises on her cheeks and chin taking on an almost ghoulish appearance in the glow of the headlight beams.
He walked over and took her elbow, half-expecting her to pull away. She didn’t. Instead, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“Looks like I’m home,” she said. “I appreciate your giving me a lift out here, but you don’t need to stay. I’m sure you have work to do.”
“I’ll go in with you and have a look around, make sure no wild animals have taken over the place since it’s been vacated.”
She whirled around. “What kind of wild animals?”
“I don’t know. Polecats. Coyotes. Rats.”
“You’re joking, right?”
A coyote bayed in the distance as if in answer to her question. She shuddered.
“Do you still want me to leave you on your own?” he asked.
She shook her head, and her hair tumbled over her face. Tangled and disheveled, it was beginning to dry, falling waywardly about her cheeks and giving her the appearance of an impish nymph.
She fished a brass key from the pocket of her jeans. “This should open the door.”
“I doubt it’s locked. You don’t get a lot of uninvited guests this far off the main road.”
He led her up the steps and turned the knob on the front door. It squeaked open as he expected. The expectations ended there, dissolved by the acid that gnawed at his stomach. A string of curses flew from his mouth as he assessed the damage.
The upholstery on the couch and an ancient recliner had been ripped to shreds, the stuffing scattered over the floor like clumps of yellow snow.
“I guess I spoke too soon,” Langley said, walking to the center of the room and turning slowly so that he could better digest the sick destruction. “But I doubt whoever vandalized this place would have been deterred by a lock on the door.”
Danielle took a deep breath and then walked past him.
He followed her into the kitchen and to more chaos. If a twister had picked up the house and turned it upside down, it probably wouldn’t have wreaked any worse havoc. The floor and counter were littered with broken glass and scattered pans and utensils, and a steady stream of ants marched through trails of sugar and streaks of syrup that painted the floor.
Bits of glass cracked and skidded under Langley’s boots as he circled the kitchen. They’d had vandals strike in Kelman before. Paint sprayed on the water tower, four-letter words carved in inappropriate places, fences cut.
But he couldn’t remember hearing about anything like this, and the sight of it ground in his gut the same way the glass cut and scratched into the linoleum beneath the thick soles of his boots.
He looked up as Danielle returned from a peek at the bedroom, her face ashen, her eyes wide. He laid a hand on her shaking shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to see this. I don’t know who’s behind it, but right now I’m having a hard time believing this was a group of kids out looking for excitement.”
She looked up at him, her large dark eyes haunted pools of fear. “No, this was done by someone who doesn’t want me here.”
“I’m sure this isn’t personal.”
“Take a look in the bedroom.” Her voice was hollow but steady.
Langley walked to the bedroom door. The mattress had been torn off the bed and ripped to shreds. The doors of a small wooden chest hung open, their contents scattered about the floor. And red paint dripped from a cracked mirror that hung over an unpainted dresser. The letters were distorted, but the message was clear.
Get out, Danielle, or die!
Langley strode back into the kitchen and stopped in front of the mystery guest. “I don’t want any games or double-talk. I’d like to know what the hell is going on. If you have a clue, and something tells me you do, now’s a good time to start talking.”
She unzipped the backpack, pulled out a folded piece of smudged paper and handed it to him without a word. He unfolded the letter and read it.
Danielle,
My days are numbered. The cancer is growing fast. The doctors want me to take a lot of pills and treatments, but I’m not doing it. I’ve lived my way. I’ll die my way.
I’ve made a career of making poor decisions. But my only real regret is that I never got to know Colette’s daughter. You are my only living relative, and I’m leaving Running Deer Ranch solely to you. I hope you choose to live on the ranch, but that decision will be yours. You may find Kelman boring after the life you’ve led.
Your uncle,
Milton Maccabbe
P.S. I’m enclosing the key. You know what to do with it. I’m sorry to draw you into this, but I see no other way.
Langley folded the letter and handed it back to her. “Exactly what was it that he hated to draw you into other than this vicious destruction?”
She rubbed the back of her neck, burying her long fingers in the tangle of thick black hair. “I don’t know.” He started to question her response, but she held her hand up to stop him. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not lying. I just don’t know.”
Only he was sure she knew more than she was saying, and whatever it might be was scaring her half to death. He could read the fear in her eyes. “Let’s get out of here.” He touched a hand to the small of her back. “This is no place to talk.”
“You can get out of here. I have no money and no place to go.”
Her voice broke on the words, and Langley’s protective side surfaced in a suffocating wave. He should maintain a professional distance from Danielle, but he wasn’t Branson and he wasn’t a sheriff. He was just a man who couldn’t bear to see a desperate woman fighting back tears.
He reached for her hands. They were as cold as ice. “You can come home with me for the night,” he said.
“You don’t know me. Why would you offer to take me home with you?”
He sensed the suspicion that seemed to shadow everything she said and did. “I have no ulterior motives if that’s what you’re thinking. My family will be there. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“So if I go with you for the night, you won’t expect anything from me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Anger flared in her dark eyes. “Then leave.”
“I don’t think so, Danielle. What I’ll expect from you is plain talk. We can do it here or at the Burning Pear, but I want answers. If you’re involved in something, you may as well tell me. I’ll find out anyway.”
“Good. Then you’ll accomplish more than the police have done so far.” She backed away from him. “I don’t know why I should