Lost & Found - Jacqueline Sheehan [92]
She felt her calf muscles flicker, not knowing if they should spring like a cat or soften and stay.
“You look worried, if you don’t mind me saying, and I want you to stay and tell me what’s going on before you decide to bolt out of here. I can’t believe you’re standing in my house.” He pulled out a chair and pushed aside his briefcase bulging with papers on the table. She sat down.
She watched him caressing the arrow shaft, turning it to look at the point. Then he picked up the flyer that had fallen out of the box. “I’ve heard of this guy. Nice work.” He put the arrows down, folded up the piece of paper back into thirds and slid it into the box.
Rocky hadn’t known what she wanted when she came to his house, or if she should believe him, no matter which way he answered.
“You swear that you didn’t send these? You didn’t order them and have them sent to me?”
Hill leaned against the sink and placed both palms on the edge. The kitchen was small enough that Rocky could see an angry hangnail on one thumb.
“I didn’t send you this,” he said and for the first time she really believed him. “I’d like an excuse not to read sixty essays. Why don’t you stay and tell me what’s happening,” he said. He pulled two Mexican beers from the fridge and set one in front of Rocky. He slipped a knife from a drawer and cut a lime in half. Hill squeezed one lime into his beer and handed Rocky the other half. “Vitamin C. It’s been a long winter,” he said.
“Here’s what’s happening. I saw one of your paper targets at Liz’s old house. I didn’t know it was yours until you came out to the island and tacked up one of your targets.”
She had a lot to tell him, but she wanted to say the worst part first. She saw the flicker of surprise on his face, the involuntary jump among a small group of forehead muscles, as he ran the whole story through his head, fast forward, and his eyes moved from lower left to upper right as if he was watching a video, then he met her gaze.
“You’re wondering if I’m not telling you something, if I’m lying, if I kept seeing her after that one time, if I’m a psychopathic killer from the Maine woods.”
“Yes, and in that exact order. If you’re the psycho guy, save that part until last.”
She wanted to rub her finger along his black eyebrows and she hoped he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She clubbed down the part of her that wanted to touch the perfect half spiral of his eyebrow near the middle and follow the dark hairs up and out to the edges where they ended with soft down.
Rocky told him about the house in Orono, and the meticulously sawn arrows that had been set aside by the carpenter and given to someone who sounded like Peter. Then she told him about Peter finding her at the old Hamilton place, about the way she lied to him about the dog to get the address of Liz’s parents. He pushed his beer away and coiled tightly together. She watched him turn into the hunter.
“You’ve got what he wants,” said Hill. “He could just be waiting for the right moment. Maybe you shouldn’t stay out there.”
“But that’s where I live. Isaiah talked to the Portland police and they said there was nothing they could do without more information. Technically, he’s done nothing wrong,” said Rocky.
“Let me help you,” Hill said. “I’m worried about you. A guy like this is bad news.”
Rocky stood up and drew the box of arrows toward her. She wanted to stay. She wanted to put the box down and take off her shoes and toss her car keys on the table.
“When I went to Liz’s house in Orono, she had one of your targets up in her backyard. That means that she hadn’t forgotten you.”
Hill started to speak and then rubbed one hand across his face in a way that far older men do.
“I am not going to lie about this. She was an amazing woman, sort of like a bolt of lightning.