The Man From Falcon Ridge

“No.” Hailey opened the Jeep door. “Let’s look inside first.”

Dark clouds obliterated the dwindling afternoon sunlight as she followed Rex to the front door. He held his gun in front of him as he slowly stepped inside the entrance. He kept her behind him, his footsteps slow and steady, his eyes scanning the interior with caution. Shadows hovered in every corner, the dim lighting of the house adding to Hailey’s anxiety, each footstep bringing another creak and groan to the old house. They searched the downstairs room by room but found nothing amiss.

Hailey sighed with relief, but a screeching noise above shattered the momentary peace. Rex pressed a finger to his lips to indicate for her to keep quiet, then inched up the steps. Hailey followed, holding her breath until they reached the landing, then her gaze flew to the attic door.

Her pulse pounded. “The note, it’s gone.”

Rex frowned and glanced at the doorway, then back to her.

“The picture, it was there, I swear it.”

He pressed a finger to her lips, then motioned that he’d check out the rooms. Hailey followed, cringing when they entered the children’s empty bedrooms.

Although the paint had faded in the boy’s room, and someone had obviously removed most of the toys, wooden bunk beds still sat in the corner. Simple navy bedspreads, dusty and faded, were draped over the tops. Hailey froze, imagining the young boy at play, a train set winding around the room on the floor.

Grief for the poor child followed, her throat swelling.

The next room was painted pale yellow, the room bare except for a twin Jenny Lind bed and antique dresser. Oddly, there was no comforter or spread on the bed, but she pictured a frilly pink spread on top with lacy pillows scattered at the headboard and rag dolls and stuffed animals overflowing the now bare shelves.

“There’s no one here,” Rex said, jarring her back to reality.

“I told you he probably already left.” Hailey’s shoulders fell in relief. But the thought of the young lives lost so senselessly still troubled her. She had to talk to the locals and learn more about the people who’d lived here. More than ever, she wanted to honor their memory.

Rex studied her as they walked back to the attic door. “You’re sure someone was inside?”

Hailey hesitated. Had there been someone inside or had she imagined it? “Yes. How else would the note and picture get there, and then disappear?” She pointed to the door, the image of the bloody massacre stark in her mind. “The article described the murders, and the picture was so stark. The father was lying on the floor a few feet away from the mother. Mrs. Lyle had her arm curled protectively around her son. And the man had his hand extended, as if he was trying to touch them.”

“I’ve seen the photo.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “But I don’t see any signs of an intruder here. No footprints, nothing.”

“You don’t believe me?” Hailey asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe you heard a noise, the furnace squawking or the boards creaking with the wind and you just—”

“Maybe he was in the attic.”

His eyebrows arched. “All right, I’ll check.” He reached for the door and Hailey froze, her sense of claustrophobia growing.

He yanked it open anyway, and suddenly a flurry of wings wrestled through the air, flapping in their faces. Hailey screamed and ducked. Rex grabbed her arm and pulled her to the floor while the bird flew in a circle, then soared down the steps and out the open screen door.

“A brown bat,” Rex said, standing. “That’s odd, bats are nocturnal. You rarely see one this time of day.”

“How did it get in?” Hailey asked, wondering if there were more upstairs.

“Probably a hole in the attic. Bats hibernate in the winter, so he might have been looking for a warm place to nest.”

Hailey wiped at her forehead. “Do you think he’ll be back?”

“I don’t know. Usually they nest in caves or the mines around here and return to the same place each winter. But the bat is probably the noise you heard.”

Hailey licked her dry lips. “Maybe, but that bat didn’t leave the gardenias, and put the note and picture on the door.”

His look turned skeptical. “Hailey, it’s understandable that you heard a noise and got spooked, maybe you—”

“Maybe I imagined the picture of those dead people?” Hailey backed away from him. “What do you think I am, some kind of lunatic that invented this story just to get your attention?”

He hesitated, and her chest squeezed. “Staying in this house would freak out anyone,” he finally said in a gruff voice. “The ghost stories especially.”

“I didn’t invent the note.” Anger replacing her fear, Hailey guided him down the steps. “Thanks for coming, though. I won’t bother you again, Rex.”