Page 101 of The Woman Who Couldn't Scream
“I remember. When Garik was sheriff, he was always running off to save the world.” Margaret called down and ordered. “Don’t you have any curiosity?I’dlove to know what’s in that box.”
Kateri seated herself. “It’s something about my parents, and all my knowledge of them has proved… painful.”
“Yes, dear, I understand that. But your sister isn’t asking merely for the raven. She wants thebox. There’s something of value in thebox. A truth that’s been proven to me time and again over my long years—with the relatives it’s a good idea to assume the worst, and if you’re wrong… well, what a lovely surprise.”
Kateri laughed. “I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one with a difficult family.”
“There are no functional families,” Margaret said firmly.
“My God! Bergen said that exact thing to me not long ago!”
“It’s a well-known wisdom.”
One of Margaret’s room-service servers knocked on the open door.
“Ah! There’s our tea,” Margaret said. “How are your ribs?”
Surprised, Kateri poked at them with her finger. After being tumbled around in the ocean all night, she would have thought the scab would have broken open. Instead, she had… no pain. “They’re fine. Apparently the frog god doesn’t approve of injuries he didn’t inflict. Although actually”—she moved her hips—“everything is feeling better. Perhaps I’ll stop carrying my walking stick.”
Margaret peered at her. “And perhaps not.”
Kateri rubbed the smooth walnut on her staff. “Yes, it does make a handy weapon.”
“More important, it makes people underestimate you.” Margaret smiled. “As tiny as I am and have always been, I find it’s quite the advantage to be underestimated. I imagine in the town’s first female sheriff, it’s a gift.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
That evening, Merida held her hoodie close around her face, looked up and down the empty street, and watched for movement anywhere—on the lawns, at the windows.
Nothing.
She slipped through the hedge and made her way over the dry, stubbled lawn and up the broken concrete walk to the porch. Every time she came here, the house gave Merida the creeps. But something was wrong and she feared…
At times like these, she most missed her voice. If she could, she would stand out here and call his name.
Instead she stepped up to the door and knocked.
No answer.
That meant nothing. He might be out…
But why hadn’t he called her last night, ordered her to come over? Why wasn’t he answering her texts? Since the news about the slashing, her worry had grown.
She gave the door a push and with a rusty creak, it opened.
The foyer was dark, but at the back of the house, she saw a light.
He never would leave a light on, a light that would betray his presence… she swallowed hard and tiptoed across the floor, glancing at every shadow, fearing every sound.
The kitchen. The light was in the kitchen. Not much of a light; it was dim and growing dimmer. A flashlight, set on the table at the precise angle to illuminate—Carl Klineman, sprawled on the floor, his arms flung out and his body skewed sideways while pools of dark blood congealed underneath it.
Remember, Helen, you cannot scream.
But she tried.
She clutched her throat and made herself stop straining to produce a sound to express her horror. Even if she could… she should not betray her presence by any sound.
Flies buzzed. The body… smelled.
