The Cabin on Souder Hill Read online

  Chapter 31

  Leaving the hospital parking lot, Michelle asked Darcy to drive back up to the cabin.

  “Why?” Darcy said.

  “Let’s just spend the night up there. We’ll go home tomorrow. Or the next day. I can’t go back to my house in Atlanta. It’s too fucked up . . . with Cliff . . . Cassie . . . I can’t ever go back there.” Michelle grabbed the box of tissues from the glove compartment. She felt like she was being turned inside out.

  “You’ll stay at my place. Until you figure things out,” Darcy said. “Or forever. I don’t care.” Darcy pulled the car to the shoulder. “Besides, won’t the cabin freak you out? Shit, Cliff shot himself there. Jesus, that had to be fucking horrible finding him like that.”

  Michelle knew Darcy was right, but she had to go back. She knew the answers were there, with the cabin, Pink, Mattie Souder. But how could she stand to see the cabin again? The deck stained with Cliff’s blood. His clothes in the closet. His stuff on the walls.

  “Maybe we could just stay at the Comfort Inn or something,” Michelle said. “I can’t go back to Atlanta.”

  “You know I’m worried about you, right? And you know I want you to let go of all this . . .”

  “Nonsense?” Michelle said.

  “No, Chelle. All this stuff that keeps you stuck. I think you would do better if we were back in Atlanta, away from Ardenwood.”

  “You sound like Mom. You know that, right?” Michelle said, taking her gaze out the window. “I can’t leave, Darce.”

  They sat in silence. Cars rushed by, rocking the Explorer as they passed. Darcy checked the rearview mirror, then glanced over at Michelle. Michelle met her eyes.

  “Someone came to visit me last night in the hospital, Darcy,” Michelle said. “Mattie Souder. Pink’s mother. She asked me all kinds of questions. Why would she do that if there wasn’t something going on?”

  “What something do you think is going on ?”

  “Don’t be sarcastic, okay?”

  “All right. Sorry.”

  “Anyway, she asks me all these pointed questions, then just gets up to leave.” Michelle turned in the seat to face Darcy. “So I asked her to stop . . . then I asked her if Pink killed his wife Isabelle. Mrs. Souder turned white as chalk.”

  Darcy looked away, then turned back and touched Michelle’s wrist. “Chelle, you asked a woman if her son killed his wife who isn’t even dead? Fuck, what did you expect her to do? The question is crazy. I’m sorry. It just is. I’m your biggest advocate, but I have to be honest with you.”

  Michelle wasn’t sure she believed Darcy about being her biggest advocate. But she needed to get her sister onboard if she was going to convince her to stay in Ardenwood. Michelle needed to stay; she knew Mattie Souder had the answers.

  “When she left my hospital room last night, she stopped and wrote Charlene House on the whiteboard,” Michelle blurted out.

  Darcy looked surprised then confused at the same time. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. Who wrote Charlene House on the whiteboard, and who the hell is Charlene House?”

  “Mattie Souder wrote Charlene House on the whiteboard.”

  “Okay. So who is Charlene House?”

  “Charlene House was my roommate. Some hikers found her on the AT wandering around, lost, without shoes or food. Apparently, she was hiking the AT and . . . I don’t know . . . got lost or something and couldn’t remember who she was. The hospital wasn’t sure if she fell or what happened to her. Anyway, these hikers called the police who brought her into town, and the hospital psychiatrist had been working with her to bring back her memory. Charlene had no idea who she was or where she lived or anything about her life. They were calling her Connie Smith at the hospital.”

  “You said she was on the AT. What’s that?”

  “The Appalachian Trail or something.”

  “I’ve heard of that,” Darcy said. “It’s that trail that goes from Georgia to Maine, right?”

  “I guess so. I don’t know. That’s not the point here.”

  “Yeah, I kind of forgot what the point was. And I’m confused about something. If the hospital staff knew her name was Charlene House, why were they calling her Connie Smith?”

  “That’s just it . . . they didn’t know her real name until this morning. That’s what Mrs. Souder wrote on the whiteboard.”

  Darcy shook her head lightly, obviously having trouble following the orbit of Michelle’s explanation.

  “I’m sorry, sis, but what does Charlene House have to do with Mattie Souder?” Darcy asked. “Does Mrs. Souder know Charlene House? Were they friends or something?”

  “No! That’s my point. Mattie Souder somehow knew Charlene House’s real name, even though Charlene couldn’t remember her own name. Don’t you see, Mattie Souder knew this woman’s name even though she had never met Charlene before. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  “So maybe she’s psychic,” Darcy said. “What does that prove?”

  “Okay,” Michelle said. “You win.”

  “This isn’t a contest, Chelle. I’m not trying to beat you. I’m on your side. You know that, right?”

  “Sure. I do. I know that,” Michelle said.

  “Well, you sound like you know it but still don’t believe it,” Darcy said.

  Michelle sulked, feeling trapped in an endless loop.

  A short while later Darcy pulled into a service station. Michelle got out to stretch her legs. The day had clouded up as night approached. “I think it’s good we’re heading back now,” Darcy said, tilting her head back at the sky. “Looks like they’re in for more snow up here.”

  Michelle looked up, then over at Darcy. Darcy had four-wheel drive and good tires. They wouldn’t get stuck. Michelle wished Darcy would stop with the excuses. Michelle had let it drop and couldn’t understand why her sister hadn’t.

  “Besides, I can’t depend on Anna to manage things at the store for more than a few days,” Darcy added.

  “It’s okay. Let it drop,” Michelle said to Darcy, who was busy pumping gas. Michelle walked around to where Darcy was holding the pump handle, reminding her of Darcy’s gun, the one Cliff used to kill himself. How could he have done that?

  I have to go back, Michelle thought. I have to go back one last time. After that, I never want to see the cabin again.

  Darcy finished with the gas, screwed the cap on, pushed the cover shut. She stared at the gas pump, at the receipt slot, waiting.

  “This is my last chance, Darcy,” Michelle said. “I have to go back. I have to face what Cliff did. I have to be there one last time.”

  Darcy ripped the receipt from the pump, spinning toward her. “What am I supposed to do, Michelle? Wait around until you take off again? Cliff called me the night he killed himself, Michelle. He told me everything you did, everything you said. When is this over?”

  “Wow, how long have you been holding that in?” Michelle said. It was the first time Michelle had ever felt that her sister blamed her for what was happening, blamed her for everything. It was a shock, as Darcy had always been of the new age thought that blame was for victims, a game for the feeble-minded, serving no real purpose other than to keep one stuck in a hopeless cycle of powerlessness.

  After stuffing the receipt in her purse, Darcy turned toward Michelle, her expression much softer. “Let’s go home, Michelle. You can live at my place until you figure out what to do with the house. You can work at the store, reassemble your life. We’ll face everything together. Just like growing up. This is me, Chelle. I love you. You have to trust me.”

  “I can’t remember Cassie’s death, Darcy. Do you have any idea what that’s like? I don’t want that to happen again. I don’t want to forget what happened to Cliff. I want to keep it straight in my mind, then maybe . . .”

  “Maybe what?”

  �
�Then . . . I don’t know . . . maybe everything about Cassie will come back.” Michelle couldn’t believe she’d spoken the words, wasn’t sure if she believed them or if it was a ploy to coax Darcy into driving her back to the cabin. What scared her most was the small voice inside her saying it was true, that if she faced Cliff’s death, she would remember Cassie’s death as well. The notion weakened her knees, left her hollow. You have to trust me. Her sister’s words lingered near the back of Michelle’s eyes, as if at any moment she would be able to see the truth as some solid object with shape and dimension, something she could put in her pocket, and bring out when she needed reassurance. She recalled the pale fright in Charlene House’s eyes; the truth had definitely not set her free. If anything, it had imprisoned Charlene more, forcing her mind to establish alien connections, accept them as fact, rebuild her life upon loose and shifting sand. Charlene had seemed more at ease not knowing who she was or where she belonged than trying to trick her mind into embracing a life that didn’t feel like her own.

  Michelle looked past Darcy to a Toyota Sequoia that pulled up to the pump.

  “Do you want anything from inside?” Darcy asked, removing the keys from the ignition. “I have to pee.”

  Michelle shook her head. “I’m good.” She hadn’t missed that Darcy took her keys with her.

  A Toyota with a mountain bike on the roof pulled in across from Darcy’s Explorer. A young man in shorts and a bright yellow jacket slid his credit card into the reader and started pumping gas.

  “Hi,” Michelle said to the young man. “Are there good places to ride around here?”

  “Yeah, for sure. The Tsali trail is awesome,” the man glanced at his bike, then back at Michelle. “I wasn’t riding today . . . just getting some work done on my bike. The snow has made it impossible to get to the trail right now, but it’ll melt pretty fast this time of year.”

  “Hey . . . thanks for the info,” Michelle said. “Uh . . . I was wondering, are you headed in the direction of Ardenwood right now?”

  Chapter 32

  Pink folded the newspaper at his desk, fuming at Ramsey for running such a dumb thing. Private humiliation was something Isabelle seemed immune to, but public humiliation was a different beast altogether. If Isabelle saw the photo and recognized Pink and Claire nearly naked on the bridge, she’d be angrier than a butt-shot bear. And then there was the part about the “anonymous witness” who took the picture, but couldn’t leave his name because he was, “too disturbed and embarrassed.” Disturbed and embarrassed my ass, Pink thought. How could Ramsey be so stupid? Was he taking a special vitamin for that? And goddamn Kenny! Where did he come up with such a plan? Or maybe it was Curly’s idea. It had to be. Kenny didn’t have enough sense to pull his foot out of dogshit, but Curly . . . that was a hell of an idea he’d had about the billboard. It was hard to be upset with Curly’s caliber of genius.

  The phone rang again. People Pink hadn’t spoken to in three years were calling, asking if he was the one in the photo. Pink instructed Clarence to tell them he wasn’t there, and that it wasn’t him in the photo, that he had been out of town for the past week.

  “You better take this one, Pink,” Clarence yelled from the adjoining office.

  “Somebody want to buy or sell property?” Pink said.

  “No.”

  “Then tell ’em I’m not here.”

  “It’s Loudon. He wants to talk to you. Says it’s urgent.”

  Pink shot up from his desk and rushed into Clarence’s office. “Did you tell him I was here?” Pink said, glaring down on Clarence.

  “Not exactly. I told him you were in the crapper.”

  “Well . . . tell him I left, that I was in the crapper . . . and then I left.”

  “But, Pink, I . . .”

  “Damn you, Clarence! You tell him right now!”

  Pink stood over him making sure he didn’t screw it up. Clarence’s lies sounded less dumb than his truth, which made everything seem believable.

  “He was in the bathroom, but I guess he left when he finished.” Clarence nodded, then hung up and went back to his newspaper.

  “Well, what did he say?”

  “He said, ‘Okay.’ ”

  Pink sighed and went back to his office, wondering if Claire had seen the paper. She was terrible at secrets, would break down blubbering when she saw the photo. She might feel so bad she’d go in and show it to Isabelle, confess the whole damn thing. Pink didn’t care if Isabelle suspected he had slept with Claire, long as she never knew for sure. That’s when the trouble would commence. He wanted to call Claire, but didn’t want to chance Isabelle picking up. He hustled back into Clarence’s office and told him to phone the house.

  “Only ask for Claire, and whatever you do, don’t say who it is. You got that?”

  “Of course, Pink. I ain’t dimwitted.”

  Pink paced behind Clarence’s chair.

  “Hello,” Clarence said. “Is this the lady of the house?”

  Pink grimaced and shook his head. “Is it Claire?” he mouthed. “Hang up the dang phone if it ain’t Claire.”

  Clarence nodded, holding his hand over the receiver.

  “Give me that damn thing,” Pink said, wrenching the phone from Clarence’s hand. “What are you doing?”

  “Who is this?” Claire said.

  “Pink. Who the hell you think it is? What are you doing? Have you been out today?”

  “Too damn cold. Where are you?”

  “What’s Isabelle doing?”

  “She’s taking a bath. She looks stronger today. I have to help her in and out, but—”

  “Nobody been by?”

  “Well, no, why?”

  “Good. Keep it that way.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, ’cause you ain’t stuck in this damn house like a damn prisoner. And we’re running low on groceries. They’re supposed to be sending a boy up here, but I’ll be damned if he’s got here yet. He must be coming on a damn bicycle.”

  “What are you talking about?” Pink asked, motioning for Clarence to give up his chair so Pink could sit.

  “Isabelle had me call for groceries.”

  “Did she ask for a newspaper?”

  “No. But I did. Crossword puzzle comes out today. There ain’t a damn thing to do in this house except watch TV. All my jigsaw puzzles are over with Kenny, and—”

  Pink slammed the phone down. “Shit-fire-hell-and-damnation!” Pink cradled his head in his hands, wishing he had his gun with him so he could drive over and kill Kenny, then Ramsey, then . . .

  “You never told me, Pink,” Clarence said, sitting on a plastic file folder box across the room.

  Pink glared over at him, thinking how stupid Clarence looked sitting on that box, his bare feet covered in white powder. “Told you what?”

  “If that was you in the picture?”

  When Pink stood to go back to his office, he heard the bell on the front door ring. “Go find out who that is,” he told Clarence. “And don’t tell ’em I’m here unless it’s somebody who wants to buy some damn property. And put some damn shoes on!”

  Clarence slipped on his orange Crocs and clopped into the foyer. Pink could hear men’s voices, followed by the clapping of Clarence’s plastic shoes on the linoleum floor.

  “Did you get rid of—” Pink started to say, when he noticed Loudon behind Clarence.

  “We need to talk,” Loudon said.

  Pink walked past Clarence, shaking his head. “Come on, then,” he told Loudon.

  Pink closed the door after Loudon stepped in and seated himself opposite Pink’s desk. Pink sat down and leaned back. “So what can I do for you?”

  Loudon slid a newspaper out from under his coat and spread it before Pink. “Now, Pink, before you start lying to me, I’m gonna tell you I don’t care what the hell you were doing on that
bridge. That’s not why I’m here. But I need your help. I’m up to my ass in stranded retirees, cars skidded off back roads, and I even have a frostbite victim wanting to sue the weatherman. And if that’s not enough, now I have to assemble a damn team of divers to muddle around the bottom of Burtran Lake. I need to know if this is you, Pink, so I don’t have to spend thousands of dollars searching for two people that aren’t there. Are you following me?”

  Pink’s office chair squeaked when he rocked backward. “What do you want from me?” Pink asked.

  Loudon poked the photo, the paper crinkling each time his finger jabbed the smeared ink. “I know this is you. Just confirm it so I can call off this stupid search and get on with the real emergencies.”

  Pink folded his hands behind his head and rocked in his chair. “I don’t know why you believe that’s me. You think I’m the only chubby guy in Ardenwood who wears white BVDs?”

  “Goddamn it, Pink, I don’t have time for this. There’s another storm hitting tonight, and this one’s supposed to be ten times worse. Now help me out here, Pink. Do the right thing.”

  “Supposing it was me,” Pink said. “How you going to handle it?”

  “I’m gonna say we have it on reliable information that no one is at the bottom of Burtran Lake and all rescue plans have been postponed, that the photo was a hoax.”

  Pink popped forward in his chair, shuffling old contracts on his desk, ones he’d stacked there to make potential clients feel more at ease. “Well, all I can say is, I doubt very seriously there’s any dead bodies at the bottom of Burtran Lake.”

  “Tell Mattie hello for me when you see her,” Loudon said, putting on his hat.

  The phone rang as Loudon was leaving the office. Pink heard Clarence answer it. “What else can happen?” Pink said to himself as he stood and grabbed his coat.

  Maybe he’d drive to Dedmonson for lunch. No one knew him over there. He went into Clarence’s office and was about to tell him that he was going out when Clarence looked up at him, his eyes pale and round. Pink could hear someone shouting through the phone. Clarence pointed at the other line for Pink to pick up. Pink gently lifted it from the cradle.