Borrowed Identity

“I’ll get a flashlight and some batteries, too, just in case.”

“Why?” Her eyes narrowed, and she spun around to face him. “We have three flashlights and you just bought batteries last week.”

“Well,” he said with a shrug, “you can never have enough batteries.”

She watched him walk across the foyer to the front door, and she thought about the changes in him. He was hiding something from her. She could feel deceit in his every word. She opened her mouth to mention the pearls she’d found. The accusation soured her tongue, filling her with bitterness.

He stopped at the door and smiled wryly at her. “Will you be okay here by yourself while I’m away?”

“Fine,” she said. “Don’t hurry back on my account.”

Then he was gone. The door shut softly behind him. She regretted not having the courage to confront him with her suspicions. Either she was losing her mind or he was lying to her, setting her up for a fall.

Kelly grabbed the phone and brought it to her ear. She wanted to call her only close neighbor, Margo Lane, and warn her about the coming storm. The elderly woman had a hard time getting around. She didn’t have her own car, but relied on family and friends for transportation. She would need supplies, too.

Kelly remembered selling the guest house to Margo as one of the smartest things she’d done. At first she’d wanted an elderly couple to buy the place. She hadn’t needed the money of course; she’d made that clear to the Realtor. She was willing to take a financial loss as long as she liked the people, feeling lonely after the loss of her father. Margo had fallen in love with the little house on sight and begged Kelly to sell it to her. Margo had family, but they didn’t spend much time with her. Kelly remembered Margo’s last remark to her that day, the reason she’d told the Realtor to let Margo have the house. “You and I, we’ll look after each other.”

And they did.

The phone line was dead.

Kelly slowly set the receiver down. Her eyes went to the front door. Margo lived in a small bungalow down the road from Moore House. Kelly considered walking there. The place had been part of the Moore estate at one time, a guest house for visiting relatives and friends.

John Moore had bought five hundred acres and then instructed the builders to erect the mansion. It was followed by the guest house, barracks for the workers, a detached garage and a barn. Each building stood separate from the other, spread out over the great expanses of land. Over the years, piece by piece, bits of the Moore estate had been sold off, the seven-room guest cottage among them.

The guest house was connected to the main public road right along with Moore House. John Moore, the original owner, had wanted his guests to have their privacy, wanted them to feel as if they were in their very own house, a house separate from his. But the guest house was also connected by a rocky path that wound past the detached garage and eventually traveled up a hill to meet the guest house’s wraparound porch.

Kelly grabbed her coat and headed out the door. There was a thin layer of frost on the ground. If she fell on the rocky path, there would be no one nearby to hear her screams for help. Margo was hard of hearing, and there wasn’t another soul in the vicinity. Kelly couldn’t rely on Michael to save her; he would probably be gone for quite some time.

Despite the slippery conditions, she arrived in one piece. Climbing onto Margo’s porch, she rapped hard with her knuckles on the front door. She listened for activity inside the house, but didn’t hear anything.

Kelly wondered how long it had been since Margo’s relatives had checked on her. The woman lived alone, with a large golden retriever for company.

Kelly moved to the window and peered through, cupping her hands around her face to block the glare. Inside, the living room was empty, the television turned off. It was strange that Margo wasn’t watching her favorite afternoon stories. There was no sign of her anywhere.

Suddenly a large form hit the window near Kelly’s face, startling her. She shrieked and leaped away. Her foot caught the end of a wooden porch chair and she toppled backward. Pain lanced through her body.

Loud barking caught her attention. From her position flat on the porch, she peered upward. Margo’s dog was at the window. Boomer yelped at her, raking his paws against the glass in his excitement at seeing her.

Kelly struggled to her feet, using the chair as leverage. Finding her balance took longer. She retrieved the spare key from the potted plant near the front door, then slid the key home and turned the knob.

Boomer barked happily and tried to jump on her.

“No.” She pushed his front legs away. “Sit, Boomer.”

The dog followed her command and Kelly moved from room to room, calling out to the elderly woman, who should have been somewhere in the house.

She wouldn’t have left Boomer alone to fend for himself. A family member would have been called in to take care of him if Margo was planning to be gone long. Could her friend have gone for a walk alone and hurt herself?

Kelly hadn’t seen the place in such bad shape before. Margo usually kept her home immaculate, but today it was a wreck. There were empty cans on the kitchen counter and table. Papers were strewn across the floor. It looked as if a tornado had ripped through the cottage.

Alarm spread through Kelly like wildfire. Something bad must have happened to Margo. Where could she be?

Kelly put the dog on a leash and took him outside with her. He was more hyper than he’d ever been, jerking on his leash, trying to force Kelly to run. As if he hadn’t been outside in days, he ignored her firmly spoken commands and continued to struggle against the leash.

Kelly circled the house, calling Margo’s name. She paused frequently, hoping for a response. There was no reply, just total silence. Margo seemed to have vanished without a trace.

There was nothing else Kelly could do on her own. She led the dog back along the path to Moore House. Fortunately, she kept a spare bag of dog food at her place in case Margo ever ran out. When she was almost there, she thought she saw someone duck inside the garage—a shadowy form without recognizable features. Her breath caught in her throat and fear gripped her once more. What should she do?

Her hand trembled, weakening her grip on Boomer’s leash. The dog took advantage of her momentary distraction and bolted.

“Boomer!”

But the animal had raced around the garage, vanishing from sight. She wanted to call after him, but her mouth was as dry as the Sahara. Her respiration was labored, and she still had a long way to go to reach the safety of her front door.

First she had to check the garage, however. It was possible Margo had been on her way to see Kelly and had stopped in the garage. But why? What would her friend want in a deserted garage?

Kelly opened the garage doors and called, “Hello? Is somebody in here? Margo?”

The chains that had held the doors shut swung free, a padlock dangling from one end. Kelly never bothered to bolt the place. She didn’t keep anything inside the decrepit structure worth stealing. She kept her truck in the newly built garage on the other side of the house. The lock had been purchased by her father when he’d kept his car inside, before a tornado had made the place unsafe.

The building was dark and seemed to be empty. She took a step inside, groping for the light switch. But when she found it and flicked it on, the place remained dark.

“Hello?” Her voice seemed to bounce off the walls, echoing eerily. Kelly limped inside, though she was unwilling to stray too far from the door. Her ankle was beginning to throb after her fall on Margo’s front porch.

There wasn’t anyone in the garage. Light streamed through gaps in the roof, highlighting certain areas. She planned on tearing the decrepit building down eventually; it was becoming a real danger. It had originally been a big red barn, but eventually was transformed into a white garage.

She turned to go, satisfied she was alone. But just as she did so the doors swung shut, startling her.

A nervous laugh escaped her throat. Sleeping in the legendary Moore House was finally getting to her. The stories had warped her mind from youth, desensitizing her. She had nothing to fear; there were no goblins hiding in the dark.

A soft click sounded like a thunderous explosion in the stillness.

She knew the origin of the sound before testing her theory. The doors were chained and locked. Someone had purposely trapped her inside the four-car garage! Besides the doors, her only escape route was a small window near the ceiling, too high for her to reach. Even if she could find a ladder or bench and climb up there, the window was painted shut.

Kelly banged her fists against the door, screaming for help even though she knew there wasn’t anyone around to hear her frantic cries. If she was lucky, Michael would return from town soon. She would actually be glad to see him.

Of course, there was a good chance he wouldn’t be able to hear her. The garage was set too far from the house for her peace of mind.

Rubbing her upper arms in an attempt to warm herself, she closed her eyes and prayed for a miracle.

FOR A SMALL TOWN, Tinkerton had more than its share of bars. Michael straddled a stool in one of them and ordered a cold beer. John “Paddy” Paddington was tardy. It was late afternoon and patrons were just beginning to fill the dimly lit room. Michael scanned the faces. He was relieved when he didn’t recognize any of them. Mostly men, they appeared more interested in their alcoholic beverages than in him.

Michael was about to give up on his old friend when Paddy appeared in the doorway. Michael waved him over, ordering two more beers.

Paddy sat down with a tired grunt. He rubbed his back at the base of the spine and nodded at Michael without saying a word. The Irishman swallowed half his beer in quick chugs.

Michael waited, feeling impatient.