Summer of the Dead by Julia Keller

Author:Julia Keller
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781466843189
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

Chapter Twenty-one

Two days after the visit from the prosecutor, Lindy found it.

She had made a mental grid of the house and then traveled from quadrant to quadrant, room to room, trying to be systematic about her search. Scientific. Or if not scientific—she knew what the word really meant, knew from her reading how true scientists worked, and thus scoffed at her own pretentions—at least thorough. Kitchen cupboards, dresser drawers, stacked-up shoe boxes, junk left on tables and chairs. She checked under the couch, under the bed, behind the piano. She pulled stuff out of the closets. She lifted the rugs. She patted the heavy drapes in the living room, shaking the hems, watching the dust bloom and dissipate in the dim sweltering air. She waited until her father was asleep and then she moved gingerly through the basement, too, stepping carefully amid the boxes and branches and old tables. Thank God he was a heavy sleeper. Always had been. His snores were loud, damp-sounding. He slept curled up in a ball, but sometimes he would flop over on his back, mouth open, and the snores would quicken and intensify, like something large and strong tangled up in barbed wire, trying to fight its way out.

She didn’t know what she was looking for—or, more to the point, she didn’t know what else she was looking for. She’d already discovered the things that worried her, that had made suspicions linger in her mind: Missing knife. Boot prints on the kitchen floor.

She wanted more. Before she did anything—before she could even contemplate telling anyone else about the outlandish idea that had so thoroughly infiltrated her thoughts—she needed more proof.

And now she had another worry: the visit from that prosecutor. Lindy had lied to her, of course, but the lie seemed justified. Yes, she’d heard the name Sampson Voorhees. And Jed Stark, too—but she wouldn’t tell the prosecutor that. Not right away, anyway. Not until she knew what was going on. In the letter addressed to her father that had come a week or so ago, the one with the New York City postmark, the names had been right there:

Dear Mr. Crabtree,

As you know, I have attempted to contact you several times. My letters have not been answered. Yet it is imperative that I speak with you soon about a matter of some urgency. This inquiry could result in a substantial financial opportunity for you. My authorized representative in your area, Mr. Jedidiah Stark, will be contacting you shortly with details. I trust you will treat this correspondence confidentially.

Very sincerely yours,

S. J. Voorhees

After skimming it, Lindy had frowned and fumed. The words “substantial financial opportunity” sounded like just another attempt to persuade senior citizens to invest in silver mines in Bolivia or some other scam. This “Sampson J. Voorhees” had probably dumped a truckload of such letters on the older folks in Raythune County. Swindling bastard, Lindy had thought. Freakin’ con man.

But now it seemed that too much was happening all at once. First her suspicions about her father, and now, a visit from the prosecuting attorney.

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