The Girl Who Wasn't There (A Thriller, #2) by Vincent Zandri

Author:Vincent Zandri
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Vin zandri books, Vincent zandri books, thriller books, abduction books, kidnap books, micahel connelly, harlan coben, stephen king, joe konrath, JR rain, mystery thriller book, psychological suspense thriller book, adirondack mountain thriller book, lake placid thriller book, bernie connors, the woods mystery, mother and daughter mystery books, ex con book, mafia book, organized crime book, revenge book, veangance book
Publisher: Vincent Zandri
Published: 2023-11-26T00:00:00+00:00

30

The sky grows darker, more ominous, the fine hairs on the back of my neck rising up from the static electricity in the air. The rain is growing harder, verging on coming down in sheets. In the back of the Jeep, I find a tire iron. I grab hold of it, bring it with me to the front door, shove one end of the tool into the narrow space between the door and the screwed on plywood.

Gripping the bar with both my hands, I plant my booted foot against the exterior wall. Inhaling a breath, I yank on the bar. Turns out the plywood is rotted. It comes away from the log wall so easily I almost fall onto my backside. Pulling the entire board off the door frame and tossing it to the side, I try the door knob. It turns. I push on the door. It opens.

“No wonder the owner boarded the place up,” I observe. “No working locks.” Then, stepping inside. “Stay close behind, and leave the door open, in case we gotta make a quick exit.”

Setting the tire iron against the interior wall, I pull the gun from my pant waist and slowly step into the open room. To my right is a log wall with a set of wood framed bunk beds pushed up against it. A gun rack is mounted to the wall beside the beds. A pump-action shotgun is stored on the rack, along with a 30.30 lever-action rifle. Something John Wayne would have carried in one of his old Westerns. Whoever owns the place isn’t all that concerned about the safety of his firearms.

To my left is a big stone fireplace. Thick spider webs shroud the black cast iron hearth, telling me it hasn’t been used in months or maybe years. I step further into the room located on the opposite side. But then, the word room is too generous. More like a galley kitchen, attached to a small bathroom that also contains a standup shower.

Stepping into the kitchen, I wipe away the spider webs that hang from the ceiling.

“Hope you’re not afraid of spiders, Pen.”

“You know I am. If there’s a broom I can get rid of them while you make a fire, Daniel Boone.”

I nod, begin making my way back across the front room to the open door.

“You know what I think?” I say, closing the door on the rain and the storm. “I think this place is abandoned. I can bet whoever lived here either couldn’t take care of it anymore, or maybe died. Places like this are scattered all over the Adirondacks. With no surviving relatives, the places are soon forgotten and simply rot back into the earth like your average corpse.”

Penny comes back out of the kitchen with a broom. Already she’s swiping at the spider webs.

“There’s a pile of dry wood by the hearth,” she says. “Now all we need is a bottle of wine.”

“And our daughter,” I add.

Luck hasn’t entirely abandoned us. Good luck, that is.

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