“What were you doing out in the woods?” I asked.
Ruben laughed. “Funny, I was looking forward to asking you the very same thing,” he said. “I woke up hungry and went out to do a little hunting. Lucky for you that I left the house when I did. A few more minutes in the snow would have turned you into a Popsicle.”
“You really saved me?”
Ruben’s eyes were a bright, almost unnatural blue, and when he stared, it felt like he was reading my mind. “You sound like you find that hard to believe.”
“I walked by your house with a friend the other day, and I heard you in the woods. You must have been watching us. I know you had a gun.”
I can’t believe I had the guts to say it. I knew nothing for certain—until Ruben confirmed it. “I always have my gun with me in the woods,” he said. “And if your friend Nolan Turner had stepped one toe over my property line, there’s a good chance I’d have used it.”
“Do you think Nolan had something to do with what happened to Lark?”
“Not necessarily,” Ruben said with a shrug. “I just never cared all that much for his family. Bunch of parasites, if you ask me. People like them have been feeding on this town for over a century.”
“Did you know Nolan was friends with Lark?”
“My daughter is allowed to make her own friends,” Ruben said.
“I wish I could talk to her about the night of the fire. Is there any way I could visit Lark—or maybe call her on the phone?”
I shouldn’t have asked. The moment I did, Ruben Bellinger lost interest in humoring me. “No, Nancy Drew,” he said. “Lark doesn’t want to talk to anyone.”
“Are you sure?” I wasn’t quite ready to give up. “I swear I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s just that I spent a few months in a mental health facility last year. It was a pretty lonely place. I would have killed for a phone call.”
Most people would go on alert the moment they heard that I’d been locked away. I’d seen their spines stiffen and their muscles tense—like they were preparing to defend themselves or make a run for the hills. A lot of the time the shift was subtle. I’m sure they didn’t even know what they’d done. But if you’re on the receiving end often enough, you learn to pick up on the signs.
Ruben had the opposite reaction—he relaxed. My confession seemed to render me less of a threat. “Miss Howland, even if Lark did want to talk, she wouldn’t be able to answer your questions,” he said softly, as if he were sorry to break the bad news. “She suffered a brain injury the night of the fire. She doesn’t remember much about all of that anymore. Now, if you’ll please excuse me.”
He rose from his chair and walked out of view. I could hear him shuffling around in what I assumed was the kitchen, but I was wrapped up too tightly to turn around for a look.
“Mr. Bellinger, would you mind loosening some of these blankets?” I called out to him.
“I think it’s best you sit tight until help arrives,” he replied. “But you’ll be glad to know I can hear the snowplow. I don’t think we’ll have the pleasure of each other’s company much longer. And in the future, Miss Howland, please stay out of my woods. It would be a real shame if I mistook you for a deer.”
I lay back on the sofa and waited for the EMTs to arrive.
* * *
—
Turned out Ruben Bellinger had done a bang-up job of bringing me back from the dead. The doctor who examined me knew the Bellingers well (because everyone in Louth…blah, blah, blah). She confirmed what Sam had told me—Ruben had been a medic in Afghanistan. He’d been stationed in the mountains, where cold-related injuries and amputations were as common as bullet holes. I understood why he’d want to keep to himself after that. I knew what it was like to see things that you can’t unsee.
It took about ten minutes for the doctor to draw my blood, watch me wiggle all of my digits, and give me a clean bill of health. After that, I had a nice long chat with the hospital’s psychiatrist, who informed me that it wasn’t entirely normal to be found in your pajamas in the middle of the woods. I told her something close to the truth—that I saw a girl run into the forest and I thought she might need some help. I didn’t mention that the girl in question could very well be dead. I could tell that the shrink didn’t buy a word of my story, but she didn’t seem to think I was suicidal, either. She said she’d be paying close attention to the results of my blood test, and I heartily encouraged her to do so.
After that, I was free to sit in the hospital waiting room, though I wasn’t allowed to leave. An adult needed to check me out, but the plows hadn’t yet reached the manor, and James was still snowed in—and likely nursing the mother of all hangovers.
Just before noon, I was flipping through a four-year-old copy of Modern Maturity in the waiting room when Miriam and Sam charged through the door. They bustled right past me on their way to the reception desk. Judging by the stricken looks on their faces, you’d have thought they were on their way to my deathbed. Sam was wearing sweatpants tucked into his snow boots, and Miriam clutched a manila envelope in one hand. I shuddered when I imagined what forms were inside it. As they leaned over the desk to speak to the woman seated behind it, I considered sneaking out of the hospital. I was halfway out of my chair when the Reinharts both swiveled in my direction. In the gap between them, I saw the hospital’s receptionist pointing directly at me.
“They gave me a drug test!” I announced, shrinking back into my chair as the Reinharts approached me. “You can ask the doctor! I’m clean!”
Miriam and her son shared a confused look. “What?” Sam asked.
I gestured at the envelope in Miriam’s hand. I was sure it contained the paperwork needed to send me away. “The rehab center won’t take me if I haven’t been using. It doesn’t matter what forms my mother signed.”
Miriam pulled a chair across from mine and sat down. Sam did the same. “This isn’t about rehab,” Miriam said in a low voice. “I don’t need to see any drug tests.”
Having known my mother for seventeen years, I assumed the worst. “She’s having me committed to a mental hospital?”
Sam shook his head vigorously as Miriam reached out and put a hand on my knee. “No, Bram! You’re not going anywhere! Your mother doesn’t even know what happened this morning, and your uncle was still sleeping when we left. I wrote him a note, but I doubt he’s read it.”
“Then what’s going on?” I asked. “What’s in the envelope?”