58

Ernestine was already awake and sitting at the table when Fischer woke up. He rolled out of the bed and saw her. “There’s coffee on the stove,” she said.

“Gotta go,” he said.

“Privy is out back.”

She sat at the table until Willard returned from the outhouse. He poured a cup of coffee and sat across from her. “Who is she, Willard?” The woman he had brought with him was asleep on the old sofa that sat in front of the fireplace.

“I told you, she’s my wife.”

“Where and when were you married?”

“In Portland, last year. You can ask the old woman and the old man. They were there.”

Ernestine stared at him. “Willard . . .”

He sighed in frustration. “What?”

“Dad has been dead for over twenty years.”

Willard looked confused, almost bewildered. “That can’t be. I talk to him all the time.”

“You and Mother talk with each other, too . . .”

His face flushed, and he began to fidget like a schoolboy enduring a boring math lesson on a warm spring day. “Why shouldn’t I talk with her? She’s my mother.”

“Because I’ve been told that Mother is in an advanced stage of Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t know where she is, let alone have the ability to talk.”

He suddenly became suspicious. “Who told you that? Who’s been here?”

“Calm down, Willard.”

Willard leapt to his feet and knocked his chair over. “You’re just like the rest of them! Always questioning, never believing a thing I say!”

“Willard, please sit down.”

He slapped the table and pushed his face toward hers. His eyes seemed to light with a demonic fire, and he snarled, “I don’t want to.” She realized how dangerous her brother was and tried to calm him.

“Willard . . .”

“What?”

“I’m sorry that I doubted you. Sit down . . . please?”

He picked up the chair and placed it by the table.

“Willard.”

He dropped into the chair, folded his arms across his chest, and turned his face away from her.

“Look at me, Willard.”

When he faced her, the rage was gone and a calm, reasonable man smiled at her. “Hey, how about you give me a break, okay? After all this time, you don’t know me.” He glanced around the room. “You haven’t had to bust your ass trying to keep the business going and take care of the old homestead. After I got rid of the old man . . .”

“I always thought that Father drowned at sea.”

A wicked leer covered his face. “He drowned with a gaff in his back.” He stood up. “I need some fresh air.”

“If you’re going for a walk, stay on the roads, there are millions of acres of woods out there. You could get lost forever. And take your rifle, it’s getting on toward fall, and there’s been some bears hanging around.”

Fischer picked up his rifle and walked outside.

As soon as the door closed, Ernestine darted to the sofa and woke Cheryl up. “We have to get out you of here.”

Cheryl sat up and looked startled as she took in the interior of the single room cabin. “Where’s Willard?”

“He’s gone out for a bit. How long has he had you?”

“Truthfully, I’m not sure. What’s the date?”

“September 10th.”

“A month, give or take a few days.”

“Are you and he married?”

“Only in his twisted mind.”

“Has he . . . ?”

“Had sex with me? No, he’s impotent. He’s been kidnapping women for a long time trying to find one who will help him—and give him an heir.”

“I was told that he’s been getting away with this for several years? Why haven’t one of the women’s bodies been discovered before this?”

Cheryl looked at her and said, “They won’t find them. He disposes of the bodies.”