It was supposed to have been a quick exit from the station. Imogene left the building and looked up and down the street for Ollie. Maybe he’d stopped at the drugstore or got caught up chatting with someone when he parked the truck.
Whatever the reason, Ollie hadn’t been there. Someone else had, and now his hand was hot over her mouth. Imogene could taste the sweat of his palm, feel the calluses against her tender lips, and worst of all, hear the roaring rush of pain in her ears. The back of her head throbbed, and she was being dragged across the floor of an empty warehouse room. The cement floor scraped against Imogene’s heels as she half tripped, half walked backward, her head trapped between his hand and his chest.
“Why can’t you just stay outta trouble?” His words were eerily reminiscent of Chet’s last warning.
Imogene wasn’t surprised, not really, when Sam Pickett appeared out of nowhere by her on the sidewalk. But his offer of a soda at the drugstore had been a distraction, and she’d hoped she’d spot Ollie on the way. Sam strolled beside her for a few blocks. Then he’d diverted into an alley. A cat, he’d said. He’d seen a cat drag itself behind the stack of old crates leaning against the wall of the building. Looked injured, he’d said. All Imogene could think of was her brother Ivan taking a foot to their barn cat and sending it careening across the building. Her sympathies went up. Her guard went down.
It was the last thing she remembered.
She tried to talk now, but her voice only muffled against Sam’s hand.
“Quiet.” His word was a plea. Not harsh, but rather desperate. “Please, be quiet.”
Imogene hadn’t a clue where they were, until she heard familiar sounds. A train. Steam. She smelled the acrid scent of the plant. This must be one of the storage buildings. How Sam had gotten her here, she’d no clue. Would probably never know.
Sam dragged her behind large wooden boxes and released her with a light shove. She fell to the floor, her dress coming up around her hips, revealing the cuff of her stocking and the clips of her garters. Imogene palmed the cold floor as she scooted backward on her behind, away from Sam. Her back hit the solid wall of boxes.
“I’m going to scream.” She didn’t even know why she warned him. But she did, and then her scream followed.
Sam launched himself on the floor next to her, slamming his hand so hard against her mouth that Imogene felt her teeth bite into her inside upper lip. Her already pounding head rammed into the wood crate behind her. Dazed, Imogene stilled for a moment, her eyes searching out Sam’s.
His were disturbed. Panicked. He was afraid.
“Shut up, Imogene. Please.” Sam’s fingers dug into the flesh just below her cheekbone. His charming grin was replaced by nervousness. “I need you to be quiet. Let me think.”
Imogene nodded, her eyes wide. Anything. She’d zip her lips like a priest hearing a confession if it meant he’d lighten his grip on her mouth. She could taste blood.
Sam lowered his hand. He stared into her eyes for a second before collapsing beside her, his own back against the crates. He tilted his head back toward the warehouse ceiling, his chest heaving in a sigh that emphasized his anxious energy.
“Why’dya have to go nosin’ around like that, Imogene? First day you came to the plant, I tried to warn you to back off. I could see it in your eyes. But you ignored my note.” His whisper was half plea, half anger.
“That was you who bumped into me!” Imogene reached to tug her dress down from her hips. The back of her head ached from where he’d clubbed her. She shifted her feet, catching sight of her shoes. Sensible pumps. Not unlike Hazel’s missing ones. “Did you kill her?” Imogene hissed, accusation seething from her eyes.
Sam pulled back as if she’d struck him. “Heck no! Never. I would—never.” There was enough vehemence in his voice that any other time, Imogene would have believed him.
He raked his hand through his dark hair, strands sliding between his fingers. “Gahhhhh!” His growl was fierce. He banged the back of his head against the boxes behind them.
“You need to let me go, Sam.” Imogene edged an inch away from the man. Ida’s brother had shifted dramatically from the charming, grief-stricken widower, who seemed to try to hide behind flirtation, to a troubled, agonized man that angered Imogene, but also—for some twisted, unexplainable reason—tugged at her empathy. It was like the man was trapped. Cornered. Fighting his way out of a battle he couldn’t win.
“I-I can’t let you outta here.” Sam shook his head. “Not now.”
“Why are you doing this?” Imogene pressed. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“Nothing. And neither did Hazel—but she’s dead too.” Sam leaned his head against the boxes again and this time closed his eyes. “I loved her so.”
The declaration struck Imogene like a fist to the side of her face. She lurched away from him, staring in disbelief.
Sam held both palms to the sides of his head, his eyes still squinting shut. “It all got so messed up.” He groaned.
Imogene shifted, positioning her feet beneath her. She was going to run. She had to. Or else her fate wouldn’t be unlike Hazel’s, and she had no intention of dying today. But questions raced through her. Sam loved Hazel? Then if he had, why had he killed her—unless his denial was true?
“You blew up the post office, didn’t you?” Imogene distracted him from Hazel.
Sam opened his eyes and studied her face but didn’t seem to notice she was perched on the flats of her feet, knees bent to spring upward.
“Didn’t you?” Imogene pressed.
Sam laughed then. A sobbing, defeated type of laugh. “You learn all sorts of stuff when you fight in a war. Dumb thing is, you’d think you’d learn to love what you’re fighting for. Like your own country.”
“Are you—are you a—?”
“A Nazi?” Sam’s eyes went wide. He curled his lip in derision of the thought. “Those beasts deserve what they got. Now and in the afterlife.”
“But you blew up the post office. And the arson? You set the town hall on fire too, didn’t you? You could have,” she realized. “Your shift ended before Ida’s and mine, before we got back to town.”
Sam sniffed, rubbing his fingers in a violent sweep back and forth beneath his nose. He leaned toward her, his eyes narrowing. “I came home like all the boys. Slack happy the war was over. We’d fought for a cause, and dang it, we’d won.”
“And that was swell of you,” Imogene assured him. Maybe if she was nice, maybe if she used honey and sugar instead of sour . . .
“My aunt didn’t write to me and let me know they took the farm.” Sam rolled his lips together, then sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. “I came home to a dead wife and no farm. Nothin’!” He gave his arm an exaggerated wave, indicating the building surrounding them. “This here warehouse was built right where my barn stood. That tree outside the administration building?”
Imogene nodded. It was all she could do.
Sam gave a short laugh. “I planted that tree when I was a kid. Planted it right outside my mama’s bedroom window. I was a mama’s boy, see? And I thought if I put a tree there, she’d never forget me. Well, the tree’s still there. House ain’t, though. Guess it wasn’t even good enough for an office. The United States government had to tear it down.”
Imogene swallowed hard. She wanted to argue with him. Wanted to ask what choice had the government? On someone’s property an ammunitions supply plant needed to be erected. The soldiers needed weaponry. Weaponry needed firepower. But she dared not argue with Sam. He didn’t seem like a killer, but then that was probably why Hazel had trusted him and let him inside the house.
She sensed the color drain from her face. Good heavens above, Hazel had taken Sam to her bedroom.
“What were you doing in Hazel’s bedroom?” She’d accused him, still balancing on her feet.
Sam looked to the ceiling and gave another brief laugh. “You’ll never believe me anyway.”
Imogene tilted her head to study him. “Why do you say that?”
Sam met her gaze. “’Cause you’ve already decided I killed her. Well, I didn’t. I loved your sister. She saw something in me. In this broken shell of a man who came home to nothing.”
“You came home to a son,” Imogene argued.
Sam’s expression darkened. “I came home to nothing. Leastways, that’s what I thought. Hazel, she was all flowers and dreams. Perfume and imagination. She was shy and yet she could tell it like it was.”
Yes. That was Hazel. Imogene’s eyes teared.
Sam continued. “I didn’t mean to love her.” He sounded apologetic. “I didn’t mean to involve her in this. She was someone I could talk to. She knew what it was like—having the land taken. Hazel told me about your little brothers your mama buried here, Billy and Tom. Some of your other relatives too. Heck of a thing to lose your family graves, and for a pittance. The government thinkin’ they can offer money to relocate us? You can’t relocate memories. They stick to the place they were born in.”
Sam was right. Imogene realized it was partly why she was drawn time and again to Hazel’s dollhouse. To the scene she’d re-created there. Every nuance she could remember in the vivid details of her mind. It was the most startling memory of all her memories. One she would carry with her until death, no matter what happened to their farm decades from now.
“Hazel would never have condoned your damaging public property like that. Endangering lives? She never would have gone along with it.” Imogene couldn’t help the protest that squeezed from her. She couldn’t believe that of Hazel. Couldn’t believe Hazel—good Hazel—would be sucked into a homemade vendetta of hate. Especially after the war. Especially after seeing what violence did to families.
Sam tipped his head back once more, closing his eyes as if to watch some scene play out in his mind. “You’re right,” he muttered. “She didn’t go along with it. It’s why she’s dead.”
“She was going to rat you out, wasn’t she?” Imogene hissed. “You killed her for it.”
Sam didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t shift his expression. Didn’t even bother to move when Imogene stood, accidentally hitting a wooden crate with her elbow.
“You just go on believin’ what you want. If you think I killed her, then fine. Doesn’t matter anymore anyway.”
Imogene stared down at him. Sam’s entire body sagged in resignation. Maybe even in relief? She couldn’t tell. But she only had two options now. Run, or kill the man who sat on the floor beside her. Kill him with her own two hands and become no better than he was. Exacting deeds out of vengeance and demand for restitution. But no amount of bloodshed, no amount of gasping as she strangled the breath out of him would satisfy her. Hazel was dead. Sam’s death wouldn’t bring her back.
Nothing would bring her back.