small, waist-coated metallic monkey. The monkey clattered up the pole it was attached to.
“Like a collector?” I said.
“Maybe.”
For the second time that week, I was glad we hadn’t attacked Henry Fiveash.
“Why would he need to hide this junk?” said Lacey.
“It’s not junk,” said Ethan. “Some of this stuff would be worth a mint. It’s old as the hills and is in nice condition. Maybe that’s why he hides it.”
“It would be stuff from his family heritage too.” I nodded. “Lacey and I looked him up before we came.”
Ethan sat on a clown’s tricycle. “I was hoping this—coming down here—was going lead somewhere.”
I eyed him sympathetically. I felt it too. Although I desperately didn’t want to find Aisha’s remains—at the same time I ached for resolution.
I stepped over to the dark recesses of the cave. Large oil paintings, much like the ones in the house above, were stacked against the wall. None of these were framed.
The first depicted a river—gum trees thick along the far edges. I recognized the scene—it was the one you’d see looking out from the top story of the Fiveash house—if all the land was cleared. The next was another forest scene, but the trees were gnarled and devoid of anything green. A path ran straight up and then forked to the left and right. The left-hand path headed into a blackened tunnel of trees. There was ugliness and intent about the brush strokes, a sense of foreboding in the tunnel.
I quickly flipped to the next painting. A young girl ran through tall grass—her wheat-colored hair loose and her white dress unfettered with ties or bodices. She ran towards the forked path I’d seen in the last painting.
The last of the paintings illustrated the dour face of a woman in her late twenties. She wore her fair hair severely back from her bovine features. Her eyes had a crystalline sharpness. As I stared, I felt the eyes cut into me—like blades.
I pushed myself away, letting the paintings clatter back against the wall.
Ethan whistled. Stepping past me, he moved towards a huge dark outline. I trained my torch at the shape. He ran a hand along the body of a car that looked as though it belonged to the early 1900s.
Past the car, my torch beam hit a rock wall. Ethan stepped into the beam, investigating the wall—then turned back to me sharply.
“Looks like this is it,” said Ethan. “We’ve seen everything that’s down here. I’ll come back again and have a better look by myself. I don’t like this place, and I want you girls out of here.”
“Is there something you don’t want us to see, Ethan?” Lacey stepped beside me, her face taut.
“Not now, please?” I asked her.
Ethan looked from Lacey to me. “What’s going on?”
Lacey took another step towards Ethan. “If there’s someone you’re protecting, you should remember Aisha. Remember her, and tell the truth. Who is it, Ethan?”
I tugged at Lacey’s arm. “I think we should leave. Now.”
Ethan’s face shadowed. “Both of you think I’m hiding something? I thought you were the only people in this whole town beside granddad who... never mind.”
The three of us stood rigidly for a moment.
I was first to move.
“Ethan, I still believe something’s up with Henry Fiveash. You can hang your hat on that. But if there’s any evidence of any kind down here—we shouldn’t be putting our handprints on it. Get yourself away from the mountains—well away—before we call the police.”
His eyes were heavy, almost closing. I could tell he didn’t want to hear anything I’d had to say. For the second time in two days, I’d been a traitor to him.
I needed to go before I hurt him any more than I had already. As I moved to leave, something entered my head, something I'd meant to look for but forgotten.
The wood
.
Henry had brought wood down here, hadn’t he? But there was no fireplace. And no wood.
I turned my head back. “Did anyone see the stack of
“Like a collector?” I said.
“Maybe.”
For the second time that week, I was glad we hadn’t attacked Henry Fiveash.
“Why would he need to hide this junk?” said Lacey.
“It’s not junk,” said Ethan. “Some of this stuff would be worth a mint. It’s old as the hills and is in nice condition. Maybe that’s why he hides it.”
“It would be stuff from his family heritage too.” I nodded. “Lacey and I looked him up before we came.”
Ethan sat on a clown’s tricycle. “I was hoping this—coming down here—was going lead somewhere.”
I eyed him sympathetically. I felt it too. Although I desperately didn’t want to find Aisha’s remains—at the same time I ached for resolution.
I stepped over to the dark recesses of the cave. Large oil paintings, much like the ones in the house above, were stacked against the wall. None of these were framed.
The first depicted a river—gum trees thick along the far edges. I recognized the scene—it was the one you’d see looking out from the top story of the Fiveash house—if all the land was cleared. The next was another forest scene, but the trees were gnarled and devoid of anything green. A path ran straight up and then forked to the left and right. The left-hand path headed into a blackened tunnel of trees. There was ugliness and intent about the brush strokes, a sense of foreboding in the tunnel.
I quickly flipped to the next painting. A young girl ran through tall grass—her wheat-colored hair loose and her white dress unfettered with ties or bodices. She ran towards the forked path I’d seen in the last painting.
The last of the paintings illustrated the dour face of a woman in her late twenties. She wore her fair hair severely back from her bovine features. Her eyes had a crystalline sharpness. As I stared, I felt the eyes cut into me—like blades.
I pushed myself away, letting the paintings clatter back against the wall.
Ethan whistled. Stepping past me, he moved towards a huge dark outline. I trained my torch at the shape. He ran a hand along the body of a car that looked as though it belonged to the early 1900s.
Past the car, my torch beam hit a rock wall. Ethan stepped into the beam, investigating the wall—then turned back to me sharply.
“Looks like this is it,” said Ethan. “We’ve seen everything that’s down here. I’ll come back again and have a better look by myself. I don’t like this place, and I want you girls out of here.”
“Is there something you don’t want us to see, Ethan?” Lacey stepped beside me, her face taut.
“Not now, please?” I asked her.
Ethan looked from Lacey to me. “What’s going on?”
Lacey took another step towards Ethan. “If there’s someone you’re protecting, you should remember Aisha. Remember her, and tell the truth. Who is it, Ethan?”
I tugged at Lacey’s arm. “I think we should leave. Now.”
Ethan’s face shadowed. “Both of you think I’m hiding something? I thought you were the only people in this whole town beside granddad who... never mind.”
The three of us stood rigidly for a moment.
I was first to move.
“Ethan, I still believe something’s up with Henry Fiveash. You can hang your hat on that. But if there’s any evidence of any kind down here—we shouldn’t be putting our handprints on it. Get yourself away from the mountains—well away—before we call the police.”
His eyes were heavy, almost closing. I could tell he didn’t want to hear anything I’d had to say. For the second time in two days, I’d been a traitor to him.
I needed to go before I hurt him any more than I had already. As I moved to leave, something entered my head, something I'd meant to look for but forgotten.
The wood
.
Henry had brought wood down here, hadn’t he? But there was no fireplace. And no wood.
I turned my head back. “Did anyone see the stack of
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