Emily Kenyon 01 - A Cold Dark Place

Ross said. “This is a busy time of year.” He smiled broadly at his brood of six children, Tracy being the oldest of four girls and two boys. Dinner conversation was always pleasant. They didn’t allow TV in the house. “Think about it. Think about how busy we are. Try not to worry, Sweet Pea. All’s well in Ogden.”
    “All right, Father,” Tracy said. She finished her meal, still worried about the Chapmans. There were only three of them. Mr. and Mrs. and their daughter, nineteen, a bookworm named Misty. How busy could they be?

Chapter Sixteen
    Thursday, exact time unknown, at the abandoned mine
    “I’m here. I’m not leaving. But you have to tell me everything.” Jenna Kenyon had been patient enough. Up to that point, she had been too scared and confused to ask the really hard questions, but the article on the grease-marred pages of the newspaper begged for answers that only Nick could provide. She’d held him at night. She’d dried his tears. She’d even suffered the indignity of using an old Folger’s coffee can for a toilet while he turned his back. It would be wrong to say she was a prisoner. She didn’t think Nick would hurt her if she bolted for the door. But she had to know. She had to ask.
    “What happened?”
    His dark hair hanging like loose fringe over his hooded blue eyes, Nick sat on the dingy plaid sofa staring into the darkness of the old Horse Heaven Hills Mine hiring office. He pulled his legs up tight to his chest, his chin resting between his bony knees. Nick owed Jenna the truth. But he stayed silent.
    “Tell me,” she prodded once more. She put her arm gently around his shoulder. The smell of sweat and gasoline was pungent in her nose.
    “All right,” he began, slowly. “I’ll tell you”
    It was just after lunch on the previous Thursday when Nick got a call from the school office that there was some kind of a family emergency and that he was needed at home.
    `[just spoke with your mother,” the dour secretary said, wire-rimmed readers on a chain from her slender neck. A worried look on the teen’s face brought much-needed reassurance. She smiled and said, “She’s fine. Your dad and brother are okay, too. I asked.”
    “What’s happened?”
    “I don’t know Go home. Call us if you need anything from here. Okay?”
    “I guess so.”
    Nick signed out for the afternoon, slung his backpack over his shoulder; and hurried to the Ford pickup his dad had given him for his seventeenth birthday. He checked his pocket for cash, but came up short. He should have filled up earlier in the day. He revved the engine; a cloud of exhaust poured from the tailpipe. The gas gauge indicated he had an eighth of a tank Good. Enough to get home. He figured the `family emergency” probably involved grandpa or grandma. His dad’s parents were already gone, and both Nick and Donny were close to their maternal grandparents. They lived on a farm just south of Billings, Montana. Some of Nick’s happiest memories were of visits to their farm, a place of long summer afternoons and quiet, star filled nights.
    Pulling into their long wagon wheel driveway, Nick spotted his parent’s vehicles parked in front of the house. There was also a black Buick, a Skylark It was unfamiliar. The plates were framed in a rental car company’s holder.
    Wonder who’s here?
    The front door was ajar.
    “Mom!” he called once inside.
    There was no response. Natasha rubbed against his leg, and Nick bent down to pick up the cat. She immediately turned on her motor and started purring.
    “Where is everyone? ” he asked, petting the cat and moving deliberately through the house. The living room with its pair of antique love seats set off by an oval braided rug was empty. So was the kitchen. A drawer was open. Almost absentmindedly, Nick shut it with a push of his hip. The cat stopped purring and wanted down, but Nick held her. Next he made his way down the hall, but everything was quiet. Really quiet. On his way backfrom his dad’s vacant office at the opposite end of the hall, he noticed Donovan ‘s fifteen pound, shoulder-bruising backpack by the front door. He was already home?
    The Seth Thomas grandfather clock in the foyer ticked like a bomb.
    “Donny? Dad? Mom?”
    Natasha jumped from Nick’s arms and scampered toward the door. Maybe they were in the backyard? The afternoon sun was blinding and a breeze wafted the scent of lilacs and mint through the air. Swallows that had set up housekeeping under