David Wisehart - Blood Alley

That was about all the blog post said, but it was more than enough to pique Claire’s interest. Not much of a lead, perhaps, but Claire vowed to follow all trails until she reached a dead end. It was one of the reasons she had insisted on going with Trevor on his funeral trip.

A waitress made the rounds with a fresh pot of coffee. Claire smelled hazelnut in the steam. The service worker was older, maybe in her sixties.

Claire pointed out the window to where the hitchhiker had stood. “Did you see…”

The waitress smiled like an aunt. “What, dear?”

Don’t go crazy, she reminded herself, then said, “Nothing. I’m just really tired.”

The waitress lifted the pot of coffee, making it a question. Claire nodded. The waitress refilled her cup.

“Do you have a phone book?” Claire asked.

“Don’t know if we do.”

“I haven’t got any reception on my phone, and I was hoping to find a number.”

“Maybe I can help. I know most of the folks who live around here.”

“There’s a family that lived here once. Up near Cedarview. I checked online, but there was no phone number listed. I’m hoping to find them.”

The waitress smiled again. “Try me.”

“The Fowlers,” Claire said.

The smile melted from the lady’s face. A shadow seemed to pass over her features.

Claire said, “You know the Fowlers?”

The waitress nodded. “Farmhouse up the road, near the foothills. But they’re long gone now. You’ll find no Fowlers in these parts.”

“Did you know them?”

“Heard the stories. Rumors, really.” She pursed her lips in disapproval. “People say the most terrible things.”

“Like what?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Never you mind about that.” The waitress glanced out the window. Her mood softened. “But I saw one of the children once. Becky, I think. Poor girl.”

“What happened to her?”

“The Devil knows, and he ain’t saying.” The waitress adjusted the collar of her work shirt. “Story was, the father killed his wife.”

“How?”

“Stories don’t agree on how. And what he did to his poor daughters…well, that’s not for me to say.”

Claire imagined all the horrible things a father might do to his daughters.

“Where are they now?” she asked.

The waitress shook her head. “Police went to his house to rescue the girls. Fowler resisted. Ended up dead. They found the daughters, all right, but…it was too late.”

Dakota paused her game and took out her ear buds. “Anyone still alive?”

She’d been listening all along.

The waitress leaned in close, and gave Claire a stern look. “My advice, you stay away from that place.”

Claire gripped her coffee cup tightly, and met the woman’s gaze with her own.

A family of Fowlers had once lived around here. The parents were long dead, but what happened to the children? Claire needed to know more. This trail was leading her somewhere. She would follow it to the end. “You said this farmhouse is up the road. Well, that’s where we’re going.”

“We’re headed into Cedarview for a funeral,” Dakota said. “My uncle. He drove his car off a cliff.”

The waitress took a deep breath, then lowered her voice in warning. “You’ll see that farmhouse, all right. An old ruin, but you’ll see it. Might be tempted to slow down, pull over, take a look inside. But you keep driving, you hear? When you see that house, you just hit the gas hard. Hit the gas and don’t look back.”

Claire looked away. She didn’t care to argue about it.

But one thing she knew for certain: if she ever saw that old farmhouse, the home of the Fowlers, nothing in heaven or hell could keep her from going inside.

The bumper was hot in Ethan’s hands as he helped Trevor push the Hummer into the garage. He was glad to help. He wanted to make a good impression.

Ethan had been dating Dakota for weeks now, but he’d only met Trevor this morning. Of course, Ethan knew all about Dakota’s older brother.

Trevor was hard to miss on campus, smiling at the girls, fist-bumping the guys. A smile from Trevor made the girls seem prettier. A fist bump from Trevor made the guys seem taller. He was captain of the swim team, and even the rival coaches said he had Olympic potential. Everyone looked up to him, especially his sister Dakota, though she tried hard not to show it.

Dakota was the hottest girl Ethan had ever been with. He didn’t want to blow it. If it was going to last, her family had to like him. Ethan would meet the rest of the family tonight in Cedarview, but now was his chance to get on Trevor’s good side.

The Hummer came within a few feet of the open garage.

“I’m gonna steer. You got it?” Trevor said.

Ethan nodded, too winded to speak.

Trevor stopped pushing and jumped into the front seat.

Ethan huffed and grunted, moving the car by himself out of the sun and into the garage. The H3 slowed and stopped as Trevor applied brakes. Ethan slumped down on the back bumper. He wiped his forehead with the bottom of his t-shirt.

The vehicle rocked as Trevor jumped out of the driver seat. “You did great.”

The door slammed shut.

“Thanks,” said Ethan.

Trevor sat down next to him on the bumper. He offered Ethan a water bottle and kept a second one for himself. The water was warm but welcome. They drank together in silence. Trevor guzzled his, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Ethan stared at the roadside diner across the lot. He saw Dakota in the window. She sat across from Claire.

“You’re lucky,” Trevor said. “My sister doesn’t like everybody.”

“She sure does hate her ex.”

Trevor chuckled. “Don’t worry about him. He’s Little League.”

“What does that make me, J.V.?”

They both knew Ethan was no jock. He’d done a bit of cross country, but dropped it for the marching band.

“Nah, you’re different,” Trevor said.

In the window Dakota waved to them.

Ethan waved back.

“Don’t worry about the family stuff,” Trevor said. “You’ll do fine. I’m not saying you’re the Majors, but my sister likes you. I like you. Mom’ll be crazy about you.”

He likes me?

That surprised him. Jocks didn’t usually like Ethan. He wasn’t one of the team.

But then Ethan remembered, Trevor likes everybody.

The real test would come tonight. “I’m more worried about your dad.”

“Don’t be,” Trevor said. “Just talk about golf.”

“I don’t play golf.” Ethan was about to add that he played chess, but then thought better of it. “I wouldn’t even know how to putt.”

Trevor reached over and put a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “Let Dad take you out on the golf course, give you a few pointers.”

He gave Ethan’s shoulder a friendly squeeze, like they were teammates on the field.

Ethan liked that idea. Teammates .

“You’ll be fine,” Trevor assured him.

Ethan relaxed a little. He wiped sweat from his brow, and felt good again. This was going to be a great trip. He had work to do, of course—preparing for the SAT. Ethan had already taken the test once, and did okay, but he needed to boost his Critical Reading score if he wanted to get into a top school. He’d brought some vocabulary flash cards to study on the road. But it was the other test that troubled him. The compatibility test with Dakota’s family.

Trevor’s hand was still on Ethan’s shoulder. The hand squeezed harder, strong fingers digging under Ethan’s collarbone.

A jolt of pain shot down his arm.

He couldn’t move.

“One more thing,” Trevor said with his patented smile. “If you break my sister’s heart, I’ll kill you myself.”