Page 98 of Three-Inch Teeth

Joe and Marybeth exchanged looks. Neither had heard a car outside.

It wasn’t unusual for visitors to simply show up, even at night. Their house was a game warden station, after all, funded by taxpayers, and considered by many to be as public as a local police station. Hunters, fishers, hikers, landowners, and law enforcement personnel who happened to be in the area stopped by from time to time.

This seemed different, though.

“Is your pistol handy?” Joe asked Marybeth.

She patted her handbag, indicating that it was inside. Joe had purchased a five-shot Ladysmith revolver for Marybeth years before for self-protection. He was grateful that for once she had it handy.

“It won’t do us much good in your bag,” he said.

She reluctantly drew the weapon out and held it loose at her side.

“Good,” he said while retrieving his own weapon. “I’ll see who’s at the door.”

*

WHEN JOE LEANED into the peephole all he could see was blond hair. Whoever was out there was so close to the lens that there was no broad perspective of the visitor.

Then he heard, “Mom! Dad! It’s me. Open up. I can’t find my key.”

“Sheridan,” he said to Marybeth over his shoulder as he threw the bolt and holstered his gun.

Their oldest daughter blew in as he swung the door back. She had Kestrel in her arms and there was blood on the sleeves of her shirt and on her pant legs. The baby appeared to be unhurt and she exclaimed, “Unka Joe!” as she was carried past him into the house.

Joe stepped out onto the porch and peered through the gloom. Sheridan’s SUV was parked sloppily to the right, but no one appeared to have followed her. He stepped back inside and closed the door and secured it once again.

When he turned around, Marybeth had taken Kestrel from her daughter’s arms and both were agitated and talking over each other so fast he could barely make out the conversation.

“My God,” Marybeth said. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“I’m not hurt, but I’m not okay, either,” Sheridan said. “It’s Liv’s blood.”

“Liv’s blood!”

“That bear attacked her at their front door. It was horrible, Mom. I tried to give her mouth-to-mouth, but …”

“But what?”

“Her face was mutilated,” Sheridan cried. “Her mouth was hard to find.”

Marybeth winced and clamped her hands over Kestrel’s ears. The toddler responded with a belly laugh because she assumed it was a game.

Sheridan leaned into Marybeth and said with a fierce whisper, “Kestrel might have seen it happen. I don’t know. I found her inside in her high chair and I took her out of the house by the back door.”

“I don’t think she saw anything,” Marybeth whispered back. “If she had, I think she’d be a lot more upset right now.”

“It was so horrible,” Sheridan said, holding herself.

Joe stepped over and took her into his arms. “You did the right thing bringing Kestrel here and getting away from that house,” he said.

“Thanks, Dad,” Sheridan responded.

“Did you see anyone on the county road headed here?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I came the back way along the river. I didn’t take the county road because I wanted to get here quicker.”

“Good thinking,” Joe said.

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