Page 63 of The Sound of Sleighbells

* * *

“One . . . two . . . three!” Skip kicked open the door, silently praying that the invader would be gone.

Light poured through the open doorway. He could see hay pulled loose from the bales and scattered on the floor. Someone had been here, but they didn’t appear to be here now.

He took a step inside. Everything was quiet. He could see the concrete blocks that supported the sleigh and the old combine that was covered and stored next to the far wall. “Hello,” he called. “Is anybody here?”

There was no answer. He bent down to examine the scattered hay. That was when he saw the melted snow on the floor and the wet boot tracks—tracks going farther into the barn rather than out the door.

That was when something hard struck the back of his head, and the whole world went black.

* * *

Digger picked up the boy’s feet and dragged his unconscious body to the middle of the floor. The kid was breathing, but otherwise out like a light. Sooner or later, he’d wake up. By then, Digger planned to be long gone.

After closing the side door to keep from attracting attention, he attacked the hay again, digging and clawing until his fingers were raw. A small mountain of hay dust grew beside him, and still he hadn’t found the stash. What if it wasn’t there? What if Ed had lied to him—just as he’d lied to Ed?

He glanced back at the unconscious boy. He wasn’t moving. Maybe he shouldn’t have swung that shovel so hard. The shotgun lay a few feet away. He could take it, Digger thought, but then decided against it. The heavy weapon would only slow him down.

Just as Digger’s mind had begun to wander, he felt it—something slick and sharp against his hand, like the corner of a plastic bag. He tugged on it, digging deeper when it didn’t come loose on the first pull. As the bag began to move, he felt a sharp prick on the flesh of his middle finger. It hurt, but he forgot about it as the bag tumbled into his hands. He’d found it—enough coke to make him rich!

With no time to waste, he stuffed the bag under his coat and left the barn. Without closing the door or bothering to hide his tracks, he raced across the yard and out the gate to the ditch. Minutes later, on his bike, he was flying along a back road to the far end of town. His finger was beginning to throb—but never mind, he’d tend to that later. Right now, all he needed was a quick stop at Rowdy’s for the cash, and he’d be on his way.

* * *

Ruth swung the station wagon through the gate and pulled up to the house. She’d delivered Abner to the parade ground in good time, but on the way out of town she’d been caught in a traffic snarl that had delayed her for a good fifteen minutes. Her children were probably getting worried.

Rushing, she climbed out of the wagon, dashed up the steps, and grabbed the knob. The door was locked.

She knocked, but the only answering sound was a faint bark. Using her key, she unlocked the door and opened it. Janeen and Tammy were huddled on the rug with the dog. Skip was nowhere to be seen.

“Mom!” They ran to her, flinging themselves against her legs.

“Where’s your brother?”

“Skip went out,” Janeen said. “He had Abner’s big gun. He told us to lock the door.”

“And he hasn’t come back?” Worry slammed Ruth like a cold fist.

“No, and it’s been a long time. We were scared,” Tammy whimpered.

“Where—?” But there was no need for Ruth to finish the question. Butch, taking advantage of the open door, had raced outside. He was headed straight for the barn.

“Stay here! Close the door.” She flung the words back at her girls as she sprinted after the dog.

Digger. It had to be Digger. If he’d harmed her boy, she would never forgive herself for leaving her children.

The dog had veered into the barn. Dizzy with fear, Ruth followed him through the wide front doors.

What she saw shattered her heart. Skip lay facedown on the concrete floor of the barn. The shotgun lay a few feet away. On the other side of his body lay a rusty shovel.

Fighting back a scream, she dropped to her knees beside her son. She could see that he was breathing, but when she stroked his face, then shook his shoulder, there was no response.

Panic welled inside her. She steeled herself against it. She couldn’t fall apart now. She had to get help. Jumping to her feet, she ordered the dog to stay with him. Then she ran back to the house to call for help.

With the paramedics on the way, she turned to calm her frightened girls. “Skip’s been hurt,” she said. “An ambulance is coming to take him to the hospital—it will make a lot of noise, but you mustn’t be scared. After I phone the sheriff’s office, I’ll be going back out to wait with Skip. You girls will need to be brave and stay here in the house.”

Tammy had started to cry. Janeen shushed her sister. “Can we go to the hospital with Skip?” she asked.

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