Cautiously, Cole left the cover of the trees and approached the house across the open ground. He moved at a trot, keeping low, half expecting to hear the crack of a rifle shot. But there was only the whisper of the wind and the crunch of his feet through the snow. Even the birds had settled down now that night was coming on.
He reached the side door and lifted the latch. To his disappointment, it appeared to be locked tight. Like the front door, this side entrance was built of thick boards, more rustic than the boards used for the grand entrance. There was no way to batter this thing down.
Now what?
He heard feet moving through the snow behind him and turned to find Bauer there.
“Locked,” Cole said.
“There is no keyhole,” Bauer said, studying the door. “That means it must be locked from the inside.”
“You mean someone is home, after all.”
“Perhaps,” Bauer said.
“Maybe if we knock real nice they’ll let us in.”
“I have another idea. Let’s try the window.”
Bauer moved to the window a few feet away, swept some snow off the deep sill, then raised the sash. “If you untie me, I could crawl through the window.”
“Fat chance,” Cole said.
“Shall I hold your rifle?”
“No, but you can hold the window.”
Cole slung his rifle and shimmied through the window while Bauer supported the sash. Bauer had been right that this was the kitchen. He smelled old woodsmoke, along with the lingering aroma of bread and stew and roasting meat that permeated the brick walls. The ashes in the cooking hearth were stone cold.
Even in the kitchen, the house vibrated in a way that indicated emptiness. He relaxed a little. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad place to spend the night after all. It sure as hell beat sleeping in the woods.
He moved to the door and lifted the latch, reluctantly admitting that Bauer was right — there was no key, so the door had been latched from the inside. It seemed likely that whoever had closed the door had never left.
On the other side of the door, Bauer knocked as if worried that Cole had forgotten he was out there.
He yanked the door open. Bauer was waiting on the stoop.
“Well?” the German asked. It came out as
“Nobody home.”
“Good.” Bauer pushed inside the kitchen and stomped his boots as if to warm them, although it was not noticeably warmer indoors. Instead, the kitchen felt cold and abandoned. “Better call the others.”
“Don’t you go giving orders,” Cole growled. “You’re still a prisoner, in case you ain’t noticed.”
Bauer nodded. “I have not forgotten. But under the circumstances, we might do best to work together.”
“My mama always said, don’t dance with the devil.”
“Is that what I am, the devil?” The trace of a smirk had returned to Bauer’s lips, and Cole fought the urge to smash him in the face with the butt of his rifle.
“Close to it,” Cole replied, then stepped through the door to wave Vaccaro and Rupert toward the house.
Inside the kitchen, the German was inspecting everything and using his two bound hands to open drawers. If there was still anything here to eat, he seemed intent on finding it. Despite all the good old smells, the kitchen cabinets and drawers were bare.
The kitchen was old-fashioned and lined with shelves rather than cabinets, the wood worn and dark from having absorbed who knew how many years of smoke, oil, and spills.
“Hmm,” said Bauer, having reached the wood-fired range. It was a massive thing that seemed big as an aircraft engine. His hand rested on a cast-iron kettle. “Not warm, but not completely cold either. Whoever was here must have left recently.”
“We didn’t see any tracks coming or going.”
“There is the mystery,” Bauer said. “Someone may be hiding in the house.”
They moved on from the kitchen, entering an expansive dining room with tall ceilings. Once painted a bright cheerful yellow, the color had faded on the damp plaster walls. The gray light did not improve the brightness. They could see an outline on the floor where a carpet had once been, but where there were now only scuffed floorboards in need of refinishing. The dining room table lacked a tablecloth, revealing scars from years of use. Hinting at past glories, a chandelier hung above the table. Rupert tried the light switch, but there was no power.
Cole moved through the dining room into what had once been a grand living room. Tall windows faced the forest and hills beyond, but they were covered by the exterior shutters. Heavy old drapes the color of dried rose petals had been pulled shut across the windows.
A huge fireplace dominated the space. It was not quite tall enough for Cole to stand up in, but it was close. The fireplace was surrounded by marble tiles. A mirror in a gilt frame hung over the fireplace. It was the only attempt at decoration. Although there were nails in the walls, any pictures must have been taken down by the owners and put into storage.
“Lieutenant, I guess this must remind you of your manor house back home,” Vaccaro said.
