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In the distance, a slight movement caught her eye.
CHAPTER THREE
Vi squinted for a better look. A black dachshund with a saggy middle, her enlarged nipples dragging on the ground. Intent on her mission, the little dog paid no attention to Vi. Ever a softie for new moms, Vi surmised the dog’s puppies must be nearby.
The stray went to the back of the house. Vi followed, careful to avoid clumps of weeds and crumbles of sidewalk concrete, only to find the dog had disappeared.
“Mama Dog,” Vi crooned, trying to coax the dog into reappearing. The wind whipped harder. Out of excuses, she sighed aloud. No use putting off the inevitable. Her friends needed her. At least Paige did. Her stomach yowled as if in agreement.
The wind brought a distinct chill, raising prickles on her bare arms. Vi rubbed her temple. The sip of bitter coffee she drank earlier had only been a teaser. She’d return triumphant, and make her own pot of brew. Vi would stay immune to Rory’s friendly overtures, concern, or any other feelings on his part. From what little she’d noticed, the man didn’t lack for female attention. She sniffed. The men in her life had proved dismal failures, Daddy being the lone exception. With him, she’d felt protected.
And after she’d eaten a piece of pumpkin pie, she would tell the others about her restoration idea. Test the waters, so to speak. She was so hungry even Rory’s mashed potatoes sounded appetizing.
High-pitched yips sounded close by, making Vi’s mouth stretch in a smile. Mama Dog’s puppies. Tall yellow grass brushed her legs as she hurried toward the noise.
She spied two squirmy black creatures, and then a buzz of activity swarmed around her ankles. Minuscule missiles spiraled around her skirt, flying into her hair. Fear petrified her movements.
Gasping for air, she splayed a hand across her face. With the other, she clawed at her hair, lurching away from the collective menace—one step, then another. Tiny barbs stung her arms and legs, then protracted like super-long needles.
She stomped instinctively, desperate to dislodge the bees.
Crack!
Boards gave way beneath her. Windsock-style, her arms flailed. One foot slipped, then the other.
She fell. Everything went dark.
Rory spied Vi’s yellow car parked in a driveway of sorts where she’d lived with her dad. The old Victorian beckoned him to come and explore. However much it piqued his curiosity, he first had to find Vi. The holiday meal he hadn’t tasted turned to concrete in his stomach.
Where would she go? He stepped onto a driveway badly in need of fresh pavement. “Vi! Can you hear me?”
Dry brown leaves blew with no rhythm as the wind sharpened. A chill dampened his skin beneath the hoodie. A dog barked close by. Rory strained to hear. His prosthetic chugged to keep up as he ran to the source of the noise.
Not far behind the house, a small black dog stood sentinel-style, barking incessantly. Rory’s gut clenched. Could it have to do with Vi? He’d heard of dogs playing the role of guardian angel. “Easy, there. What’s upsetting you?” The animal shied away as Rory approached. Then it turned, scampering into the weeds.
Rory took in several things at once. Flat boards. A jagged hole. He drew even with the hole and peered inside, his eyes meeting darkness. Pulling out his phone, he knelt on his good leg, shining the phone light into the hole. His heart lurched when he recognized Vi’s purple shawl. Her eyes turned violet when she wore it.
“Vi! Can you hear me? Vi!” Not a muscle moved. She lay unconscious; her red hair flowed over her shoulders. The anxiety Rory had felt all morning roared to new heights. Lord, help! His fingers punched 911. When a person came on the line, he explained the circumstances and gave the correct address. As he clicked off, the person on the other end insisted he stay connected. Sorry. Not happening.
Frantic to find a ladder, he rose. “What the—” Something jabbed his hand, and a buzzing noise flew around his head. Ducking, he stumbled away to study his palm. A sting. As gold and brown insects swarmed, he ran, his mind computing the circumstances. Vi had fallen into the hole. She was unconscious either from the fall or—he clicked a number on his phone. Holding it to his ear, he spied a decrepit outbuilding. He hurried toward it as the phone rang.
“Have you found her?” Paige’s whispery voice dripped with fear.
“Yes. Is Vi allergic to bees?”
Her soft gasp highlighted his worst suspicion. “That’s a yes?” Then, “I’m at her place and nine-one-one is on their way.” He stood before the shed door. No lock. Thank You, Lord.
“What can I do?” Paige asked.
“Confirm the address with nine-one-one.” In his haste, he might have spouted off the wrong one. “And Paige—” The words choked their way past his tight throat. “Pray it’s not too late.”
Rory crammed the phone into his pocket. He grabbed a dust-covered ladder, then sprinted to his car as if his boots were on fire. Clicking his key fob to open the trunk, he grabbed the red first aid kit and rummaged for an EpiPen. Having seen anaphylactic shock firsthand with his brother Mark, Rory found it hard to breathe past the fear crawling up his throat. The wind whistled in his ears as he dashed back to the hole.
The instrument clamped between his teeth, Rory stuck the ladder down the hole, then stepped down, rung by rung, alert to every creak. A damp, moldy smell assaulted his nostrils. Spider webs swept across his face and clung to his beard. He blinked and continued to descend, leading with his natural foot. For the thousandth time, he thanked God he still had two good knees. Flesh and blood joints made climbing more manageable. He’d had a rock wall installed at the gym, scaling it regularly to understand and stay in touch with the limits of his prosthetic. For times such as this, apparently.
His boot hit a damp, slick surface. The wall felt slimy under his hands.
Body weight balanced, he pivoted in the cramped space. He pulled out his phone, flashing it around for a visual of the area. The narrow opening at the top fanned into a bowl shape no more than eight feet across at the bottom—an old, abandoned cistern.
