Free On the Run by Lorena McCourtney

floor of the cabinet were several more items that totally mystified me. But which I strongly suspected would give me shivers if I knew what they were. Now I also noticed that leaning against the outside of the cabinet was a strange and vicious-looking instrument, probably the thing Margaret had called a crossbow.
    Margaret Rau had said the Northcutts were “different.” I had to agree. Not your garden-variety suburban neighbors.
    I started back toward the door to the hallway, but curiosity got to me again. I detoured to peer in the bathroom, which was considerably larger and more elegant than the smaller one I’d fallen into. Another twitch with my elbow on the light switch revealed double sinks, an octagonal tub, a huge, separate shower, and enough mirrors to make me feel as if I was watching myself over my own shoulder.
    The mirrored door on an oversized medicine cabinet stood open. I tiptoed closer. Why tiptoe? I don’t know. Perhaps it just comes with the territory when you’re prowling where you probably have no business being, and there are two bodies just down the hallway.
    The cabinet held a mundane assortment of items: laxatives, antihistamine pills, Band-Aids, Ben-Gay, Advil and Tylenol, plus some herbal concoctions I’d never heard of. A plastic bottle of Tums spilling multicolored pills lay on its side on the marble counter below.
    Nothing unusual, and yet . . .
    Wasn’t the sequence of events suggested by bath and bedroom just a little odd?
    Open bathroom cabinet door.
    Take antacid pills.
    Get gun from cabinet.
    Shoot mate and self.
    Although it was conceivable that Jock or Jessie may have been looking for a pain killer or tranquilizer to make the suicide process easier. A second glance at the medicine cabinet suggested all the items in it had been marginally disarranged, as if someone had poked through everything. Which meant . . . what?
    Not my place to speculate, I once more told myself firmly. The authorities were on their way.
    In the dining room the books and thick manila folders pulled me, but I bypassed them. More a reaction to the pervasive scent coming from the other room than determined control of my curiosity, I had to admit. Outside in the sunshine I breathed deeply of fresh air. Even the dust raised by the emus had a good, earthy, natural scent, unlike the tainted air inside the house.
    I felt too edgy to sit, so I wandered around, eying the big tanks and outbuildings. Frogs croaked somewhere out of sight, suggesting water back there in the woods somewhere. Several of the curious emus came to the fence to watch me. One had the peculiar habit of blinking just one eye. Probably just the emu version of a tic, but it came across as a conspiratorial wink. I couldn’t agree with Frank Northcutt’s derogatory judgment of the emus as “stupid birds.” There seemed an inquisitive intelligence in their bright eyes following my every move. They hadn’t been making any of those odd noises since we’d arrived and Abilene had fed them. They struck me as sociable birds who liked to be around people.
    After a few minutes I had the peculiar feeling that more than emus were watching. And Abilene thought she’d seen something out in the woods . . . Which reminded me of the son’s comment that we shouldn’t hang around if a murderer was still in the vicinity.
    I then reminded myself that, from all indications, there was no murderer, just a sadly misguided couple who’d given up on life. Which didn’t keep me from whirling a couple of times, trying to catch whoever or whatever might be slyly spying from cover of the dense woods.
    I saw nothing, but the being-watched feeling was strong enough to send me back to a lawn chair on the deck. I may be curious, but I’m not without a prudent sense of caution, and the house felt safer than the woods. Although it hadn’t provided safety for the Northcutts . . .
    Abilene returned a few minutes later, but it was at least an hour and a half before we heard a car