The Drifter Read Online Free PDF Page B

sheets off the furniture, tossing them out the door and into a pile in the middle of the hallway. As more antique furniture revealed itself, she shook her head and glanced down ruefully at her filthy hands.
    â€œHope you still believe in miracles, Mom,” she grumbled, “because it’s sure going to take a good one to get this house in shape.”
    She couldn’t imagine how Hazel had lived in this place—and it was even harder to imagine how guests might actually come here and pay for the privilege of sleeping in these dark, dank rooms. Carolyn gathered up the sheets and went downstairs, making a quick detour to the parlor on her way to the kitchen.
    Here—more than in any other room—she felt as if she’d taken a step back in time. The shades had come down from the windows, letting in pale, filtered light, and someone had run a dustcloth over the heavy, old-fashioned furniture so that everything gleamed with a dull shine. The rug and floorboards had been swept, and a pile of logs was stacked neatly in the fireplace. China figurines stared with chipped, painted faces. The room waited expectantly, as though a visitor from centuries past might arrive at any moment.
    And maybe Carolyn Glanton stood in this same exact spot I’m standing in now and looked over at her husband while he warmed himself at the fire and told her how he was sailing away, and promised her he’d come back to her, no matter the powers of heaven and earth … and sea …
    â€œMom’s right.” Carolyn’s voice was unusually loud in the silent room. “You’re a hopeless, ridiculous romantic. Maybe poor Carolyn had the right idea after all. Matthew was probably a rogue and a scoundrel, and he never had the slightest intention of ever coming back for her.”
    With a sound of disgust, she leaned against the front door.
    The pounding came right behind her head.
    As Carolyn screamed and jumped away, her eyes riveted in on the upper half of the door—on a slow, dark shadow sliding across the panes of beveled glass.
    Someone’s trying to get in —
    The pounding came again—louder this time—echoing on and on through the gloomy house. The shadow leaned forward … hesitated … then pulled back as Carolyn held her breath and frantically tried to think what to do. For one horrible second images shot through her brain—the blurry figure she’d seen outside yesterday … the ghost she’d seen last night in the attic—
    And as she watched in growing horror, the doorknob slowly began to turn.

5

    â€œH EY, ANYONE HOME ?”
    Huddled against the wall, Carolyn wasn’t exactly sure what she expected to see. Certainly not the door popping open or the grocery bag thrusting into the room—and definitely not the tall young man who finally stepped across the threshold.
    â€œHello?” he said again. There was a long pause as he peered cautiously around the grocery sack, and then he shouted, “ Hello! ”
    â€œWho are you?” Carolyn demanded furiously.
    He jumped three inches off the ground. The bag fell out of his arms and spilled helter-skelter across the floor.
    â€œWhat are you trying to do, scare me to death?” The young man turned on her, his voice every bit as angry as hers.
    â€œWhat am I doing?” Carolyn forced herself to move out into the room, forced herself to sound calm, though her heart was racing out of control. “What are you doing in my house? Get out before I call the police!”
    â€œWell, that’s just great,” the boy muttered. He squatted down and began gathering up several cans of soup.
    Carolyn opened her mouth, closed it again, and stared at him. After several silent moments of retrieving things, the boy finally cocked his head and looked up at her.
    â€œWell?” he said.
    â€œWell, what?”
    â€œWell, are you gonna just stand there or are you gonna give me a