Page 40 of Diners, Damsels & Wolves

“I-I don’t, I didn’t do anything to him. He’s probably at work.”

“Liar!” Rachel ran across the room, seizing the collection of stainless steel water bottles next to the recliner and hurling them at Clarissa.

She dodged the first, but the second hit her square in the head. She fell to her knees, clutching her face. She saw stars and a terrible tingling throb shot over her head.

“You’re working for them, aren’t you?” Rachel threw another bottle at her, hitting her shoulder.

“No, no, I’m not. Please stop and we can talk about this.”

Rachel picked up a bookend from the shelf to throw. Clarissa tried to run to her room. Rachel grabbed her by the hair, yanking her down, then ran into the kitchen. Plates and cups shattered against the floor as her aunt raged.

Getting to her knees, she raised her hands in surrender.

“Rachel?” Her voice shook. “Rachel, please. Let me call Greg for you, he can tell you who I am.” She eyed her phone. It sat on the counter where she left it, where Rachel now stood.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Rachel threw a mug at her face.

She dodged the blow then jumped; someone was knocking on the door.

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I’m offering to call Greg. He can explain it to you if you want,” she said.

“I don’t need him to explain anything.” Rachel threw another mug at her, the porcelain shattered against her brow. With a cry, she pulled in on herself, protecting her head from further damage as more mugs crashed around her. “I know who you are! You’re one of them, you’re a bear! You’ve come here to kill me, but I won’t let you!”

The knocking on the door became thunderous. Who the hell was that?

“How can I prove to you I’m not a bear?” she pleaded.

That made Rachel pause, staring at Clarissa, eyes wide in confusion.

Using the hesitation to stand, she kept her hands in front of her.

“Let me—” She was interrupted by knocking. “Here, I’m going to answer the door, then we can keep talking about this.”

She took four trembling steps to the front door and opened it a crack as another mug crashed against the kitchen wall. The blood drained from her face and her stomach fell. God damn it, she’d completely forgotten.

“Are you alright?” Thomas stood on the front steps, panic-stricken. “I heard yelling and—you’re bleeding.”

“What?” She did a quick check: no blood on her arms or legs.

“Your head.” He raised a hand to her brow. “What’s going on?”

“It’s—” She paused. She hadn’t told him about Rachel. How was she going to explain this? “My aunt … she’s sick.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Who’s there?” Rachel screamed. “Are you plotting against me?”

“No, Rachel, this is Thomas,” Clarissa said, wishing the earth would open up and swallow her.

“Are you a bear?” Rachel demanded. “No, no, you don’t smell like one. Did Greg send you?”

“The sheriff,” Clarissa whispered to him.

“I know Sheriff Greg,” he said. “I have cousins on the police force. Officer Sara Richardson and Harry McEntire.”

Clarissa held her breath. Harry retired three years ago. Hopefully Rachel wouldn’t remember that detail.

“Harry,” Rachel calculated, “I know Harry. Who are you?”