Sam, I thought. He was supposed to call after practice.
When I heard Adrian's heavy footsteps moving toward the front door, I hastened down the last set of steps. Having lost her battle, Mrs. Hopewell marched off to the kitchen.
"Hello, Sam," I heard Adrian greet him. I hope you haven't been waiting too long."
"Where's Kate?" Sam replied, in no mood for pleasantries.
"I do apologize," Adrian continued. "Mrs. Hopewell protects us a little too well at times."
I want to talk to Kate." Sam saw me crossing the hall toward them. "Why didn't you answer your phone?" he demanded.
"Because it's in the bottom of the pond."
I tried the house number. The old gargoyle wouldn't let me through."
I saw the flicker of a smile on Adrian's face at Sam's reference to Mrs. Hopewell. "Kate," he said, "I'm working in the office, and Emily has Patrick with her. She wants to keep him in our room tonight. The others have gone to their wings, so use whatever room you want here on the first floor. I will tell Mrs.
Hopewell to remain in the kitchen." He turned toward the office, then turned back. "I'm afraid I'm somewhat old-fashioned when it comes to young men and ladies," he added with another wisp of a smile, "and must ask that you keep the door open wherever you are."
I nodded and led Sam into the library because that was the warmest room. I could still feel the pond's cold in my bones.
"I thought something had happened to you," Sam exploded, once we were inside the paneled room. "If you knew I couldn't get through, why didn't you call me?"
"I–I forgot about my phone. So much was happening."
"You make me crazy," he said, turning his back on me, banging the palm of his hand against the fireplace mantel.
"I'm sorry. I really am sorry."
"Yeah-yeah… So what's been going on?" he asked, his voice moderating, sounding almost flat.
"Patrick fell through the ice in the pond."
Sam spun around.
"Could we sit down? It's been a long day."
"Not near the fireplace," he said. "Sound travels through flues."
We went to the corner of the room. Sam tried the Westbrooks' deep leather chairs, then sprawled on the rug. I sat on the floor facing him, hugging my knees, and recounted what had happened, backtracking to Dr. Parker's theory to explain why Patrick and I were at the pond.
At the end, Sam sighed. "I don't believe in that kind of stuff. And I especially don't believe a theory by a guy who wears pink glasses. Even so, it's creepy the way Patrick senses things when they are dead."
"I've been thinking about that," I replied. "Orange tabbies are common, and November has probably fathered a few litters. Since little kids don't always grasp the finality of death, Patrick may have seen an orange cat and thought-or hoped-it was November. He may even have imagined the whole event.
He's been very upset since the cat died."
"You said Brook knew you were at the pond."
"We talked to him as we were leaving the house. He could have painted the back of the bam long before and been waiting for the right moment to set his prank in motion. Adrian had an appointment with his lawyer today, supposedly about his will. I think Brook found himself with the perfect opportunity to stir an already boiling pot."
"And then he got lucky," Sam went on, "because Patrick decided to cross the ice? I don't think so. Kate, hasn't it occurred to you that, according to Patrick's story, he was lured onto the ice, lured by a favorite pet, just as Ashley was?"
I shifted uncomfortably and stretched my legs out in front of me. I thought of it, yes."
"And have you thought about the fact that you were supposed to be watching him, just as your mother was supposed to be watching Ashley? And that if he had drowned, you would have been blamed, just as your mother was for Ashley's death?"
I had thought about that quite a bit.
He leaned toward me. "I'm telling you again, you have to leave this place."
"And I'm telling you I'm not."
He rubbed his head. "Maybe your mother will talk some sense into you."
At first I thought I hadn't heard him correctly. "Sorry?"
He rested his back against the base of one of the big chairs, seeming a little too pleased with himself, I thought. "I contacted your mother through the Internet. It wasn't hard-I had a hunch she wasn't hiding the way she did twelve years ago. I got her maiden name from her birth records, poked around some, and found her."
I stared at him.
"I told her what was going on, just about everything I knew, including how pigheaded you are. She said you inherited that from her."
I swallowed hard.
"She said she had to get her passport updated, but would come as quickly as possible."
"Here?" I could barely get out the word.
"Yeah," he said casually, but he was faking. He had seen my reaction and was trying to downplay things. "She can stay with Mom and me."
"I can't believe you did that." My words came out in a hoarse whisper. "How dare you!"
His face colored. "You need her, Kate, whether you want to admit it or not. You need someone on your side, and you won't let it be me. So I asked her."
I was speechless.
"I want you to lock your bedroom door tonight," he said.
"It doesn't have a lock."
"Then push some furniture against it. You've seen movies, you know what to do. I'm serious, totally serious." He stood up. "Call me tomorrow. I'll keep trying to reach you, but Stone-Face probably won't let me through. If I don't hear from you, I'm coming here-understand? I'll park in their driveway and stand outside and howl if they don't let me in. I'm sure they won't appreciate another visit," he added. "My car's dropping a lot of oil on their drive. Call me."
I nodded mutely. My mother was coming. I felt as if I couldn't move from where I was.
"It's okay, I can see myself out," he said, and left.