"Haven't seen him since yesterday afternoon," said the teenage desk clerk of the Lakeview Motel.
"What time?" Nick asked.
"I don't know. Maybe one." The boy scrunched his acne spotted face in thought. "Yeah, around one 'cause the mailman was here. Lindstrom came in to tell me the ice machine wasn't working. Piece of crap only works half the time. Anyway, he had on a suit. I said, 'Hey, you goin' to a funeral?' He said, 'Matter of fact, I am.' "
Jeff Lindstrom had been headed for Tamara's funeral, Nick thought. "And you didn't see him come back?"
"No. I already told you."
"How late do you work?"
"Midnight." He threw Nick a long-suffering look. "My old man died two years ago. Place ain't doin' too great, so in the summers my mom has me doing slave labor. Didn't you come here looking for him before?"
"Yes, but he wasn't around. Did you talk to him much?"
"Sort of. Mostly he asked questions." He laughed. "Like you."
"Asked questions about what?"
"The murders. Only exciting thing that's happened around here for years. And he asked about a few other people I didn't really know."
"What people?"
"The Hunt woman's sister. The one that has a store downtown. Don't know her. That doctor's daughter-somebody St. John."
"Natalie."
"Yeah. Don't know her, either, but I kind of met her old man. He took out my spleen after the car wreck I was in that killed my dad. He was driving," the boy added quickly. "And Alison somebody and that Farley guy that killed himself. Now that was something fairly exciting around here. Probably the last thing till these murders. Anyway, that kind of stuff. Once in a while he'd ask something about me, but he was only being polite. Thought I couldn't see through him."
"You didn't like him?"
"Smiled too much. Mom thought he was charming." He rolled his eyes again. "He was the kind of guy that, you know, women think are charming." Apparently to this kid charming was an epithet.
"Could Lindstrom have come back without you seeing him?"
"Hey, this ain't the Hyatt. Just a little strip motel. I can see every car from this office. Never saw his. Never saw him. The room was dark all evening, too."
"Sounds like you keep a close eye on the guests."
"Not much on TV last night. 'Course, all I got in here is this crummy little thirteen-inch set. Can't wait to get one of those high definition jobs. Gonna get one with a big screen- maybe forty-six inches. And a really dynamite surround sound system."
"Pay must be pretty good here."
The clerk scoffed. "Yeah, in my dreams. No, I'm not spendin' my life in this dump. I'm gonna get one of those high-payin' computer jobs."
"Know a lot about computers, do you?"
"I'm hell on those games, and I surf the Net all the time."
A regular computer prodigy, Nick thought in amusement. He'd better not count on getting that expensive television anytime soon. "How long has Lindstrom taken the room for?"
"He was paid up till noon today."
"Today!" Nick repeated. "Noon? It's eleven forty-five."
"Yeah." The clerk looked at him closely, obviously noting Nick's agitation. "What's the deal?"
"The deal is that if he hasn't paid for the room, I don't need a warrant to search it."
"That so? Cool! I'll get the key."
"Not yet. I'm waiting until noon. If I find anything incriminating, I don't want it thrown out of court because I searched the room fifteen minutes too soon."
"Incriminating evidence?" the clerk asked excitedly. "Hey, what's this guy done?"
"Maybe nothing. I can't discuss it." The clerk turned sullen until Nick said, "But if this does ever come to court, I might need you to testify that I didn't enter the room until after noon. You're my witness."
"Me, a witness? Cool!"
Twenty minutes later Nick entered Room 11 of the Lakeview Motel. "Need me to stand guard?" the desk clerk asked anxiously.
"Stand guard against what?"
"I don't know. Maybe Lindstrom will come back and go ballistic. I could protect you."
Nick looked at the teenager's reed-thin body, the narrow chest covered by a KISS tee shirt. Lindstrom was a couple of inches taller and at least twenty pounds heavier than this kid. "Your mother expects you to handle the desk, but you keep an eye on the room from the office," Nick said diplomatically. "If Lindstrom shows up, you come running."
"You bet!" the kid said happily. "I won't let you down."
Another Jimmy Jenkins, Nick thought. "Do you watch Street Life?" he asked impulsively.
"Never miss it. Eddie Salvatore is cool."
"Yeah. Well, you head back to the office. Thanks for letting me in."
Nick grinned as the kid loped off. Had he ever been that young and eager? Had he ever been that goofy? Yes to both, he decided.
Jeff Lindstrom's room didn't look as if the man had been preparing to leave. Jeans, denim shirts, and tee shirts were thrown over the two chairs pulled up to a circular table in front of the window. Papers lay on the table. Newpapers and photographs, Nick realized when he looked closer. Polaroids. Oliver Peyton's colonial. The Hunts' Cape Cod. The slightly modernistic stone home of Andrew St. John. Nick lingered over this one. The photo gave a clear view of the weeping willow where they'd found the cigarette butts and Marlboro package the night after Natalie had reported a Peeping Tom. Nick felt himself getting angry again and moved on. Viveca Cosgrove's white two-story. He frowned, holding it closer to the light. A pale figure stood in a second-floor window. She had waist-length blond hair and faced fully forward, smiling. She was naked.
Nick remembered Alison's references to sex after Tamara's funeral and Natalie's claim that Alison was fixated on Warren. Along with all her other problems, was Alison a nymphomaniac? Nick wondered. He flipped to the next photo. A shot of a townhouse apartment in a complex. He knew Lily Peyton lived here. Next was a huge, crumbling old house peeking from behind a shroud of ivy and overgrown shrubbery. He should know this place, but for the moment he was blank. A day shot of The Blue Lady dance pavilion. In the sunlight it looked even shabbier than at night. Last, a shot of Natalie on the patio with the dog. A garden hose lay beside her, and her long, shining hair hung over one shoulder as she ran a towel down the dog's side. An older woman stood in the doorway watching her.
Beside the photos lay a magnifying glass, an empty Coke can, a telephone book, and an ashtray holding three Marlboro cigarette stubs. The same kind of stubs as under the St. John weeping willow tree. No doubt Lindstrom had stood staring into Natalie's bedroom. Had he also entered the house, shredded Natalie's dress, and left a skull on the bed? If so, why? Was he trying to cook up more drama for the book he claimed to be writing?
Nick wandered around the room looking for anything interesting. A few toiletries in the bathroom. A copy of Bitter Blood by the bed. Maybe the guy really was serious about writing a true-crime novel like this one. A legal pad on the dresser with most of the paper torn away. The few remaining pages were blank.
He rifled through an open suitcase. Some underwear and socks. A copy of Penthouse. Next to the suitcase lay a briefcase. Luckily it was unlocked. Inside were two manila folders filled with newspaper clippings. The thinnest collection concerned the recent murders in Port Ariel. The other bore stories about the arrest, trial, and suicide of Eugene Farley.
Under the folders rested an address book. Nick flipped through it hurriedly. Apparently the guy didn't have too many friends. Most pages were empty. Then he came to the F section and an address jumped out at him: 224 Dobbin Street, Knoxville, KY. Knoxville? And the name above the address? Aunt Constance. Constance Farley lived in Knoxville.
"I'll be damned," Nick muttered. "Eugene Farley was Jeff Lindstrom's cousin."
"The contractor who renovated the kitchen last summer swears he gave back the spare set of house keys," Andrew told her. "Unfortunately, I can't find them."
"Do you remember him giving them back?" Natalie asked.
"No. But I was extremely busy at the time. I had a heavy load at the hospital, and this place was a mess with the remodeling. I just don't recall."
"Okay. Let's go talk to Harvey before the police do. I don't trust him to tell the police the truth."
It was just past noon and Harvey Coombs opened the door with a gin and tonic in his hand. "Andrew!" he boomed. "And Natalie! My goodness, you've grown a foot since I saw you last."
"Nonsense, Harvey," Andrew said. "You saw her just last year and she's been this height for over a decade." Harvey frowned in thought. Natalie wasn't sure whether he was trying to remember when he'd seen her or how many years were in a decade. "May we come in?"
"Hell, yes! The wife is at the grocery store. Or aerobics class. Or garden club. I think she invents places to go to get away from me." They trailed behind Harvey into a sun-filled living room where Dean Martin sang on the stereo. Natalie suddenly remembered that Harvey used to constantly sing Dean Martin songs, and when she was a child, he'd taught her "That's Amore."
"Still like Dean, Natalie?" he asked her.
"Sure. Such a mellow voice."
"Another Ohio native, you know. We went to high school together."
"Harvey, Dean Martin was over twenty years older than you," Andrew returned irritably.
"Oh, I must be thinking of someone else," Harvey said vaguely, then immediately brightened. "Get you something to drink? We have some nonalcoholic beverages around here for the little one."
Natalie assumed she was "the little one."
"No thank you, Harvey," she said. "We need to talk to you."
"Good. I'm lonely and there's nothing like a pretty girl to brighten my day. Have a seat on the couch. What can I do for you?"
"We had some trouble at the house last night," Andrew said. "Someone broke in."
Harvey lowered his glass and his bloodshot eyes widened. "My God, that's awful! Did they take anything?"
"No. They just tore up a few things."
"Home invaders!" Harvey pronounced. "Right here in Port Ariel. You're not safe anywhere anymore!" He drained his drink to soothe his outrage. "Police get them?"
Natalie shook her head. "Did you see anything?"
"We went to my daughter's for dinner. The one married to the Baptist minister. Nice guy but dry as dust. So was the evening. No alcohol, naturally, and I got a lecture about my drinking. Anyway, we left around six and got home near ten. Late hour because of the lecture. And an endless prayer for me. One of the longest evenings of my life. That's why I remember the time. Damn, I wish I'd been home. I would have shot those bastards!"
"Then I'm glad you weren't home," Andrew said. "We wouldn't want you up on murder charges. The interesting thing is that the house wasn't broken into. Someone had a key."
"Son of a bitch!" Harvey exclaimed, then headed into the kitchen. "How did someone get your key?" Natalie heard ice clinking in a glass. "Lose it someplace?"
"That's what I wanted to ask you about," Andrew called.
"I gave you a key to the house a long time ago. Do you still have it?"
Harvey strode back into the living room. "You think I broke in your house?"
"Good heavens, no, Harvey. I'm just trying to track down all the keys."
"Oh." Harvey sat down. Sunlight fell harshly on his reddened, flabby face, and a pain shot through Natalie when she remembered how handsome he'd once been. "Sure, I've got your key. A good thing, too. That cable repairman needed it a few days ago."
"Cable repairman?" Andrew repeated. "There's nothing wrong with my cable."
"Well, no. He fixed it," Harvey laughed. "Nice fellow."
"Did a man come here claiming to be a cable repairman?" Natalie asked, understanding what Harvey did not.
"No. He didn't come here. I saw him standing outside your place. I went over to see what was going on and…" Harvey took another sip of his drink "… and he said he was supposed to be here but no one was home, and I said, 'I bet the cable is out,' and damned if I wasn't right!"
Wonderful, Natalie thought. Harvey had provided a possible intruder with an excuse for getting in the house. "What did he look like?"
"Look like? I don't know. Average. My height. Maybe thirty. Light hair."
"How long did he have the key?" Andrew asked.
Harvey looked blank. "About an hour, I guess."
"You guess?"
"Well, hell, I didn't have my stopwatch, Andrew. What's so important about it, anyway?"
Andrew asked quietly, "Would you get the key?"
Harvey sensed that he'd done something wrong and swung into loud defensiveness. "Sure! Nothing to me!" He crashed his glass onto an end table, sloshing gin onto his hand. "I don't want your damned key. I was only trying to help."
He disappeared into the kitchen again, muttering and curs ing. Drawers slid out and slammed. Cabinet doors opened and slammed. Natalie and Andrew exchanged looks. Finally Harvey returned to the living room and said weakly, "Can't lay my hands on it right now."
Andrew sighed. " Harvey, do you remember the young man bringing back the key?"
"Sure! Well, actually… not really." He looked sheepish. "I think I took a little nap when he was over there."
"He never returned it," Andrew said flatly.
Harvey 's shoulders slumped. He looked old and defeated and completely demoralized. "I screwed up, Andrew. I'm sorry."
"Don't feel bad, old friend," Andrew said quickly. "I think I lost one of the keys, too."
So two house keys were unaccounted for, Natalie thought. Which meant any number of people had easy access to the house.
Nick dialed Constance Farley's phone number and leaned back in his chair. She picked up on the third ring.
"Mrs. Farley, this is Sheriff Meredith in Port Ariel again."
"Good gracious," she fluttered. "What's wrong now?"
"Do you have a nephew named Jeff Lindstrom?"
A short silence. "Unfortunately, yes. My sister's boy. What do you want to know?"
"He's here in Port Ariel."
"You've talked with him?" she asked anxiously. "Did he tell you about me?"
"I've talked with him, but he never mentioned his relationship to you."
"Oh." She. drew a breath. "Sheriff, I really don't understand. If he didn't tell you of our relationship, then why are you calling about him?"
"I found your number in his address book."
"Address book?"
"Yes. Let me explain. Lindstrom has been nosing around town for about a week. He's been asking a lot of questions about the murders we've had. Frankly, he's been bothering people, and I told him to back off."
"He's an awful boy," Constance pronounced. "Pushy. Unprincipled. I think he's a little crazy."
"Crazy? How is he crazy?"
"There have been things over the years, things I don't think my sister would want me to discuss. But he's awful, I tell you."
At least he didn't have to worry about offending the woman, Nick thought. "He claimed he was doing research for a book."
"A book? I wouldn't know anything about that."
"Anyway, I need to talk to him again, but he seems to have disappeared and-"
"Disappeared? What do you mean disappeared? He left town?"
"If so, he left without his luggage. He hasn't been in his motel room since yesterday afternoon. That's where I found his address book."
"Oh. Well… well, I don't see what this has to do with me."
"I thought since your number is in his address book, you might be in touch with him. You might know where he is."
He had not called because he thought Constance might know Lindstrom's whereabouts. He'd called to get information about their relationship. All the murder victims were connected with Eugene Farley. He had first suspected Constance Farley, but her neighbors confirmed she'd never left Knoxville. Now he found out her nephew was in town and he seemed to be stalking potential victims. Could this woman have dispatched Lindstrom to do her dirty work? That would mean they were both crazy. She said he was crazy. Were they both that crazy? Improbable. Not impossible.
"I don't know why you think I'd know where that boy is," Constance returned. Her voice shook slightly as if she were controlling her anger. "I didn't even know he was in Port Ariel. I'm not close to him at all. And frankly, Sheriff, I'm getting really tired of these calls. My life hasn't been easy the last two years, but I'm trying to hold on. I was doing fairly well and then you start this… this… harassment!"
"I didn't mean to harass you, Mrs. Farley."
"Really? You had the police question my neighbors! How humiliating!"
"I'm sorry."
"You should be." Tears in the voice. "I don't know why Jeffrey is there, but believe me, he's a terrible person. Don't talk to him. Don't give him any information."
"I have no intention of giving him any information about this investigation."
"Or about Eugene."
"Mrs. Farley, I didn't know Eugene. I didn't even live in Port Ariel when he… died."
"I see. Well, I don't mean to sound like a harridan, but I'm just so tired, so nervous, and now he's causing trouble-"
"Mrs. Farley, you just calm down," Nick said kindly. "I'll take care of Lindstrom."
"What will you do to him?"
"Chase him to the town limits."
"Good!"
Nick had been trying to strike a lighter note. Did the woman really think he could run someone out of town? "I'm sure I'll locate him soon," he began more seriously. "Everyone involved in this case knows not to talk to him."
"No, don't talk to him."
She was certainly adamant about no one talking to Lindstrom, he thought. What was she afraid he'd say? "He won't be a problem for long, Mrs. Farley."
Nick wished he believed that last sentence. He hung up the phone and rubbed his eyes. Too little sleep since this mess started. Even when he slept, he didn't really sleep. He dreamed of Meagan lying white and frail in a hospital bed connected to blinking, beeping machines as her lively gaze dulled to emptiness. Last night he'd dreamed of Natalie St. John sitting at a table in a dark room. A big, mirrored ball twinkled overhead and a band played. He'd walked over to her table and asked her to dance. She'd smiled sadly and lowered a lacy shawl to expose her neck. "I'm sorry," she'd said. "I love this song, but as you can see, someone has slit my throat."
"Sheriff?"
"Damn!" Nick shouted, startled out of a half-sleep and a return to the horrible dream about Natalie. "What is it, Hysell?"
"Some kid from the Lakeview Motel insists on talking to you. I told him you were busy, but he wouldn't spill his no doubt earth-shattering information to me."
"Okay, Ted. He's a good kid, just a little overeager. I'll take the call."
He lifted the receiver and spoke. An ebullient voice announced, "Hey, Sheriff, it's Wade Hanley at the Lakeview."
He hadn't even caught the kid's name earlier in the day. "So, Wade, has Lindstrom come back?"
"No. Haven't seen him."
"What did you need to tell me that you couldn't tell Deputy Hysell?"
"Something I remembered a few minutes ago. I didn't think Lindstrom was here last night, but I saw a woman leaving his room around ten, so he must have been."
"A woman? Anyone you know?"
"Yeah. That's why I didn't want to tell Hysell. I remember her from when I was in the hospital. The woman was Dee Fisher. I've heard she's Hysell's girlfriend. At least she used to be. Did they break up?"
"Not that I know of," Nick said with interest. "What else can you tell me about her visit?"
"Nothing. I just saw her coming out of his room to a car. She was alone. She looked awful-scared or mad or something. All worked up."
"Has she been back today?"
"No."
Nick suddenly recalled telling Natalie that perhaps this was not Lindstrom's first visit to Port Ariel. If he were having a woman make calls for him, it could be someone he'd gotten to know here. "Got another question for you, Wade. Has Lindstrom ever stayed at the motel before?"
"Gotta think on that one a minute. You know during school I don't work as much, don't see as much. I don't remember him especially, but…"
"But?" Nick prompted.
"But there's something kind of familiar about him. First time he came in the office I thought I might have seen him before."
"Think on it some more. And thanks, Wade. You've been a big help."
"Hey, I'm lovin' all this mystery. I'm gonna stay up all night and see if Lindstrom comes back."
Hysell burst into the office just as Nick was hanging up and frowning over this latest development. "I know you don't think much of our tech department, Sheriff, but they did some pretty good work at the St. John house." Ted slapped down a report on Nick's desk. "No fingerprints except Natalie's, the doctor's, that woman he's seeing, and a cleaning lady who comes in once a week. I guess St. John doesn't entertain too much. The blood in the hall was cow blood. Sort of watery like it might have come from a package of beef. Not too creepy. The skull's a different matter."
Ted lapsed into one of his dramatic pauses that drove Nick wild. One day he'd snap, draw his gun, and shoot the deputy. Then he'd be arrested and thrown in his own jail. Until that day he would force himself to smile placidly and ask the expected questions. "What about the skull, Hysell?"
"It's human. Male." Ted leaned over the desk, flipped through the pages of the report, and emphatically tapped his fingers on a photo of the skull. "According to the M.E. about fifty years old."
"Is it the skull of a fifty-year-old male or a fifty-year-old skull?"
"Huh? Oh, he didn't say. Anyway, there's not a bit of dirt on it. He said it was a fine specimen-almost antiseptic. His word."
"Interesting."
"Just 'interesting'? Sheriff, it was once somebody's head" Ted said portentously.
"Most human skulls were."
"Yeah, but you don't find them laying around everywhere. Who do you suppose dug this up?"
"I don't believe anyone dug it up." Nick held the photo of the skull under his desk light and looked at it closely. " 'Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.' "
After a moment Ted said carefully, "Sheriff, you think you know who this person was? Some guy named Yorick?"
Nick exploded into laughter. Ted recoiled, stung. "Sorry, Ted, I'm so tired I'm giddy. I was quoting the little bit of Shakespeare I know."
"Oh, Shakespeare," Ted said disdainfully. "I never liked him myself. He took forever to say anything. I mean, why didn't he just say it instead of talking in circles? I think he must have been getting paid by the word."
"So you don't read Shakespeare's sonnets to Dee?"
Ted relaxed and smiled. "She'd kick me all around the room if I tried anything so sissy. Besides, I only know one poem. 'The Charge of the Light Brigade.' Had to memorize it in eighth grade and I never could get rid of it."
Ted made the poem sound like a bad cold he couldn't shake. " 'Charge of the Light Brigade' isn't too romantic. Better to stick with flowers and candy."
"Yeah. Maybe I should try some flowers," Ted said unhappily. "She might like flowers."
Nick looked at him sharply. So Ted already sensed there was trouble in Paradise. Did he know the trouble involved Jeff Lindstrom?
"Where's your dad tonight?" Jimmy asked.
"Out looking for that girl. Alison something. Mrs. Collins was talking on the phone and she said Alison was crazy as a loon. I read about loons in the encyclopedia. The article didn't say anything about loons being crazy."
"I told you not to read so much and who cares about loons, anyway?" Jimmy held up the Polaroid. "Got my dad's camera again. Tonight's perfect for going to the Saunders house and getting a picture of the killer."
Paige ran the toe of her tennis shoe over a clump of crabgrass. "It's kind of early."
"Yeah, but it's been a gloomy day. It's almost dark an hour earlier than usual. Besides, your dad's gone and Mrs. Collins will be jabbering on the phone for hours about this crazy Alison person. It's the perfect time." He paused. "Unless you're too scared."
Paige's blue eyes flared. "I told you I'm not scared!"
"My mom says actions speak louder than words. If you're scared, you can just stay here and I'll tell you all about taking a picture of a murderer. It won't be as exciting as being there…"
"I have a feeling I'll get caught."
"You always have a feeling you're gonna get caught and you never do." Jimmy draped the camera strap around his neck and hopped on his bike. "Are you coming or not?"
Paige looked up at the dreary, pewter sky. All day Mrs. Collins had predicted rain, but it had never come. The hours had simply spun out in gloomy endlessness. She was bored.
She wanted to please Jimmy. Getting a picture of a mad killer was the chance of a lifetime.
"Okay, I'll come," Paige sighed.
She climbed on her bike and pedaled behind Jimmy. As she passed the lighted kitchen window, she saw Mrs. Collins sitting at the table talking animatedly into the phone receiver. She'll never miss me, Paige thought.
Andrew had been called back to the hospital for an emergency surgery at six. He hadn't wanted to leave Natalie alone and suggested she come with him. "Dad, you could be in surgery for hours," she'd said. "I don't want to spend the whole evening sitting in your office. I'll be fine here." He'd fussed because the locks had not yet been changed but at last gave up when he saw she was determined not to accompany him.
Now she rinsed the plate from which she'd eaten her elaborate dinner of a grilled cheese sandwich and potato chips. Blaine sat nearby, alternately gazing at her and the package of jerky strips lying on the counter. "You've already had dinner, so two jerky strips for dessert. That's it," Natalie pronounced,, knowing that before bedtime Blaine would be enjoying at least two more strips and a couple of giant biscuits. She needed to gain five to ten pounds before she reached normal weight.
After giving the dog her treat, Natalie wandered into the living room and turned on the television. Kenny used to annoy her by flipping from channel to channel. Now she did the same. Fifty channels and she couldn't find one program that interested her. She was too restless to concentrate.
The phone rang. It was Nick calling to tell her Jeff Lindstrom was Constance Farley's nephew, but he hadn't been seen since Nick chased him down after Tamara's funeral over sixteen hours ago. Alison had been missing almost as long. Maybe a coincidence. Hopefully a coincidence. "I'll be working all night," he said tiredly. "Mrs. Collins is thrilled."
"And Paige will be just as delighted to be spending the evening with her," Natalie pointed out. "I have an idea. Your daughter doesn't go to bed early, does she?"
"Only under duress. I don't worry about it too much when she's on summer break from school. I guess that's lax of me."
"I never had a set bedtime."
"And just look how you turned out," Nick said dolefully.
"You are a laugh riot, Sheriff. Anyway, I promised Paige a guitar lesson. Since I'm alone and she's probably bored, how about my giving a lesson tonight?"
"She'd love it. And I'd love knowing you were with her. With everything that's going on…"
"There's safety in numbers," Natalie finished for him.
After they hung up she called the Meredith house and got a busy signal. Ten minutes later she tried again. Still busy. Probably Mrs. Collins. She decided to simply get her guitar and go.
Blaine watched her rummage in a storage closet for the first guitar she'd ever owned-a Yamaha compact classic. Kira had given it to her for her sixth birthday. She'd been thrilled, so thrilled she not only practiced constantly but actually tried to sleep with the guitar. Her talent and devotion to the instrument pleased Kira. "Yeah, it pleased her so much she took off five months later," Natalie muttered, then forced her thoughts away from her mother. She scribbled a note for her father and grabbed her coat. Blaine drooped behind her to the door, gazing at her with tragic eyes. "Okay, Sarah Heartburn," Natalie laughed. "I have no idea how you and Ripley the cat will get along, but I guess we'll find out. Besides, I don't like the idea of leaving you alone in this house again."
Blaine immediately perked up at the sight of her leash and trotted happily to the car. Natalie felt as if she'd always owned the dog, and Blaine acted as if Natalie had always been her mistress. But she had placed the lost dog ad less than a week ago. Someone could call tomorrow and reclaim Blaine, Natalie reminded herself. Could she bear to give her up? If this were a beloved dog that had gotten lost, she would have no choice. But if she sensed the dog had been dumped…
"If you were dumped, the person who dumped you won't call," Natalie said as they drove toward the Meredith house. Blaine cocked her head as if she understood every word. "And if you merely got lost from a loving home, I don't think you would have bonded to me so quickly." She sighed. "You're a mystery, Blaine, one of many lately, and I've found out they're more fun to read about than to live."
Lights glowed in the picture window and one upstairs window of the two-story Meredith house. Natalie knew the place had been vacant for nearly three years before Nick Meredith bought it. The former owner had demanded an unreasonable price and refused to negotiate until his business hit a giant snag and he needed the money. Nick had made a few repairs to the place and added a fresh coat of white paint, but the shrubbery and flowerbeds needed work. That might be a project for her and Paige as the summer wore on.
Natalie stopped abruptly on the sidewalk leading to the porch. A summer project? She had a job in Columbus she'd return to in a week. She also had a relationship to work out. After all, in spite of what had happened between her and Kenny, he was more important to her than a precocious kid, or the precocious kid's attractive, dominating, funny, workaholic father. Wasn't he?
Enough of this ridiculous thinking of summer projects, she told herself sternly. She walked determinedly forward, rang the bell, and looked around the porch. Two green plastic lawn chairs and a pot of bedraggled geraniums. In a town where people took pride in creating lovely porches, Nick Meredith wouldn't win any awards. The house had the air of a stopping-over place, as if no one meant to stay. Or maybe it simply lacked the touch of someone who thought of it as a true home.
Natalie was raising her hand to ring the bell again when Mrs. Collins's broad face peeped through the sheer curtains. She looked blankly at Natalie. Natalie smiled encouragingly.
"I come in peace," she felt like yelling. Mrs. Collins blinked a couple of times then pulled away from the window. At last the door opened slowly.
"Hello. Remember me? Natalie St. John. I stayed with Paige the other evening."
"I remember you." The woman flushed. She probably also remembered Nick chewing her out for discussing the murders of Charlotte and Warren in front of Paige. She looked at Blaine, then at the guitar case. "Did you want something?"
"I promised Paige a guitar lesson. Sheriff Meredith said tonight would be fine." She paused. "He also said I could bring my dog." A lie, but she didn't think the woman was going to let them both in.
"Well, I guess it's all right if the sheriff said so. I try to take very good care of Paige. I treat her like my own daughter, but my girl was more manageable. Less sassy. Paige was born in New York City, you know."
Apparently Mrs. Collins thought being born in New York City explained any undesirable personality traits Paige might exhibit. Natalie and Blaine stepped past her. The woman continued to stare inhospitably. "Paige is here, isn't she?" Natalie asked.
"Of course she's here!" Mrs. Collins burst out. "Where else would she be? It's night!"
"I just thought she might be sleeping over with a friend."
"With a murderer on the loose?" Mrs. Collins demanded. "Besides, she doesn't have any proper friends. Just that young Jenkins hooligan. His mother should keep a closer eye on him and the sheriff should forbid Paige to see him. If she were my girl-"
"Is she upstairs?" Natalie interrupted to stem the flow of unwanted opinions.
"Yes. In her room."
"I'll just go up then. Second room on the left, right?"
She dashed up the steps, Blaine trotting behind her. She really shouldn't have come here, she thought. Clearly her visit annoyed Mrs. Collins, and even though Paige didn't have a set bedtime, she was probably getting sleepy by now.
A guitar lesson might simply be disruptive. She'd been thinking of herself when she came, not what was best for Paige. Maybe she wouldn't be any better at mothering than Kira had been. She'd make the guitar lesson short.
Natalie tapped lightly on the closed bedroom door. Her knock went unanswered. She tapped again. Nothing. Could the child already be asleep?
She turned the knob slowly and swung open the door. A small lamp glowed on the nightstand providing the light Natalie had seen from outside. A flowered quilt stretched over a small form whose auburn hair spread across a pillow. A pair of luminous green eyes stared from atop the chest of drawers. Ripley.
Something didn't feel right. Didn't Nick say Paige didn't go to bed early? And hadn't Paige told her that Ripley always slept on the bed with her? Maybe the cat left the bed after Paige went to sleep and she never knew it. Or maybe he was spooked by Blaine and had jumped to the safety of a high place. But he didn't look scared. And the auburn hair on the pillow had the metallic sheen of artificial hair. She walked over and pulled down the quilt.
Mrs. Collins had followed her up the stairs. "A doll!" she screeched as if saying, "A body!" Ripley stiffened, his tail snapping around to firmly cover his paws. Natalie walked to the window, which was raised. An arm's length away hung the sturdy limb of an oak tree. "Looks like Paige has escaped."
"Oh, my! Oh, Lord! Oh, gracious! Heaven help me!" Mrs. Collins bleated. "This is not my fault! It's not my fault! It is not my fault!"
"You were supposed to be watching her," Natalie said harshly, galled by the woman's concern for herself rather than the missing child. "How long has she been gone?"
"I have no idea." She met Natalie's incensed stare. "Well, I can't keep my eyes on her every minute!"
"Especially when you're spending all your time on the phone."
"I wasn't on the phone!"
"I tried to call twice before I came by. The line was busy and clearly Paige wasn't tying it up because she wasn't here. Now when was the last time you saw her?"
Mrs. Collins threw her a venomous look before her eyes filled with tears. "You're right. I was on the phone much too long. I just never thought she'd do anything like this."
"I understand," Natalie said in a milder tone. Soothing the woman was necessary to make her concentrate on what was important. "Calm down and try to remember when you saw her."
Mrs. Collins took a deep breath. "All right. Let's see. We ate dinner at six. She went up to her room for a while, then she came back down and watched something on television. I don't remember what. Then she went back up. That must have been around seven-thirty."
Natalie glanced at her watch. "It's 8:48. Over an hour unaccounted for, but I'll bet she didn't scoot out that window until nearly dark. It's been dreary all day, darker than usual…" Mrs. Collins nodded in vigorous agreement. "Do you have any idea where she might have gone?"
"The Jenkins house?"
They looked up the number and called. A harried Beth Jenkins told Natalie she hadn't seen Paige for days. Was Jimmy home? Natalie asked. Beth dispatched her husband for a five-minute search that included a few gusty bellows of "Jimmy, where the hell are you?" Another child wailed in the background. They couldn't find Jimmy, Beth finally said. It was summer and he was always running around, but she was sure it wouldn't be after dark with a little girl. After all, Jimmy wasn't some kind of pervert. Is that what Sheriff Meredith thought?
Natalie assured her Sheriff Meredith liked Jimmy. She liked Jimmy. Jimmy was a fine boy. Natalie grimaced as she spent more time reassuring than gleaning information. When she hung up, she checked the time again. Nine. Far too late for Paige to be wandering around without adult supervision. "I'm going to look for her," she told Mrs. Collins. "You call Nick and tell him she's gone."
The woman shrank. "Oh, no! I don't think we have to tell him yet. She could walk in that door any minute."
"Or she could not walk in all night, and then what would the sheriff do if no one had told him his daughter was missing?" Natalie asked severely. "You must call him. Now."
The woman sighed shakily and plodded toward the bedroom extension as if headed for the guillotine. Natalie looked around Paige's room, then picked up an errant sock peeking from beneath the bed. Mrs. Collins was meekly asking to speak with the sheriff as Natalie left the room with the sock in one hand and the dog's leash in the other.
Natalie sat in her parked car, her hands on the steering wheel as she stared ahead, thinking. "Where would an eleven-year-old girl go on a summer night?" she asked Blaine. "Lily and I used to walk on the shore and go sit in The Blue Lady. A big, deserted place. Very daring of us, we thought." But The Blue Lady was three miles from the Meredith house. Quite a distance to cover on foot or a bike. And Paige was probably with Jimmy. No doubt because she was the relative newcomer to the town, he'd taken her somewhere familiar to him. But where would that be?
Natalie closed her eyes to concentrate. Where did Jimmy live? Across the street from Tamara. Natalie remembered the night she'd watched Jane Eyre with Paige. "Jimmy thinks Ariel Saunders's house is huge," she'd said, "but it's nothing compared to Thornfield Hall." Beside Tam's house ran Hyacinth Lane, which ended at the Saunders house. Paige had seen the house and Jimmy had been her guide.
"I'm having a brainstorm," she said to the dog as she turned the key in the ignition. "Ready for a trip to your old stomping ground?"
Blaine panted. Clearly a yes to her brilliant idea. Her only idea.
Natalie took a shortcut to Hyacinth Lane, one that cut the trip to less than half a mile and one she was sure Jimmy knew. She turned onto the lane, not looking at the darkened windows of Tam's house. Too depressing. Halfway up Hyacinth Lane the ruts and potholes threatened to knock the car out of alignment. She stopped. "Rest of the way on foot and paw, Blaine." She opened the glove compartment and withdrew a flashlight. Then she picked up Paige's small sock and held it under Blaine 's nose. The dog sniffed obediently and thoroughly. "Okay, girl, show me what a good tracker you are." Natalie said. "Find Paige."
She unhooked the leash and opened the car door. Blaine jumped out, looked around, then loped a few feet in the direction of the Saunders house before looking back at Natalie as if to say, "Well, come on!" Natalie followed, careful to act calm and be silent so she wouldn't distract the dog. Disappointed, she saw that Blaine did not sniff the ground. She acted as if this were merely a casual walk. Maybe it was useless. Perhaps the dog did not track. Perhaps Paige had not been on Hyacinth Lane.
Natalie caught up with Blaine and held the sock under her nose again. She sniffed. She looked around. She ambled forward. Then, abruptly, she dipped her head, touching her nose to a fallen leaf. Her ears perked up and she galloped forward.
Natalie picked up her pace. The gloom of the day lingered, dulling the night. A weak moon cast murky light on the rutted lane being strangled by flourishing honeysuckle vines and multiflora roses. Chills rushed down her arms and she wished she'd remembered to put on a sweater as cool lake winds whispered through the trees.
But the whispering wind wasn't the only sound in the darkness. Natalie slowed, feeling as if her own ears were perking up like Blaine 's. Music. Not the slow, haunting music that would be in harmony with the somber evening. Loud, rollicking music, electric guitars blasting into the darkness, powerful male voices wailing a warning into the night:
Don't close your eyes, He's waiting for you…
"What on earth?" she muttered, listening as the music rose, shuddering through the woods. Two birds soared in tandem, startled from sleep, and something rustled in the brush to her right. Her gaze darted sideways, expecting to see an animal rushing toward her. Instead the rustling moved in the opposite direction as she spotted moonlight shining on metal. She moved closer. Two bicycles. Her hunch had been right. Paige and Jimmy had gone to the Saunders house- the house from which rock music roared.
Natalie's breath came quick and shallow as she ran, keeping her gaze on the lane so she wouldn't step in a hole and twist her ankle. The dog raced ahead with enviable canine speed. She tried to search for possible explanations for the music, but nothing would come except the image of two faces-Paige's and Jimmy's, both bright-eyed, eager, and inquisitive. Maybe too inquisitive. Maybe fatally inquisitive.
No. She wouldn't think that way. She would concentrate on her breathing, her footing-
A high-pitched shriek froze her heart. She plunged forward, every ounce of her energy directed to her flight. Then she saw forms ahead on the lane. Blaine bouncing around excitedly. A boy saying, "It's just a dog, Paige! Come on!"
"Paige! Jimmy!" Natalie called breathlessly.
"Oh, no!" Natalie heard Paige exclaim.
"It's Natalie," she huffed. Blaine ran to her, then back to the children twenty feet away. "Are you all right?"
"Natalie?" Paige wavered. "Is my dad with you?"
"No." Natalie stopped in front of them. "I went by your house and you were missing. I came looking for you by myself. What are you doing here?"
"The killer is in the Saunders house!" Jimmy burst out. "We saw him before. It's a great hiding place. We came back tonight to get a picture. And we did!" He waved a rectangle of paper in front of Natalie. "Look!"
"The killer? A picture?" Natalie took the photo and flipped on her flashlight. She saw the blurred image of someone in a white robe. "What's he doing?"
"Dancing to that music! And it's a she. Real long blond hair."
"Long blond hair?" Natalie repeated. "Is she young-"
The booming music stopped so suddenly that all three jumped. The woods fell eerily silent. Paige tensed. "She's coming after us! She's gonna kill us!"
A scream ripped through the night. Not the shrill yelp of surprise Paige had emitted when Blaine had rushed toward her in the darkness. This scream vibrated with pure, depthless terror. Another followed, then another, each more shattering than the last.
Blaine barked. Paige clutched Natalie's arm. Even the indomitable Jimmy quailed.
"What's that?" Paige whimpered.
"Someone in bad trouble." Natalie looked at Jimmy. "Grab your bike, go home, and call the police. Take Paige with you."
"What about you?" Jimmy managed.
Another scream rent the night. "Just go! Wow!"
The children darted around her and pounded down the lane toward their bikes. Natalie hesitated. She should go with the children. Or stay where she was. God knew what was going on in that house.
Another chilling, agonized scream. Blaine barked frenziedly and lunged forward. Without thought, Natalie followed.
She hadn't realized how close she was to the house until within seconds its bulk loomed ahead of her. Flickering light spilled from the windows onto the ragged growth that had once been a lawn. Candlelight. No. The light didn't flicker, it leaped. Bigger flames than candles could create.
Blaine was ahead of her, running back and forth in front of the house, barking wildly. Natalie hesitated again as the shadow of the house fell over her. Then she thought of what the children had said. The killer was a she with long blond hair. Alison. She knew it. But there had been the screams and now the fire. What if Alison wasn't the killer but the victim?
The door of the house stood open. Natalie stepped cautiously into a musty hall. To her left was a darkened room. To her right light glimmered through the doorway of another room. She moved toward it, her heart thudding. A thin veil of smoke floated toward her, enough to sting her eyes and nose, not enough to make her cough. She put her hand over her nose, took a deep breath and held it. Then she crept into the room.
Candles everywhere. A body lying facedown on the floor, pale blond hair spilling around the head, flames eating at a long, white gown.
Natalie rushed forward, grabbing up a small rug as she assessed the extent of the fire. Not bad. She slapped the rug down on the burning edge of the robe. Once, twice, three times. Then the overturned candle beside the body, then the small pillow whose foam rubber stuffing puffed most of the smoke. The wooden floor below, dampened by long years of moist lake air and no heat, merely smoldered.
Natalie tossed the rug onto the wood and stepped on it a few times. Satisfied that she'd extinguished all of the minor fire, she pulled the body away from the scorched flooring, turned it over, and swept back the blond hair. Alison Cosgrove's eyes remained closed, her face deathly white, as blood oozed from the ugly gash on her delicate neck.