Sophie covered her mouth. “My God . . .”
“I’m sorry, honey. But I think you ought to know what you’re up against tomorrow.”
Sophie didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally she shook her head. “Don’t you see, Mom? That’s just what I’m saying. Even if neither one of them had anything to do with the Singleton killings, they’re still guilty as hell of all this other stuff—including murder now. So what’s the point of sending you to Lopez Island on this wild-goose chase tomorrow?”
Laura sighed. “Technically, Vic’s the one who did the beating, the stealing, and the killing. Joe was an accessory, but there are special circumstances with him. To his credit, he tried to stop Vic from killing Dane this morning. Besides that, like you said, Joe’s a little off. Despite Vic’s claims, I think there’s a good chance Joe didn’t kill the Singletons. And if that’s true, then maybe the authorities will go easy on him for everything else.”
“I don’t know, Mom,” Sophie muttered.
“Okay, so it’s a long shot,” Laura admitted. “But if I’m able to find someone who can prove Joe’s innocence in the Singleton case, then I think he’ll be on our side. He’ll do everything he can to get Vic to leave us alone and go. I really believe he’ll help us—if we help him.”
With a hopeless look, Sophie stared down at the bathroom’s pink rug and stuck her big toe under the edge of it. Her long, skinny arms were crossed in front of her. “And you say the chances of that happening are between ten and twenty percent. So—are those our chances of survival, twenty percent at the most?”
“It’s why I wanted to talk to you, honey,” Laura said. “So much of what happens here tomorrow will depend on you. If this Lopez Island connection doesn’t pan out, I’ll go to the police. Vic wants me to call with a progress report every couple of hours. I’ll stall them. I’ll give him some story about getting another lead and needing another hour. They’ve agreed to let me talk to you when I check in. If I’m going to call the police, I’ll let you know by telling you, ‘Say a prayer everything works out all right . . .’”
“ ‘Say a prayer,’” Sophie repeated.
Laura nodded. “Then you’ll know I’m calling the police as soon as I hang up with you. The police will probably take about ten minutes to get here—at least. So you’ll have to watch your time and create a diversion of some sort. Because if Vic sees one cop—”
“He’ll start shooting us, I know, you told me,” Sophie said with a nervous edge.
“Or he could use one of you as a hostage.”
Sophie rubbed her forehead. She looked as though she might start to cry.
“Honey, I’m sorry, but you’ve got to listen to this. You need to be prepared. Now, Vic and Joe seem to favor the family room and the back part of the house. So—if you’re downstairs, create a diversion somewhere there in the back part of the house—”
“Like what? What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe faint, break something, or start an argument with Liam, anything that will distract them. I’ll tell the police to come in from the front. So if you’re downstairs, do what you can to keep Vic and Joe in the family room—away from the front windows.”
“And what if we’re upstairs here, locked in my room?”
“Try and let me know, and I’ll alert the police you’re on the second floor. If you’re downstairs, try and corral your brothers into the kitchen, and I’ll tell the police you’ll be there.”
Sophie stared at her for a moment, “Is that it?” she asked. “Is that our plan?”
“Well, if you or Liam can somehow get out of the house, I don’t think they’ve cut the phone line from the cottage. Remember the old black phone on the wall in that closet? It still works. If something should happen to me, and you need to call the police, you might be able to do it from there. The key to the cottage is under the square flowerpot around back . . .”
Sophie nodded. “I remember,” she said, but she still seemed uncertain. “But what do you think is going to happen to you?”
“I don’t know, honey. Nothing is certain right now.” She reached over and took Sophie’s hand. “When I call in tomorrow with my progress report, and you and I talk, I’m sure Vic will be listening in. He may not want you to let on if something’s wrong on this end.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he—he may tie you guys up or something. Or maybe he won’t want me knowing that one of you is hurt. But I’ll want to know, Sophie. You’ll need to tell me in code if something critical has happened. You can let me know by saying . . .” she hesitated.
“I’ll tell you I’m ‘nervous,’” Sophie suggested. “And if everything’s okay, I’ll say I’m ‘tired.’”
“‘Nervous’ is bad, and ‘tired’ means everything’s okay,” Laura said, nodding.
“And ‘saying a prayer’ means you’re calling the police,” Sophie whispered. She started to tremble, and tears came to her eyes. “Mom, I’m scared . . .”
Laura got up and sat down beside her on the edge of the tub. She put her arms around her.
“I think he’s going to kill us,” Sophie sobbed into her shoulder. Her voice was muffled. “I really do. I don’t know if I can do anything to stop him. I’m so afraid . . .”
Laura shushed her. “You’ve been so good today, so strong,” she whispered, rocking her in her arms. “I’m so proud of you, sweetie. You need to know that. You just have to keep being strong. Tomorrow’s going to be a big challenge, but we’re going to pull through this. You’re a smart, resourceful young woman. I know you’ll do your best . . .”
It was all Laura could do to keep from bursting into tears, too. Her heart ached, and she was filled with a sickening dread.
She felt as if she were sending her daughter into a horrific battle tomorrow.
And the chances for survival were less than twenty percent.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tuesday, November 28—7:03 A.M.
On the local morning news, there was a story about a woman in Salem, Oregon, who claimed to have seen two men who fit the descriptions of Joseph Mulroney and Victor Moles. The witness said that on Monday night, she’d seen both men in a Costco parking lot. They climbed into a red Hyundai Sonata and drove off.
This amused Vic to no end.
It probably helped account for his good mood this morning. He was almost finished with his breakfast, and so far—miracle of miracles—he’d made it through the meal without breaking any plates or glassware.
He and Joe ate in front of the TV again. They’d raided the master bedroom closet once more. Vic was wearing another one of Sean’s sweaters, and Joe had on one of his shirts, which was too big on his skinny frame. With the remote in one hand and a fork in the other, Vic stuffed his face and flipped through the various news programs for updates. It was frustrating for Laura because she was in the kitchen, catching only snippets.
Jae Singleton’s boyfriend was still in an Anacortes hospital’s intensive care unit and still unable to identify the man who had shot him.
But in North Seattle, after being shown several mug shots, the 7-Eleven clerk had positively identified Victor Moles as his assailant on the night of the Singleton murders. That certainly had to be another reason Vic seemed so pleased with himself this morning.
One news program pointed out that several Lopez Island merchants had seen Vic in town in different stores and restaurants. But that revelation didn’t seem to bother Vic.
The police and press had dug up some background information on the two fugitives—with the focus on Joe, now the only suspect they could place at the Singleton home at the time of the murders. The news reported that Joseph Spiers was his birth name, and his birth certificate showed father unknown. His abusive mother had died in a car accident six years ago, and his grandmother had passed away last year. When the TV reporter started delving into how Joe met Vic in a state-run psychiatric institute, Vic changed the channel.
Laura had thoug
ht he’d be interested in seeing the news reports about himself. But then she realized Vic probably didn’t want anyone hearing about his criminal background. Maybe Joe didn’t even know the extent of it. He’d been pretty vague about why Vic had ended up in that institution.
Vic settled on a news program that showed Marilee Cronin giving yet another weepy speech about the virtues of the late Scott Singleton and the Church of the True Divine Light. “God, this bitch gives me a pain,” he announced. But he kept watching.
Laura did her best to ignore him—as did Sophie and Liam, sitting with James at the counter-bar. Sophie kept James occupied and eating his breakfast.
When Vic had stomped into Sophie’s bedroom an hour ago, demanding that Laura fix them breakfast, he’d wanted the kids to stay locked in the room. But Laura had pointed out that her children had been deprived of dinner the night before, and she’d insisted on making their breakfast before she left.
Liam was ravenous. But both Laura and Sophie were too nervous to eat much. They could only pick at the eggs, bacon, and toast. However, Laura filled up on coffee. She’d slept only about an hour or two last night. And she needed to stay alert today for a three-hour drive over a mountain pass to Anacortes—and then a ferry ride to Lopez Island.
She looked haggard and pale. Her scars were showing, but some makeup had helped conceal the bruise on her chin. She wore a black sweater and jeans.
She’d texted her neighbor, Patti. It was Laura’s day to drive the boys to preschool, but she said James was staying home today. So Patti would have to take her own son to school. It was a curt message, meant to discourage her neighbor from swinging by or calling.
Sophie had sent a text to Matt, explaining she was sick and wouldn’t be in school today, but she would talk to him later tonight.
Both text messages had been supervised and approved by Vic, of course.
Laura had instructed Sophie to step outside and wave away both school buses when they pulled up near the end of the driveway at seven-thirty and seven-forty respectively. She also told her about the special delivery from Sean expected between three and five that afternoon. Someone was supposed to sign for it. Laura was worried it might be a case of wine, which would require an adult’s signature. “You’ll just have to tell them to come back later,” Laura had advised her daughter.
Once again, all these instructions had been Vic-approved.
He wanted Laura to leave the house by seven-fifteen at the latest. She had to be on the ferry that left Anacortes for Lopez at 10:35. After breakfast, Vic turned down the TV volume and used Laura’s phone to check road conditions on Stevens Pass.
“‘Patches of snow and ice on the roadway,’” he said. “Snow tires are recommended.” He swaggered over to the kitchen and handed Laura the pay-as-you-go phone. “I want you to call this number and ask if Martha’s working today.”
While he read off the number, Laura—with an unsteady hand—entered the digits on the small phone. It rang twice before a woman answered. “Last Sunset Café,” she said loudly—over a lot of chatter and clanging in the background. The phone reception was a bit choppy.
“Hello, is Martha working today?” Laura asked.
“’Til three,” the woman said. “If you want to talk to her, now’s not a good time. We’re awfully busy . . .”
“No, that’s okay, thank you,” Laura said, clicking off. She was surprised and relieved that there really was a Martha. The waitress wasn’t just a figment of Joe’s imagination. Maybe this fool’s errand wasn’t completely futile.
She turned to Vic—and Joe, who now stood behind his friend. “Martha’s there until three,” she said. She started to hand the phone back to Vic.
But he shook his head. “That’s yours. It’s all charged up. Get your coat. I don’t want any long good-byes.” He handed her Joe’s sketches of the man he called Zared.
All morning long, Laura’s stomach had been in knots. Now the knots just got tighter. Suddenly, she could hardly get a breath. She turned to Vic. “I need to talk with you first—in private,” she managed to say. She headed into the front hall, and he followed.
“Well, make it snappy,” Vic grunted. “And I don’t want any long last-minute trips to the can.”
“Listen . . .” She swallowed hard. “You—you expressed your concern last night and again this morning about me possibly going to the police while I’m gone. Well, if you want to make sure I don’t do that—if you want insurance, you can always accompany me to Lopez. You saw on the news. In all the photos they have of you, your hair’s long. And the police sketches don’t do you justice. No one will recognize you. And if you’re worried they will, you can just stay in the car. Meanwhile, Joe can stay here and look after my kids . . .”
Vic smiled. “I’m flattered you want me along for the ride, Teach. But no, you’re on your own. As for wondering if you’ll go to the cops, well, I have three insurance policies right here.”
He grabbed her purse off the table in the hallway and handed it to her. He’d already looked through it twice this morning. “Get your coat,” he said.
Laura’s hands were still shaking as she loaded the phone and Joe’s drawings into the purse. “Joe, can I talk to you?” she called, her voice cracking.
He came into the hallway. Liam and Sophie were behind him. Sophie carried James, who was squirming in her arms.
Laura gazed at Joe while she took her peacoat out of the closet and put it on. “Joe, I looked after you once, remember?” she said. “I’m counting on you to look after my children.”
He nodded, but he looked a little frightened—as if he didn’t feel up to the task.
Sophie and Liam broke past Joe and ran to her. Sophie was crying.
Laura hugged and kissed them as if it were the last time. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered. “I’ll see you tonight . . .”
She couldn’t help thinking it was a lie.
Vic opened the front door. “Okay, enough of this shit, c’mon, get going . . .”
James started shrieking as Laura pulled away from them.
Vic grabbed her arm and led her outside. The morning air was chilly and harsh. It felt like it might snow. She started to glance back at her children, but Vic shut the front door and continued to drag her toward the car. “C’mon, get your keys out,” he muttered. “I’m freezing my ass off here . . .”
She looked back toward the house.
Vic impatiently grabbed her purse and dug out her keys. He chuckled at the thin plastic trinket attached to her key ring. About half the size of a credit card, it was a replica of a Washington State license plate that spelled out MOM. It had been a gift from Liam last year. With the device on her fob, Vic unlocked the car. Then he handed her purse and keys back to her.
The Toyota Sienna’s windshield and windows were slightly fogged from the morning frost. Climbing behind the wheel, Laura shut the car door. She started the engine and the heater, then rolled down the window. She wiped the tears from her face and glared up at Vic. “If you hurt one of my kids, I swear, I’m going to hunt you down.”
He just snickered.
Laura raised the window and headed down the driveway. Her hands tight on the wheel, she began to cry again.
She was still sobbing when she made the turn for downtown Leavenworth several minutes later. She spotted a police car parked on the shoulder of the road near the intersection. Biting her lip, she cruised past it and kept going.
Laura glanced at the squad car in her rearview mirror. It hadn’t moved.
She couldn’t help feeling as if she’d just made the worst mistake of her life.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tuesday—8:24 A.M.
Sophie washed the breakfast dishes. She kept glancing over toward the family room at Vic—in her father’s chair. She’d expected him to start leering at her again the way he had yesterday—now that her mom wasn’t around. But to her relief, he didn’t seem too interested in her this morning.
He didn’t se
em interested in what was on TV either. He kept flipping through the channels, and every few minutes he got up and went to the front of the house. Once, he even walked outside. A couple of times, he muted the TV and told everyone to shut up. Then he peered out the windows and went to the front of the house again.
Sophie realized he was worried that her mom might have gone to the police. Apart of her enjoyed seeing the son of a bitch so anxious and unsure. Unfortunately, every time he got up to look out a window he reached for the gun he kept concealed under his shirttail.
Joe wasn’t quite as restless. He’d offered to help her with the dishes, but Vic had barked at him that it was women’s work, and he’d insisted his friend watch TV with him.
Liam sat with James at the breakfast table, keeping him entertained with a couple of James’s board games: Robot Turtles and Raccoon Rumpus. Sophie and Liam had warned their little brother that if he had to talk, he needed to whisper. James had agreed. But he’d already twice violated the agreement by calling to Joe to come play with them. It was kind of pathetic to see the look on Joe’s face as he sat there on the sofa at Vic’s demand. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” he said, both times. And he really did seem sorry, too.
Sophie wondered how this guy was supposed to protect them from his friend. Even if her mother found this person to prove Joe’s innocence, Joe would never get Vic to leave unless Vic wanted to leave.
In the past hour, both Liam and James had taken bathroom breaks. Each time, Vic sent Joe to stand guard in the front hallway outside the powder-room door while they did their business. Joe was just his errand boy, totally under his thumb.
Sophie pitied him, but at the same time, she didn’t like him much. She didn’t have the soft spot her mother had for him. After all, the police wanted the guy for murder. And even if he was innocent, he was still hanging around with this total creep who was most definitely a murderer. Sophie wasn’t depending on Joe to come to their rescue. But her mother had told her to be nice to him, so she tried to be as pleasant as possible under the circumstances. Still, it was an effort.
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