She turned to Vic. “If that happens, try not to freak out and shoot the delivery guy, okay?”
He chuckled. “I’ll try my best, sweet tits.”
She turned away and headed for the stairs—with Joe trailing behind her. “Your friend’s a disgusting pig,” she whispered.
“You shouldn’t egg him on like that,” Joe replied under his breath.
Upstairs, in her bedroom, Sophie selected a change of clothes from her dresser and closet. “If my mother’s able to help you, how are you going to get Vic to leave without hurting anybody?”
Joe stood by her bedroom door. “Vic’s already agreed to it. He promised me. I’ll make sure no one gets hurt.”
With the clean clothes draped over her arm, Sophie stared at him. “I really wished I believed you,” she said. Then she turned and headed into the bathroom.
“Please, don’t shut the door all the way,” she heard him call. “On my honor, I’ll stay right here.”
Sophie left the bathroom door open a sliver. Pulling back the shower curtain, she turned the shower on full blast and accidentally doused her shirtsleeve. She hoped the humming pipes and spraying water would drown out the sound of her opening the window. She moved over to the small, frosted-glass window and slowly pushed it up. It squeaked a bit, but she kept pushing until it was completely open. She glanced over her shoulder at the door—to make sure it was just how she’d left it. No one was trying to peek in.
With one knee on the hamper, she boosted herself up and peered outside—at the driveway and the wine-tasting cottage. She shuddered from the chilly November breeze that started to sweep into the bathroom. Any minute, she expected to see Liam and James running away from the house. She checked the drop to the trellis roof below. She figured if she climbed out the window and lowered herself until she was clinging to the ledge, it would only be a six- or seven-foot jump from there. She prayed the rickety-looking roof wouldn’t cave in on her.
There was still no sign of her brothers outside.
Moving away from the window, Sophie went to listen at the door. She figured she’d soon hear Vic and Joe having a whispered conversation in her bedroom. She’d been so certain Vic would come upstairs to take Joe’s place.
But it was quiet in the bedroom. She wondered if Liam had been right. Maybe she’d overestimated her own allure. Maybe Vic was more interested in Jeopardy! than in peeking in on her naked.
Rubbing her arms from the cold, Sophie crept back to the window and looked outside again. She could see her breath and started to tremble. But she stayed by the window and waited for Liam and James to appear down there.
* * *
Joe sat down on the floor and leaned against the frame of Sophie’s bedroom doorway. He listened to the shower roaring in the bathroom.
He felt awkward and slightly unnerved to be in a teenage girl’s bedroom. That was why he couldn’t really go past the threshold. It reminded him too much of early Saturday morning, when he’d staggered into Willow Singleton’s bedroom. Like Sophie, she was sixteen.
When he’d talked with Mrs. Gretchell last night about the Singletons, he’d mentioned that he’d gone into two other bedrooms besides Connor’s. But he hadn’t gone into any details. After phoning the police, he’d first gone up to Dean’s bedroom. He’d been the oldest son. Joe found him sprawled facedown on his bedroom floor—clad only in a pair of gray briefs with white trim. His hands and feet had been tied, and blood stained the beige carpet on either side of him—like angel’s wings. Someone had thrown a blanket over his head. Except for the unmade bed and a tipped-over desk chair, nothing in the room had been disturbed. There had been no signs of a struggle.
Willow’s room was across the hall. When Joe peered in, he was relieved not to see her corpse. Had she escaped somehow?
Like Sophie, Willow had her own bathroom. The door was open just enough that Joe could tell the light was on. He passed through her bedroom—cheerleader’s pompoms were wedged behind one corner of the mirror over Willow’s dresser; the sheets lay in a tangle on her canopy bed.
The bathroom door creaked as he pushed it open a few more inches. He noticed blood on the green and white tiled floor. He opened the door even farther and saw Willow, clad in panties and a T-shirt, curled up on the floor under the sink. The T-shirt was ripped in places and soaked with blood. Her feet had been tied together. Her arms were on either side of the sink’s pedestal—with the wrists tied together. Her blond head was awkwardly tilted and pressed against the pedestal’s base.
After seeing Willow, Joe knew what he’d find in the other bedrooms. But he went into Connor’s room anyway.
The images of the dead were burned in his brain.
Now he listened to the shower and gazed at Sophie’s bathroom door—slightly ajar. He felt a bit sick. He closed his eyes and hoped it would pass.
He heard someone screaming downstairs. It sounded like little James.
Joe stood up.
There were footsteps on the stairs. Then he saw Vic come around the corner toward him. “You look half-asleep on the job, kiddo,” he said loudly—over the wailing. “I’ll take over . . .”
* * *
Her ear to the door, Sophie heard them arguing in her bedroom. But she couldn’t make out what they were saying. She thought she heard screaming, too. She moved over to the vent and listened. The screams were coming from downstairs.
Her heart racing, she moved back to the window and looked out at the landscape below. She didn’t see her brothers down there. She knew Vic had come upstairs. He’d left them alone in the family room at least a minute or two ago. She wondered if Liam had lost his nerve. Why was James shrieking?
Something had gone wrong. And any minute now, she expected Vic to burst into the bathroom—only to find her fully dressed and the window open.
Sophie quickly closed the window and shucked off her outer clothes. In her bra and panties, she grabbed her bathrobe off the hook on the back of the bathroom door. The door moved slightly, and the hinges squeaked. She threw on the bathrobe and put her head under the shower to wet her hair. Then she turned off the water and pulled a towel off the rack.
She could clearly hear them talking in her bedroom now: “Vic, I know you. I know what you’re up to. Listen, she’s a nice girl . . .”
She could also clearly hear James downstairs shrieking—like he was hurt or terrified.
Sophie opened the bathroom door. “What’s going on? What did you do to my little brother?”
Vic frowned at her. “Relax. I just tied him up. I tied them both up.”
She started to move past him, but he pushed her back into the bathroom. He stepped in after her.
“Vic, don’t,” Joe said. “Please . . .”
Sophie shrunk away from him.
“Shit,” he muttered, glaring at her. “It’s as cold as a polar bear’s prick in here. Did you have the window open? You sneaky little bitch, you were trying to escape. . .”
“I—I opened the window to let the steam out,” she said.
All at once, he yanked open the front of her robe. “Do you always shower in your bra and panties?”
Recoiling, Sophie pulled at the front of her robe to cover herself up. “Only when there’s a pervert in the house,” she shot back.
He slapped her. It was so sudden and hard that she fell back against the hamper and landed on the bathroom floor.
“I’m gonna nail that goddamn window shut,” Vic announced. Then he turned, brushed past Joe, and stomped out of the bedroom.
Momentarily stunned, Sophie remained on the floor with her back against the hamper. She touched her sore cheek. Her ear was ringing, but she could still hear James’s screams from downstairs.
Joe came to the bathroom doorway. “Were you really trying to escape?” He actually looked disillusioned with her.
Frowning, Sophie got to her feet. She pushed back her wet hair and then tied the sash of her robe. “My mother practically saved your life when you were a kid. Right no
w, she’s out there somewhere trying to help you again. And this is how you repay her?”
Joe winced. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t say anything.
Sophie hurried past him, out the bedroom and down the stairs. Joe followed her. As she approached the kitchen, she heard her baby brother’s cries getting louder. It was a heartbreaking sound.
She stopped dead at the kitchen entrance. James was standing by the oven. His wrists were tied to the oven door handle with a couple of dish towels. He kept screaming and struggling to get free.
Liam was curled up on the kitchen floor—by the cabinet under the sink. Some bottles of cleanser and laundry detergent were scattered on the floor. The cabinet door was open, and it looked as if Liam had gotten stuck reaching for something under the sink. It took Sophie a moment to realize Vic must have tied his hands to the drainpipe.
“Oh, God, no!” she heard Joe cry—over her baby brother’s shrieks of protest.
Sophie ran to Liam first, and got down on her knees. “What did he—”
“He used the cord from the waffle iron,” Liam muttered. His face was all flushed. “He’s got it tight as hell. You better get to Jamie first before he has a total meltdown . . .”
She turned toward her baby brother, and saw Joe hovering over him, trying to unfasten the knots in the dish towels. James had tears running down his face. He stomped on the floor.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Joe was saying. He had tears in his eyes, too. “I’ll get you untied. Just give me another minute . . .”
Before Sophie could go help him, Joe had untied James. But her baby brother suddenly didn’t want anything to do with his new friend. He cried out to Sophie and ran into her arms.
She caught a glimpse of Joe, looking hurt and ashamed.
“C’mon, we have to help Liam,” she told James. She looked under the sink at the cord tangled around the pipe and his wrists. “God, how did he do this?” she muttered.
“He was kneeling on my back the whole time he tied my hands together,” Liam muttered. “You were right, damn it. He—he really wanted to be up there while you were in the shower . . .”
Sophie shushed him, and blindly reached into the cabinet and started tugging at the cord. James had one hand on her back and with the other he patted Liam on the leg. “Sophie will get you out . . .”
“Can I help?” she heard Joe ask.
“No,” Liam said curtly.
Sophie heard the kitchen door slam. She glanced up in time to see Vic swagger by with the hammer and some nails. She realized he must have stashed them in the garage with the other “contraband” items he’d confiscated earlier. It looked like he wasn’t about to waste any time before nailing shut that bathroom window.
Leaning against the oven, Joe still had the dish towels in his hand. He shook his head at his friend. “God, Vic, why did you do it?”
“You gave me the idea for under the sink,” he said, heading for the front hallway. “Remember Willow?”
Joe hung his head down.
Sophie heard Vic lumbering up the stairs. She wasn’t sure what he and Joe had been talking about. But she knew one of the Singleton kids was named Willow.
With James hanging on her, she reached under the sink again and pulled at a knot in the cord around Liam’s wrists.
“I think you’re getting it,” Liam moaned. “It—it feels looser . . .”
As Sophie struggled with the restraints, she heard hammering above them.
She caught a glimpse of Joe, still standing by the oven. He looked like he was about to cry.
“What was he talking about?” she asked. “Who’s Willow?”
Joe shrugged. He wouldn’t look at her. “It’s just something bad I saw,” he murmured. “That’s all . . .”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tuesday—3:19 P.M.
Bellingham, Washington
On the Western Washington University campus, Laura finally found a student walking alone who wasn’t wearing ear-buds or engrossed in a smartphone. From the car window, she asked the skinny young man if there was a way to find out where a particular student lived—and maybe get his class schedule. The young man gave her directions to the Campus Services Building on Bill McDonald Parkway.
The young woman with dreadlocks who manned the desk at Campus Services was probably a student, working there part-time. She looked miserable as she tore herself away from her laptop to assist Laura. She didn’t seem a bit interested in the story Laura had concocted about how she was Doran Wiley’s aunt, here for a surprise visit. The girl just nodded tiredly as she consulted the computer on the other side of the counter. “He’s in Mathes Hall . . .” She slapped two pieces of paper on the counter in front of Laura. One had a map of the campus and the other was a temporary parking permit for Laura’s dashboard. The girl circled Mathes Hall on the map and scribbled down Doran’s room number.
“Thank you,” Laura said. “Is it possible to get his class schedule for today? I don’t want to have to—”
The young woman started shaking her head and went back to her laptop. “We don’t release class schedules as a matter of policy. If it’s an emergency, you need to go to the administration office.”
Doran Wiley’s roommate didn’t have Doran’s class schedule either. Their dorm room was on the seventh floor. It smelled like dirty gym socks. One side of the small room had ski posters on the wall. Ski equipment was stashed by a steamer trunk in the corner. On the wall next to the other bed was a Beastie Boys poster—along with mini-posters of half-naked, buxom young models Laura didn’t recognize. The place was kind of a mess—as was Doran’s roommate. Laura figured she must have woken him from a nap when she’d knocked on the door. His red hair was unkempt, and he wore a ratty-looking flannel shirt, cargo shorts, and black socks. “Doran was just here like a little while ago,” the roommate said. “He was going to grab a late lunch at the Commons.”
“The Commons,” Laura repeated. “Where is that?”
“The Viking Commons—it’s like just next door. You go out the front door and hang a right.”
“Thank you,” Laura said. “This is going to sound strange, but I haven’t seen Doran since he was a little boy. Could you tell me what he looks like?”
The roommate nodded toward the corkboard above the desk on the Beastie Boys side of the room. “Well, step on up and visit the shrine . . .”
Laura moved over to the desk and saw about twenty different photos tacked to the corkboard. The first one to catch her eye was an eight by ten portrait of a tan, handsome young man with a confident, dimpled smile and dark hair that had a sexy, messy bed-head look. She couldn’t tell if it was a high-school graduation portrait or a model’s head shot. The same handsome guy was in all the other—smaller—photos. In some, he was shirtless; in others, he had a girl hanging on him; in others, he wore football gear. There were several selfies, too. Laura thought it was a little weird that so many of the photos displayed above his desk were of him alone. Doran Wiley didn’t seem to mind himself one bit.
“Well, that gives me a pretty good idea of what he looks like, thanks,” she said.
“Yeah, check out the Commons. He’s probably there with his harem.”
The roommate was right. The Viking Commons was just next door. The huge cafeteria had a wall of windows that offered a sweeping view over the treetops of Bellingham Bay. A mix of savory food smells—mostly chili—immediately hit Laura. The place wasn’t too crowded at this off-hour. There was no one at the salad bar, and only a handful of people stood in line at the food counter. It didn’t take long to spot Doran Wiley at one of the long tables in front of the windows. He didn’t exactly have a harem with him—just two girls who were sort of flashy-looking and another guy, a chubby character who resembled Jonah Hill. As Laura approached them, she could see they’d been snacking on nachos and sodas. They had their smartphones out. Doran wore a black knit cap that seemed a bit affected and a black T-shirt.
“Hi, I’m sorry to interrupt y
ou guys,” she said.
Only the Jonah Hill clone looked up from his phone at her.
“You’re Doran, aren’t you?” she said to his friend. “Doran Wiley?”
He finally glanced at her. He had brown eyes, and was indeed very good looking. But he seemed too well aware of it. He half-smiled at her—as if mildly amused.
“I was wondering if I could talk with you for a couple of minutes,” Laura said.
One of the girls flanking Doran giggled.
“Cougar alert!” his friend muttered. This remark got some more giggles from the group.
“And you are?” Doran said, sitting back in the chrome and black plastic chair.
The Jonah Hill lookalike leaned across the table and whispered something that sent one of the girls into a sniggering fit.
“You don’t know me, but I—well, my name’s Laura, and I’m a freelance reporter. I’d really appreciate it if I could talk to you in private—for just a few moments.”
Though still smiling, Doran looked as if he were already bored with her. He glanced at his phone again. “What about?”
Laura sighed. “I’d like to talk about your stint as caretaker for Scott and Sherry Singleton. And I’d also like to ask you about Eric Vetter.”
Doran looked up from his phone. His smile had disappeared. He got to his feet and darted around the table. Grabbing Laura’s arm, he pulled her over toward a table-bussing station and the trash and recycling receptacles. “Who told you that I knew Eric Vetter?” he growled under his breath. “Where’d you hear that?”
Laura wrestled her arm away. She was dumbfounded at the way he’d suddenly lost his cool. Glancing over at his friends, she could tell they were equally surprised.
“I didn’t know him. I never even met the guy,” Doran continued. “Or if I did, I don’t remember. As for the Singletons, I already talked to the police and a reporter from the Seattle Times. I worked at the Lopez Island home for three months over the summer, and they were there only a few weekends. I haven’t been on Lopez since I left the job in August.”
Laura studied him and glanced once again at his posse. From the manner in which he’d so quickly whisked her away, she had a feeling his friends knew nothing about his job with the Singletons. For someone so vain, she’d have thought he would relish his peripheral role in this huge news story and all the attention it would bring.
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