"Floor tiles." The words were heavy with doubt.
"Uh-huh. I was thinking about square footage just before I walked in here. I just didn't realize when I started figuring how many tiles we'd need, and what it would cost, that I was counting out loud." She made her smile broader. "I guess I was more into my planning than I thought I was."
Her mother still looked doubtful, but Holly knew she would believe her. Her mother would want to believe her too badly to give in to suspicions. But if this nonsense kept up….
Her mother looked past her, distracted by something. And Holly turned to follow her gaze.
Vince O'Mally was bearing down on them, carrying a coffee carafe he must have charmed away from Tracy, the teenage waitress. Not saying a word, he reached for the coffee mug in front of Holly, flipped it upright, and filled it. "Coffee's on me, Red," he told her.
"That isn't necessary," Holly said.
"Sure it is. You told me yourself you never got a cup this morning." He glanced across the table. "You haven't introduced me to your friend." As he spoke he lifted the pot and arched a questioning brow. Doris nodded and Vince filled her cup as well.
"I'm Doris, she said with a smile. "Holly's mother."
Holly didn't like the man. Something about him set her teeth on edge. Still, she said, "Mom, this is Detective O'Mally—"
"Vince," he said.
"Right. Vince. He's with the Syracuse Police Department. Their special library crimes unit or something." He shot her an amused look as he took her mother's hand in greeting.
"It's a pleasure, Ms. Newman."
"Call me Doris," she said. Then she turned to Holly. "And how is it you two know each other?"
"I had some business with the chief this morning," Vince said before Holly could answer. "There was a mishap with the coffee, the pot got smashed to bits, and I think it was partly my fault. I doubt Holly ever got her morning caffeine."
"Really?" Doris looked from Vince to Holly and back again. "And, um... are you here at the cafe all alone?" When O'Mally nodded, Holly knew what was coming but couldn't speak quickly enough to prevent it. "Well, why don't you pull up a chair and join us?"
Vince glanced at Holly, but where she expected to see a smirk of triumph in his eyes, she saw only a question. Reluctantly, she nodded. Only then did he say, "Thanks, I think I will." He pulled up a chair from a nearby vacant table, and sat down at theirs.
"What brings you to Dilmun, Detective?"
"Oh, just vacation time. I have a couple of weeks to fill. Thought someplace quiet would do me good."
"I'd say you came to the right place. We used to live in Syracuse, you know. Liked it so much down here we never wanted to go back."
"Really?" Vince glanced at Holly. "You didn't mention that."
She only shrugged. But she sent her mother a pleading look. They didn't talk about that time, that place. They just didn't. Her mother was breaking a sacred, if unspoken, vow by even mentioning it.
"How long have you been living here?" Vince asked.
"Gosh, must be going on five years now."
"And where in Syracuse did you live?"
Holly set her cup down on the table. Hard. Her mother, who had been about to answer him, closed her mouth and they both looked at Holly, brows raised. "Will you two excuse me for a minute?" She got to her feet. "I just... uh... I'll be back." Holly hurried into the restroom, closed the door behind her, stood there, and realized she'd counted again. She'd counted the steps to the restroom, and she had no idea if it had been aloud or not.
She braced her hands on the sink, and stared into the mirror. "Okay, so what's going on with you, huh?" she asked her reflection.
"You okay, Holly?" a small voice asked.
Holly turned to see Bethany Stevens standing there looking up at her with eyes big enough to swim in.
Holly swallowed hard, and plastered a smile on her face. "Hey, you. What are you doing out of school?"
"Half day today. Good thing, too. It's tough this year."
"Yeah, I'll bet. I heard you got Mrs. Predmore."
Bethany nodded. "She's not mean or anything. Just gives lots of homework."
"Second grade is like that."
Bethany came up to the sink, turned on the tap, and washed her hands. "Me and Mom decided to have lunch out. Dad had to go out of town this week, so it's just us." The little girl stood on tiptoes to look into the mirror, fussed a bit with her long blonde hair.
"So, have you decided yet?" Holly asked. "About the Halloween party?"
Beth shrugged. "What do you think, Holly? Do you think I'm too old to dress up for Halloween?"
Holly smiled, and wished for the times something so small was the major dilemma of the day. "Bethany, I still dress up for Halloween," she said.
"I sure would like to see the inside of Reggie's place."
Holly lifted her brows. "Me, too."
"Mom says he used to have one of these parties every single year, before he moved away. She says they were the best parties anywhere, when she was a kid."
"My aunt Jen told me the same thing. That spooky old house of his has to be the best place around for a Halloween party."
"Yeah." Bethany nodded hard. "Maybe I will go. If you really think I'm not too old."
"You're definitely not too old."
Bethany smiled up at her. "Will you help me figure out a costume?"
"We will put together the best costume Dilmun has ever seen." She clasped Bethany's hand, led her to the door, and they walked out together.
Halfway to the table, Bethany looked up with her bright blue eyes and said, "Having you next door is like having my very own older sister. I always wanted one, you know."
Holly's smile froze in place as Bethany turned and ran to join her mom at their corner booth.
FOUR
HIM. IT'S HIM! What the hell is he doing here? I know his face. He's the cop who found the bodies. His face was splashed all over the papers. And now he's here. Jesus, sweet Jesus, does he know? Is he onto me?
Oh, God, he's talking to her of all people!
Okay, wait. I need to get a grip, here. He may not know anything at all about me. About her, maybe, but that's okay. That's okay, that won't tell him a fucking thing. It would explain his coming out here. Talking to her. But that's all. Maybe that's all.
Son of a bitch found my place. Found my sugarpie and her goddamn brother before I could put them to rest. Of course, the boy wouldn't have gone beside her. He didn't belong. He got in the way.
Holly is a basket case. She's crazy. He'll find that out soon enough. She won't be any help to him at all. She's fucking crazy. Everyone knows it.
But why is he here? Why is he lying about what he's doing here?
To protect the crazy bitch, maybe. Yeah. Yeah, that could be it. He has to know I won't let her talk to him. He figures if I know what he's really after, I'll have to shut her up, just in case. But she may not know, either. If she did, she 'd have run her mouth about it long before now, wouldn't she? Fucking ungrateful little brats usually did if you let them.
Still, that nosy cop might not know a damn thing. Not yet. Not yet.
But what if he does?
Hell, I've got to be sure.
***
HOLLY DIDN'T GO straight home from work. She started to. She walked along her usual route, back through the strip, where the shops were mostly closed now, all the way down to the leading edge of Lake-view Road. Her home, her safe, comfortable haven, was five houses ahead on the right.
So why did her eyes keep wandering along Shoreline Drive's beach-hugging loop? Why was her body turning to take that stretch of road, even though it meant turning right into the brisk, chilly wind? And why on earth were her feet carrying her amid the rustling leaves, along the gravel road that was all but deserted at this time of the year?
She didn't know. She did know that it was a mistake. Disaster always followed when you took the long way home, she'd learned. You just didn't veer from your routine. You
stuck to a plan, and in that way you could be in control.
She wasn't in control right now. And that scared her.
The lake was dotted with dancing whitecaps, and the wind nipped at her nose and cheeks, grazing them. The closer she walked, sneakers crunching over gravel, the more intense that wind became. Trees lined the left side of the road, their limbs shedding any remaining leaves rapidly, their colors fading like the color of an old man's eyes. Tall reeds, cattails, and muck stretched for several yards along the roadside. As she passed those waving, whispering rushes, the sky seemed to darken by degrees. It was as if every breath of wind blew a little more of the daylight away. It was completely unlike her not to go straight home. And she hadn't gone through all those years of therapy not to know why that was, but she refused to think about it. She'd come this far. She might as well keep going.
She needed to find out what the weary, craggy Syracuse cop was really doing in her town.
She finally passed by the marshy area to where the ground became firm and dry and green with tall, lush grasses as it sloped gently down toward the lake. The water was dark today. Every whitecap seemed designed to contrast with the midnight hue of the water. The chill wind that had kicked up with the stranger's arrival only grew stronger.
She rounded a curve, and the grasses stopped standing tall and lush and became neatly clipped. Crewcut lawns on duty, and every fifty feet or so a small square log cabin at the ready. Each had a narrow gravel driveway, and a small wooden dock of its own. Each had a porch. She knew the cabins well. She had spent a few weeks of every summer in one of them as a child.
She'd always loved the way they smelled, and she inhaled that same scent now. Aging cedar touched by freshwater and a hint of fishiness.
Holly sighed. "So get on with it, already," she muttered. She veered off the road onto the private drive that lined the row of lakefront cabins. Most of them were obviously vacant. One or two were occupied by fishermen out for a long weekend. Those were the cabins with oversized, four-wheel-drive SUVs parked in their gravel driveways, and small motorboats tied to their docks.
She knew which cabin Vince O'Mally had rented the second it came into view. The very last one at the end of the row. The most private one, out of plain sight of the others because of a curve in the drive. Its curtains were all drawn tight, not a bit of light coming from within. His car was nowhere in sight, either. Nor was there a boat at the dock.
Holly bit her lip and took a quick look up and down the driveway. No one was around. Swallowing hard, she cut across the lawn, and ducked around to the rear of the building. Nothing back there but weeds, a giant propane tank, and a stack of nicely seasoned firewood. Squatting low in the weeds, she waited, listened. Her heart was pounding so hard she couldn't hear much else, and it wasn't from exertion. Hell.
She caught her breath eventually and, gathering her courage, rose. She still didn't see anyone. Standing on her toes, she leaned close to the nearest window, and tried to find a spot where the curtains parted enough to give her a glimpse inside.
Something moved in there. The barest shadow among the shadows.
She jerked backward so fast she lost her balance, and fell, hitting the ground hard, then scrambling to her feet again, her heart pounding as her mind sought answers. What had she seen, exactly? A dark form, a man, or was he the nightmare that kept replaying in her mind? She stood motionless, listening, waiting. The woods were at her back, the lake to her left, and the road to safety, right. Straight ahead was the house, and she didn't know if the shadow man was even now coming around it after her, or if he was, which way he would come, or if he were even real. So she froze there, questioning her mind, her senses, with her breaths rushing in and out of her lungs uncontrollably. She crouched and waited.
Something creaked.
It could have been a tall tree, bending in the wind.
Or it could have been the creak of a screen door opening and softly closing again.
Oh, God, he was coming, he was coming! Her heart hammered her chest mercilessly. She was gulping each breath. He would hear her if she didn't quiet down.
Something moved, off to the left. A twig broke, and she launched herself around the house to the right, running full tilt, pushing her legs as hard as she could manage.
She slammed into something hard. Heavy arms dropped what they'd been carrying, came around her and held her. "Red? What the hell?”
She lifted her head, and saw the damned Syracuse cop frowning down at her as she sucked in breath after gasping breath. This was all his fault. She was going to die. Her heart was going to explode and she was going to die.
"Someone," she gasped. "There." She pointed.
He looked where she pointed, and she jabbed her finger insistently when he looked back at her. So he let go of her shoulders, and ran to the rear of the house. Seconds later, he was back. "There's nothing there, Red. Okay?'
"No." She was still panting, her heart still hammering like a runaway train.
He knelt down, and she saw what he'd been carrying. A paper bag of groceries. He dumped out what remained in the bag, though most had already spilled, and then he squeezed the bag shut around its neck, and held it over her mouth. "Breathe slower," he told her. "Come on, slow down. Easy."
Her lungs expanded the paper bag and deflated it, over and over, and the dizziness eased. Too much oxygen would put you on your back fast, she knew it from experience. It had been a long time, but not long enough that she had forgotten.
He was talking. Saying the things her mom used to say to talk her through the panic attacks. "You're perfectly safe. I'm right here. Nothing can hurt you. You're safe, and everything's all right."
She fought to control her breathing, tried to consciously slow it down. He led her toward a tree, and she put one hand flat against its rough bark. Her breathing finally slowed. Her heartbeat eased. She sat down, leaned against the strong tree trunk. It helped, for some reason.
"There was a man ... in your cabin."
He nodded, looking around them. "If there was, he's long gone now. Did you get a look at him?"
"Not really." She took another breath, and another.
He was still standing, but no longer examining the area quite as intensely. "You didn't see him?"
"No."
"Then how do you know he was there?"
"I..." She averted her eyes. "There was something ... a shadow. And then the door creaked."
He remained silent, studying her face.
"And a twig snapped," she added for good measure, refusing to back down. "I didn't imagine it."
"Okay. All right. You didn't imagine it." Again he looked around, and she noticed he'd unbuttoned his denim jacket. Better to reach his gun she thought.
"And I'm not crazy."
He looked at her sharply. "Did I say you were crazy?"
"I'm not."
"Are you all right now?"
"Yes." She reached a hand up, and he took it and pulled her easily to her feet. "You ... should call Chief Mallory."
He nodded as if considering her words. "Do you have panic attacks often, Holly?"
She looked at the ground. "Not in years."
Taking her by the hand, without even bothering to see whether she objected, he led her to the cabin and up the three steps to the front door. He tried to be casual about it as he searched the place to be sure it was safe. It was a small cabin, so it wasn't a major job. Bedroom, closet, bathroom, kitchen, that was it. But she got the distinct impression he was only doing it to humor her.
She sank onto the plaid camelback sofa, embarrassed to the roots of her hair, wondering what he thought of her. He came back, went to the door, and locked it. Then he brought her a glass of water.
Sitting up a little straighter, she took it and sipped. But she nearly choked on it when he said, "So you wanna tell me what you were doing snooping around my cabin?"
"I wasn't," she lied.
"No?"
"No. It's a... a shortcut. To my uncle Ma
rty and aunt Jen's place. There's a path through the woods. It forks in the middle. Left goes to my uncle and aunt's place. Right goes farther, all around the west bank of the lake."
"Uh-huh." It was obvious he didn't believe her.
"Look, I come out here all the time. My uncle Marty owns these cabins. I used to stay a couple of weeks in one of them every summer when I was a kid."
"Should I assume that means you'll be out here snooping often?"
"No!"
His mouth narrowed. "Do you have a key?"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous." She sighed, sipped more water, set the glass down. "How did you know what to do?" she asked, partly to change the subject, and partly because she was curious.
"About the panic attack, you mean?" He shrugged. "It's not the first time I've seen one."
"Because you're a cop?"
"Yeah. Partly that."
They looked at each other for a moment. Then he took a cell phone from his pocket and dialed the chief's mobile number as Holly recited it to him.
While he spoke to Chief Mallory, Holly looked around the cabin. There were a half dozen foam coffee cups around, most of them with coffee still in them. There were newspapers spread on the table, a T-shirt flung over the back of a chair, and she could see the unmade bed through the open bedroom door.
The man was messy.
She was uneasy. She disliked questioning her own senses. She disliked it more than just about anything she could think of. But for the life of her she couldn't be sure of what she had actually seen, and what her mind had embellished.
"No," he was saying on the phone. "It looks like Holly scared him off before he had time to take anything. Okay, sure. Thanks, Chief." He hung up and turned to face her. "Chief says to wait here. He'll be out in a few minutes to take a look around. Then he'll take you home himself."
She nodded. "I should have known better," she muttered, half to herself. "Bad things always happen when I take the long way home."
***
THE CHIEF ARRIVED with one of his officers right behind him. Bill Ramsey, the lanky blond one, and that was a good thing because it provided someone to sit with the still-shaken redhead while Vince and the chief took a look around. Though Vince really didn't expect to find anything.
Gingerbread Man Page 4
